 
# THE GHOST WARS

Cole J. Davis

Copyright Cole J. Davis 2012

Published by Garconer Publishing at Smashwords

THE GHOST WARS is dedicated to all those whom desire a better world.

# CHAPTER ONE

Looking back on his life; Jason Bowen could pinpoint the exact day it all began to turn around for the better- October fifteenth, twenty thirteen. On that day events conspired to lead him out of the mire; tossing him the metaphorical life preserver to a man drowning in the darkness and the filth of a life not worth living. In the days to come, he'd be granted the gift of his first meeting with the woman who'd come to be the Isolde to his Tristan. Further to that, Jason garnered himself the career of a lifetime.

Now, with a thirty year old son named Ben following in his mother's footsteps as a social worker to Vancouver's East Side, and good friends to keep him company, life for Jason Bowen was glorious. Thinking back to the days and years before that, Jason shook with the remembrance of the desolation he'd once felt; the things he'd done to make a living, choosing to punish himself for past mistakes, for just being himself. It was sad, the state he'd allowed himself to descend to. Jason owed his life to three people in this world- Doctor Brittany Longfellow, although she hadn't yet been a doctor at that point, for loving him; Captain Cole Jacob Billington for being willing to take a chance on hiring him; and finally, Marsha Bradshaw for starting the whole ball rolling.

That day, thirty seven years previous, Jason strolled into the Café Vaungarten on the northwest corner of Vancouver's Library Square, on a breezy, mid October morning. Heading into the café', Jason smiled knowingly, taking note of the sweet musical tones of the Canadian Weekly Top Forty playing over the sound system. Along the walls of the establishment were an assortment of high priced paintings by Gertrude Brighton, a local artist. The paintings were

acrylic abstracts, of a blend of blue and turquoise splashes of paint; bringing to Jason's mind the

movement of the waters of the Pacific during high tide. Jason was a slim, well built, tall young

man in his late twenties, of Scottish descent. The woman he was meeting, one Marsha Bradshaw,

a heavy set blonde in her early forties; was an investigative journalist for the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation, here in the city. Marsha had an air about her, one revealing a desire to hunt down the truth.

Going towards her, towering over her with his six foot two frame, Jason introduced himself, saying; "Hello there, I'm Jason. You must be Marsha Bradshaw. I've heard very good things about you. I'm looking forwards to working with you. In close proximity, if you know what I mean?"

"Hello Jason," Jason took a seat at the small, round café table across from Marsha, who bent forward towards him. Marsha spoke intimately, not wanting to be overheard by the surrounding café patrons; "Here's the thing, Jason. There is something very odd going down at the Point Grey Campus of the University of British Columbia. It is my job as an investigative journalist to search out the truth. When we blow this baby right out of the water, it'll be the story of the century."

In later years, the goings on of the CPB would be old hat, but right here and now, this was all new to Jason. Following Marsha's lead, Jason spoke quietly, "So, what do you reckon is going on down there, Marsha?"

"Well, at first, it seemed relatively straight forward. The CPB, or in long form, the Commonwealth Protection Bureau, appears to be a straight up social agency. They work with the

down and out, mostly in the city's East End. They've got some of Canada's best minds involved

with the project." She paused in thought, before adding; "It's clearly a smoke screen. I really would be interested in finding out what's actually going on out there Jason."

"So would I."

"It was begun back when the Commonwealth was still a major player. That's where the name came from, presumably."

"I would presume so, yes."

"Now, getting back on topic, Miss Brittany Longfellow has won awards for her work with the people of the East End." Marsha paused, retrieving a photo of Miss Longfellow from her portfolio; showing it to Jason.

Jason remembered the first time he caught sight of the woman he would eventually come to love. Even if it had only been a photograph, she was truly beautiful; time hadn't changed that. Even if she was now sixty five years old, so was he. She would always be beautiful to him, for her soul shone free, loving and brilliant in so many ways.

Back inside the café', all those years ago, a much younger and spryer Jason Bowen took a moment to appraise the photo appreciatively. Brittany was a slim, relatively attractive First

Nations woman in her late twenties. Her long, dark hair shone, catching the light of the sun off

the photo, and Jason said; "Nice."

She had been nice, beautiful even, later that afternoon, when Jason got to meet her in person. Less accepting of his appreciation for Miss Longfellow's physical assets, Marsha gave him a haughty look, leading Jason to respond with a smirk. Handing the photo back to her, which she promptly returned to its place inside the portfolio, he said; "I was talking about the awards, but she's a looker, too."

"I'm glad you think so Jason, because she's the one you'd be best to get close to."

"Hot dog, I like this plan more and more."

"Now," Picking up another photo from her portfolio, Marsha said; "This man is the heart of the entire organization. This is Captain Cole Jacob Billington. He's a real enigma. He's the glue holding together this entire mystery."

Looking back on his life, Jason considered the broadened horizons working with the Captain had given him. For the past thirty seven years, he'd been given the access code to a much wider vista; the universe was grander and far more complex than he'd ever dreamed of. Here it all began, in this nondescript café', with a woman who wanted to know the truth; the truth of what was really going on around the world in front of her very eyes.

At the table, Jason took an appraising look at Captain Billington. The man appeared to be around fifty years of age, Hispanic, and in obvious need of a personal trainer for his five foot eleven frame, and he said; "Alright then, so what's so important about him?"

Marsha sighed, saying; "We don't know."

He'd raised an eye at that, saying; "Well, I like your honesty."

Marsha smiled, saying; "Thank you."

Jason looked around the busy shop, his eyes passing momentarily from the line of customers at the front, to the harried Barista; doing her best in an understaffed business, to the gorgeous paintings arrayed along the wall, before allowing them to come to rest back on Marsha, saying; "And you want me to find that out for you, do I have that right?"

Pointing a hand towards him, two fingers splayed in a 'gotcha' gesture, she said; "You've got it in one."

Shifting slightly, attempting to get comfortable, Jason said; "So Marsha, it's time to come clean, what's so special about this frumpy captain that you need me to go into the belly of the beast? Are we talking something criminal? Because you know, if that's the case, perhaps I should decline. I'm trying to put that part of my life behind me, you know? Three years in the Agassiz Correctional Facility is quite long enough, thank you very much."

"Jason, the corporation doesn't think that is the issue. My colleagues at the CBC feel it's more of an issue of some deep government program. Something very odd is going on at that campus, and we deem to find out what it is. Using any means necessary."

Raising a sceptical eye in consternation at her last statement, Jason said; "It sounds dangerous." He leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed against his chest.

"It might well be. Are you game?"

"Very much so."

Marsha smiled, saying; "Good for you." Placing her hands on the table in front of her, she said; "Now, let me tell you exactly what I know, which I must admit, is not much. But what I do know is very strange indeed. At first, the corporation was just interested in doing a Human interest piece on an award winning social agency, and the people who worked for it. We thought they'd appreciate it, you know?" He'd nodded, as she'd continued, saying; "We made an assumption, and you know what they say about making assumptions Jason."

"I'm right there with you, Marsha."

"It's always good to promote agencies doing good work for the community. It gets people out there helping others, volunteering in their own communities, that sort of thing."

"Go on."

"That's where it gets weird."

"How so?"

"Our producer tracked down Captain Billington for an interview, perhaps a bit more. You know, a day in the life type of thing? We were hoping if we got enough public interest, the next step could be some sort of reality series." Jason gave her a roll of his eyes then, in an expression saying 'what did you expect?' Jason had always despised those types of shows. Marsha seemed

almost apologetic in her explanation to him, saying; "Of course, that's the in thing the last few

years. They're cheap to make, popular with the public and the easy line to fall back on."

"Of course, but they're not very challenging, wouldn't you say? Not much writing goes into those things, and the acting's pitiful. That's if there is any actual acting going on, which isn't

necessarily always the case, is it?"

"Be that as it may, our attempt to woo the captain to our proposal fell utterly flat. It didn't make any sense; he should have welcomed a story on the workings of his organization with open arms. But his reaction was the complete opposite to which we'd expected. We were completely mystified." Jabbing a finger at the stack of photos in her portfolio, she looked up at Jason,

saying; "But when we began to look deeper into the captain's project, his wariness suddenly began to make a whole lot more sense. The CPB is way more than just a social agency Jason." taking a third photo out of her portfolio, Marsha said; "Here we have 'Exhibit A'." She showed the photo to Jason. It was of a man of First Nations descent, looking to be in his fifties.

"Who's this?"

Marsha jabbed a manicured finger at the photo, saying; "That is Doctor Reginald Desmoire, who has a PhD in theoretical physics. Now what would a social agency need a physicist for? That is the question of the hour, Jason. That was our first inkling something wasn't right."

"Hmm, something is definitely rotten in Denmark."

"Uh huh, like day old fish."

Jason positioned his body forward in his chair, attempting to prevent a crick from developing in his neck, saying; "I'll concede your point Marsha; it does appear a tad murky. I'll give you that. But come on, what do you really think is going on here? It must be something serious to get the CBC all in a huff."

"I've done the research on this shadowy organization, Jason. When I blow this story wide open, and believe you me, I will; it will completely change the way society looks at life."

"If that really is the case Marsha, do you really think it's your place to kick society out of its nest? Some things are just better off not being known."

"Yes Jason that is my place. That's my job, telling people what they need to know."

"But who are you to decide what they need to know?"

Her shoulders squared, she said; "Well it certainly isn't the governments' place to hide the truth from its own citizens, now is it Jason?"

"Whatever. We don't even know what's really going on. Or do we, what else do you know?"

"What I do know, is this. The CPB was started up in nineteen ten, under very mysterious beginnings. There is talk on the conspiracy pages on the web, that they built the entire university

as a cover for their little project."

"That can't be true, do you think?"

"It's a bit much, I'll grant you. But that's where you come in, Jason. It's hard to know where the tin hats end and the truth begins. I need you to get inside."

"Descend us, down, down unto the belly of the beast."

"Exactly," Marsha nodded, placing a hand on the table, gesturing wildly, saying; "Get to know that organization and the people who run it like the back of your own hand. Do you think you can do it?"

"Oh yeah," Running a hand through his shoulder length, wavy dark hair, Jason asked her; "Is it hot in here?"

"You're just excited."

"You've got that right, babe."

Gazing at Jason in disapproval, Marsha told him; "Now none of that now Jason, my husband's a former extreme fighting champion."

Jason's eyes boggled at this, as he said; "Seriously?" Marsha nodded, not revealing a single sign of dissembling on her face whatsoever. Bringing his face closer in to address Marsha, he said; "Doesn't that worry you? That type of man, with that in his background, what if he turns on you? That sport is seriously dangerous."

"He's not a dog, Jason."

"I'm glad to hear it."

"Besides, you're one to talk. Do you want people to hold your past against you, as well?"

"For the record, I was never a violent man, just a bad man. I like to think I'm doing much better now, but you know, it's a work in progress."

"Jason, if you feel remorse for what you did, and are trying to become a better person, I find it hard to believe you were ever truly a bad man. Look to the future, face forward, that's all that really means anything in the long run. Wouldn't you say?"

"That's why I'm a tad wary about being an informer. For all intents and purposes, this organization sounds like it's doing some incredibly good work. Do they really deserve to have a

spy in their midst?"

"Well if everything is on the up and up Jason, they don't have anything to worry about now do they?"

"You have a point."

"However, I really don't think that's the case here. Something's just not quite right; I can feel it in my bones. Jason, they're up to something, and I aim to find out what that is."

"What do you think is really going on, then?"

"The conspiracy pages have come up with all sorts of bizarre theories."

"What can you expect Marsha? They're conspiracy theorists; they're not necessarily right in the head."

"But they're the only ones that may have any information at all Jason. The whole thing is very hush, hush."

Sitting forwards, gazing at her intensely, Jason said; "Tell me Marsha, what should I look for when I go in?"

"You'll need to find out who Captain Billington really is. His identity is highly protected by the federal government. It's rumoured he's got family in Texas, so he's possibly American. However, that may just be a piece of disinformation for the nosy public's consumption; you can't believe anything you hear."

Jason hadn't liked having to deal with all this subterfuge, it reminded him too much of the reason for his stint in prison; conning people out of their hard earned cash. He said, "Well, in that case, how will I find out what you need to know?"

"That's why it is very important that you look, listen and learn; it's the first lesson you learn as a journalism student. It's probably good advice for a spy, as well."

"That's good advice for daily life, as well. You are one smart cookie Marsha, I like you."

"That's good; we should get on well."

Standing to stretch his legs, Jason said, "So, how about I go and get you a coffee Marsha? Then we can continue our conversation."

"I'd like that Jason. Two creams, one sugar please."

"You've got it, I'll be right back," Heading off to stand in the already long line up, Jason

enjoyed the view of the pretty Malaysian Barista stood behind the counter of the shop.

# CHAPTER TWO

We appear to have gotten a bit ahead of ourselves. Jason's tale began much earlier than that day in the Café'. It was a complex tale of a complex man. It had twists and turns and great lessons for all to glean. But no man is an island; our tale is not only Jason's to tell, but that of all the people around him. It is the tale of a splendid city, one of the best cities in the entire world. In the early part of the second decade of the twenty first century, Vancouver was entering the trying times of its adolescence, as it began to feel the growing pains of its entrance into the adulthood of a world class mega-city. The same could be said for the nation surrounding it. Canada would be a great place to live, if only the vast majority of its land mass would stop being so utterly cold. But Vancouver was different. Vancouver was like the Garden of Eden in the midst of a desert. It was the shelter from the cold, and from the misery of a small town's ever constant drudgery of a hum drum life.

Tonight, earlier in the evening, on this balmy, late April evening of the year twenty-fifty; Jason's colleagues at the Commonwealth Protection Bureau had thrown him a retirement party.

Even though the nation's official age of retirement had been pushed forwards to sixty seven years of age back in the year twenty-twenty, Jason chose to take partial retirement two years earlier. He would still be available for consultation work when needed, but for the most part, he chose to focus the bulk of the next two years on his memoirs, as well as doing a bit more of the unpaid work he did with the needy. The book he was writing was merely the latest in a long line of books he'd authored throughout the past few decades. The present book would serve several

purposes. First, Jason wanted others who once felt like him to know there was a light at the end

of the tunnel. Second, he wanted his future grand-children, if Ben ever sired any, to be able to get

a sense of how life was at the turn of the century. Finally, he didn't want to be forgotten; he wanted there to be a lasting legacy of his time on Earth.

"Hard at work dear?," Jason smiled up at his gorgeous wife from the chair he sat in as he worked on his memoirs as Brittany came up behind him, spinning it around so she could take a seat on his lap; wrapping an arm around him, coming in for a kiss.

"What would I have ever done without you, dear heart?"

Smiling tenderly, gently moving a strand of greying hair away from Jason's green eyes, she said; "You may never have known love."

"I might not at that."

"I'll leave you to your memories; come to bed when you're ready."

"I'll do that," Watching his forever beautiful soul mate slink out of his private study, Jason allowed himself time to ponder the worst time in his life, and the day it finally came to an end. Jason hadn't always made the greatest decisions in his life, and this culminated in him having to serve three years at the medium security Agassiz Correctional Facility, during a period in his life ending six years before his fateful meeting with Marsha Bradshaw.

"Sign here, here and here," Duty Warden Margaret Daniels shoved the piece of paper granting Jason Bowen access to his possessions he'd had with him when he'd entered the correctional facility three years previous; waiting as he signed his John Hancock. That done, she grabbed his file bag from across the processing room; both doing their best to ignore the cat-calls from some of the prisoners peering in from the nearby common room.

"Are you leaving us Jasie waisy? Oh, we're all going to be so, so sad!"

Derrick Seymour had been one of Jason's biggest tormentors throughout the three years he'd spent behind bars. He'd made him do things he'd never wanted to experience with another man. It hadn't only been Derrick; Jason's natural gentleness, making his white collar criminal activity all the more out of character for him, guaranteed Jason a spot on the daily roster of Batty Boy fodder. Sometime during his first week in here, Jason developed the ability to check out mentally as these daily assaults were occurring, searching out peace and tranquillity in his own personal world. Externally, three long tortuous years passed by, but to Jason, locked away in his own little world; it felt like weeks.

In all that time, another Jason Bowen arose to take his place, taking the rapes as he hid inside his inner world. Another self, viewing itself as female; Jacquelyn had always been there, lurking deep beneath the surface. The assaults inside the correctional facility merely served to bring her to the surface, forcing the psyche to release her from the prison inside the mind she'd spent the majority of her life in. So out Jacquelyn had come, free to live her life, but to what a life she'd found herself living. In all that time, piled upon the rage of being locked away for a lifetime, was the new rage of the fury Jacquelyn felt at having been left to hold the bag while Jason had been kept safe and protected from his tortuous reality now surrounding him.

Retrieving the items taken from him three years previous, the duty warden opened the outside prison door, leading Jason to the main gate, saying; "Good luck Jason. Try to make a good life for yourself, you hear?"

Walking along with his head down Jason left the grounds of the Correctional Facility, saying; "I don't know where to go."

After spending three months in a nearby halfway house, where he'd applied for disability assistance for his diagnosis of Aspergers Syndrome; the universe appeared to take pity on Jason.

His beloved Aunt Katrina, whom he'd adored, and she him, suddenly passed on. She'd been hit

by a passing car in front of her own house. The driver, drunk out of his mind, hadn't even paused

in his driving. They never did catch him. But out of this sorrowful event had come something

good after all. With one week to go before Jason was set to leave the halfway house, word came

from his mother that Aunt Katrina had awarded him her house on Union Street, bordering Vancouver's China Town; in her will.

As nice a thought that it was, the responsibility of paying off the last of the mortgage, as well as the property taxes fell to Jason. This had given him cause for concern, did he sell the house, and look for something he could easier afford, or did he allow himself to fall back on old habits, and find a way to make some quick and easy cash? Unbeknownst to Jason, as he'd been mulling the issue over, Jacquelyn had been making secret plans of her own.

Suddenly, Jason began losing hours, sometimes even days at a time. He'd go to sleep on Monday, and wake up on Wednesday or Thursday; finding hundreds of dollars of cash next to his bedside table. He'd find lists of clients and schedules and payment plans posted to the kitchen

fridge. He'd find clothing and other items he'd never bought, their receipts showing someone had in fact paid for them. Worst of all, he'd find packs of cigarettes sat on the kitchen counter, and cases of beer inside the fridge. Jason didn't smoke and he'd been sober for more than three years; ever since he'd entered the clink. What the hell was wrong with him?

Somehow, during all this time that this had been going on, something made Jason forget he wasn't the only one laying claim to the body he inhabited. The missing time and everything

else provided clues to the knowledge someone else existed, but they weren't revealing themselves to him directly. Was it purposely malicious, or were these others just as mystified by

it all as he was?

It all came to a head one evening; finding himself standing on stage, gazing out into a tiny, packed theatre, the audience waiting for Jason to say his next line. Jacob had been another, better part of him. Jacob had been just as in the dark about the situation as Jason was. Also experiencing mysterious blackouts and wondering where all the cash and the beer had come from, Jacob decided to try his hand at acting. With his good looks and innate talent, Jacob garnered the leading role in a play paying a small stipend at The Chrysanthemum Theatre, on Davie Street. Written and developed by young up and comer playwright Sully Campbell, 'Stonewall Nights' was a musical rendition of the events surrounding the Stonewall Riots. His life's work of 'Social Justice Crusader' had been a singular focus of his from the age of fifteen onwards. Now, at age thirty, Sully crafted the most exquisite piece of musical theatre Jacob had ever come across. The performance centred on the sweet romance between a young Drag Queen, and her deeply closeted lover. Jacob snagged the roll of the Drag Queen, Miss Well-Defined; it was a roll he'd relished more than he would ever admit.

Jason knew none of this, during that terrifying evening like something out of a dream. Arriving on stage for opening night, taking one look out into that packed theatre; gazing out at the well- dressed audience, Jason froze. The fear brought Jason back out; he hadn't known what the hell he was doing. Luckily, Jacob hadn't gone far. He stood in the cavern of their collective mind, whispering lines in Jason's inner ear. Thankfully, the performance had gone off without a hitch, although Jason had less of a natural talent for acting then did Jacob.

After that, the dissociative memory filter forcing Jason to forget about the world inside fell to the wayside, and he'd gone in search of his troublesome head mates causing him so much trouble. Although the greatest troublemakers refused to change their ways completely, they at least had been able to develop a system of continuous memory, allowing them each to take executive control of the body, while remembering the body's history as though it were their own.

One hand raised above his computer keyboard; a much older and wiser Jason Bowen brought his thoughts back to that fateful day inside the café'. Standing in line for coffee; his mind focused on the duelling matters of coffee for Marsha Bradshaw and himself, as well as the hard work of infiltration awaiting him; Jason barely registered the weather report broadcasting out of the shop's satellite radio quietly, unobtrusively playing in the corner. The chatter of the other customers in search of a caffeine fix stopped just short of blocking out the voice of the announcer.

"We'll be looking at high winds from the southeast, reaching a possible seventy five kilometres per hour, later in the morning."

Waiting in line for his order, Jason ruminated on the question of whether or not he was doing the right thing. Should he listen to the part of him warning this may not be the best decision; or should he follow through, despite the fact running such an enormous con made him feel down right queasy in his gut? That after all had been what landed him in the slammer. Jason never wanted to go through that horrific experience ever again. Would taking this job lead him onto the road to becoming a better man, or would it just lead him back down the garden path of temptation, where land mines waited to swallow up his soul? Jason hoped he was doing the right

thing; he just couldn't be sure. Life was full of land mines, and without a proper map to guide

him, it was hard for Jason to know whether he was doing the right thing or not.

Moments later; gathering up the coffees, Jason returned to the table as Marsha skimmed through the photos in her portfolio, and he said; "Here you go." Placing one of the two coffees in front of her, Jason said; "I hope you like it."

"Thank you Jason. I'm sure it'll be to my satisfaction," Marsha took a sip.

"I'm here to serve," Jason smiled disparagingly, taking a seat across from Marsha, saying; "So, what else have you got for me?" Marsha showed him a photo of an attractive, slim Asian woman, and Jason said; "She's pretty, who's that?"

"That's Constable Sera Rasmussen," Jason frowned slightly at hearing about the law enforcement angle. He didn't have all that great of a reputation with the local cops. Marsha continued with, "From what we can gather, she works as a liaison between the District RCMP

and the CPB."

"Well I can tell you one thing Marsha; I'll be looking forward to working closely with her."

"Don't be a pest, Jason. You'll never get the information we're looking for if you end up with charges of sexual harassment. Now be a good boy."

"Spoil my fun, why don't you?"

"That's what I'm here for."

Jason chuckled unpleasantly, saying; "Thank you Marsha, but I've already got me a parole officer. I don't need another one."

"You're a real charmer, aren't you?"

Jason grinned, pleased with himself, saying; "And the chicks dig it."

Showing Jason a photo of a nondescript, middling height, wiry man in his mid-fifties, Marsha said; "That's Doctor Bailey O'Bannion; he's been working for the CPB since the mid-eighties, apparently making him one of the longest serving members. The others were all hired on by Director Billington since the turn of the century."

Jason gave the photo a peremptory look, saying; "So, what's his story; is he a physicist as well?"

"Nope, he's the medic."

"Ah, a proper doctor, the right kind of doctor; good for him. You know, I always wanted to be a doctor myself, when I was younger. But then I realized I didn't have the brains for it, and my pipe dream came crashing down, like a house of cards."

"That's too bad. Is that what led you into a life of crime?"

"Don't be silly."

"There's no need to bite my head off Jason. I'm just trying to be a friend."

"I don't need a friend, I need money."

"Don't worry, we'll discuss payment when we're finished discussing the project."

"I hope it's worth it," Jason leaned in closer, saying; "Because if this organization is on the up and up, I'd love to make a career out of it. I need to become a better man Marsha. The way I'm living my life right now, it's not a good way to live." For a moment, Jason became confused about his surroundings, quickly covering it with a big dopy grin that lit up his face. Moving his slim hips, trying to get comfortable on the wooden chair, giving his shaggy hair a flip, Jason said; "Is there anyone else?"

"Yes," Watching Jason carefully, Marsha lifted a final photo from her portfolio to show him, saying; "Twenty two year old graduate student Samuel Peters was hired on as an intern under the purview of Doctor O'Bannion; however, he apparently shares duties with the entire team."

Jason took a look at the young man in the photo. Samuel appeared to be your typical athletic jock type from any middle class white Canadian family, and Jason said; "And that's it?"

"Those are the main players, yes. Of course, there's government officials who are most likely well aware of what's been going on beneath the citizen's noses. But we'd rather not take that route. We don't want to be too obvious. Who knows how far they'll go in order to keep the truth hidden."

Sitting up from a slouch, now suddenly full of energy, Jason said; "I'm always up for ruffling a few feathers Marsha. It keeps me on my toes; makes life a little more interesting."

"That's why we chose you, Jason. Your application for the job was just what the doctor ordered. The situation warrants a man of your quite considerable talents."

"Which are?"

"I've read the court's description of your exploits; you are quite the actor, Jason."

"You have no idea."

"We are going to need that if we ever hope to get to the bottom of this little mystery Jason."

"So I should be looking forwards to quite a substantial remuneration, yeah?"

"Is money all you care about, Jason?"

"Pretty much, yeah."

# CHAPTER THREE

Getting back down to business, Jason said; "What else have you got for me Marsha?"

Flipping through her portfolio, searching for the next pertinent piece of information, Marsha said; "This is what we're most interested in ferreting out. There's a secret facility in the Glenmore region of Kelowna; up in the interior of the province. We don't know what is going on

up there, but we can guess whatever it is, it certainly can't be good."

"Really?," Frowning, Marsha flashed Jason a pair of grainy, black and white photographs of what appeared to be old fashioned, summer cabins, amidst a stand of Evergreen Trees.

"We need you to work your way into snagging a job at whatever this place is."

"Hmm, now how do you suggest I get an in with the CPB, Marsha?"

"My little team have discussed that. It's why we chose you as our go to guy for the job Jason."

"Oh?"

"We think, with the issues you laid out for us in your application, we may just have the solutions to some of your problems. That is, if you're up for it?"

"I'm up for it, darling. I've got to get my head sorted, once and for all."

A much older and wiser Jason sat back in his chair inside his study on Union Street, taking time to think back on the night, a few months before his younger self's fateful meeting with Marsha Bradshaw, when he'd spotted the job application posted to the door of a pub. Slightly less than six years earlier after his terrifying ordeal at The Chrysanthemum Theatre; going in search of the culprits causing him so much trouble, Jason discovered it was Luke purchasing the cases of beer, and it was Luke going to the bars and getting wasted. Unhappy about this, Jacquelyn devised a means of exploiting Luke's lush prone personality flaws to her own ends. She'd search out the low-down on which local watering holes were the best establishments for using as a base of operations for her line of work; subtly leading Luke towards one of her chosen venues in his search for alcohol. Then, before Luke could manage to make the visit to the drinking establishment a total waste, Jacquelyn would grab the metaphorical reins, and she'd go to work.

After that night in the theatre; the ability to hide secrets from one another, as well as Jacquelyn's skill at manipulating others had been much reduced. Once Luke had been made aware of what Jacquelyn was utilizing his cravings for, it was the start of a war of attrition between the pair of them. Luke learned if he drank enough before Jacquelyn was able to become aware of it, he could prevent her from taking over. He really didn't mind Jacquelyn herself, only the career she'd chosen for them. Jason, Luke and Jacob, as well as all the others making up their collective being; none of them appreciated what Jacquelyn forced them to do. Neither did they like the fact she smoked, they feared the repercussions of that, far more than anything Luke ever did.

Finding all this strife far too taxing for their anxiety prone brain, the varied members of the Bowen collective chose to spend ninety percent of their time hidden away in a better world of

their own design. Whether their existence was due to the time they'd spent inside the clink, to their body's obvious mismatch in concern to their gender, or to their brain's position along the

Autistic Spectrum, making every-day life just too hard to deal with; whatever the reason, they did exist. It didn't matter that the medical community claimed their very existence was impossible, they went on living their lives, alongside the physical world of twenty first century Vancouver. As a man on the Autistic Spectrum, all of Jason Bowen's senses were hypersensitive. Cold air felt ten times colder, hot air ten times hotter; everything was amplified to the tenth degree. A group of ten felt like a crowd of a hundred to him. His mind couldn't handle it, so ninety percent of his being remained safe and comfortable inside the world he'd built for himself, as they all took turns on the duty roster of living the present Earth life.

Jason arrived when their collective being was five years old, the boy created to be the man Jacqueline couldn't ever be. But when he'd arrived, something occurred, resulting in Jacquelyn becoming locked away in the back of their collective mind. Jason knew that imaginal realm as their Rehab Centre, where the worst parts of him were interned for however long it took for his personal guides and healers to do their work; making them better men or women. Eventually, they'd let go of their rage and their bad habits, able to once again return to the Human race and enjoy their collective life. Jacquelyn and Luke really ought to have remained inside the Rehabilitation Centre to this day. It wasn't right that they were free to rain havoc on the collective's life. But clearly, they were too strong willed and stubborn to do what needed to be done for the good of them all.

Luke spotted the job offer on the door of the bar; but Jason ripped the application from the door it had been pinned to. Life had seen fit to use one of Jason's less than stellar decisions he'd chosen to make; turning it around for the betterment of his life. As a teenager, Jason chose to surround himself with the types of peers who were scraping the bottom of the barrow in terms

of life hood expectations. His friends were fellow misfits, most of whom hailed from broken homes, parents who drank or worse; it was often much worse.

Despite his good looks, Jason's overwhelming aura of misery permeating out of the very core of his being ensured none of the good kids wanted anything to do with him. Jason tried to fit in, forever failing in the pursuit, and as a life of misery lay out in front of him, he fell in with the

wrong crowd. With these angry young boys and girls, Jason discovered a sense of deep companionship with them, joining in willingly as they engaged in what they saw as heroic acts of

vandalism and petty theft. A life once merely miserable internally began revealing itself to the

world; it all began to come undone, unraveling at its seams. All the counseling in the world never came close to touching the edge of what wrought such a torment to young Jason's soul, for he never dare breathe a word of what really tore at him.

Starting out as a follower, hanging on at the fringes of the group, over time, the others began looking to Jason as the ideas man and the instigator of many a vile plan. At some point in his misguided youth, Jason moved beyond small acts of petty larceny, growing greedy. He'd wanted it all. He'd wanted money, and lots of it. Anything that would bring in the cash with the least amount of effort, he'd do it. As long as nobody became physically injured, he'd do it. He'd even use his own body to make a quick buck. You wanted to see him get buck naked? A hundred bucks; he'd even throw in a streak down the street for the entire neighbourhood's enjoyment. He'd drawn the line at outright prostitution; he did have some self respect, after all. If only he could say the same for Jacquelyn.

After graduating from high school, where his disconsolation at the disappointments of what was his life made it so he'd just barely slid by; Jason had been given an internship as a lower rung grunt at his father's financial services business. This was where Jason had taken his criminal activities to new heights. Without his father's knowledge, Jason begun secretly advertising himself as a financial consultant, in order to lure the unwary into arrangements with him, where he would then proceed to seize his gullible clients' life savings. God, the horrified and disappointed look Jason's father wore that day in the office, watching his own son be escorted out of the building in handcuffs by the RCMP; it nearly broke Jason's heart. Jason had gone with them silently, his eyes downcast, an entire crew of financial consultants following him with their eyes. His father hadn't spoken to him for years after the fact, and after getting out of the clink, Jason felt as though he really had no one who truly cared about him anymore.

That night, Luke had been out drinking with Jason's old pals from high school. Lonely for company, knowing he shouldn't reconnect with his old trouble making pals, Jason agreed to meet up with them anyways. The decision to visit a few bars brought Luke out for the evening.

Bored of the group's drunken antics; Luke wandered off by himself in the heart of Historic Gas

Town outside the Water Front Station, gazing far down at the water below. Wandering over to

the nearby Steam Works Brewery and Restaurant, he somehow managed to walk straight into the

door, knocking himself flat onto his ass.

Drunk as he'd been, attempting to drown his sorrows in a bottle of Bailey's Irish Whiskey; Luke couldn't fail to spot the advert from the CBC. If the bump developing on his head from walking straight into the door hadn't gotten his notice, the green paper it had been printed on certainly would have. That very night, despite his intoxication, Jason had gone home, writing out all the ways his life had gone wrong. Detailing step by step, each misstep he'd taken in the game of life, the issues he needed to overcome, and the goals he needed to set for himself. The CBC wanted a sob story, and so, con man that Jason was, that was indeed what he'd given them. It was all true though, each and every word, every syllable.

Unconstrained for once in his life, Jason used the application as a means of catharsis. Pouring his heart out, he lay the bearings of his soul on the line. Like a voice in the wilderness, someone had been listening and his call for help had been answered. The Universe worked in mysterious ways; who was Jason to reject its overtures? With this new job, perhaps he'd be able to make a difference; make the world a little better than it had been before. That was his dream. He'd once had so many dreams, but real life had come crashing down, smothering a young boy's dreams; replacing them with nightmares young Jason feared would never end.

Lost in his memories, Jason was startled out of his musings by the sound of Marsha's voice, as she said; "Jason!"

Peering around the busy café', blinking at the spot of sunlight landing across his face from the half open door, Jason said; "Huh, oh I'm sorry Marsha, what were we talking about?"

Peering into Jason's eyes, Marsha said; "Are you still with us Jason?"

"I am now," Taking a sip of his coffee, Jason asked; "This government facility in the Okanagan, do you have any idea what they may be up to?"

"I know this will sound crazy Jason, but all the conspiracy pages are quite insistent it's aliens. Either that or that time travel is somehow involved. Perhaps it's both."

"Now Marsha, don't tell me you're sending me on a wild goose chase."

"I know it sounds ridiculous Jason, but we've got to be open to all the possibilities. It's the only way we can be sure to get to the truth."

"If you say so, Marsha. Tell me, what sort of proof do these conspiracy nut-burgers have to back up their claims?"

"That's our next item to be discussed," Gathering up a stack of police reports, Marsha handed the first one to Jason; he looked it over as she said; "That's from nineteen fifty four. According to Constable Norfred Fry of the East End RCMP Detachment, on a bright, sunny day at two o'clock in the afternoon on a Tuesday, a strange, inhuman creature; described as 'a bipedal manatee' chose to take a stroll down the middle of West Cordova Street. A little while after that, a group of government officials ordered the area to be cordoned off. One of them looked the splitting image to present director, Captain Billington."

Marsha showed Jason a black and white photo of a dead creature which lay at the feet of a handsome man looking to be in his mid-thirties. In the background, Jason could pick out the iconic Water Front Station; and in the foreground, several nineteen fifties era vehicles could be

seen taking their place along the curve of the road. As to the dead creature, it looked as though

some psycho had placed a leather tunic on a beached sea mammal; and then shot a bullet through

the area analogous to a man's forehead. It brought to mind tales Jason had heard, of medieval

charlatans doing bizarre things with animals, making them appear to be Unicorns or Mermaids. When all was said and done, the Manatee was said to be one explanation for ancient mariner's tales of Mermaid sightings. Of course, the animals did not have feet like Humans, nor would they be able to survive for long on land.

Marsha placed the recently taken photo of Captain Billington right next to the older photo for comparison. Peering at the photos in confusion, Jason said; "It's the same guy. No, it can't be; too much time has passed. This isn't right. What's going on, Marsha?"

"It's the same man, Jason. The same man, fifty nine years later. But he's only aged about a decade and a half. Is he an alien with an extremely long life span, or is it time travel? You be the judge of that. Which do you think it is Jason?"

Stunned, the implications to this enormous, Jason said; "We've got aliens in the government."

"Scary thought, eh? Hey, maybe not, perhaps he's a time traveller."

"I think I'll believe in aliens, before I'll believe he's popped in from the nineteen fifties, Marsha."

"Yeah, me as well Jason, but hey, if we've got proof of one alien, what's one more?"

"This guy's running a government agency, Marsha."

"Scary, at least he's doing good work; we can't fault him for that."

"What's this then?," Gesturing at the black and white image of the still creature that lay dead at the captain's feet; a pool of blood congealing beneath its head, the lack of colour making it all the odder, Jason said; "That's not what 'good work' looks like to me, Marsha."

"He doesn't look happy about the creature's death either Jason. Not to mention this pertinent piece of information." Retrieving the police report from Jason's hands, Marsha began to read from it; "Officer Fry reports the group proceeded to get into an argument over the fate of the creature. The Hispanic fellow had been attempting to communicate with it; his betters demanding he shoot it right away. Refusing to execute it, Commander Bertram Russell forced his hand by holding a rifle to the fellow's temple. Forced to do the unthinkable, the fellow quickly shot five consecutive bullets point blank, directly into the creature's brain."

"Poor guy."

"Poor dead creature," Pensive, Marsha added; "It's sad to think these sorts of things were going on right here in Canada as late as the nineteen fifties. There's something about the military that seems to destroy the ability to be merciful. It's state sanctioned murder; and society will never move forwards until our species gets a handle on that; evolve past the willingness to kill others of our own kind. In this particular case, it wasn't another Human, so it's a little different. But if it was an alien, it was clearly a sentient being."

Jason listened for a moment to the news broadcast which had come onto the shop radio, as talk of the upcoming Leadership Convention soon to be held in the city was barely discernable over the loud racket of the other customers. His mind was somewhere else though, devising a hypothesis on his own variable psychology. After a moment, realizing he'd been staring off into

space for quite a while Jason told Marsha; "Sorry. You know, I've read a lot of Biological

Anthropology textbooks; there was a lot of information about Humanity's similarity to other

primates, how killing members of one's own species really is an aberrant trait in our cousins. If a

chimpanzee goes on a killing spree of other chimps, it's really abnormal. So our penchant for war truly is psychotic."

"I think it's because there's become too many of us, and there's such an over population that fighting is our instinctive reaction as means to thin the herd."

"Sure, but Humanity has been killing one another off even when our population was merely in the millions, so that can't be all it is."

"You know how we'll know the answer to that? One day, hundreds or thousands of years from now, when we begin creating colonies on distant planets; we can wait for the population to naturally increase over the generations, and see how many people it takes for violence to begin

breaking out. Then we'll know how low the Human population is meant to be."

Sighing, placing his hands together behind his head as he leaned back against the wooden chair, Jason said; "Well that does us no good now, does it?"

Peering down at the police report she had before her, Marsha began reading from where she'd last left off; "The officer goes on to describe how he stood back and observed the group as they lifted the dead creature into their vehicle, which he claims was wearing some sort of weather beaten leather tunic, saying that 'The executioner was like a dead man, the light had gone out of his eyes, and there appeared to be no one home'."

"I know the feeling."

"The others apparently had to do all the heavy lifting themselves, as their underling stood there in the middle of the street, off in his own little world. They'd pulled him over to the vehicle, basically shoving him into the back seat once they were done; so torn up was the fellow. The second report is from just after the turn of the millennium." Marsha flipped through to the next police report, after returning the other one to its place in the portfolio. She found a photo of Captain Billington pulling up to an accident scene in a nineteen sixty seven orange Roadster; once again placing the most recent image of the director to the side. The man barely seemed to have aged at all. The photo looked more like it had been taken perhaps three years ago, not more than a decade past. The one big difference Jason could see was in the man's weight. The captain had put on quite a sizable amount of bulk over the past thirteen years.

Gesturing to the second image, Jason said; "It looks like responsibility clearly does not agree with him. Captain Hottie has morphed into Captain Lardy."

"Be nice now, Jason. Who knows how old this guy really is."

"Or where he's from."

"That'll be your job. We need to know what this guy's story is; I bet it'll be a beauty. Getting back to the topic at hand, this report details the events of an accident scene occurring at the corner of East Hastings and Main. Beat Cop Rick Solomon of the Down Town East End RCMP Detachment was there in attendance, after a woman was sideswiped by a passing car. She apparently just ran into the middle of the road. Thankfully, she managed to survive relatively unscathed."

"Thank God for small mercies."

"Quite; giving her report to the paramedics, the woman stated 'she'd stopped to offer her assistance to a sick man she'd found, literally lying in the gutter.' So horrified by the man's emaciated, inhuman features was she, it sent her running and screaming in terror right out into the street, where she'd been struck by a passing car."

"God."

"The report goes on to state that the unfortunate individual spotted lying prone in the gutter was suffering from both a case of massive malnourishment, as well as a serious case of withdrawal sickness from an addictive substance. Beat Cop Rick Solomon describes the man as 'huddled in a dirty grey sweatshirt, his arms shaking from the cold, from the withdrawal sickness of whatever demon of the streets had him in its grips or perhaps the hunger'. He goes on to say; 'I will never know for sure what ailed him, but I do know one thing for sure. There was something not right about this wretched creature giving cause to this woman's injury. There was something otherworldly about this shivering fool; I had a feeling I knew of someone very much interested in this particular specimen of outer space refuse. Without further ado, I put a call in to our esteemed local CPB operatives, awaiting their arrival'."

"I'd hate to see how this cop would have described me a few years back. Heck, I'd hate to see how he'd describe me now. My present activities aren't always all that respectful."

"Don't die Jason; then you won't have to worry about cops talking disrespectfully about you, problem solved!"

"That's real funny. You've got a real biting wit to you, don't you Bradshaw? But, I don't even mean that. Once you've got yourself a record, and spent time inside, the cops will always continue to watch you like a hawk. They've got their beady little eyes on you. They might as well have eyes in the back of their heads. It's eyes in the skies, man."

"Come off it, Jason! I think you're being a wee bit paranoid, don't you think?"

Jason smiled a dangerous smile, it was the sort of smile promising dangers to be found up ahead, if one weren't careful, saying; "Is that it?"

"There's more. The Officer continues with 'Moments later, as Captain Billington stepped out of his orange Roadster; Doctor Desmoire in tow, the first thought I had was that the vehicle was a rather ostentatious choice for use on the job. But what do I know? I'm just a beat cop, not a highly respected captain heading an elite provincial research organization. If the man wants to zoom around the city in a ridiculously ostentatious orange Roadster, making a spectacle of himself, who am I to make snap judgments?'" Jason chortled as Marsha shushed him, continuing with; "'However, in my humble opinion, it's rather rich for a man who by all reports, has made it his stated ambition to 'cut away the fat from the CPB's bloated budget'; to show up in the poorest neighbourhood in the city, driving a nineteen sixty seven Roadster. But that's just my humble opinion'."

Eyeing the corpulent man in the picture, Jason said; "I see where the fat went."

"Jason, that's enough!"

Jason looked contritely down at his lap, saying, "Sorry." Unable to hold onto this false façade for long, he quickly burst into chortling laughter, saying; "I'm sorry, I know I'm a tad immature for my age, but sometimes I just can't help it." Marsha gave him a long look in response, causing Jason to turn away, facing away from her in his seat, drinking his coffee in silence.

Weary of Jason's antics, Marsha said; "Come on Jason, we've got business to get too. We don't have time to waste on your Prima Donna act." Pouting, Jason turned back to face her, and she said; "Good boy."

Gracing her with a little boy smile, Jason said; "What happened with the junkie, was he even an alien, or merely someone with a facial deformity?"

Checking the report, Marsha said; "It doesn't say, just that the two men from the CPB did their best to make the man comfortable, carrying him over to the Roadster; driving off after placing him on the back seat. Then we have this." Marsha placed a financial spreadsheet in front of him.

"What's this?"

Placing a manicured fingertip atop the spreadsheet, Marsha said; "This is a cost analysis breakdown of the funding going into the bureau. You'll notice here, and here." Jason looked to where she was pointing, clearly delineated by the boldly marked, 'Ottawa Holding Facility'. "This is something we should look into."

Reading through the list of items listed underneath the previous heading, Jason asked; "What is the Ottawa Holding Facility?"

"I have no idea."

Skimming through the entries designated, 'Residents', 'Medical', 'Food Services', 'Therapeutic Rehabilitation' and 'Leisure Services', Jason said; "It's clearly some sort of prison; I know prisons."

"There is that," Retrieving the spreadsheet from Jason with a knowing look; Marsha placed it back inside her portfolio, closing the clasp as she said; "I guess we are pretty much done with the basics." Leaning in close, Marsha said; "Let's talk specifics, you're going to need a reason for getting in contact with Miss Longfellow. You brought up several issues on your application you told us you'd like help with; issues surrounding your identity as well as a dependence on alcohol. It seems your real problem is getting access to talk therapy you can afford." Jason nodded in silent agreement. Taking a sip of coffee, Marsha asked; "This other person you become, her name's Jacquelyn right?" Jason nodded, Marsha asking; "Can you tell me a bit about her Jason, if you don't mind?"

Smiling sadly, Jason said; "Jacquelyn sees herself as a woman mostly into other women. Unfortunately, she likes men just enough to be willing to use our body to provide a service to

paying customers. I hate it, I really do." Jason bowed his head in mournful contemplation.

"We'll get you straightened out Jason, don't you worry, no pun intended."

"Of course," Jason's next words were quietly subdued and full of shame, saying; "Normally I'm out for the count while Jacquelyn's busy entertaining a client in our home. But sometimes I'll find myself suddenly slammed back into executive control of the body, and I'll be left there having to go along with it; give the trick what he's paid for. The client's paid good money for my system's services; far be it from me to disappoint."

"I'm so sorry Jason."

"It's nice to finally have someone to talk to about this, I'm grateful Marsha; really."

"I'm glad I can help."

"I've got to find a way to put a stop to all this Marsha, it's getting worse all the time. Jacquelyn wants the body to reflect the fact she's a woman. She wants the breasts and the hips, the soft skin and the smell of a woman."

"How does a woman smell, Jason?"

Grinning like a predatory shark descending quickly on its next meal, Jason said; "Come here Marsha and I'll tell ya." Marsha pushed Jason gently away as Jason added; "I've got to tell you Marsha, I'm scared, I really am. I don't want any of this. Jacquelyn's stronger than me, and if I'm not careful, I could find myself blacking out for months, only to come back to find she's started us on the transition process. I've got to find a way to nip this thing in the bud, once and

for all. It's my last chance, Marsha."

"That's why I believe you are a great fit for this position Jason, and I believe in you. I believe you can get better, and you can rein in this other part of you; get Jacquelyn the help she so urgently needs, so she'll no longer feel the need to prostitute herself. You'll manage to get her

to start working with you, not against you; she'll see there are good things about life, you'll see."

Handing Jason a business card, Marsha said; "Here's the direct line to Miss Longfellow's business number; if you could call to make an appointment with her as soon as possible, that'll

get the ball rolling; both on the investigation end, as well as the treatment front."

Checking the front of the card; Jason saw that the letters 'CPB' were in bold, the name 'Brittany Longfellow' followed by her phone number, below, and he said; "Alright."

"Then, if you could contact us before you go meet up with her face to face? We'll have some paperwork for you to sign, as well as some electronic tech you'll need to find a way to place unobtrusively onto Miss Longfellow's person."

"You mean like a bug?"

"That's right, it'll pick up both audio and visual. Just stick it onto the back of her coat or something; she won't even know it's there."

"Cool, I'm liking this plan more and more."

Standing to gather her things, Marsha said; "It was good meeting you Jason." Extending a hand; Jason shook it.

Giving her a wink, Jason said, "Likewise, good to meet you Marsha."

Stopping in her tracks, Marsha told him; "Remember; call as soon as you are able." Smiling; Jason graced her with a mock salute as Marsha, stood as still as a statue, seemed to come to the realization she'd forgotten an item of great import. Waiting for her to go on, Jason gestured as she said; "Oh before I forget, I have some items for you to look through, when you have the time."

"Oh?," Retrieving a handful of Xeroxed copies of government records from her black leather carrying case; Marsha handed them to Jason to read. Glancing down at the printouts, Jason glanced back up at Marsha, asking; "What's this?" The top sheet had the name 'Doctor Reginald Desmoire' at the top of a write up on the aforesaid man, as well as a small, online icon sized, head shot of him at the top left hand corner of the sheet.

"Those are the public records for the city based hiring's at the bureau for the past ten years. That should tell you all the basics for the people you'll be getting to know."

Quickly glancing once more at the top sheet, then back up at her, Jason said; "Okay."

"Oh, and Jason?"

"Yes?"

Smiling pleasantly, Marsha said; "I believe in you." Satisfied she'd said all she needed to say, Marsha turned around and walked right out of the coffee shop.

Jason watched her go, and off she went, getting into a parked car near the curb. It was white, and if Jason were not mistaken, a Honda Civic of an unknown year. Drinking the tail end of his coffee, he numbly watched the car zoom off. Once she was gone, he started in on his readings of the company bios, endeavouring to learn just what made these people tick.

# CHAPTER FOUR

Concluding his readings of the public records, taking in a deep refreshing breath of the cool, coastal air, Jason exited the café'. A cool autumn breeze blew leaves from nearby trees coated in their autumn shades of orange and yellow. Glancing over his shoulder across the square; Jason gazed towards the mock coliseum style building housing the Central Library.

Ahead lay the IGA Market where Jason liked to buy his groceries, to the right, he could see the Cambie Street bridge; the Science World dome reaching high above it, sat on the old Expo 86 grounds. Jason had been only a year old when the exposition came to town; he hadn't had the chance to personally experience the extravaganza first hand. His older brothers told him all about it, describing in great detail the 3D IMAX images of Canadian Geese flying high above viewers' heads inside the theatre, as well as the Colour Wars clip of the four major shades of the palette; a clear metaphor for Human diversity in action, even if there were no such thing as a blue skinned Human. Jason remembered his eldest brother telling him how he'd gazed in rapture at the glass enclosed mummy of the Pharaoh Ramses, he didn't know which one; falling forwards to accidentally kiss the glass. One thing Jason could say about his brother, he'd given the dead ruler his due. Jason would love to have seen that.

Passing by the newspaper dispensers by the edge of the road, Jason gazed out at the early morning flow of rush hour traffic, headed towards the financial district to the southwest. An

oversized semi-trailer rumbled past, it's tailpipe dragging noisily along the pavement. Wincing,

Jason wrinkled up his nose at the stench of exhaust fumes released; dark hair caught up in a light

breeze; the scent of the Pacific Ocean travelling far inland, on the crisp, urban air. The shoreline

was only a few blocks away. The headline gracing the cover of the newspaper in front of him

catching his interest, Jason dropped a coin in the newspaper dispenser, purchasing a copy of the

day's 'Vancouver Province'. Continuing on his way, Jason passed an elderly woman out for a

walk with her tiny, fluffy white dog; granting Jason a friendly smile before heading off in the

opposite direction.

Returning the smile with a friendly greeting of his own, Jason said; "Nice day, isn't it ma'am?"

Heading southwest, among the tall buildings of midtown Gas Town, Jason found his path temporary blocked by a greedy crow; swooping down to peck at an empty Subway Sandwich

wrapper. Jason stood for a moment, watching the urban scavenger peck at the wrapper with an

amused grin. Deducing that the bird had absolutely no intention of moving along any time soon,

Jason gestured at it, saying; "Get out of here, you furry blighter." Despite Jason's command, the

crow did not appear to care what the silly Human thought of his morning pursuits. Sighing, Jason

gave up on this fruitless pursuit; walking around the tiny, black creature. Waving crazily at no one in particular, he said; "Adios, my furry amigo!"

On Jason walked, headed nowhere in particular, the thought of perhaps quenching his craving for a beer foremost on his mind. Darn Luke and his incorrigible unwillingness to stay sober. Alcohol had been Jason's solace from the world; ever since the age of fifteen, when he'd realized the occasional drink would appear to take all his troubles away. Upon entering the criminal justice system as a felon, Jason made a concerted effort to go dry. He'd managed to stick to his resolution for a good long three years, until Luke managed to sabotage them all. While Jason made a concerted effort to attend the occasional AA meeting throughout the last six years, Luke had no interest in giving up his crutch. If they ever wanted to get their life under control, they'd have to begin working together for the benefit of the common good. Those of them whom had the power, needed to step up to the plate, stop thinking only of themselves, and do the right thing for the community making up their collective being.

Heading towards the heart of Historic Gas Town, Jason passed West Hastings; continuing down Richards Street. The surrounding area always made Jason feel as though he'd fallen through a time warp into the very early part of the last century. Down the way, the green marble steam clock sounded its pips. The clock marked the spot once dead centre of the city's skid row during the mid-point of the last century. It was still a work in progress, even now more than four decades after the area had begun gentrification. With every decade that passed, the heart of the

city's pit of hell moved farther and farther east.

Now, thirty seven years further a field, as a much older and wiser, as well as a kinder Jason Bowen pondered the ways his life had once been; he knew the patch of land carrying the taint of hell would continue to be pushed further and further eastwards, until one day, perhaps centuries from now, it would be outside the present city limits. Throughout the city's history, skid row passed from Yale Town to Gas Town to the intersection of East Hastings and Main; and now, halfway through the twenty first century, the hell zone was centred at East Hastings and Commercial Drive. His son Ben did the best he could to help the street kids finding their ways

down there; the children that fell through the cracks; unwanted by all but street gangs and pimps.

It was a losing battle; there would always be children that were mistreated and unloved, born to

parents who were reprobates down to their very souls. That was the problem with free will,

individuals could choose to be cruel, despite everything.

Back then, close to four decades earlier, the darkness grabbing a stranglehold of the five block radius centred on East Hastings and Main, still managed to send its dark tendrils out into the rest of the city. Over the last few years the neighbourhood surrounding Historic Gas Town played host to a mostly hidden to the general public, but well known to those in the know; brutal gang war. More than that, the area led people to desperate straits, plying their trade with the only thing

they owned- their own bodies. Young men and women could be found wearing revealing clothes,

trying to make a quick buck, both at night, as well as in broad daylight. Jason knew all too well

this side of life.

The block had been redesigned in decades past specifically to attract the millions of tourists lured to the portside city each year. One couldn't throw a pebble more than half a foot, without hitting the lens of someone's camera. The neighbourhood was a historian's dream. The architecture was designed in a glorious mosaic of the varying styles finding such prominence throughout the twentieth century, and perhaps just a tad into the early twenty first. Nineteen twenties black stonework intertwined seamlessly with the red brickwork of the nineteen seventies.

Across the street, The Harbour Centre, a modern shopping mall, was positioned directly off the walkway. A city transit bus pulled up to the stop at the corner; a crowd of commuters waiting impatiently. Across the road from The Harbour Centre was the Water Front Station. Originally built in nineteen ten for use by the Canadian Pacific rail line; it was now primarily in use as a Sky Train terminal; its neoclassical architectural style lending the area a sense of Edwardian class. Across a pay parking lot overlooking the brilliant blue waters of the Pacific Ocean was the Steam Works Brewery and Restaurant. Despite its historic appearance, it had in fact only opened in nineteen ninety five. Jason adored the eatery's stuffed crab mushroom appetizer, um hmm.

The neighbourhood was the very definition of class integration. Intermixed with million dollar condos set above guarded underground parking facilities were the very last government owned single room occupancy hotels. To those living in the surrounding area, the local homeless population maintained a soothing balm of familiarity. Walking down these streets, the same

individuals could be found staking out their small piece of pavement, day after day, evening after evening. There was the long haired fellow with the gorgeous brown hair, his sick old dog spending all his time sleeping; like sentries, the pair sat constant watch over the Water Front Station, man and dog's inner beauty shone out for all to see. This was not just Jason's opinion; many a kind hearted stranger took time out from their busy day, or part of an evening, to sit with the man; keeping him company. Two men blew bagpipes at deafening levels, quite nearby. The jury was still out whether their music was beautifully stunning, or just a lot of loud racket. Jason was of the former opinion, but many a business man heading home from an exhausting day at the office was known to complain about the noise. There was the man who slept beneath the Granville Square overpass, the green marble plaque announcing to the world- 'Welcome to Historic Gas Town'. A little further down, outside the Starbucks across from the steam clock, sat an artist revering Davinci; painting his version of the Mona Lisa day after day. There was a thin line between genius and madness; those with a creative eye falling all the more further along that line. Close by, stood a busker with a guitar; although his talent with the musical instrument could not be surpassed, his voice had much to be desired.

There was such beauty to be found even in the worst of situations. Even the addicts had their own sense of inner beauty, hidden beneath the sickness and the horror of the injury they caused to their bodies on a daily basis. The container housing their souls may be battered and bruised, but inside their essence remained untouched and pure as the day they were born. The life path of those souls choosing the lessons of addiction, had to be one of the hardest paths to choose. Jason knew some of this to be true, for he knew deep down in his very soul; his own path was full of twists and turns. Temptations lay along the garden path throughout Jason's life, criminal acts he'd once taken too far, compounded by his love for the bottle, all in an attempt to squash once and for all, all those hidden secrets he fought so hard to ignore.

Soon, despite his best intentions Jason found himself propelled through the door of a low class public house, kitty corner to Richards and historic West Cordova Street. It was out of his control; Luke was up to his old tricks; and for once Jason just wished he had the luxury to be his own man; the others were truly driving him around the bend. Still maintaining executive control of the body; Luke took control of the motor functions, impelling Jason to simply go with the flow.

As Jason headed up to the bar, the greasy haired bartender looked up at his latest paying customer, saying to Jason; "What can I get for you sir?"

Taking a seat at the bar, Jason said; "Give me a light Mint Pina Colada, with a lemon wedge." He smiled sadly at the bartender, whom returned the smile.

"You've got it! That'll be one light Mint Pina Colada with a lemon wedge coming up; I'll have that ready for you in one moment sir." Jason gave him a mock salute, the bartender chuckling good-naturedly; returning with Jason's drink a moment later, saying; "Here you go sir; if there's anything else you need, anything at all, I'll be happy to provide it."

Jason nodded, a little uneasy in the man's presence, saying; "Right."

Jason took a moment to look around the pub. This was just the place that Jacquelyn would thrive in. Here, with the walls plastered with old posters for cabaret acts, and a notice board announcing the weekly transgender support group at the Three Bridges Medical Clinic; not to mention the two men kissing in the far corner, this was certainly a place where Jacquelyn would be in her element.

A moment later, a friendly voice called out; "Jackie baby, nice to see you, sexy girl."

Jason turned and squinted in the dark room; the alcohol beginning to dull his senses. Coming towards him was a slim but muscular, tattooed man of average height. His head was shaven, and he was perhaps just a few years older than Jason. Giving the man a nod, Jason said; "How's it going?" As Jacquelyn whispered the man's name in Jason's inner ear, Jason quickly added; "Mike."

Taking a seat next to Jason, Mike gave him an odd look, clearly confused by his sudden change in demeanour from the one he was more used to getting from Jacquelyn, saying; "Are you working baby girl? I thought maybe the two of us could have a bit of mid-morning fun, are you up for it?" Mike placed a friendly hand on Jason's left bicep.

Carefully removing the man's hand from his shoulder, Jason feigned disappointment, saying; "I'm going to have to take a rain check on that offer for the time being Mike. I'm moving up in the world, I'm on the fast track to a better life."

Mike chuckled, asking; "How drunk are you Jacquelyn?"

Jason raised a brow, saying; "Less than you'd think."

Laughing, Mike stood, saying; "It was good seeing you Jacquelyn, maybe another time eh?"

Nodding, Jason watched Mike turn on his heels and head towards the back of the pub where a pool table had been set up; a few of his friends standing around it. Zoning off, Jason took another look around the pub. Mike was in the corner, playing pool with a couple of biker chicks and their bearded tough guy boyfriends. A gaggle of Indo-Canadian and South East Asian men and women came and plopped themselves down in front of the far end of the bar.

Catching the eye of a pretty Japanese waitress busy scrubbing down a nearby table; taking a large gulp of his drink in order to gather some liquid courage; Jason headed across the pub to her side, saying; "Hey there sweet thing, I'm Jason." Jason gave the pretty little thing a wink.

Continuing to wash down the table, she gave Jason the brush off with a classic 'hands off, buster' expression, much to Jason's great disappointment, saying; "I'm Narisse, and I'm working."

"Sorry," Heading back to the bar, Jason took a seat, wishing a black hole would see fit to open up right then and there; swallowing him whole. Ducking his head, Jason looked back covertly at Narisse as she continued to work. Smiling shyly, he wondered what he'd have to do in order to woo a sweet honey like that.

A shout came from the end of the bar. The group of men and women sat there were chugging down shots of Scotch; chanting; "Chug, chug, chug, yes!" Jason turned to watch them.

"Now you go," One of the men handed a half full shot glass to a woman. Taking it in hand, she downed it all in one go.

"Wooo!"

With that, Randall, one of Jason's more responsible aspects, gave him a nudge, saying; "Time to get a move on, Jason my lad. Let's go, get up." Stepping away from the bar, Jason took one last glance over at pretty Narisse; walking out of the public house. Whispering in Jason's ear, Randall said; "Good boy."

With Randall nipping at his heels like a dog on a leash, Jason began to head home. Lost in his thoughts, time seemed to pass him by, and Jason soon found himself heading down West Pender Street, in the heart of China Town. Suddenly, the quiet was broken by the loudly shouted derogative; "Faggot!"

Spinning in shock and anger, and just a bit of fear, he was suddenly drenched in ice cold root beer; a car full of hooligans shouting the dreaded derogative at him, out a passing car. The now empty can that hit Jason across the side of the head, came to rest on the pavement beside him. One of the youths in the back seat; looking to be around eighteen or nineteen years of age;

whistled, saying, "That's going to leave a bruise." Pouting at the continuing catcalls, Jason

waited for the vehicle's inhabitants to grow bored of the game; speeding off from the scene of the crime a moment later.

The assault was enough to bring Patrick out of hiding, muttering; "Little fuckers, God!"

The three of them, Jason, Randall and Patrick stood together; Jason in the executive seat, Randall to his right and Patrick to his left; a triumvirate of seething anger. Placing a calming hand on Jason's shoulder, Randall guided him past the offending soda can, saying; "Come on;

forget about it, let's go."

The stationary object was too much temptation for Patrick; always a bit of a hot head. Kicking out hard with one leg, Patrick sent the empty can of root beer rolling down the street; coming to a sudden stop after rebounding off a tire of a parked police car. Giggling nervously, Patrick placed a hand over his mouth, saying, "Oops!"

Awarding him with a death glare, managing to make Patrick giggle all the more, Randall said; "Sometimes you act like such a child."

"I know! Isn't it fun?," Jason chortled at Patrick's response, leaving Randall no other option but to roll his eyes; Patrick muttering; "Come on now Randall, don't be such a stick in the mud."

Grinning, enjoying the entertainment the pair provided him; inside his head, Jason took hold of the both of them by the shoulders, squeezing them affectionately, saying; "I wouldn't trade this for the world."

"Fair point, although," Moving in close to speak quietly in Jason's ear, Randall said; "We've got to do something about Jacquelyn; it's not right what she's been putting us through."

"You've got that right, the bitch is going down," As Jason and Randall gave Patrick the stink eye, he just looked at the pair, not understanding the problem, saying; "What?"

Chuckling, grinning wryly at Patrick's naive misogyny, Jason said; "Crack open a textbook one of these days, Patrick. You might learn something."

Huffing in indignation, Patrick headed back inside to his humble abode where he lived a false suburban life in their mind's recreation of Middleton, Wisconsin, with his wife Angie, and his son, seventeen year old Cal. At least Angie never gave the lot of them the troubles Jacquelyn did. Patrick muttered, "You people are impossible."

Back home, in the recesses of their collective mind, Patrick made a somewhat respectful living as a successful mystery writer. His wife Angie worked from home, creating advertising copy for her employer in nearby Madison. Their son Cal enjoyed a balanced life of football, theatre, Student Council, as well as doing rather well on the academic front. He had plans to enter the political realm as part of a future career. Patrick was mighty proud of his boy and he couldn't be happier with what the three of them had created for themselves here. It was just too bad none of it truly existed on a more cohesive basis.

"Just don't let Angie hear you using that type of language Patrick. You'll be in divorce court quicker than you can say 'I'm a sexy hottie'."

Adding to Jason's missive, Randall said; "Or at least the dog house for the next week."

Jason laughed; Patrick waving their concerns away, as he stood in the driveway of his created home, saying; "Whatever."

Jason warned him, "Well okay; don't blame us when you find yourself up the creek, without any nookie."

As Patrick once again disappeared into the recesses of their shared mind, the reins were handed over to just Jason and Randall. Wrapping a friendly arm around Jason's shoulder, looking him in the eye, Randall attempted to cheer him up with; "So good buddy, let's get you home and cleaned off."

Determined to forget all about the events of the last little while, Jason said; "Sure thing."

Incidents such as this made Jason want to run and hide in his own little world. Run and hide; never to come out. He'd run and run and run; never stopping. He'd keep on running, just for the thrill of it, because he could. Because the mind was deep and never ending, like the dark abyss of space; and in his own head, he could explore the endless unknown without end.

Walking past a Korean restaurant, the tangy scent of egg noodles hitting his nose, he caught sight of a wanted poster for a scam artist on the lam. Sighing, Jason felt the guilt of remembrances past. That had once been him, in his younger days. 'Con man extraordinaire', he'd likened himself. What a fool he'd been; look where it landed him, into the Agassiz Correctional Facility, three years of hell. This deal Jason made with Marsha was his ticket out of the sex trade. If he could show Jacquelyn a better way of making a living, where they could help people, and perhaps make a difference in the world, perhaps that would be enough to get her to pull her head out of her ass long enough to stop servicing men. He darn well hoped so; because he didn't know how much more of this he could take. Jason hadn't had a girlfriend in years; he never knew what to say when they always inevitably discovered he was involved in the sex trade. It wasn't just him he needed to worry about; there were all the others in here as well. None of them wanted the sort of life Jacquelyn forced them to lead; they were all searching for their own way out.

# CHAPTER FIVE

Strolling confidently into the private lounge of the Commonwealth Protection Bureau housed in the southwest corner of the chemistry building of the University of British Columbia's Point Grey Campus on the endowment lands; Captain Cole Jacob Billington of the Canadian Navy grinned. The Garconer transplant was a long ways away from home. With a bioengineered projected lifespan of around three centuries, the interior director to the West Coast Division of

the CPB had already used up two thirds of that lifespan. Falling through time and through space,

Cole had been trapped on Earth, in his society's distant past, since eighteen seventy.

Cole could remember the day he'd been whisked out of his comfortable life he'd been living in the first quarter of the fifty second century, as though it were yesterday. At sixty years of age, his Garconer physiology gave him the appearance of a twenty year old Human male. His partner of four decades, Horatio Domini was Human, and he was aging gracefully. He may have aged four decades past what he'd once been, but he would always be glorious in Cole's eyes. That day on Incuba Five, the distant planet the pair called home for years on end; Cole headed into the city centre of the planetary capital, its name the Incubi translation for 'Unity'. Waking early that morning, just after sunrise, Cole immediately set out to purchase something extra special for his honey. Horatio hit his sixth decade of life the previous evening and he was feeling a tad down in the dumps about that fact. So Cole set out to do something about it. The morning was balmy; it always was in the city of Unity. The planet was an odd one for biological life, its environment of mostly desert landmasses forced its three primary sentient species to evolve a digestive system that did not rely primarily on the ingestion of other plants and animals.

It was cooler in the core of Unity then on its outskirts. Built amidst a cool oases in the far southeast corner of the East Coast Desert, the city core was busiest in the mornings, before the

heat of the afternoon sent its citizens indoors or underground to get out of the waves of heat

pouring in from the surrounding desert. About a hundred miles to the east, the continent of

Equanimity; half the size of North America; met up with the Danzig Sea. This, as well as other

steam heated bodies of water; it's natural volcanic vents keeping the water as warm as a warm

and relaxing bath; was where ninety percent of the planet's lower life forms made their home.

From here, a series of overland, intermixed with underground streams made their winding ways

inland towards the city of Unity, as well as the other, sparsely placed oases; dotting the

surrounding landscape.

The city was renowned for its underground grottos built out of the prehistoric caverns in which much of the water from the trickling springs eventually ended up. This produced warm pools of water, interspersed with plenty of dry granite, packed with nutrient rich soil fallen from the surface above; the occasional sinkhole allowing the sunshine to nourish the small, wispy trees growing near the waters' edge. Over time, the evolving Incubi, a once closely knit tribe making the oases their home; discovered the miles of underground caverns winding their ways through the centre of the place to one day be known as the city of Unity; would make a perfect underground home.

Over the passing eons, time would see the once peaceful, united tribe evolve into three separate but related species. This led to various disputes. The differences brought about by the forces of evolution were so immense, only a molecular comparison test would determine the truth. Two of the three species once united in common cause, took control of their new society, resolving to toughen it out on the surface of the planet. Becoming the leaders and policy makers, the Incubi of import; the Hominids and Senators left the Grotto Dwellers to pick up the scraps from what their Over-Lander cousins left behind. Over time the Incubi making their homes down in the grottos had been reduced to a slave caste, existing only for the pleasure and comfort of the Over-Landers. The Senators controlling the developing society above, took control of the grottos, converting the natural pools into Incubi made bathing facilities. All manner of debauchery was known to be indulged in in the hidden nooks and crannies of the converted showers and saunas of the underground.

This unfortunate state of systemic inequality eventually came to an end when a mysterious stranger arrived on the scene. Legend told of a man from the future, from a planet called Earth. At the time, the native populations didn't know anything at all about Earth, or anything else about the rest of the universe. At the time of his arrival, this citizen of Earth was saved from the grips of death from the elements just outside the city; taken to the nearest grotto, where the inhabitants offered him their hospitality. According to the legend, the man left his home in the early twenty first century; finding himself two millennia in the past. Being a writer, he'd found new meaning in this new society. He'd found himself amidst a world of immense change, as a new order was about to be created from the old. This man, this Human who spoke in strange ways, who had strange tales to regale his listeners with; he became the Josephus to Unity's slave

uprisings. As Josephus told of Rome's troubles, this man from another world told of Unity's

revolution. Five thousand years later, first year university students throughout the galaxy would

still be reading of the boy named Charn, whom led his people to victory. Deep beneath the ground, hidden in a grotto on the edge of the city, a young, seventeen year old Comfort Boy once

led a revolution to bring equality to his people.

Five millennia later, the same underground grottos remained, partly as bullet train stations, partly as shelter for those needing it, and partly as a historic reminder of how society had once been. Near the entrance to one of the major grottos, the city on the surface was rather reminiscent of twenty first century Vancouver. Across the street, a row of shops of all sorts lined the road. Opposite that, a vast and lovely park was laid out, the offices of the City Senate reaching high above. It was here where a space time anomaly whipped up so suddenly in a fraction of a second from the depths of creation, too quick for Cole to realize what was happening. It was too quick to make a run for it, and it was too quick for Cole to call out for help.

A much older Cole Billington entered his base of operations for the day, glancing towards the small, high window, set above the decades old, battered green couch against the far wall. A light rain began to descend, sliding down the outside of the window pane. Walking over to the coat rack, Cole removed his green naval jacket, placing it atop the rack. To Cole's right sat a long wooden meeting table with a fair number of black chairs set around it; and beyond that, there was a counter top with a Coffee Mate machine, a sink and a microwave set against the wall. At the opposite end of the lounge, another door led down a single step, into the main working area of the base. In the corner, between the second door and the counter, a printer was set up.

Heading over to the Espresso Maker, Cole proceeded to pour himself a rich and creamy, Ecuadorian Roast; the CPB's head medical officer, Doctor Bailey O' Bannion strolling on past,

saying; "Morning, Captain."  
Giving his medical officer a respectful wave as he continued on, Cole greeted him with; "Doctor."

The CPB had been up and running since it's very inception more than a century ago by the provincial government way back in nineteen ten. The dedication of the newly minted provincial university had been the perfect front for the creation of an underground military organization set up for the sole purpose of protecting the public from ultra-terrestrial forces. For the first decade or so while the organization was in existence, when the university had been located in the heart of the city, the base maintained a small building on the endowment lands, carefully hidden from prying eyes by a copse of trees. This secluded space had been perfect for the exploration into the unknown. Once the chemistry building had been ready for construction in the early nineteen twenties, the original base had been seamlessly interwoven into the new foundation. None of the students in attendance in the classrooms down the hall had been any the wiser that there was a secret government agency hard at work in their midst.  
As stewards of the Time Winds it was the CPB's, with Cole's present leadership; sacred duty to stand guard over the shifting gravity streams of unstable space-time particles. All manner of people and objects, at one time or another, found themselves in a new land, perhaps a new time. That day so very long ago when Cole fell through time and through space, he'd found himself stranded in Bellingham, Washington; his golden complexion and hair the colour of midnight setting him off as an outsider in a mostly white world.

Over the span of the next forty years, Cole made a new life for himself down in America in Fort Worth, Texas. Spotting an ad for a dispute mediator posted in the Galveston Daily News three years after he'd fallen through time, Cole headed into Fort Worth to apply for the job. His years of experience as peacemaker with the Council of the Galactic Alliance in London shone through, making him the perfect fit for the job.

A few months later, Cole came across a beautiful Mexican girl named Carmina. At twenty years of age, her father was desperate to find a worthwhile suitor for her, and Cole was just the ticket. Carmina had been working the front counter of her father's dry goods shop, trying to pass the time under the sweltering heat of a Texas Summer when in strolled Cole, looking to purchase some essentials. The rest, as they say, is history.

One thing led to another, and two years later, in eighteen seventy five, shortly after a quick wedding, Carmina gave birth to the pair's eldest son Jack. Five years later, along came their daughter Emelia, and five years after that, it was their youngest and final child, Emelio. Cole doted on them all; teaching them about his otherworldly heritage, trying to pass along his core beliefs about creating true peace. His youngest Emelio would always be his father's son; following in Cole's footsteps, trying to make the world a better place. The same couldn't be said for Cole's eldest son Jack; the consummate soldier, dying in combat in nineteen fifteen. His daughter Emelia had the typical American life, unusual only in her expected lifespan of two centuries.

Taking a job with the bureau in nineteen hundred and eight had left Cole's family feeling betrayed, like being American wasn't good enough for him, he'd rather be Canadian. Nationality hadn't a thing to do with it; it just so happened the Commonwealth Protection Bureau was a Canadian designed affair, and when Cole had been asked if he'd be interested in joining the project in order to provide his own non terrestrial perspective to the project, he'd jumped at the chance. Besides, his relationship with Carmina had begun to unravel at the seams. They'd been together for thirty seven years, and while Cole looked to be around twenty five years of age, his dear Carmina, at age fifty seven, had grown bitter at her husband's youth. Cole tried his best but it was hard to stay with a woman who'd begun to begrudge him his extended youth.

Cole built his reputation through the tail end of the nineteenth century on bringing the unlikeliest of foes together to the negotiating table; from bitter family feuds in Fort Worth, to the resolution of the Spanish-American war over in Cuba. Over time, Cole's bizarre extended youth began to become a point of conversation amongst the military brass across the continent, and when the Canadians hit on the truth that he was from another world, they'd offered him a position with the bureau.

Arriving in Vancouver in nineteen hundred and eight, two years before the base headquarters were finally finished being constructed; Cole spent the intervening years working two jobs along the edge of Burrard Inlet; working to save up for a down payment for a home, as well as setting aside some cash to send to Carmina down in Texas. In the early mornings, he'd work a tough shift loading cargo down at the docks; in the early evenings, he'd serve drinks to his fellow longshoremen at one of the best saloons in the region.

In nineteen ten the base was finally up and running and Cole joined up with the newly created Naval Services of Canada, becoming known as the Royal Canadian Navy a year later in nineteen eleven. It maintained this designation until nineteen sixty eight when it took on the title of the Canadian Forces Maritime Command, or MARCOM for short. It kept this title until August of twenty eleven, when it became the RCN once more. Cole worked hard, keeping his nose to the grindstone, and in a few years time, he'd risen to the rank of Captain.

"Hey Cole, how've you been?"  
Turning in response to his friend and colleague, Constable Sera Rasmussen, Cole followed her down into the main room, responding with a warm greeting of his own, saying; "Morning Sera; did you and Gerald have fun at the theatre last night?"

Constable Rasmussen was on loan from the Point Grey RCMP Detachment. Her husband Gerald worked in the local film industry, where he was presently in charge of scheduling shot locations for a local television series production. Sera answered with, "It was lovely. Thanks so much for the tickets, Cole. It was very thoughtful of you to remember Gerald's birthday like that. He never expected it. He was extremely grateful."  
"Actually, you can thank Pete for that. He got the tickets from a developer he's recently taken on as a new client."  
"Tell him thanks."  
"You've got it."

Cole had been with his thirty seven year old partner Pete Roschilde for the last twelve years, eight of those connected via Common Law. The pair shared a two bedroom condo together in the classy, Coal Harbour neighbourhood, overlooking the waters of Burrard Inlet. One of the bedrooms had been converted into an art studio for the paintings Cole occasionally dabbled at, as well as a space for Pete to hone his writing talent. Although Pete had dreams of one day becoming a published author, for the time being, he made a rather respectable living designing environmentally sustainable industrial facilities. He'd worked his way up through the corporate ladder, at the top development firm in the city, and he now headed his own design team, at the corporate headquarters on Burrard.

The pair met at a top end men's clothing shop on Granville Street in two thousand and one. It had been lust at first sight, then extreme affection, and finally, onto pure and simple love. Unfortunately for Cole, Pete hadn't been all he'd appeared to be. He'd put on a show, trying to

lure Cole into his hidden web of deceit, winning his heart, not revealing the truth until it was far

too late. Beneath the public façade of a beautiful art lover, both inside and out; lay the damning

truth of the nasty, misogynistic, shallow gym bunny which lay beneath. As time wore on, Pete

was becoming harder and harder for Cole to deal with. It was true what they say, beauty really is

only skin deep. Beyond his man's surface beauty and toned physique, lay the shallow visage of a

vicious, vindictive, abusive jerk.

Why Cole chose to stay with him, despite his constant stream of insults directed mostly at Cole's weight; he didn't know. Perhaps it was because he felt he deserved it, or because Cole hated the way he looked just as much as his honey did; perhaps it was because he felt he had nowhere else to go and he didn't want to be alone? Or maybe it was that nothing had gone past mere words? Mostly though, Cole believed it to be his own embarrassment, he didn't want to have to explain to all his friends and colleagues he'd been living a lie. He didn't want to have to confess to Sera the man she'd become good friends with, had over to her own house, was not at all how he appeared to be on the surface. Cole didn't even want to have to admit it to himself.  
Heading further into the main workroom of the base, Cole gave a friendly greeting to Doctor Reginald Desmoire, sat at his desk in the far right corner of the room, saying; "Morning, Reg."  
"Captain."

It was a tad gloomy in this main area, due to the lack of windows built into the foundation as a security issue. As well, the door out of the main room into the lounge was the only exit out. In case of a security issue, such as a dangerous alien needing to be contained, the main section of the base could go into lockdown, and the rest of the building could go on about its business, utterly in the dark about the events occurring nearby. Adding to this air of mystery were the series of antique Halogen lamps positioned strategically around the room, near the ceiling.

Stopping in the centre of the room, Cole lay a hand flat on a long wooden table. To his far right, Reginald's workstation had a flat screen monitor set above a computer keyboard on the right side of the desk; a photograph of his two teenage daughters, fifteen year old Victoria, and sixteen year old Mable was set against the opposite end. Reginald's wife Marissa was the eldest daughter of the reigning Chief of the local Musqueam First Nations tribe; as such, she'd been gifted with a lovely big home as part of her and Reginald's wedding gift.

Across from Reginald's workstation, another desk was set at a right angle to the first. A pile of reference books on the topic of a long forgotten, but well trod myth sat at the edge of the desk nearest to where Cole stood. A collection of file folders containing Cole's business plans for an American off shoot of the CPB, sat against the opposite side of the desk. Cole assigned the

development of a new organization run out of Fort Worth, Texas; to Miss Brittany Longfellow,

who just so happened to be stepping through the doorway behind him at that very moment.

Cole turned around as Reginald glanced up suddenly towards the entrance, calling out loudly, "Brit, good to see you."  
The bureau's sociological researcher took a seat at her workstation, placing her supply case on top of the desk, in between the file folders and the reference books, saying; "Right back at you, Doctor Desmoire."

Earning herself a Masters of Sociology at age twenty four, four years later; Brittany was hard at work on her Doctorate Study. Her background as a member of the local Squamish Nation, as well as the realization that the world was a whole lot more complex than it would at first seem; led her to design a project to search out the truth of the existence of a creature known only as 'The Undying One'. Brittany was still in the process of concluding her readings on the myth, but in a few weeks time she'd start in on the interview process of the local First Nations Elders. In the mean time, in between working on her studies, and developing Cole's Fort Worth offshoot, Brittany managed to do some excellent work in the city's East End, working evenings at the Carnegie Community Centre.

Smiling at his team, Cole gazed affectionately at Sera, whom had come in behind him. Stood across from him, the constable checked her Black Berry device for any hint of unusual police contact warranting a deeper look by the bureau. Behind Reginald and Brittany, a pair of narrow corridors led out of the main room. Behind Brittany, a row of aging photographs of those who came before led down the wall towards Cole's office, set halfway down the corridor; past that was the armoury, which thankfully was not often used. In an earlier era, when the bureau had a much closer connection to its military roots, going in guns blazing was much more likely to occur. But Canada in the early twenty first century was a different kettle of fish altogether. Given Cole's adolescent penchant for gathering super loaded, silent but deadly assault rifles during his rage filled youth, weapons gathered and utilised by his loyal Garconer followers willingly fulfilling his every abhorrent order; Cole would prefer not to have instruments of death close by. He couldn't afford to get bogged down in painful memories.

The corridor beyond Reginald's workstation led down to Doctor O'Bannion's Medical Lab on the left, and further along the corridor, a piece of technology of unknown alien origin Cole dubbed the QEF Generator, or in long form- the Quantum Entanglement Field Generator, had been attached to the wall. The QEF was programmed to realign the molecules in the area, reducing the original gradient of the flooring to a lower level, pulling quantum matter out of

nearby universes in order to add a ten percent increase to the base's square footage.

Cole discovered the QEF Generator back in nineteen twenty eight, when a small, alien craft containing a dead alien pilot crash landed in the cold waters of English Bay. Despite his origins from three millennia up the time line, the technology underlying the QEF Generator was far beyond anything Cole had ever come across in his home era. Back in nineteen twenty eight, the man who had been his superior at the time, General Tyson Montgomery assigned Cole the job of working out the intricacies of exactly how the technology worked. Never let it be said that Captain Billington was a stupid man, however the technology was the likes of which it would

take Humanity close to a million years to fully understand. Where ever the alien pilot had come

from, his species' knowledge of the higher sciences was far beyond anything Humanity could yet

grasp. Despite all that working against him, eventually Cole did manage to find a use for the

technology, even if it took him sixty years.

Beyond the generator lay a decontamination area, as well as a storage room where odds and ends from the farthest reaches of time and space were archived for safe keeping. Whistling a jaunty tune, Cole squeezed past Reginald in order to have a look at what the physicist was working on. The doctor ran a computer simulation of the region's gravity waves, which had been acting a bit odder than usual for the last little while.

Squinting at the simulation, Cole peered at the flat screen monitor. He had a feeling his aging eyes would be needing glasses in the coming years, and he said; "Do you have any idea what's causing the fluctuations in the Time Stream?"  
"I have no idea. I do however have a few theories based on modern day weather science."  
Crossing his arms, Cole said; "Do tell Doctor."  
"Do you see these patterns here?," Reginald pointed to a pair of squiggly lines centred near the apex of the simulation.  
"I see them."  
Leaning back in his chair, Reginald looked up at Cole, still staring at the screen, saying; "It reminds me of a hurricane. Perhaps the time stream works in a similar way, albeit on a massive scale, as the atmospheric patterns do here on Earth or any other planet for that matter."  
"Good work Reg, I like the way you think. The question is, which pattern is the precursor of the other, is it global warming?"  
Turning to look up at Cole, Reginald said; "How do you mean?"  
"Well, with all the tropical storms we've been experiencing along the coast the last little while; not to mention the oddest assortment of future tech has been coming through at an alarming rate; I'm just wondering if our culprit may be global warming."  
"Can you imagine the public outcry we'd have on our hands if knowledge of the gravity wells and the possible ramification to the very foundations of time itself, were ever to become public knowledge?"  
His face grim, Cole said, "Perhaps that's exactly what it will take for the nay-sayers to take the threat to the planet seriously. If the damage being caused by Humanity to this world is causing a ripple effect across the entire cosmos, then we really do have a serious problem."  
"Cole, you know I love the Earth as much as any other guy out there, but isn't it a bit arrogant to think one planet can have such a devastating effect on something as fundamentally vital to the universe as the time stream?"  
"Suppose the Earth is like a cog inside a machine. Gum one cog up and the entire engine is fucked up." Turning his attentions to Brittany, Cole saw she'd taken her laptop out of her supply case, and was now checking her schedule for the day.

Looking up from her work, noticing Cole watching her, Brittany asked; "Has Sam been in yet?"  
"Not that I've seen."  
Samuel Peters was the Bureaus' twenty two year old Intern; working most mornings, attending classes on campus during the late afternoons. As a pre-med student, Sam had a good chance of taking over Doctor O'Bannion's position as Chief Medic to the bureau once he retired a decade from now. Sam was a bit rough around the edges, but he was also a hard worker; soaking up knowledge like a sieve.  
Brittany told Cole, "I need Sam to run down to the Student Union building to find us some printer ink. We're running low."  
"I'll be sure to pass that on, if I see him."  
Smiling pleasantly, Brittany said; "Thanks, Cole. You're a peach."  
"I do try."  
With that, Cole left for his office, passing Sera as she came up the other end of the corridor, carrying a file folder of the past week's time stream fluctuation patterns in her hands. The pair shared a set of discrete smiles, passing one another; Cole entering his small, personal office, closing the door behind him. As much as Cole liked to make out he was mister convivial, showing the world around him a happy face, so much of it was just an act. Some days, the face

Cole put on, was so fake, he felt like a performer wearing a mask. This happy act Cole had going

on, it was all a show. There were days when catastrophe rained down on the city around him and

nothing could go right; he'd come home to Pete being his nasty self, and Cole would pray for a

gravity well to open up and sweep him back to his home era. Life didn't work that way; the

strands of time were like a beautiful dress, once shiny and new, now tattered and torn, their edges

fraying at the seams. The land of his birth was so far away, and so beyond his reach; Cole sometimes despaired at what life sent his way.

Heading behind his desk, Cole collapsed into his black leather chair, running a hand through his dark bangs threatening to cover his eyes. On either side of him stood tall red filing cabinets, and in front of the desk, two chairs were set out. Switching on his laptop, Cole began to peruse his email; deleting a plethora of spam encouraging him to 'enlarge his member', or wire money to a long lost cousin in Nigeria, in the process. There was a knock on the door, and Cole said; "Come in."  
"Cole."

Looking up, Cole watched Sera step quietly into the room, and he said; "Hey there Sera, what can I do for you?"  
"Cole, are you all right?"  
"All's well in my world. Tell me Sera, is it the gravity well again?"  
"It's going full throttle again Cole, the security cameras are showing images of all sorts of gear coming through."  
"Alright, have Sam suit up with the protective gear and have him go check it out. Make sure he has someone else there with him. We don't want any accidents; we've had enough of those for one lifetime."  
Backing out of the office, Sera said; "I'll go."  
"How's the weather?"  
"It's gone completely insane."  
"And the gravity well, is it on the beach again?"  
"It's its new favourite spot Cole."  
"I hope I don't have to remind you to be careful?"  
"Aye aye, sir."

Chuckling at Sera's mock salute, Cole told her; "Good luck." Sera smiled as she left the room, leaving Cole alone with only his thoughts once more. Once she was gone, Cole made a call, saying; "Pete, hey it's your honey bear. What are you wearing?"

# CHAPTER SIX

Samuel Peters gazed out across the glistening blue waters of the Pacific Ocean; a freighter passing across the horizon, a beam of sunlight forcing itself through an opening in the clouds, battling the rain for supremacy; giving Sam an eerie sense of being inside one immense car wash. Sam wore a white biohazard suit specially designed by the good folks at NASA. After that, the suit had been sent to the Shropshire Patrol Company in the small market town of Bishop's Castle along the Welsh-English border of southern England. The private security company was actually the front for a secret Crown research agency set up to monitor temporal discrepancies. Both the CPB and the SSPC were member agencies of a vast network of secret research agencies from all throughout the Commonwealth. These agencies; connected via the same Head of State, freely shared information amongst themselves. There was much more of a security firewall between agencies of the Commonwealth and agencies of non-commonwealth nations. There were some in the higher levels who would love to see the British Empire reign supreme once again.

Engineers at the SSPC added a built in time stream reader to the suit, warning of upcoming gravity well fluctuations. In this way, Sam would know whether or not he needed to vacate the area with due haste. Alongside him also suited up, was Constable Rasmussen. The constable collected debris from the time stream as it fell onto the shore of the beach. Keeping hold of a cardboard box, she watched Sam haphazardly toss various odds and ends into it as he gathered them from the shore line.

The beach itself was strewn with rocks, logs and shells; covered in slimy kelp and various other sea creatures. Sam had to be careful to not allow his trousers to slide into the pools of sea water winding their ways merrily up the beach. Past the water line, the rocky beach gave way to a forested, wood lined trail, leading onto sacred First Nation's land. Perhaps this was why the

gravity well chose this point geographically to settle itself. Then again, it was more likely the

other way around. The original inhabitants of the lower mainland may have picked up on the

fragility of the quantum foam holding the material world together in the region. They would not

have known the higher physics underlying the mathematical principles behind it, but they would

have sensed the reality, nonetheless.  
"How are you doing there, Sam?"

Sam could barely hear the pretty constable stood beside him, between the driving wind and rain, as well as the biohazard suits they both wore. Constable Rasmussen was a third generation immigrant to Canada, with a bicultural parentage of a Japanese father and a Jewish Russian mother. According to Sera, her grandmother Marla had been a Russian Jew who fled to Canada in nineteen thirty three after experiencing a series of visions of the coming war. To her grandmother's good fortune, her father made several excellent business decisions years earlier in

the shipping line he ran out of northern Russia; allowing Marla the luxury of having the ability to

apply for an Investors' Visa into Canada. Two years later, she'd met her future husband, Sera's

grandfather Bruce Slowcowski, at her local Synagogue. Bruce had been a fellow Russian immigrant, although in his case, a less well to do one. The son of a southeast Russian farmer

raising native Russian cows, Bruce wanted more for himself than the life of a farmer. Putting

together the money, eventually he had enough to set up a small farmer's market in Yale Town.

Sam didn't know anything about the constable's father; as a matter of fact, he didn't even know

if he was even in the picture anymore.

Peering at the object Sam held in his hand, Constable Rasmussen said; "What do you have there, Sam?"  
Peering at it curiously, Sam said; "I don't know."  
"Come on, let me see," The constable held out her hand to accept the oblong, silver metal object.  
Handing it to her, Sam said; "Be my guest, heck if I know what it is."  
"That's the point, Sam. We don't know what any of this stuff is. We don't know where it's coming from, and we don't know when it's coming from. It could be a billion years down the line; it could be next week."  
"What happens if we get a missile coming through here; what do we do then?"  
Gazing out across the choppy waters which lay before them, she said; "I don't know, Sam. Duck and cover, I suppose."  
A chubby sea gull chose that exact moment to fly past them, noisily expressing his displeasure at the Human interlopers whom stood near his feeding grounds. Gesturing to the silver metal object, Sam said; "Come on, put that in the box. We've got a ton of riff raff to collect. Old King Cole will not be pleased if we miss something and it manages to create some major malfunction in the city."  
"Don't call him that," Sera tossed the object into the box.  
Grinning, Sam said; "Which part, old or King?"  
"I don't suppose he'd approve of either one."  
Frowning, Sam said; "Spoil my fun. Besides, it could be worse. I could have dubbed him an old Queen."  
Dropping the box of objects onto the slimy, gritty sand, Sera said; "Sam, let's you and I get one thing straight, right now." Sam looked her in the eye, his attention held by her brusque tone, as she continued with; "Captain Billington is the Director to our little organization; as such, he deserves our full and complete respect. But even if he weren't in charge, he's an amazing man,

and he's had to go through a crap load of shit to get to where he is today. So I won't have you

talking smack about him, are we clear?"  
Gritting his teeth, Sam said; "We're clear." Grinning, he added; "You're in love with him, aren't you?"  
Her eyes widening, Sera said; "What? No! What would ever give you that idea?" Sam raised his eyebrows, clearly unconvinced, as she said; "Besides, even if I wanted anything to happen on that front, I've got Gerald, and Cole's got Pete."  
"These things can change."  
"Yes, well I'm not looking to be Billington's dirty little secret Sam, thank you very much. Anyways, I've got too much riding on my relationship with Gerald to risk it on something that

has no hope of ever going anywhere."  
"I don't know about that," Bending down to toss another object into the box behind him, Sam said; "Your loss."  
"Samuel Peters, this is not the type of conversation we should be having in the workplace."

"We're on a beach."

"I know. Believe me; I don't want Cole, as much as he'd prefer it be otherwise. I adore my husband. He's loving and giving and absolutely the man for me. Besides, Cole's nothing to write home about."  
"You don't say! You certainly wouldn't think so watching how he walks around campus like he owns the place."  
"Alright Sam, enough! Let's forget about Cole, and just finish this up," Finding another strange black object lodged beneath a rock, Sera removed it with just a bit of difficulty; dropping it into the soggy cardboard box.  
"If only it could be that easy. I just don't like the man, okay?"  
Rolling her eyes, Sera said; "That man is your employer Sam, and I happen to think he's rather sweet. Now is it just me, or do I seem to be doing most of the work here?"  
"It's not just you," Grinning, Sam hurried off to pick up a couple of objects he'd spotted a few meters down the beach.  
Turning to watch him, Sera said; "Where are you going, Sam?"  
Picking up a yellow object, Sam called back to her; "There's more down here!" Sam wandered back to where she stood, carrying a bundle of colourful objects in his hands as he did so. Dropping them into the box, lifting a hand to his chin and rubbing it; Sam fingered the small

edges of stubble just beginning to erupt through his skin. He'd been a bit remiss in shaving that

morning, and the results were beginning to show. Looking over by the water's edge, where a

truculent sea gull wrangled a tiny, red sand crab, Sam laughed, saying; "Would you look at that."  
"Nature's a vicious task master, Sam."  
"You've got that right. Are we done here?"  
Searching the beach with her eyes, the Constable said; "Just about." Spotting a narrow, silver object, she retrieved it from the ground, tossing it onto the ever growing bundle of future and non-terrestrial tech, saying; "There we go. Come on Sam, let's get out of here. I'll buy you a coffee."

Smiling, Sam said; "Alright, I'm your man." Taking the heavy box from her, Sam headed up the beach, towards the trail leading towards the campus.

Following at a quick pace, Sera said; "Don't tell Gerald." Smirking, the ocean breeze blew Sam's hair every which way.

Still sopping wet and sticky from the unexpected root beer dunking of earlier, Jason Bowen headed down Union Street, towards his home. Alone at the helm once again, Jason finally had time to himself just to think. Swatting a flying bug away from his face; the sticky soda plastered to his hair beginning to attract just the wrong type of attention; Jason watched warily as a bee flew over his head, telling it; "Get out of here, nasty."

Needing a distraction from the over stimulation the insects were causing him, Jason looked inwards to see what the others were up to. An entire universe was contained within his head; all the world was a stage. Jason continued his search for the culprit causing him so much trouble of late. That was the trouble with Jacquelyn, she was a troublemaker; always taking control when she wanted, never available when Jason needed to speak to her the most. Reaching the front entrance of his home, Jason finally managed to make contact with his troublesome head mate.

Miss Jacquelyn sat at the bar of a mental recreation of the outer city's Steam Works. Allowing Luke the luxury of taking executive control of the outside body, Jason himself strolled up to Jacquelyn's side. Other than the pair of them, the bar was empty, and Jason said; "There you are. You're a hard woman to get a hold of these days Jacquelyn, when you want to be."

Frowning, Jacquelyn peered down at the black marble floor surrounding the bar stool she sat on.

It was strewn with peanuts from the bar counter, and Jacquelyn did not appear to approve of the

mess. She took out a cigarette and lit it, taking a long and relaxing drag. Wrinkling up his nose in

distaste, Jason said; "Do you have to do that, Jacquelyn? It's right nasty."

Winking, Jacquelyn said; "Don't you worry your pretty little head over what I do on the mental plane, sweet heart. Remember this, If I keep it in here, no harm's being done to the body, yeah?"

"Jacquelyn we need to talk, man to woman."

Jacquelyn gave him a withering look, but nodded for him to say his piece, saying; "So go on boy, spit it out."

"Honey, why do you insist on putting yourself and us through this; when are you going to stop punishing yourself? Jacquelyn, it wasn't your fault what happened to you in lockup; you're not going to cease to exist if you stop being a plaything to horny men. This isn't all you're good for; we'll find something else for you to do. You just need to be patient, and work with the rest of us in here, and not act like you're all on your own."

Giving Jason a hard look, Jacquelyn said; "You're right, it wasn't my fault."

Jason grinned, happy to be getting through to her for once, saying; "Now we're getting somewhere."

Jason's relief was to be short lived as Jacquelyn threw a volley at him; "It wasn't my fault at all, it was yours Jason."

Frowning in horror as her implication sunk in, he said; "What?"

"It was your criminal acts which led to us being locked up. If it wasn't for you Jason, none of this would have ever happened."

Covering his eyes, the enormity of his youthful indiscretions coming back to hit him like a twelve ton weight; Jason spoke as though the air had been knocked right out of him, "No."

Jacquelyn snapped at him viciously, "Yes! It's all on you Jason. You were the boy who could never get enough, the boy who wanted it all, anyway he could; until he was finally stopped; until the courts had enough. Society may be willing to forgive you your past misdeeds Jason, but I'm not done punishing you for what I had to go through. I won't be done for a long while yet, a real long while."

Staring at her in horrified dread, Jason said; "No."

Jacquelyn snarled at him cruelly, "Yes! Why do you think I occasionally shove you out front when I've been in the midst of entertaining a client, eh? It's always you Jason my boy, I never do that to anyone else in here, just you. Do you ever wonder why?"

Desolate, Jason said; "God you really hate me, don't you Jacquelyn?"

"Yep."

If Jason bothered to take the time to really look at Jacquelyn, he would have realized not all was as it would appear to be. But Jason did not care to delve any deeper than the surface façade Jacquelyn put out to both him, and to the world. So he missed her true intentions, that of a lost and lonely scared little girl who only wanted to be loved; loved for her mind, not her body; trapped in the body of a man, Jacquelyn only wanted to be herself. But Jason saw none of this,

merely giving Jacquelyn a disappointed frown, saying; "Look, be that as it may, are you on board with the plan or not, Jacquelyn?"

Appraising Jason with a look of distaste, Jacquelyn said; "Considering the amount of money we'll be bringing in through this gig, I fully support this venture."

"Is that all you ever care about Jacquelyn, the money?"

"Don't you worry yourself about my reasons, boy. All you need to know is that I'll be a good little woman, and I'll behave myself." Jason gave her an unreadable look at her choice of

words as she continued with, "I'll make the call to Miss Longfellow, I'll meet up with the crew

from the CBC, and I'll take the meeting with little Miss sociologist. I've got it all in hand." Jason

spared a glance towards the imaginary bottles of wine spirits lining the back shelf of the bar. Taking note of Jason's look of extreme want, Jacquelyn got a gleam in her eye; knowing just

how to best hurt Jason the most, she said to him; "Sit down and take a load off, have a drink or

two." Shoving her face directly into Jason's space, her voice taking on a note of venom, she spat

out; "Or ten."

"It's been nice talking to you, Jacquelyn."

"Are you going to cry now Jason; do you want your mommy?" Jacquelyn grinned, but when all she could manage to get out of Jason was a penetrating stare, she added a final, pleading; "Come on!"

Giving her a withering look, Jason told her; "Good bye Jacquelyn, I've got better things to do than stand here and listen to this."

Reminiscent of a seaside turtle, Jacquelyn snapped a response; "Sure you do Jason; you are such a waste of space."

Having already gone through the door, Jason was now making his way westwards along the middle of his mind's recreation of West Cordova Street. Passing the Water Front Station, Jason spotted Luke and Tyrone playing one on one with a basketball in the parking lot. In front of the station, insubstantial citizens, creatures just as false as the city around them, their visage put into place for the amusement of the mind's actual residents; stood waiting for city transit that would most likely never come. Not unless one of the true residents of the brain got a hankering for a ride. Jason observed his head mate Boe, whom appeared to be in his early forties, and whom could stand to lose a few pounds, his dysphoria over the male body revealing itself mentally in the form of an overindulgence in food and beer; sneak up suddenly on one of the men waiting for a bus. Boe had this game he liked to play when he grew bored; feigning to be a Vampire, fangs and all. It was all in good fun; useful for transferring life force energy from one part of the brain to another.

Boe's intended victim ran away screaming, careening down the centre of the street; Boe just stood following him with his eyes, disappointed the man refused to play along. Taking one last glance at the tableaux in front of him, Jason took off down the street in the same direction the man fled; reaching the corner of Seymour and West Cordova, Jason disappeared from view.

# CHAPTER SEVEN

Inside the lounge of the CPB, Reginald heard the sound of young Samuel Peters singing in the corridor; "Old king Cole had a black heart made of coal! The black hearted king made his palace down by the bay where he dug coal out of the harbour."

Chuckling, Reginald stood beside the printer, gathering the collating time stream data he was presently using the printer to produce. Watching his colleagues stroll into the lounge in their bulky bio-suits; Reginald saw that Sam carried a cardboard box filled to the brim with technological ephemera. The pair had both removed their helmets, and placed them atop the box

Sam carried. The pair walked past Reginald; Sera patting Sam jovially upon the shoulder, her

hair in disarray. Collecting the pages from the printer, Reginald followed his colleagues into the

main room; watching Sam place the box atop the centre table.

Doctor O'Bannion stepped into the room from the far corridor. Gesturing at the box, he asked them; "What's all this?"

Constable Rasmussen flipped her dark hair back into place as she got out of the protective suit, placing it onto the table, saying; "Gravity well refuse."

Removing his biohazard suit; Sam placed it next to the other one and Doctor O'Bannion scooped them both up, setting off to deliver them to the decontaminating chamber positioned behind the medical lab. As Doctor O'Bannion left the room, Brittany Longfellow met him in the doorway. The pair exchanged a pair of shy, nervous smiles in mutual greeting, before they both moved out of the entranceway; Bailey heading out into the corridor; Brittany moving farther into the room. Brittany asked, "What did I miss?"

Following Brittany with his eyes as she headed over to her laptop, Sam said; "Not much, although I did spot a sea gull enjoying a scrumptious seafood dinner."

Sera began rifling through the cardboard box set atop the table as Reginald peered down the photo lined wall towards his employer's office; where Cole had turned on some music which

was playing quietly. It was the latest album put out by Cole's latest celebrity crush; actor and

musician, James Hollytree, star of the popular British science fiction serial, 'Irish Skies'. As the

folk music continued to play behind Cole's office door, Reginald took a moment to check his

computer for the latest readings from the campus' gravity wave registers. They remained steady

at a common base rate of two point three, meaning all was calm in the often chaotic time stream.

Turning to Sam, Reginald directed him to bring him the readouts for the same time of day, for the past week. Heading off to do just that, Sam told him; "I'll be back in a second."

"Thanks Sam."

The first day Reginald came in to work at the bureau, he'd been given a crash course in how cruel the universe could sometimes be. The poor bugger whom Cole and him had gone to help, had fallen from the stars some months before they finally managed to find him; when they did, they found him in an awful state. The Betran Andronicus had been well acquainted with Earth, having been a dignitary from the fifty ninth century who spoke of spending much of his vacation time on Earth. Reginald thought back to that awful day, around a decade ago. A certain dietary staple essential for the Betran bloodstream, just was not possible to find on Earth. By the time Cole got wind of the Betran's presence in the city, he'd fallen from his lofty heights, going from suave dignitary to street rat amidst the city's homeless population in the very core of the East End. His inability to acquire his body's dietary needs led him to desperate straits, attempting to dampen the pain of malnutrition with other, less desirable, physically destructive, and highly addictive street grade narcotics. In his sorry state which they'd found him, he hadn't long to live.

Reginald smiled, forgetting about days best forgotten for a moment; allowing himself to become lost in the relaxing chords of Cole's Hollytree album. A new song had just begun, and Reginald inadvertently found himself humming along as James Hollytree sang; "Under Scottish skies, the May Bird flies, oh what I wouldn't give to be free to see that land of my birth once again; just once before I die; where the cobblestones meet the village green. I'll fly free, just to be me. Can't you see, what it means to be me, glorious and free? That's what it's like to be me."

Reginald stopped humming along to the music at the abrupt entrance of the director into the room. He looked across the room where Cole stood, a perturbed expression gracing his corpulent features. His annoyed employer had left the Hollytree album running quietly in the background, where it could still be heard through the open office door. Swaying to the music as Cole gazed at him curiously, Reginald said; "Cole, what's up?" Chuckling nervously, Reginald ran a hand through his thinning hair.

Waving his hand about magnanimously, indicating it didn't really matter either way, Cole said; "Nothing much, I'm just listening to the music, that's all. I was kind of enjoying Hollytree's voice. You know how it is Reg."

Grinning happily, Sera said; "Does Cole have a little crush? That's so sweet."

"Shush you; let me have my fun Sera, it's not like I'll ever get the chance to meet the fellow."

"You never know, Cole. Stranger things have happened."

Cole turned abruptly towards Sera, pointing at her exuberantly, saying; "You're right, life is full of surprises, isn't it? I know my life certainly has been, up until this point." Turning to Reginald, Cole asked him; "What's up, Reg? You look like you're pondering the mysteries of the universe."

"Just about."

"What's on your mind, Reg?"

Looking up to see that Cole had stepped up close to him, Reginald answered; "I was just thinking of that poor Betran diplomat we came across a couple of years ago."

Cole nodded, his expression clouded; the memory was not a nice one, for either of them. Reginald thought back to that dreadful day. That day, as the pair arrived at the accident scene,

Reginald had seen what true suffering was. Cole said; "That was one awful day. I'm sorry that was your first introduction to an alien life form after joining our little team, Reg."

"That's all right, Captain. It's hardly your fault."

Suddenly, the captain perked up, a great big grin gracing his face, as he said; "Oh, I love this song!"

James Hollytree was warbling on about sparrows in the hen house, as he sang; "There were ten of them there, right above my head, the sky was like diamonds, the last of humanity's bred, the great and the good, all but long dead. But in the morning, the last and final sparrows had well and truly taken pride of place, amidst the roosters and the hens, with all their chicks. At the very end of the universe, with only hens and sparrows to keep us company; what will be our fate, our final destination when at last, we greet that garden gate?"

Back when the pair of them had come across the Betran Andronicus all those years ago, Reginald had seen the horror broadcast across the captain's features in the single second it took

Cole to cover up his emotions and put forth a face to the world born of too many meetings with

unappeasable diplomats whom would not be appeased with anything less than their nation at war. In that single moment, Reginald knew his employer was a good man. He may hide his feelings, appear not to care about the people and the world around him, but it was all an act. It was a force of habit born out of too many hard days when nothing worked out right. Days when tragedy piled on tragedy, days when family or friends died, and nobody was there to console him. Reginald knew Cole's cool façade had gotten him through days, weeks, months, years, decades even of untempered loneliness; showing the world a happy mask, uncaring in the face of suffering, never allowing the people around him to ever know he cared, never revealing how deeply he truly did feel.

Cole once confided to Reginald in the early days of his relationship with Pete, one evening, drunk on Brandy, that his last great love affair had been with Cecil Smith, a transgender man whom worked for the bureau throughout the middle of the previous century. When Cecil died at the tail end of the nineteen seventies, Cole had taken it badly, very badly. The nineteen eighties had been an orgy of pain, drink and a parade of men and women, all trying to get somewhere with the man, but utterly failing. From his understanding, the captain had been an absolute terror to work with during those angry, rage filled years. By the turn of the millennium, Cole's driven urge to succeed throughout the latter part of the nineties had finally drawn fruition; garnering him the position of interior director to the bureau, once the previous director, George Galloway chose to return to England in order to be close to his grandkids.

Originally from Sheffield, Director Galloway quickly moved through the ranks of the British Secret Service, serving with Ml6 for a time during the late seventies, before taking over the post of Interior Director to the West Coast Division of the CPB in the early eighties. Word was George Galloway was deep undercover on behalf of a U.K. Ultra-terrestrial\Human alliance

operating out of the Lake District of England. He was looking into some mysterious goings on surrounding the crew of Irish Skies in Cardiff, Wales.

Speaking of Irish Skies, an orchestral rendition of the eerie theme tune to 'Irish Skies', entitled 'Land of the Lost' burst out of Sera's small black leather purse. Reginald grinned in Cole's direction as Sera retrieved her phone from the bag, answering it with; "Constable Rasmussen speaking." Leaving the main room, heading down the corridor past Bailey's medical lab, she ducked into a side storage room to speak to her husband, saying; "Gerald, what's up?"

Raising an eyebrow in Cole's direction, Reginald exchanged a knowing look with his employer and mentor, saying; "It looks like you've got yourself a convert, Captain."

"We should get back to work."

Nodding, Reginald turned back to his computer. By the time the pair had found the Betran Andronicus, it had been too little, too late. He'd died shortly after coming into the bureau's

custody. Reginald thought back to how Cole agonized over finding a way to save the creature's

life, putting the entire staff of the bureau on call for three straight days and nights, working

twenty four seven to synthesize the life-saving compound the Betran's body needed so badly to

keep on functioning. For this, Cole placed Bailey at the head of the massive life-saving undertaking. It had been a lot for one man to bare, the saving of a life, it was almost too much to

bare. When the endeavour failed to bear fruit, the soft hearted Doctor O'Bannion took the failure

to heart. He'd blamed himself, for not working fast enough, for not being clever enough, for just

being himself, the one who would never measure up to the impossible standards he set for himself. Doctor O'Bannion had always been his own worse enemy, always striving for the

impossible; blaming himself for failing to meet the impossible. In everything he did, his best was

never good enough, not by half; there could always be room for improvement. In everything he

did, he was forever second guessing himself. If he'd done it this way, would things have been

different; if he'd tried that compound with this one, would the Betran still be alive? He could

never know, because one only had one shot at making the best decisions in their life.

Cole, with the help of the bureau had done his due diligence to save the life of the Betran Andronicus. But it had been too little, too late. Bailey blamed himself for his inability to find the right compound. Sera, whom Cole placed in charge of helping the wretched creature dry out, wept bitter tears over the cruelty of the universe. After it had all been over, Cole arranged a small, private funeral, open only to the select few who worked with the bureau. Each and every one of them had taken the Betran's death hard. Cole gave both Bailey and Sera the following week off. Reginald chose to fill his days with his work. That and taking extra care with his wife and daughters. He gave thanks each and every day that God sent them his way. Cole came to work each day, solemn and subdued, keeping mostly to himself, not really talking to any of them, in the days following the incident.

Stood in the centre of his large, mahogany floored kitchen, Jason debated his next move; acknowledging Luke's desire to head off towards the nearest liquor store to restock their fridge

with a few cases of Molson Canadians. Behind Jason, a screen door led out onto the front porch,

and to his left, a kitchen island had rows of mahogany cupboards along both sides, with an ivory

countertop above them. Along the wall by the door, a sink sat underneath a window and along

the far wall, a stove sat. In front of Jason sat the fridge, and to his left, beyond the kitchen lay the

hall leading towards his master bedroom and en-suite washroom. To his right lay the entrance to

the living room.

Responding to Luke's base desire, Jason sent back a quick, abrupt message to his agitated head mate, telling him; "That'll have to wait tough guy. We've got things to do, tres' importante' things."

Stood in a patch of sunlight along the promenade of Canada Place, Luke gazed out across the blue waters of Burrard Inlet, in their own personal world. If Jason cared to pay close enough

attention, he'd be able to make out the soothing sounds of the waves as they crashed against the

algae coated rocks. Luke was aware of both worlds at once, voicing his displeasure at Jason's

summary veto edict over his present desires; "I see, and what exactly are these tres' importante'

things Jason, pray tell?"

"Perhaps if you were to pay a little more attention to our collective life, and a little less playing king of the mountain in the land of dreams, you'd know what was what, Luke."

Softening his tone, sighing in resignation, Luke said; "Fine, tell me now. But just so we're clear, I much prefer my 'land of dreams' as you so aptly put it, to the life we've been stuck with, in the real world."

"I know you do Luke; that's the problem. We've got to learn to be happy with what we've been given on the physical plane, and not allow ourselves to live in a dream world of our own making where we can have whatever we want; because as long as we have that ephemeral world to hide in, we'll never learn to just accept what we've been given."

"Jason, how do you know this mental world we have access to inside our head isn't an aspect of what we've been given as well? What if this is all part of our lesson during this lifetime? We have a chance to live thirty lives in one. You know how the Buddhists believe after you die, your next life won't necessarily be on a physical world, but could be on any one of the non-physical planes; what if, sometimes the universe speeds up the process, so you live more than one life at once? Who's to say we need to focus on one life at a time; why can't we do thirty lives all in one stop?"

"I really don't know Luke; I just want to be normal, like everyone else."

"Did you ever stop to think Jason perhaps all those 'normal people' are still in grade school, and we're working on a PhD? Consider the popular kids in high school; they focus all their energy on being just like everyone else so they can't do anything unless their friends approve, and then they graduate and they end up working at McDonalds for the rest of their life. They never achieve a thing other than adding to the over population problem. Meanwhile, you have the kids who have enough self-respect to focus on their own needs, and they focus on their studies; they manage to make something of themselves. One of those kids may one day find the cure for Cancer."

Heading into the living room and switching on the big screen television set, tuned to CNN, Jason shot back a response; "Well, we don't seem to be achieving much at all Luke."

"I wouldn't say that, we could say Jacquelyn's providing a little bit of happiness to her clients, even if it's not much."

"Luke, she could do real good in the world, if she'd just get her act together."

"People like us are just more sensitive to society's failings. We're the canaries in the coal mine; we're the air raid siren, warning others something just isn't right. But do they heed the warning; realize things need to change? No, they continue to go about their lives, merrily ignorant to the dangers of their sick society. It's like they've all got Stockholm syndrome; and the others, the ones like us who are unable to turn a blind eye to society's imperfections like the other ninety nine percent, we're ostracized for it." Lying down on the white, faux leather couch set against the light blue wall, Jason placed a hand atop his forehead, his head aching as he listened to Luke continue his mental rant; "All the great achievements in this world, who do you think developed them Jason; the normal, extroverted popular masses, or the ones who stuck out like a sore thumb? I'll give you one guess; and think about this, every soul out there is really part of every other soul; but we're all playing a game, we're pretending we're really separate. Normal people haven't yet become reconnected with that conscious knowledge that we never have been separate. They desperately try reconnecting with the rest of that single cohesive being through

following the herd. People like us, we already know we've always been connected, we don't

bother even playing the game. The others; they don't like that, they try to change people like us,

claiming we're an epidemic needing to be destroyed. There's an emotional genocide being

perpetrated against people on the Autistic Spectrum, with the masses just going along with it. It's

disgusting. We're the evolution of mankind; the old guard wanting the species to remain the

same, coming up with all sorts of bizarre beliefs, such as the vaccine scare. They forget species

evolve through a series of mutations. For every positive change, there are hundreds of less

pleasant changes; perhaps the massive increase in the Human population occurring over the past

century or so, allows for statistically greater evolutionary variation in the Human genome. While

over population is a worldwide problem, perhaps over the long term it will lead to a better

Human, one able to go out there into the universe and survive. We're the future of the Human

race. Think about it, people on the Autistic Spectrum are less likely to judge others for not fitting

into society's expectations, therefore we're the perfect fit for making a journey to the stars."

"The only way I'd willingly leave this planet is if some asteroid were about to smash it to smithereens."

"I'm not surprised about that at all Jason. You don't even want to fly in a plane, let alone a space ship."

"That's only because I saw that made for TV movie about the plane that lost its air pressure over the Pacific, and the passengers got sucked out." Jason shuddered, just thinking about it, adding; "Plus, flying kills my ears."

"Oh the vagaries of the modern age."

Sitting up, Jason grabbed the television remote control, switching the channel to Bravo, running an episode of the Vancouver based 'Intelligence'. Behind Jason lay the entrance into the kitchen, and towards his right, another front entrance led out onto the yard. A few low bookcases were placed alongside the walls of the room, stacked with books on innumerable subjects. One of these bookcases was set beneath a small window to the right side of the door.

Continuing his tirade, Luke said; "It's the same thing with the gender issue. Parents demand femininity from their daughters and masculinity from their sons. Leaving the child as they are just isn't good enough for our modern society. The sad thing is it's all driven by popular culture and capitalism. A hundred years ago, young children all wore white. There was no 'pink for girls, blue for boys' shtick. Along comes the royal family with their plans for their new nursery. The princesses were getting pink, the princes-blue. Everyone wanted to emulate royalty. That's how that all began. Then the toy companies realized they could make more money by convincing parents they needed to buy two separate loads of toys for their sons and daughters. For some reason, they believed it, hook, line and sinker. Not only did the parents believe it, but the children did as well. They grew up to pass it on to their children, and it gets worse with each generation. Who has the most money? The upper classes, the people who want to view themselves as the aristocracy; it all trickles down to the lower income levels. The upper classes have always been more invested in the binary gender system; now it's gone on to include everyone. Sometimes, the child resists going along with the game, people on the spectrum can see right through all that, and so society's lies don't work on them. It's hard to play a role you know is all an act, and once again, you're ostracized for not being able to play the role. The more sensitive you are, that ill wind permeating throughout society's environs, the sicker it makes the canary. But instead of society making a change so individuals don't get sick enough in their dysphoria to resort to hormonal and surgical methods to change their appearances, they just continue onwards with the status quo, refusing to acknowledge that their binary gender expectations are making people ill."

Jason grew tired of this; every other part of him suffered for their inability to know how to find their own happiness. In his inner core, he wanted to have the body of a woman; Jason knew that couldn't be right. The universe had given him a male body; there must be a reason for it. He just had to figure out what that reason was and he knew that was where he'd find true happiness. The members of the Bowen collective had done so many unhealthy and improper things during their life just to cope with their misery. This misery threatened to overwhelm Jason. He needed to grant himself some respite, to find solace in the wilds of his own private world.

Aiming himself towards the Stanley Park of his mind, Jason's awareness faded into the background as Randall's consciousness came to the fore. Randall sighed at the sheer

ridiculousness which was his life. Here he was, just one of many, living his life in bits and

pieces, spending far more than half his life in the shadowy zone of the mental plane. Randall had

an unwavering sense of having the identity of a man in his mid thirties, with the muscular physique of one who did a hard days work of physical labour. His ruddy pale skin and an accent

hailing from Manchester, gave Randall an image of a man not to be trifled with. When he'd first

come to find himself living this strange, shared life, in a body not his own, Randall maintained a

subjective background of an early twentieth century dockworker. Making his home on the mental

plane's historical base of Galway, Ireland; Randall created for himself a sort of criminal gang,

getting up to minor mischief only, nothing serious. Then he'd somehow gotten involved in his

personal world's version of the troubles in Ireland. He was a bit shaky concerning this bit, life

inside didn't always make complete sense, similar to a nightly dream.

Desiring a change for the better, Randall crossed the pond to the mind's recreation of Vancouver, switching centuries while he was at it. He now worked as a bouncer at a club, and he worried what his past truly said about their collective being. So many of them developed antisocial habits; and he worried where Jacquelyn's machinations would take them. Would it lead them back into the arms of their old ways, or would they eventually manage to find themselves a way out?

# CHAPTER EIGHT

Stepping out of his office after shutting off the Hollytree album; Cole headed into the main room of the CPB. Sera and Sam were busy sorting through the box of debris, and Bailey stood off to the side, checking his Blackberry for email. Life was good, Pete was for once, his wonderful self, and the pair had an exciting evening planned. Curious to see what Sera and Sam had found, Cole stepped up between his two erstwhile employees, placing a hand atop Sera's left shoulder, asking her; "So what have we got?"

Dropping the object she'd been peering at back into its box atop the long, narrow wooden table; Sera backed up, inadvertently bumping up against Cole, sending a thrill through Cole's lower extremities, bringing little Cole to attention. Placing a conciliatory hand against Sera's left arm, Cole said, "Whoa there Sera, if you were looking to start something, you only had to ask." Cole grinned widely, as though he were the Cheshire Cat.  
"Not now, Cole."  
"What have you got there?," Sera and Sam both stepped aside to allow Cole to take a look through the flimsy cardboard box. He began rifling through the assortment of technological

curiosities, searching for anything of particular interest; finally holding up a yellow, plastic

object, peering at it in great confusion, trying to determine what it could possibly be used for.

Fuck if he knew. Giving up on that pursuit for the time being, Cole tossed it into the box.

Bailey chimed in with, "I propose we get a bell for you Cole; a big, sexy bell, so we know when you're coming up behind us."

Chuckling, Cole said; "Oh good riposte, Doctor. You know, that sounds kind of fun. I'll be the big, hungry panther, and you can be the squirrel. Fun times will be had by all."

"Cole, leave the sex games for Pete, why don't you?"

"Don't you worry, I will. As a matter of fact, I'll be looking forward to it all day, believe you me." Cole shared a small, private look with Sera, before she quickly looked away. Returning his attentions to sorting through the box of curiosities; out of the corner of his eye, Cole observed Reginald working quietly on the gravity well simulation he'd set up at his computer station. Pausing in his search for anything of interest, Cole watched Reginald work the data on the computer screen. Reginald was diligent in his work, going over it as though with a fine toothed comb. Reginald's level of meticulousness was just one of the many reasons Cole knew the project he'd first fought to get going nearly four decades earlier was in strong and capable hands. After a moment, Cole returned to the job at hand of sorting through the driftwood of time; washing up in contemporary Vancouver. To Cole's surprise, he spotted an item resembling a clear, plastic salad bowl, asking; "Anyone for a salad?"

Cole set the bowl next to a half full mug of coffee which Pete had given him the previous Christmas. It had been a gag gift. Pete had it specially made; a photo of Cole in his RCN

greatcoat printed across it's facing, the name 'Commonwealth Protection Bureau' emblazoned

above the captain's image. Picking up the mug, Cole enjoyed his coffee as Brittany entered the

room, carrying a digital camera. Busying herself with the job of snapping photos of the

anachronistic and otherworldly items; Cole stepped around Brittany to grab an abandoned copy

of the day's 'National Post', taking a brief gander at the Sports Section while he was at it.

Reginald turned to ask him, "Find anything interesting, Captain?"  
Shrugging nonchalantly, Cole said; "It's the Sports Section Reg, there's never anything of much interest in there."

Bailey grabbed the section from him, rolling his eyes as he muttered; "Says you, Mister A Little Drama Makes the World Go Around, Billington."

"We all need to have a little drama in our lives, Bailey. Wouldn't you say so, Constable?," Cole eyed Sera with interest.

"Considering that my husband's livelihood relies upon the production of 'a little drama', I'd say yes, definitely yes."

Cole raised his hands in the air, saying; "He shoots, he scores!" Waiting as Bailey searched for the previous night's Hockey scores, he asked; "So, who won?" Grabbing a black leather wheeled chair, spinning around in it, he added; "Pete wanted to catch the game; and I, clever bastard that I am, managed to distract him with a much more enjoyable sport of my own. So, what's the score?" The others stared gob smacked at Cole and he said; "What?" They continued to stare, until Cole rolled his eyes, saying; "Oh now come on now!"

Finally tiring of their game of 'stare at the Cole', everyone aside from Bailey and Cole returned to their work. Bailey shoved the Sports Section at Cole, saying; "Canucks won nine to one."

Grabbing the newspaper as Bailey wandered off; Cole smiled crookedly at Sera, and then he turned around, taking notice of Sam who was idly standing around. He said, "Sam, hop to it! We've got work to do. No standing about."

Sera said; "Sam, do you know what I'm in the mood for?"

"What's that?"

Cole muttered under his breath, "I can certainly think of a few things, right now."

Sera swung to face him, saying; "Shut it, Cole!" Cole just grinned as Sera swung back to Sam, saying; "But seriously Sam, I'm thinking a Mint Cappuccino would be pure perfection right about now."

"Sure thing," Sam wandered off to make her the drink, while Cole and Sera went back to rifling through the box of assorted objects from throughout time and space.

"Take a look at this," Cole showed Sera a mid-nineteen fifties cosmetic compact, flipping it open to reveal the mirror and foundation, saying; "It looks as fresh as the day it left the factory floor."

"Cole, what would you even know about women's cosmetics?"

Stepping up between the pair of them, Sam placed Sera's drink on the table in front of her as Cole said; "Not much, personally. You know, oddly enough, I go for the more natural look in my women. My late wife Carmina barely wore any makeup. Cecil, well we won't go there. Now, Horatio, he was another matter completely."

"Your ex wore make up?"  
Cole smiled, thinking fondly of his long lost love, saying; "Only for his drag act. He was renowned for his impersonation of Marilyn Monroe. God, was he ever beautiful; both as a man

and as a woman." Cole motioned for Reginald to come speak to him.

Stepping up to the table across from Cole and Sera, Reginald said; "What's up, sir?"

"I was thinking there's got to be some means of tracking these objects through the gravity wells, see if we can backtrack; find the source of the time storm. We find that, we can find out where it leads to. We can find out if it's a natural force, or whether it was created by a group of intelligent beings; either by design, or by some experimental disaster. I'm wondering if someone or a group of some ones created the time storm by accident; perhaps some horrible catastrophe managed to rip apart the foundations of space and time itself. Back in my own time, there were all sorts of rumours of secretive government experimentation involving temporal energy; it supposedly did a lot of damage to those involved. There were stories of black fatigued soldiers slinking through the slums of Splott, a run-down section of future Cardiff, Wales; in the dead of night. The neighbourhood was replete with people sleeping on the streets; they'd claim to see some rather odd things during the night. I did some volunteering at the Caebraetry Redemption Centre, serving afternoon soup to the needy; boy did I hear some tall tales from some of the patrons, I can tell you."

Sera muttered, "Sometimes Cole, I truly do wonder about this world of ours."

"You and me both, kid. If we could just figure out how to locate the source of the breach in the temporal field; we could stop it from causing any more disruptions in people's lives, and we can prevent any more cases of temporal disarray. We can fix this people; what do you say? We can do this, we can save the world; perhaps even the universe itself. What do you say Reg, can it be done?"

"Cole, that's way beyond anything we can do at this point in time," Cole visibly deflated as Reginald said, "We just haven't reached that level of knowledge with the science we have at this point in time."

Sighing, Cole gazed off into the distance, thinking of those he'd loved and lost; and the life he'd long ago been forced to leave behind. Placing a comforting hand on his arm, Sera said; "What's bothering you, Cole?"  
"I've been having these dreams; I lie awake with these niggling feelings of dread tearing at me at the back of my mind. It feels like the future's rushing towards me like a freight train, the brakes are stuck, and the engines' gone off the rails. But the dreams never have any coherent story line, I just know it feels horrifying, like the very universe itself is screaming in misery; it's like being locked in a tiny box for eternity, and then being driven insane. Back on Garconer Colony, we had a literary trope that came out of the oldest myths of the Galaxy; on every planet connected to the Galactic Alliance there was this overriding theme crossing thousands of cultures throughout the galaxy. Stories were told of individuals like Gods; in some cases technology kept them alive for eons; but however the particular cultures' tale went, the beings were somehow contained, in a way that could be considered the most cruel thing that could ever be inflicted on another sentient being. Sometimes it was done out of pure cruelty, other times it was done out of fear; sometimes it was done out of a sense of misplaced justice being done. The Garconer have the tale of the Patron Saint of Soldiers, he's one of our Gods. Once Human culture became intertwined with our own, we integrated the Victorian era's urban myth of Spring Heel Jack into the God's life narrative. He's said to cover his face with a metal visor and go by the name 'Jack'. He's said to have been imprisoned in a cave, watched over by guards for two millennia for a crime he did not commit. The story used to haunt me something terrible when I was a child. It resonates so deeply with me I think, because the tale of Spring Heel Jack really is the story of anyone made into a Scapegoat unfairly. Anyone hated for something intrinsic to their very being they can't help, just because they are different from the rest of the herd."

Brittany turned to say, "I'd really like to hear more of your people's mythic narratives, sir. I think it would help me immeasurably with my scholarship."

"We could do that, sure thing Brittany. Here's the thing though, it wouldn't help with your research, because you can't exactly tell your faculty advisor about any of this; you see my dilemma in telling you this stuff, don't you?"

Brittany nodded, disheartened, saying; "Of course sir."  
Sera said, "Cole, perhaps you should talk to someone. God knows you've got plenty to give yourself grief over. We wouldn't think any less of you if you just admit you're just as Human as anyone else on this planet."  
"You'd be surprised."

"Of course, sometimes I forget we're not all Human here."  
Cole was reminded of an old friend of his, known as Ramelin. The CPB had found Ramelin back in nineteen eighty six, a victim of the time storms. At the height of the busiest days of Expo 86, on an evening when the Royals had been in town; a lost and confused twenty two year old alien searching for appropriate sustenance for his species' dietary needs posed a very real danger to certain people in government who wanted the existence of alien life to remain hidden from the Canadian populace. With the whole world watching, the city was not safe for a young man from halfway across the galaxy, all on his own. Ramelin had been lucky in that he'd the advantage of being able to pass for Human. If he hadn't had the unfortunate misfortune of over judging how knowledgeable about the greater universe and just how diverse it could be, in the local population; he'd never have come to the attention of the CPB.

The CPB helped Ramelin integrate into greater Human society. Ramelin lived in Chicago now; the two of them occasionally still spoke on the phone. Ramelin had a whole new life he'd settled into, happily, it seemed. He'd found himself an open minded Human wife; she'd born him a pair of twin sons. Despite being from a species that didn't typically eat meat, there was some irony to be found in the fact Ramelin now owned the best rated steak house in the Greater Chicago area.

During Ramelin's first few weeks on the planet, he and Cole shared something amazing. Grotto Dwellers of Incuba five developed a long, narrow white translucent appendage extending from the abdomen, an extension of the digestive system. About the same length as the distance between their wrist and their elbow; it was easily hidden beneath their clothing. During the act of sexual activity, a small portion of their partner's life force was sucked up by this appendage, converting it into fuel and nutrients for the body. In this way, Incubi as a species were incredibly environmentally sustainable. The lower animals inhabiting their planet were relatively free of Incubi predation. Due to this ingenious evolutionary process, Incubi were a species in which the act of sex was not only beautiful, but literally vital to an individual's survival. Not merely for species propagation, but literally as means of ingesting food.

Beyond the physical pleasure the pair shared, in Ramelin, Cole found a tiny piece of home. It reminded him his world was not completely out of reach, it was out there, somewhere in the far reaches of the galaxy. The night Cole met Ramelin was the night his dark night of the soul he'd wallowed in for the seven years since the death of Cecil Smith, his long-time love; begun to give

way to the bright rays of a beautiful new day.

"The day I realized our dear director was part alien, things began to make so much more sense."

Cole eyed Reginald with hooded eyes, as Sera, pushing a strand of hair out of her eyes, said; "Reginald, that was cruel."

Cole said, "That's alright Sera."

"I'm just stating the truth."

"Exactly! Give that man a biscuit," Cole gave the constable a wink.

Sera said,"Cole, I've got to tell you; your life is weird." She grabbed a narrow, silver metal tube with a strand of green kelp wrapped around it from the box atop the table.

Taking a closer look at it, Cole said; "It looks like a toilet roll." Turning to Sam, Cole directed him to take it to the medical lab, saying; "Have Doctor O'Bannion run some tests on the vegetation in order to determine whether or not the kelp came with the object, or if it came from the beach. Once you know the answer to that, if the vegetation turns out to be alien, do a chemical analysis to see if it matches up with any records we have on file."

Taking the silver metal object from Sera's hand, Sam said; "Alright."

"Good man," Cole patted Sam on the arm as he scurried off to do his bidding. After the intern left the room, Cole added; "He's a good little minion."

Sera playfully swatted Cole on the back side, saying; "Cole!"

Cole chuckled, saying, "Oh, you'd be fun at a party. I'm now picturing you with a paddle. Ooh baby!" He wiggled his behind.

Sera smirked, saying;"Careful Cole, I'm a married woman."

"That's alright."

Peering into the box, a small, tight lipped smile telling Cole everything he needed to know, Sera said; "Stop it Cole."

Cole pouted, muttering; "You're no fun." All business now, he added; "Alright people, back to work. Sera, can you take over here? I've got some tax forms I need to fill out for the federal government. Bloody red tape, it takes all the fun out of being the big cheese."

"Sure thing Cole," Sera chuckled as Cole wandered off to his office, whistling the opening number from the musical 'Wicked' as he went.

# CHAPTER NINE

Stepping out of the beauty salon on the corner of West Pender and Shanghai Alley, Jacquelyn Bowen was ready for her close up. She wanted to make a good first impression, both on Brittany Longfellow, and also on the CBC grunts at this afternoon's planning meeting. The girls at the salon always treated her kindly, and Jacquelyn was secure enough in her femininity to not allow a few hurtful snickers from the other customers to get to her. Jacquelyn didn't care what Jason, or any of the others, or even society, and especially not her own family thought; she was determined to be the woman she was always meant to be. To hell with society, to hell with what everyone else thought, Jacquelyn would fight to be nothing less than the person she felt herself to be.

Society didn't approve of women like her. Society wanted people like her dead, or at least hidden away, putting on a good show of a gruff, heteronormative man. That wasn't her, nor would it ever be. Jason liked to think of himself as just one of the lads, with dreams of a normal life, a somewhat respectable job, and at some point in the future, a beautiful wife and a kid or two. Jacquelyn knew that was nothing but a lie. She'd never been one of the lads, she'd never been respectable, and if she ever did manage to snag herself a wife, it would be a marriage between two women. But that was alright, this was Canada, after all.

It was unfortunate for both her and Jason that the biggest battle had to be fought through attrition between the pair of them. He was the territory playing out on the field of battle. Win over Jason, she'd win the war. With Jason as the prize, she dare not give the game away; making Jason believe she truly despised him allowed Jacquelyn to get one over on him, keeping him off his game, and knocking him off balance. She didn't hate him, far from it. Jacquelyn would never have managed to survive her childhood without Jason there to stand in front of her, protecting her from the bullies whom would have stomped all over a girl like her. But Jacquelyn could not allow Jason to realize her lack of true enmity towards him, not until after she'd helped him see the light. It would all be worth it in the end, when they would all finally find true happiness for themselves.

Jacquelyn had a busy day in the offing. She needed to get hold of Miss Brittany Longfellow in order to set up an appointment with her. After that, there were a few regular clients Jacquelyn would need to get hold of so she could make some last minute cancellations. Sun shining brightly in her face, Jacquelyn took a seat on a bench facing the street along the Victory Square green space. A warm breeze gently ruffled her hair as a songbird chirruped happily somewhere nearby. Taking out her cell phone, tiny little silver thing that it was, Jacquelyn dialled the number for Miss Longfellow's business line.

Having mere seconds to figure out what to say, Jacquelyn got a quick answer of; "Hello, Brittany Longfellow here."

"Hello, this is Jacquelyn Bowen; I'm calling to speak to you about an issue of advocacy."

Hesitating for a moment, acknowledging the discrepancy between Jacquelyn's name, and the sound of her voice, Miss Longfellow said; "Hello Jacquelyn, how may I be of assistance to you?"

Elsewhere in the city, inside the medical lab of the Commonwealth Protection Bureau, Doctor Bailey O'Bannion was hard at work, doing a trace analysis of the organic material from the beach. Bailey peered down at the organic sample he'd placed atop the glass slide set beneath the magnification viewer on the bureau's top of the line, German made Electron Microscope. A distraction from his work came in the form of one Cole Billington, loudly announcing his presence in the room, saying; "Find anything of interest yet, Bailey?"

Looking across the lab towards the entrance where Cole stood, Bailey said; "That would be a definite yes." Behind Bailey, Sam patiently stood waiting for the medic's next directive, having already prepared the chemical solutions, allowing the pair to do a tissue analysis of the plant life. Behind him, to his left, long rows of medical cabinets were set against the wall. In the centre of the lab, two medical beds were set up parallel to one another. The doctor handed a tray of chopped slices of kelp to Sam, saying; "Let's do an edibility test next."

Sam began preparing the samples for testing of their alkaline acidic scale as Cole muttered disdainfully, "What, you want to eat it?"

"Not particularly, no."

"I just had to ask."

"Yes, you did, you're always thinking with your stomach, aren't you Billington?"

Shrugging, unashamed, Cole said; "You know me Bailey. It's definitely non terrestrial?"

"Oh yeah."

Turning to watch the vegetable matter on Sam's tray begin to sizzle as the acid hit it, Cole said; "That does not look good."

"Don't go eating that, Cole."

"I wasn't planning to; so it's definitely poisonous?"

"Oh yeah, and it's definitely alien."

All business now, Cole said; "So what do we know about this little alien plant?"

"We've determined the planet this little beauty came from, has much more acidic oceans than we have here on Earth."

"Alright, but on the other hand, we also know this particular planet must play host to intelligent life; what with the metal tube it was wrapped around. Has the computer made a match?"

"It has."

"Get on with it, what's the verdict Doctor?"

Looking up in sudden realization, Bailey said; "God Cole, if this little miracle found it's way here a few years ago, we'd have been able to save that alien who died on us."

"The Betran Andronicus you mean, are you serious?"

"God, the Universe is cruel."

"Look on the bright side, Bailey. If it happens again, we'll have the proper food source available."

"That's certainly one way to look at it."

"That's the spirit Bailey; you know what we need to do next, don't you?"

"Of course Billington; I'll get that nutrient source prepared for long term storage, so if and when another Betran Andronicus lands on our doorstep, he or she won't fucking die on us."

Turning to head out into the corridor, Cole said; "Cool your jets there, O'Bannion."

"Yeah, yeah. I'm just venting a bit of steam here, Cole."

"I'll be awaiting your final write up concerning the alien plant life with great interest Bailey."

As Bailey snorted in amusement; he and Sam watched Cole head down the corridor towards the main room, Bailey saying; "You do that, Billington."

Smiling, Cole strolled into the lounge, where Sera and Brittany were deep in conversation. Watching the pair enjoy a late lunch of soup and rice crackers; Cole shuddered, saying; "God, how can you two eat those things?"

Sera told him, "You should try it sometime Cole, it might do you a world of good."

As the two women exchanged a pair of knowing looks, Cole scowled, saying;"Oh, not you too; I get enough of the health talk from Pete, I don't need it from the work place as well."

"Sorry Cole."

Cole bent to grab a rice cracker from Sera's plate. Taking a bite of the cracker, his face quickly took on an expression of disgust, grunting; "Uhh!"

Sera grinned, telling him; "You are such a drama Queen, Cole."

"Hmm, I am at that," Plopping himself down in a nearby black leather chair, Cole said; "So, what's the scoop?" Taking another tentative nibble at the bland piece of food, he grumbled; "Do you think there's a reason this tastes like Styrofoam packing?"

Sera and Brittany both gazed over at Cole, and then at each other, Sera asking; "Are you bored, Cole?"

Sighing theatrically, Cole said; "God, yes."

Pushing a strand of hair away from her face, Brittany said; "Don't you have work to be doing, Sir?"

Scowling, Cole said; "I'm shirking my duties to pester you two beautiful ladies."

Sera waved him off, saying; "Go away Cole."

"Fine," Cole stood up and headed towards the exit, muttering; "I need to head across the way to the campus library, anyways."

Sera muttered to Cole's backside, "Good night my sweet Prince." Off Cole went, joining the teeming masses of undergrads filling the corridors of the chemistry building.

Entering through the main entrance of the Irving K. Barber Library, Cole exchanged a friendly smile with Lorraine Babcock, head of the English Department. In her late fifties now, Professor Babcock was still stunning; her Irish heritage gifting her with hair the colour of the centre of a sunflower; her nose smattered with the cutest bundle of freckles Cole ever did see. She said, "Hello Cole."

"Hello cutie, I've missed you, do you know that?"

The pair had once dated, a long time ago now. Before Cole met Pete, before he'd been placed in charge of the bureau, and before his physique had gone to pot. Giving Cole a skeptical look, Lorraine said, "It's been a long time Cole, I hardly think that's an appropriate means of greeting me. Do you?"

Cole smiled tightly, disappointed in Lorraine's lack of reciprocation to his attempted flirting, saying; "Of course." Spotting a poster on the wall advertising a UFO conference to be held later in the week; Cole started off towards the poetry section of the library, sending Professor Babcock a parting smirk and a wink. Lorraine stood there, momentarily perplexed, as Cole went in search of the Canadian Poets category on the shelves. He'd great plans for the evening, and the addition of a few choice works by his favourite female poet of the first half of the twentieth century, Mable Schuller, would be the piece de resistance.

A prolific writer throughout the nineteen thirties, Mable had been nominated for a slew of literary awards, never once managing to win one. Cole once took his ex-lover Cecil, long may his soul rest in peace; to a gala dinner held in honour of the war effort. That night, Cole met Miss Schuller, a beautiful woman who wrote beautiful words. He'd got her to sign his copy of her book 'Ode to a Canadian Soldier'. He'd since donated the book to his great grandson Edward, whom ran an after school literature program for gifted children in the Greater Detroit area. It made Cole feel good knowing his positive influence on his far flung Diaspora of descendants worked to instill a sense of culture in inner city American kids.

Going to the shelf, Cole ran his hands down the row of slim hard covers containing the nation's best selection of poetry of the twentieth century. A sense of foreboding was in the air; warning Cole danger loomed. Cole always had a darker side, hewn from the ground of man's dislike of the strange and unknown. His dark protector had arisen, like the sword of Damocles', sharpened by the blade of Human hate, worn in by the massacre of his people; made deadly by the shuttle pods dropping propaganda leaflets from the skies above Colony villages of his home world.

"Cole Billington! You are just the man I was looking for," Cole turned to see Frederick Nischbergen, Dean of International Relations come up behind him.

Greeting the dean cheerfully, Cole said; "Dean Nischbergen, what can I do for you?"

"Have a hankering for some lesbian erotica, Billington?"

Making a face, Cole looked at Dean Nischbergen like he'd lost his marbles, saying; "What?"

"That book you've got your hand on," Cole quickly removed his hand from where it lay, the dean continuing with; "'The Complete Selection of Women's Love'."

Turning to glance at the book in question, Cole held his hands up in surrender, saying; "No Frederick; I'm not after that."

Backing up in a conciliatory manner, Dean Nischbergen said; "Hey, you owe me no explanation Billington. As a matter of fact, do me a favour and please don't explain it if you don't mind."

Giving the dean a disgruntled look, Cole squinted in annoyance, saying; "What did you want to see me about Frederick?"

"Oh yes, I need to speak to you about this year's Halloween festivities. Seeing as my department is International Relations, and you're in charge of Alien Relations, what better partnership can there possibly be?"

Momentarily thrown by the dean's off-hand remark, Cole said; "What did you just say?"

"Come now Billington, don't act so surprised. You don't think your little secret isn't common knowledge among the University staff? Just admit it, you're part of a public relations campaign to side track the public with flights of fancy, while your good Doctor Desmoire helps the Department of Defense develop the ability for interstellar flight."

Cole was pleased to know the man was still completely in the dark about the situation on the base, saying; "You've got me Frederick. Boy, you are a sharp one, aren't you?"

"I've got the brains of Sherlock Holmes and the street smarts of Al Capone. You can't get a thing past me, Billington."

Cole chuckled, amazed at the man's ego. Following Frederick's gaze towards the voluptuous library assistant Callie Adler as she walked past the aisle; he told Dean Nischbergen, "We'll talk." Frederick nodded, giving Cole a thumb's up signal before heading out into the main part of the library. Sighing, Cole said; "My life is so strange."

A young blonde boy; the splitting image of Horatio during his youth, squeezed past Cole holding the hand of a beautiful Chicano girl; and Cole thought of the way things once were, back on Garconer Colony. It had been a nice life, although it hadn't always been easy. He'd been a popular boy amongst both the pure stock Garconer, and the other mixed breed children. He was less welcome amidst the Human population, but even there, they'd never really been all that cruel to him.

"Come on Margaret, you know I didn't mean it like that!"

Spinning around, Cole was distracted for a moment by a young couple in the midst of a lover's spat. The fellow finding himself banished to the doghouse was your run of the mill frat boy who'd clearly gotten into the university on an Athletic Scholarship. Cole watched Margaret, a pretty Chinese girl, stand at the end of the aisle, her hands placed atop her lovely slim hips in an authoritative manner, saying; "You are so not getting any nookie tonight, Jeff."

Smirking, Cole watched with intrigue as Margaret stalked off, head held high; Jeff hurrying after her, pleading contriteness. Turning back to the bookshelf in a moment of contemplation, Cole said; "Well Mable, where has your lovely book gotten to, eh?"

# 

# CHAPTER TEN

The afternoon was turning out to be a warm one; the blue skies overlooking the city's Central Library had nary a cloud to speak of. This was in stark contrast to the war brutally fought in Jacquelyn's own mind. Jason and the other boys didn't like that she sold her body; Jacquelyn didn't like that they were slowly destroying it one beer at a time. It was truly a war of attrition; Jason merely used Luke's addiction as a means to an end- fighting Jacquelyn's one wish in the entire world. Jacquelyn's need to reveal herself to the outside world as the woman she was on the inside was an unrelenting force that never went away. Day by day, she was slowly dying inside, the testosterone giving her an unrelenting sex drive far beyond normal for a young woman her age. It was slowly poisoning her; her brain craving Oestrogen, she drank soy milk like there was no tomorrow. Craving something she had no business craving, striving for something that would never come to fruition, Jacquelyn's life was one lived in shadows. Her life was not real; it was a façade, a mask she wore just to get by from day to day.

Not for long; Jacquelyn refused to stay hidden, stashed away inside the back of Jason's closet like an old winter coat; lost and forgotten, eaten away by moths. It didn't matter that the closet they shared was as large and roomy as the mythical world of Narnia, it was still a closet. Jacquelyn was ready to burst on out, throw herself a party and reveal herself to the world. It was about time; it wasn't like she was getting any younger now was it? There was an amazing world out there that Jacquelyn was missing out on, all due to her self-imposed exile from greater society. It was time to step out of her shell and rejoin the Human race. She needed to give back to the world just a bit of what it had given her.

Heading westwards up West Georgia Street, Jacquelyn hurried to make the meeting with Marsha and the other CBC reporters. Moments later, she gripped the door to The White Spot Restaurant, the bell making a sound like a chirruping Skylark. The crew from the CBC were sat together at a booth by a window in the far corner of the room. Marsha waved Jacquelyn over, saying; "Jason, I'm glad you came. Have a seat."

Jacquelyn rolled her shoulders, fighting off a tension headache brought on by the pressure of Jason's feeble attempts to countermand her control. Going with it, Jacquelyn feigned to be her outward presenting self, extending a hand to the fellow sat to Marsha's left, saying; "I'm Jason

Bowen and you are?"

"Investigative Reporter Joe Sandeen, you may have heard of me by way of the Smith and Jones case some five years back?" Jacquelyn shook her head in the negative, and Joe looked disappointed, saying; "No? Well I blew the lid off that entire thing. It made my career, and I was

barely past the making coffee stage at that point."

Jacquelyn appraised Joe. Joe was a slim, but muscular, Indo-Canadian man of average height, with glimmering dark eyes and a buzz cut. Joe appeared to be just short of his thirtieth birthday. Jacquelyn said to him, "Nice to meet you, Joe." Turning to address the waif-like young man sat next to Joe, Jacquelyn asked; "And who might this be?"

The kid grinned, and after taking a bite out of one of the complimentary sour dough rolls the restaurant had so kindly provided the group for the meeting, he introduced himself, saying; "Kurt Ascot, aspiring photojournalist in the making."

Marsha added, "Kurt here is our sixteen year old intern presently employed by the corporation as part of his high school work co-op program. Can I just say he is truly one of a kind. I can see him going far."

Kurt reddened in embarrassment as Jacquelyn smiled encouragingly, saying; "Good for you. Aim high and you'll be sure to achieve your goals." Taking a seat across from Marsha, Jacquelyn bumped up against a man looking to be in his late thirties, his buzz cut blonde hair giving him the air of a military man. Turning to him, Jacquelyn asked; "So what do they call you?"

"Thomas Millhaven, Government Policy beat. This project should be pretty interesting, don't you think?"

"Oh yeah, real interesting."

Marsha took a bite from a sourdough roll, grabbing a pile of notes, saying; "Alright people, let's get down to business. We've got a lot to discuss, and very little time to do it in."

Reaching over to grab a sourdough roll of her own, Jacquelyn jabbed it into the air, saying; "Go for it, Marsha."

Back at the base, Captain Billington re-entered the bureau's lounge, the workday about to come to a close. Standing in the doorway, Cole took it all in. Here amongst him were good friends near and dear. Some he'd known for a long time, others he was just now getting to know. Each and every one of them in their own unique way, brought something of value to the project. Allowing his gaze to fall across the room, Cole gave the others a smile and a nod. Lovely Sera had already gone home for the day; she'd stuck a yellow sticky note on the hood of Cole's green overcoat on the coat rack near the door. Young Samuel had an evening class to attend. Across the room, Bailey finished up his day's report, and in the corner, Reginald stood by the printer, picking up the latest time stream statistics. Sat on the couch set beneath the window, it's glass panes clouding over with fading condensation, Brittany was absorbed in a telephone conversation.

Working for the bureau meant you had the desire and drive to help others; it meant sometimes working around the clock, not for financial gain but for the good of society's less fortunate. In a decade's time, Cole had taken a somewhat decent, semi hidden government agency; turning it into a top notch, award winning, world class organization that was an inspiration to the world. Cole got calls from national and state governments from around the world, asking to consult with

him on how they too could create their own versions of the CPB. Cole hadn't done it for the glory, he'd only done what he felt was best for the city. There were so many people in need, and

this city was so filled with greed. The rich politicos with multi-million dollar homes, feeling themselves so above it all; the massive bonuses they spent on themselves, payments for their second homes, never thinking for one moment beyond their own selfish desires. With a second

look, societies' downtrodden could have a bit of care.

But right now there were things to do; plans to be put into motion. It would be a good night if everything went right. Cole made plans for him and his sexy man. A night of dancing and good cheer, and later on they'd turn out the lights so little Cole could get some play. They'd play far into the night, the sex carrying them through, under the moonlight. Grabbing his coat from the nearby rack, Cole read the note which said; 'Good luck'. Smiling pleasantly; Cole crumpled it up, tossing it through the air and cheering inwardly as it hit its mark, landing just inside the neatly positioned garbage bin. Raising his fists in the air, Cole said; "Goal!" Brittany glanced up from her call, a smile on her face, as Cole added; "Night all!" After accepting their communal response of smiles and nods, Cole turned on his heel, heading out for the night; visions of sex toys cascading through his mind. Oh yes, tonight would be a fun night indeed.

Unlocking the front door to his North Vancouver one bedroom home, Gerald Rasmussen could smell the taste bud seizing scent of perogies steaming atop the stove. Ah, his favourite meal. This was why he loved his wife so much. Sera knew just how to make them, using his grandmother's family recipe, with just a dash of dill. That had been her wedding gift to the pair, welcoming Sera lovingly into the family with a professionally bound cookbook, all her own making. It had been her way of saying 'You better be in this for the long haul'. It was the best gift Gerald had ever been given, secondarily only to that of meeting Sera herself. Being in a rather jovial sort of mood, Gerald greeted his wife with a; "Hi honey, I'm home!," sort of self-deprecating greeting.

"Hello yourself, Mister Movie producer."

Gerald found his wife in the kitchen, stirring a pot atop the marble white stove, telling her; "Don't mock hun; I'll make it big some day."

Hiding her smile, Sera kept her back to her husband while she stirred the pot. She said, "I'm sure you will dear; just keep looking at the bright side of life."

"Hmm, the food smells great. To what do I owe this good fortune?," Gerald came up behind Sera, giving her a quick peck on the cheek.

"You know me Ger; this is how I cheer myself up from a hard-day's work, cooking my husband his favourite meal."

Rubbing her shoulders affectionately, Gerald said; "Let me guess, Billington's up to his old tricks again?"

Arching back into Gerald's caress, Sera said; "God that feels good." Gerald grinned, pleased to bring his wife pleasure, as Sera added; "Cole's a real handful, that's for sure."

"Y'know Sera, I really don't like the sound of that."

"Oh, p'shaw, you know that I don't mean it like that Gerald."

Eyes darkened with suppressed jealousy, Gerald muttered; "You better not."

Sera's long dark hair was pulled back into a ponytail which swayed with the motion of her slim body as she said; "Oh, you," With the grace of a gazelle, she moved to give him a searing kiss.

Breaking away from the kiss, Gerald turned Sera around as the pot began to boil over, saying; "Watch it!"

Hurrying to deal with the perogies, Sera said; "Look at you, distracting me; you naughty, naughty man."

"Yep that's me baby, I'm bad to the bone."

Sera went back to focusing on the preparations for their meal as Gerald wandered into the living room, containing a big screen HDTV, a black leather couch, and a brown suede Lazy Boy recliner. In the far corner beneath the window overlooking the well-kept backyard, sat a bookcase of unprocessed wood. Here sat the plastic home of their oblivious little hermit crab, Harold. Gazing over at the little creature, Gerald wondered what it was like to be a hermit crab. Sparing another glance towards his wife in the kitchen, Gerald gave thanks to God he'd met her.

Sera took one last look at the perogies in the pot; deciding she was pleased with the results, she switched off the stove top burner, allowing the pot to simmer. Heading back into the kitchen, Gerald moved up behind his wife; quick as a panther he wrapped his gangly but muscular arms around her waist, whispering in her ear as she giggled in girlish delight. Batting Gerald's arm lightly away in a playful manner, Sera said; "Oh, you." Sharing a grin with him, she turned around to face him, eye to eye, cupping his face quickly, planting a kiss on his lips. When she was done, she headed back to the stove, removing the pot of perogies from the burner.

Gerald was left standing in the middle of the narrow kitchen, allowing a dopey grin to reach his eyes as he said; "Have I told you lately just how much I truly love you babe?"

Draining the perogies into a skimmer over the black marble sink, Sera smiled, saying; "Right back at ya, Ger."

The pair hired Captain Billington's partner Pete to redesign the kitchen earlier in the year. Gerald quite liked the black marble facing of both the sink as well as the counter tops. The black cupboards set themselves off well against the ivory coloured stove, fridge and dishwasher. It was

like living inside a show home. It had been his gift to Sera for their wedding anniversary; his way of saying 'I love you babe'. Each year that went by, Gerald found himself loving her more and more, falling farther and farther into the deep maelstrom of that thing they call love.

Gerald could still recall the day he and Sera first crossed paths, he on a mission to secure a bit of funding from the University of British Columbia's Theatre Department for a local independent feature he'd been attempting to get off the ground, she just finishing up her final round of interviews with Billington et al, hoping beyond hope she'd be lucky enough to close the deal on her dream job. As it was, two out of three wasn't bad. He'd snagged the girl, she'd snagged the job, but the funding fell through. All in all, life wasn't all that bad. Life was pretty much perfect for the pair of them; they both had great jobs they adored, with the resulting surplus of funds those of their tax bracket were able to move about, and no children to provide for.

A few miles to the south, Brittany Longfellow drove eastwards down West Hastings Street, checking her side view mirror to reassure herself that her neatly coiffed hair had not been placed into disarray by the windy day. Patting her head with a measure of reassurance, she smiled. Later in the evening, she had a coffee date scheduled with Bailey. The pair would sit and enjoy the quiet ambiance of the cold autumn evening air; sipping their coffees, keeping themselves warm; and all the while, they'd be there for one another, commiserating over life's disappointments. Brittany loved her job, both of them in fact, but dealing with the harsh truths of life could sometimes get to be too much. Driving past Cole's condominium development, Brittany clamped down a fit of jealousy; wondering if a West End Condo would ever be in the cards for her. For the time being, Brittany was living in a one bedroom cottage at Mole Hill on Bute Street. It was a nice neighbourhood, but the heating wasn't quite up to snuff. Bored of the silence, Brittany flipped through the radio dial, searching for the local CBC signal.

"So, what do you think folks; should the government reallocate funds for a new East Side

park, or should taxes be reduced over all? Call us here at the station. I want to know what you

people think."

Brittany pondered the question. Economic growth versus nature's wonder, the issue was a hard choice to make. She wondered what her boss would make of the decision. When Brittany first met Cole, she'd assumed he was like every other government big shot who drove a fancy car and had a swanky home; taking for granted the ability to live it up, high on the hog of the back of the Canadian taxpayer just trying to make it through life from one day to the next. Brittany may have been spot on when it came to the first two items, but she couldn't have been more wrong about Captain Billington's motives for how he ran the organization.

Stopped at the intersection of West Hastings and Richards Street, Brittany watched in bemusement as a man stumbled drunkenly across the street wearing a polka dot clown suit, a big

red nose, large brown floppy shoes and a curly blue wig. He was shouting something nonsensical

about alien Gypsies disguised as clowns. Brittany wondered if she should mention the man's rantings to Cole; one never knew, there could be something to it.

One thing was certain, Brittany felt she was better off for knowing Cole Billington. The man had an itch for bettering the lives of the less fortunate, an itch which couldn't be satisfied by mere words and a bit of money. She loved him for that, not in a romantic sense, but in the manner of a sentient being's sense of reverence for their God. A being from the stars, hurting and in search of love, only wanting to bring about a better world; who amongst them could fail to give a being like that their love?

# CHAPTER ELEVEN

Parked a ways away from the Dockside Income Assistance Office on Powell Street, the crew from the CBC sat in an unmarked blue van, preparing to listen in on Jacquelyn's first face to face meeting with Miss Brittany Longfellow. Thomas Millhaven sat in the driver's seat, turning to Jacquelyn in the back, saying; "Are you ready then?"

Jacquelyn was fitted with a hidden microphone she wore under her green shirt, the fabric imprint of a patterned daisy woven into the cotton. She said, "I'm good to go, good as I'll ever be."

To Jacquelyn's left sat Joe Sandeen, and next to him sat Marsha. Kurt had gone home for the night after they'd finished up the meeting at the restaurant. Earlier, they'd planned out their course of action, step by step. It would take months of careful infiltration on Jacquelyn's part to

get a toehold into the inner workings of the CPB; and Jacquelyn was grateful for the substantial

cash payment she'd been paid up front out of the corporation's purse strings. That evening, after

her meeting with Miss Longfellow, Jacquelyn had a high paying gig with one of her local regulars. Jacquelyn had gotten to know her middle aged client quite well over the past few

months; however, tonight's job would be a bit different. Tonight, Jacquelyn had been hired out

for a two for one job. She'd been recommended quite highly to a friend of her local playboy. He

had a pal in the film industry looking for something a tad different for the evening.

The crew planned to sit here and listen in on the upcoming meeting taking place just around the corner on Main Street. Jacquelyn grabbed her small, gold purse; draping it over her shoulder; moving to get up. She'd attached the first of a pair of miniscule camera microphones adhesively to the front. It was tiny enough, and transparent enough that it would hopefully not be spotted. She'd stuck the second one onto the edge of her left sleeve, ready to transfer it to Miss Longfellow's person at a moment's notice. Jacquelyn said, "Well, I guess I'm up then."

Holding up his chrome Blackberry, Thomas turned to face the three of them, saying; "It's seven minutes to six; go to it, my good man."

Jacquelyn grimaced; choosing not to say anything as she opened the sliding side door, stepping out of the van. Outside, the sidewalk was beginning to reveal the signs of a slowly building rain storm. Marsha grabbed the edge of the door, readying to pull it shut, but not before telling Jacquelyn; "Good luck!"

Nodding, Jacquelyn peered down the street towards the west, where a flock of sea gulls took off into the air. Marsha pulled the van door shut, and Jacquelyn was left to stand in the rain which was starting to really come down around her. Heading off down the street, she stopped at the corner in front of the income assistance office, before setting off to cross the road. Waiting for the walk signal to click into place, Jacquelyn watched a grey haired homeless man in serious need of a shave, cart a blue bin full of empty beer cans ahead of him towards Alexandria Street.

The faint stench of alcohol clinging to the cans was enough to bring Luke to the bare edges of her consciousness.

Agitated, Luke gazed down at the wet pavement next to his brown dress shoes. A moment of silent introspective communication passed quickly between him and Jacquelyn as they pondered their lives; his lived mostly inside, hers' lived outwardly, but the two of them, although often bitter enemies, lived their lives in tandem. Luke considered the life Jacquelyn insisted on maintaining; she wasn't resolving anything by continuing to whore herself out. The way she treated poor Jason was reprehensible, it made Luke's blood boil; having to stand back and watch the crap Jacquelyn put Jason through. Both by forcing him to be widely known in the elite circles of the city as the go to guy for getting one's little kinks indulged in; destroying what little reputation he had in the process, as well as tossing him into the hot seat to do the dirty deed, whenever she wanted a way out.

Time to go; Miss Jacquelyn was getting her knickers in a twist. He said to her, "Yeah yeah, don't freak out girl; you'll get the meeting all to yourself." Luke let go of the metaphorical reins, stepping back into the darkness dividing the physical world of the body from his own subjective reality located inside his head. Stepping forwards, Jacquelyn turned to the right, giving a thumbs up signal to the crew sat inside the blue van. Reassured the others would leave her be to take the meeting with Miss Longfellow, Jacquelyn continued onwards to the diner located on the corner of Alexandria Street.

Arriving at her appointment to meet Jacquelyn Bowen, Brittany Longfellow was taken aback by her beauty; both the inner beauty that shone radiantly from her gorgeous green eyes, as well as her physical attributes. One thing was for certain, whether presenting as male or female, she was ultimately drop dead gorgeous. Jacquelyn caught Brittany's eye as she entered the Gas Town Diner on the corner of Main and Alexandria Street; maintaining eye contact for a moment longer than was necessarily needed, gracing her with a lazy smile.

As Brittany headed over to greet her, Jacquelyn stood from her table, holding her hand out in greeting, saying; "You're Brittany Longfellow I take it?" Brittany returned her firm handshake in a friendly gesture as Jacquelyn added, "Nice to meet you Brittany, I'm Jacquelyn."

Removing her hand, brushing up inadvertently against Jacquelyn as she went to take a seat, Brittany said, "It's good to finally meet you Jacquelyn. I must say, you do clean up nicely."

Grinning widely, Jacquelyn said; "Mucho Gracious, my fine lady." The pair shared an amused look, Jacquelyn adding, "You ain't too bad yourself, darling." Finally, she sat herself back down.

They had a view of the street outside. Across the road, leaning against a red brick building, an exhausted looking Chinese under aged prostitute, charcoal black hair sprinkled with red highlights; was shoved about roughly by her mid-twenties Vietnamese pimp. Brittany eyed the pair with wary concern, Jacquelyn glancing at them quickly, before looking away.

Facing Brittany once again, Jacquelyn warned her quietly; "Look away, believe me, you don't want to get involved."

"Jacquelyn, that's my job, I get involved."

"Not in that, believe me; you do not want to get involved in that."

"Tell me, if that was you Jacquelyn, wouldn't you want someone to get involved?"

"I don't know; I'm not her, so I don't know."

"Fair enough, now let's get back to the reason we're here. What would you like to talk to me about?"

"Right down to business, eh? I like that in a woman."

"So you are into women?"

"Surprised? Nah, that's alright, I get that a lot; especially with the business I'm in. Men are alright, I guess. There ain't too much call for women looking for escorts. So I do what pays the bills. You know what I've been craving like a bitch?"

Jacquelyn's face was close enough to hers that Brittany could feel the Trans woman's warm breath, the small trace of alcohol spoiling the chemistry between the two of them. Jacquelyn's delicate fingertips ghosted across Brittany's arm and she shuddered from the electric feeling of lust arising within her. Brittany spoke through fast breaths, her eyes dilated in pleasure, saying; "What's that?"

"I haven't had a real cozy date, like to dinner and a movie with a woman in ages. It's driving me crazy."

"That's not why you called me, was it?"

Jacquelyn chuckled, saying; "Nah! Although, if you are in any way interested, I might just take you up on the offer."

Brittany smiled, letting her down gently as she said; "I'm sort of seeing someone. If not for that, though." Promise hung in the air, letting Jacquelyn know the offer was on the table, were she to show signs of being worthy enough.

Jacquelyn grinned, saying; "Are you now, is it serious?"

"He's a doctor. We work together. We're not all that serious or anything; it's something, at least."

"I know how that goes, believe me I do. Is he hot?"

"He's not ugly, but he certainly isn't going to win any beauty pageants if that's what you're asking. And he's older than I am; I'm not too sure how I feel about that. Hands down, you'd win the crown for pretty any day of the week."

Jacquelyn's eyes shone, saying; "Really, do you think? Shucks, you are so kind to say that."

"Tell me Jacquelyn, what's up?"

"I need an advocate to help me get treatment with the mental health department fully funded by the MSP. Therapy is expensive, you know."

"I'll see what I can do."

"It was nice meeting you, Miss Longfellow."

"You too, Miss Bowen."

Jacquelyn stood, lightly brushing past Brittany, patting her on the arm of her woollen jacket, saying; "Are you going to see that doctor of yours tonight?"

"That's the plan."

"Good luck, Miss Longfellow."

Brittany glanced out the window behind the two of them. Gone were the girl and her nasty piece of work of a pimp; in their place were a pair of intravenous drug users. Brittany sighed at the life some of these people led, saying; "Stay safe, alright Jacquelyn?"

"Will do," Once Miss Longfellow left the diner, Jacquelyn sighed in longing; saying; "I know who I'll be dreaming of tonight, honey." Taking one more gulp of her coffee, Jacquelyn collected her things, walking to the door. Leaving the diner Jacquelyn spoke into the hidden mike she wore to the crew in the van, saying; "It's done; the bug is on her coat."

Jacquelyn could hear Thomas Millhaven through the hidden microphone she wore beneath her shirt, "Well done, do you need a lift anywhere?"

"I'm alright."

"Stay safe, man."

Rolling her eyes, Jacquelyn directed her attentions inwards towards her eavesdropping head mate, Jason. Jason smiled as he stood inside their mental landscape of a dark cavern opening up onto a sunny, sandy beach, Jacquelyn asking him; "How's Boe holding up?"

Jason smiled with a trace of sadness. It was hard for him to decipher at times what Boe felt. Times like this, when his sweet brother showed no signs of awareness, sitting against the stone walls of their cavern inside their head; Jason found it hard to determine whether he was happy or sad. Inside their head, they had an entire universe contained in the folds of their cerebellum. A universe containing planet Earth, positioned in the bonds of time, an entire universe, big bang to big crunch, the heat death of the universe paralleled in miniature, inside their very head.

Safely away from prying eyes, needing to keep the outside world at bay, their collective mind designed them all a practical safe harbour, distracting one another from the less savoury foibles of their Human life. Losing interest in their collective life, the denizens of the host brain had for the most part, gone deep inside the psyche, free to pursue their own lifetime dreams; the outside world deemed by most a world they wanted nothing to do with. So, to the battling dual of Jason and Jacquelyn, to them the others relied on the most; to them, the battle for sovereignty over their soul lay. There were certain changes Jacquelyn wanted to make to their body for her own happiness, Jason just couldn't sign off on. It was his job to enforce a semblance of normality upon their collective life.

It may be Jacqueline's greatest desire to outwardly appear as the woman she wanted to be, but Jason desired nothing more than normality. Normal men did not despair because they were not women. Jason would always chose normality over being happy, any day; because, when all was said and done, Jason did not trust the medical establishment. They'd given up even trying to help people like him. He wanted the desire to have a female body to just go away. Due to certain special interest groups, the psychiatric profession had given way to political correctness over common sense. Jason didn't want political correctness; he wanted actual help, for his gender identity to become male. Not this false persona of a male who didn't truly exist, but a true male, one happy to be who he was.

The way Jason saw it; the professionals were going about it all wrong. They'd given up on talk therapy decades ago because they'd been trying to make their patients conform to oppressive gender stereotypes. Of course it hadn't worked, the mind had seen right through the lie, why conform to one side or the other, why not let people just be people, Human beings, not having to constantly put on an act. Drama was all well and good, but at the end of the day if the actor couldn't put aside his persona and just be himself, he'd go insane. That was exactly what society demanded from men and women, to play a role and never be the person they were deep down inside. It would be like asking a slave not to acknowledge their lack of agency. True healing would be brought about by allowing the patient to acknowledge the problem lay with society, not them. They needed to work together in overthrowing the oppressive gender straitjacket society tried to enforce; the effort would take generations. It began with parents; people needed those around them to acknowledge they needed to stop treating their sons differently from their daughters. From the first day a newborn child was born, caregivers treated boys subtly differently from girls. They needed to stop doing that, learn to treat the child as just a Human being, not a boy or a girl but just Human. Fathers needed to stop being so homophobic, stop telling their sons it was not alright to cry. Mothers needed to stop instilling a fear and hatred of science and math in their daughters; stop giving them that disapproving look when their daughter talked about the hard sciences. They needed to stop preventing their daughters from taking shop class, because 'only boys get to take that'. Thirty years may have passed since the ban on teenage girls taking shop class had been lifted in Canadian Secondary Schools; but as long as parents had the ability to control their daughters' course selections, the legal right meant nothing. The disappointment in the game one was expected to play in life set in early, from the very moment young boys and girls came to realize society refused to treat them all equally.

In most cases, it took years for an individual to realize why they were so miserable. The tale of the transsexual realizing their problem from the age of three was mostly an urban myth put out by the medical establishment. Society would do anything to not have to accept their own complicity in creating a disorder; if the medical establishment acknowledged it was a disorder

completely created by society, they'd have to put in the work to become activists. They'd be forced to change the way they raised their own children. Individuals very rarely had enough moral fortitude to go against the status quo.

Knowing this, that gender dysphoria was a disorder caused by an oppressive society, how could any doctor with an ounce of ethics sign off on hormonal and surgical treatment? Patients needed to be given a form of therapy allowing them to develop the strength of character to become activists for equality in the world. There were also the karmic repercussions of benefiting from medical procedures first practiced by Nazi doctors on unwilling patients in the concentration camps. Even if certain transsexuals actually needed hormonal and surgical intervention in order to prevent them from taking their own lives, there had to be a karmic blowback from utilizing the results of someone else's past torture. When it came to Trans Men the lower surgeries were pure butchery; it was still not much better than something the Nazis may have once done. Jason wondered about those surgeons; were it the nineteen thirties, would they be working out of the death camps? Jason feared for their souls, he truly did. It was the twenty first century's equivalent to the lobotomy, or perhaps female circumcision. All three were horrific practices foisted upon the vulnerable. It made Jason sick, just thinking about it. So many lives were on the line, the need to maintain balance in his soul was enormous; the world saw only one man, but hidden away, an entire universe made its home. Jason needed Jacquelyn to see she could continue to view herself as a woman without making any physical changes to the body.

Meanwhile, back in the real world, Jacquelyn had things to do, people to see, and places to be. She needed to meet her newest client at an Italian restaurant on Commercial Drive in about an hour's time. Word of mouth kept her business going, and Jacquelyn couldn't afford to be late for her date. Despite all her bravado, and the sex positive face she put out to the world, Jacquelyn was beginning to grow weary of this life she led; sometimes she truly despaired of what life had

in its sights for her.

Hours later, over on Union Street, Jacquelyn Bowen was in the midst of cleaning herself off after the evening's entertainment. Stepping under the warm water of the shower, Jacquelyn gave way to her happy go lucky head mate Simon. Simon gained awareness, allowing the water to wash over him, as though it were washing away all his sins. Simon flipped through the mental rolodex of the past few day's events, sifting through the new information his brain picked up, sifting the matters of import from the random, useless facts. Life was finally turning around for him.

Simon's biggest dream was to work in the film industry. However, as a member of the collective normally staying away from the physical world, Simon's wants and desires unfortunately failed to carry much weight in the eyes of the ones running the show; Jason and Jacquelyn. Simon could rectify this by spending more time in the outside world, but he was better suited for life inside. His job had always been to provide his collective a much needed dose of light hearted joi de vive. To do this, Simon needed his down time. This down time was spent inside, where he shared the second story of a warehouse converted into an art studio with his younger brother Robert. While inside, Simon was free to live the life he truly desired. In here, in the confines of his own head, Simon made a name for himself; directing some top rated feature films. Films produced by the neurons of their body's collective brain.

Topping it off, Simon had begun creating his own graphic novel series set to go on display in the local bookstores of his mind's recreation of London. When Simon was not focusing on the real world; he could often be found inside his art studio, a large uncovered window covering one entire wall overlooking London's Soho District. Many of the inhabitants of the collective brain had their own creative projects on the go. Simon had his directing and his graphic novel writing, Randall had his fashion design and his aeronautical engineering blueprints keeping him busy; Jacob had his paintings, of which cityscapes were his passion. All this talent spread out amongst them; it was sad to see it go to such waste. With Jacquelyn prostituting herself and Luke drinking himself to death; it broke Simon's heart to have to watch such a wellspring of potential go down the tubes like so much raw sewage poured into the Thames.

Feeling as clean as he'd ever manage to feel, Simon turned off the faucet; stepping out of the shower, all six foot two dripping inches of him. Drying himself off, allowing his mind to wander, Simon tuned into the wavelengths of his mind mates; finding Luke and Boe inside the cavern inside their shared mind.

Wandering to the edge of an underground spring where Boe sat staring off into space, Luke said; "How are you doing, buddy?" Boe never really talked much and today was no exception to the rule.

Charles strolled up to Luke, clad in a black world war two era Royal Air Force jump suit, saying; "That was some interesting night we had, wasn't it alchie?"

Peering down at the granite ground covering, Luke was hurt, his tough guy exterior mere front for his soft, vulnerable sense of self, muttering; "Don't call me an alchie, Charles."

Quick as lightning, the tools of thought mere playthings to the echo of wars past, Charles was right in Luke's face, for once unwilling to allow the con job Luke liked to perform on himself to hold any water with anyone but himself, saying, "Why not, that's what you are, aren't you Luke?"

"Get out of here!," Shoving Charles back out of his personal space, Luke said; "Why don't you go back to playing hero of the air in war time Britain? How are you even here anyway?"

"The time line is a mysterious thing, my hurting friend. Come on buddy, you're smart enough to figure this one out. In the grand scheme of things, there is no such thing as time. It's an elaborate illusion cooked up by the universe to allow us to experience each moment as an individual spark in the particle soup which is our life."

Just in time to hear the tail end of Charles' cosmic philosophizing, Jason wandered up to the three of them; asking; "What are you on about now?"

Charles spun around to face him, saying; "It's all in how you play the game of life Jason. You've got to know the rules before you can play with the big boys." Jason scrunched up his nose in confusion, and Charles nodded knowingly, finishing off with; "One day you'll understand."

Exchanging a knowing look with Luke, Jason yelled; "Let's get him!"

As one, the pair moved to grab him; Charles fleeing down the dark cavern. Jason and Luke chased after Charles; their shoes slamming against the hard granite with each long stride, Luke panting hard through his words, saying; "This is fun."

Charles was way ahead of the pair, weaving in and out of the narrow ledge between the natural granite cavern wall and the underground spring winding its way for miles through this neurally generated mindscape. Looking back for a second, slowing down a fraction, Charles pleaded with them; "You guys, come on now."

Chuckling somewhat unkindly, Luke urged Jason onwards, saying; "Come on!" He yelled at Charles' back, "We're going to get you Charles!"

A little further down the path, the cavern opened up onto a bright, sun-filled grassy park, a mental rendering of London's Hyde Park. The birds were chirping, speckled moths flit about the occasional tree, and squirrels ran up and down these same trees. On the edge of Luke's vision, to the right of the cavern's entrance, the sun reflected off the Serpentine Lake, enjoyed by a family of ducks. The ubiquitous skyscrapers of midtown London were outlined across the far horizon.

The trio ran out onto the grass, Luke and his partner in crime tackling Charles to the ground, announcing triumphantly; "We've got you!"

Jason was all smiles as Charles grunted, "You've got me. You two must be so proud." Jason chuckled as Charles rolled his eyes, rolling out from beneath Luke's grip. Jumping to his feet, brushing off various wet pieces of grass and other woodland grit; Charles turned to face the London skyline. Holding out his hands in a crane-like motion, he said; "Good ol' London Town, Môn dieu!"

Towards the northwest at the Garden Café' on Sinclair Street, Doctor O'Bannion paid for a second round of drinks for Brittany and himself, saying; "Nice seeing you again, Steve." Waving to his old friend Steve Rosetti, he'd once shared a dorm room with while attending UBC during the late nineteen seventies; Bailey finished paying for the drinks, carrying them back to his table. This time it was a pair of herbal teas. They both had to get up early for work in the morning; it was closing in on eleven pm.

"You to, O'Bannion," Steve went back to the storeroom behind the counter, presumably to check on some item or another the shop had run low on, as all the while he hummed along to the pop ditty playing quietly on the radio.

Handing Brittany her tea, Bailey said; "There you go, beautiful. That'll keep you warm tonight."

"It's getting late, don't you think?"

"I should be getting home."

"Drive safely; have sweet dreams."

"They'll definitely be sweet, my sweet. They'll be all about you."

Making a face, Brittany said; "What a sweetheart you are, Doctor O'Bannion. Goodnight." She stood up, grabbing her purse, gesturing towards the door. Following Brittany out, Bailey held the door to the shop as she exited. Stepping onto the pavement, Brittany trained her eyes on her ninety eight Dodge Ford Explorer, relieved to see it was still where she'd left it, telling him; "Good night Doctor O'Bannion."

Bailey nodded, quickly angling in for a hopeful kiss. Allowing him a friendly peck on the cheek for his trouble, Brittany sent him on his way. Watching Brittany get into her vehicle and drive away, Bailey eventually wandered over to his own car at the curb. The light rain slowly edged up into the realm of a low level torrent; the cold night air delivering a light breeze, causing Bailey to shiver a bit as he gazed out at the silent street before him. The silence drove Bailey to distraction, setting his senses on edge. There was something creepy about the atmosphere around him, as though almost anything could happen in a single moment. What was that sound; an owl?

"Hmm, it must really be getting late." Taking one last glance down the street, Bailey got into his

car, driving off into the dark night.

# CHAPTER TWELVE

Entering the main entrance to the Chemistry Building shortly after midnight; Cole limped painfully towards the private lounge of the CPB. Unlocking the door, heading towards the couch,

Cole tossed his overcoat across the nearest armrest; before making himself some tea, in an

attempt to calm his nerves. The evening had been a complete disaster. He never believed things

with Pete would ever get to this point; moving beyond mere hurtful words into the realm of

physical and sexual violence.

Sipping his tea, Cole flashed back to earlier in the evening. He'd gone home, had a shower, putting on his best duds for the evening; he'd wanted to look good for his man after all. Pete was in the mood for a bit of celebrating; having gotten word he was up for another development award, Cole had been happy for him. They'd gone dancing at the Celebrity Club in the heart of the city's Gaybourhood, where it all came crashing down around them. The pair had been enjoying themselves; it was dancing and drinks, as well as a bit of food; when Pete began acting extremely bizarre, not like him at all.

Dressed to the nines, Cole danced closely with Pete in the centre of the dance floor. Wearing skinny jeans with a black dress shirt patterned with splotches of gold, Pete could be mistaken for some sort of celebrity, Vancouver was endemic with them after all. This thought brought Cole's mind back to Horatio, and from Horatio to Cecil. There was a pattern to Cole's life; one singular spoke in the wheel of life keeping the organic universe spinning. The night Cole met lovely Cecil, he'd experienced the oddest dream. He couldn't recall most of it, knowing only it brought a message of great import, a mission was required of him. What he did remember, waking that morning so long ago; was the knowledge Cecil and Horatio were one; Horatio was the man Cecil would one day become. By loving Cecil, Cole was reconnecting with Horatio; by loving Cecil he in fact set Horatio's love for him in motion; time for Cole was a temporal loop; alpha and omega bound up in one.

On his feet Pete wore a pair of cowboy boots purchased over a relaxing weekend in Calgary in the Summer of twenty twelve. Agreeing to co-author a paper on temporal field dynamics overlaying the North American continent with General Petersen, Interior Director to the Central Canadian Division of the CPB at the University of Calgary; Cole brought Pete to the Calgary Stampede in the Albertan Capital for the weekend. The paper was later presented at the annual CPB Policy meeting in Ottawa, to which all applicable organizations in the Commonwealth were invited to send delegates. When not meeting up with his colleague at the university, the pair enjoyed a bit of Rodeo roleplaying.

Gazing around the Club, Cole noted the place was packed; a slow romantic ballad playing over the sound system. The bar in the centre of the dance floor was overwhelmed with club goers awaiting their drinks; the poor bartender looking exhausted, the servers having trouble getting through the crowds, weaving their ways through the packed club, delivering plates of food to tables.

Overly grabby, Pete was not himself. Cole kept moving Pete's hands away from particular parts of his anatomy for his own peace of mind. Realizing Cole was intent on remaining a stick in the mud, Pete whispered in his ear; "Let's head into the Men's Room hot stuff; we'll have some fun."

Pulling away in distaste, Cole said; "What, in there? Heck no. That's what we've got a Condo for."

Insistent in his desires; Cole gazed into Pete's eyes and it seemed no one was home. Cole should have known there was something wrong; he should have paid his instincts more heed, but he hadn't. Instead, dragging Pete out to the car; he drove him home. Arriving at their condo, the view overlooking Burrard Inlet; things just went downhill from there.

Finishing the last of his tea, Cole headed off to use the facilities, the previous few hours slamming against his mind. Pete wanted to jump right into sex, while Cole wanted to give him a

bit of romance; a late night picnic under the moonlight, reciting a few poems. The friction between them quickly escalated into an all-out fight, and Pete's words truly hurt. Saying Pete

couldn't possibly mean what he said, Cole's partner insisted he meant every single word of it. Then Pete really began digging in, hitting Cole where it hurt the most.

Stood in a standoff on the edge of the hardwood flooring in the living room, a view of the city at night greeting them through the large window past the black leather couch, an oriental throw rug, and a big screen television; Pete said to Cole, "You just don't want to face the truth, Cole. You're just an old, fat slob who has let himself go. Why do you think I drank so much at the club tonight? I couldn't stand the looks the other men were giving us, like 'what the hell is wrong with you he's your only option'?" Looking Cole up and down disdainfully, Pete said; "You look like a whale, you know."

Devastated, Cole prayed the night was nothing more than mere nightmare; he'd soon wake from. The rage simmering beneath the surface threatened to overwhelm him; the rage Cole kept carefully hidden inside a lock box inside his mind, it was all becoming too much. Vision flooded in a haze of red; Cole shoved the rage back down to that spot deep in his psyche where he kept all his secrets; glancing across the room towards the kitchenette and past that, his art studio. It was no use; Cole could not take this any longer, saying; "Shut your mouth, Pete! I don't want to hear it." Holding his right hand at his side; curling it into a tightly wound fist, Cole fought the urge to strike his tormentor. Was this really what his life had become; was he really in love with a man who'd grown to despise him? Day after day, it only got worse.

"I'm so scared. Want to try it, fat boy? I'll have you down on the ground so fast; you won't know what hit you before your head hits the floor. Then I'll have a go at that big ass of yours, so quick and so hard, you won't be able to sit down for the next week." Pete was breathing heavily, the scent of aggression heavy in the air.

"You know hun, I don't know if I should be frightened, or incredibly turned on right now." Uncurling his hand, using it to wipe the sweat finding its way onto his forehead, Cole said; "Is this what our relationship has devolved into Pete, the threat of hate sex?"

Looking Cole up and down, leering lustily, Pete said; "I do love that ass of yours, even if you have let yourself go a bit." Looking down in shame, Cole looked back up to see Pete shrug nonchalantly, saying; "One thing I can say about that extra flab of yours? It keeps the other men

away, it's only the women I really need to worry about, isn't it Cole? I can't see you managing to

pick up a man of any substance, any time soon, not unless you lose the excess weight."

"My God, you're a right bastard, Pete."

"You love me for it, don't you baby?," Holding Cole's gaze, an underlying threat of danger filled the space between them.

"I've grown increasingly tired of it, quite frankly. And you know darn well looks aren't everything Pete."

"You're certainly right about that, I would have moved on from you years ago Cole, if your looks were all I saw in you. What worries me Cole however, is I know it's not the other men I need to be worrying about. It's always the women who draw your roving eye; we both know women are a lot more willing to look beyond the looks; especially when you've got the money and a government job. Shit Cole, I have nightmares every so often where you've left me for a woman. You tell me you've met some wonderful, amazing woman you've fallen head over heels for, the two of you are moving in together. It tears me up inside each time I have one of those dreams. Don't leave me, baby."

"You are such a drama Queen Pete."

"You little shit, don't you dare laugh at me. You know I can't stand it Cole."

"I don't know how much more of this I can take, Pete. This thing we have going on here? It's become the very definition of an abusive relationship." Pete's face was still as granite, impenetrable to scrutiny as Cole laughed cruelly, the irony so self-evident it felt like a weight crushed his heart. "You played me, love. You so played me. Was this your plan all along, or could you just not help yourself? Is there a part of you real deep down in the depths of your psyche that needed to cause me pain, hmm? Let's see, how can I mess this guy up just a little bit more; is that it Pete, is it?"

Getting in Pete's face, Cole was fit to bursting with anger he fought so hard to keep in check; the anger he'd allowed to die so long ago. There was a part of him Cole kept on a tight leash, so terrified of allowing that dark part of his psyche to have free rein, to once again rain ruin and devastation on other people's lives. Cole could feel himself slipping this night, something was in the air, a sense of foreboding, telling Cole that dark and angry part of him was getting ready to wake up. He would soon be needed; a part of Cole was very, very frightened, this was never a good thing, it made Cole strike out, and lash out at those nearest and dearest to him.

Voice like shards of glass, Cole said; "You know Pete, I could really hurt you if I wanted to."

"You hurt me, what are you going to do Cole, sit on me? I might actually like that, tubbo."

Cole spun on the spot, so angry was he, he could barely think. Walking up to Pete; tapping him on the shoulder, Cole cleanly knocked him off balance, causing him to fall onto his butt, Cole taunting; "Oops! Clumsy there, Pete."

Pete glared daggers of fiery hatred at Cole who offered a hand to help him up, Pete telling him; "I don't know why I even bother with you, Cole."

"You're obsessed, that's why. You can't get enough of me, Pete."

"It looks to me like you've taken that a bit too much to heart Cole."

"Are we back onto this again? Give it a rest, why don't you Pete? You're like a broken record. You're a fat pig, Cole. Don't eat that, Cole. That'll go straight to your thighs, Cole."

Grinning, Pete said; "Oh, but you're my fat pig, Cole. I love you anyways."

"Do you know you're a sick fuck Pete?"

Coming up behind Cole, Pete wrapped his muscular, lightly freckled arms around Cole's waist, saying; "Come on hot stuff, tell me you love me." Cole merely stood there, silent, his lack of acknowledgement cutting Pete to the bone. Realizing Cole was not going to give him the response he sought, Pete slowly disentangled himself from Cole's waist.

Placing a hand on Pete's shoulder, his head bowed, Cole said; "You my dear, are a Grade A creep."

"Am I now? Well, at least I'm Human."

Backing away in utter shock, flabbergasted it came to this, Cole said, "Of course, how could I ever forget that? This is where it all begins Pete, it begins right here, right now. It begins with people like you who just can't seem to get beyond what planet someone's ancestors came from. I'm telling you Pete, it just gets worse from here on out. I fight people like you every day. I fight the bureaucrats who want to shut down the Alien Refugee camp in the Okanagan, because it costs too much money to run. I fight the people who want to go back to the old ways of shooting on sight any non-terrestrial life forms caught on Canadian soil. I fight the idiots who want to close the Ottawa Holding Facility. They've been lobbying to put all the residents on the national hit list, just have them all executed. I often wonder if we'd be better off coming clean about it all and informing the public about what's really going on out there. But we can't. The Canadian government is under contractual obligation to the international community not to let the cat out of the bag to their own citizens until they have the full cooperation of the other world leaders. The Americans want to keep their citizens in the dark for as long as possible, the Chinese fear the loss of control over their populace that would occur were the truth revealed, and the British don't feel the rabble can handle it. Consequently, it remains a deep and dark secret leading to an uncountable number of innocent deaths on a yearly basis. Not to mention those lost due to the forces of temporal displacement. Were people to be made aware of the atmospheric warning signs surrounding an oncoming temporal storm; perhaps we'd lose less people in the long run."

Pondering the cosmic variables leading him to this point in time; Cole's mind was on other times, other places. Imagining himself at the controls of a system hopper; he allowed his mind to wander past the bounds of system Sol, speeding past the triple fleets of Garconer, Stornaway and Incuba Five generation cruisers history taught sat in deep space even now. Waiting for that moment in time when Humanity finally sought them out. With the proper quantum inversion engine at his fingertips, Cole could make a few jaunts around the galaxy and be back on Earth in a few-years-time.

Out there in the wider world, Cole's position as head of the CPB called for a false persona of a take control, no holds barred military commander. Here at home with his partner, Cole felt safe to let his guard down, revealing the man he truly was, if only a bit. It'd been a bad move on his part; misjudging Pete's true nature terribly. Pete's deceptively mild nature was mere ruse. A ruse woven of the stuff dreams were made of, cleverly designed to reel Cole in. Pete seemed the perfect man, something that could never truly exist. Working his way deep into Cole's heart, hooking his sinkers into his soul, leaving Cole lost to Pete's deadly barbs, stinging him with each and every last one of his vicious taunts; Pete lured Cole into trusting him, all the while searching for a hook to sink his metaphorical teeth into, fulfilling an insatiable need of grabbing a slice of power. Falling into Pete's trap; hook, line and sinker; a mouse after a piece of cheese; by the time Cole managed to get an inkling of the truth, it was far too late. He was too far gone, fallen like a fly, into Pete's sticky web of lies.

"I'll give you this Pete; you sure know how to put on a good act."

"What do you think is an act Cole, when have I ever been less than authentic with you?"

"Everything about you Pete, it's all so fake."

"You're not making any sense, Cole."

"There it is, right there Pete, making me think I'm going crazy, that's just a small part of it."

"I think you hit crazy long ago Cole."

"You know what creep? Your opinion is just that, your opinion. You aren't the be all and end all of the arbiter of my life, lover boy. The fact we share a bed does not give you the right to be my judge. That's between me and the universal tax man to work out."

"Perhaps you've gone senile; you are two centuries old Cole, as hard as that is to believe."

"Thank you for that reminder, love. You really need to lay off the alcohol Pete, it doesn't suit you at all. Your cruelty shoots to new heights after you've had more than a few."

"I'll lay off the alcohol once you stop wolfing down the desserts, fat boy."

"I wonder, will your cruelty ever reach the end of its tether, Pete? There seems to be no end in sight for your race for position of the biggest bastard who ever lived." Pete stood with his hands on his hips, a frown gracing his beautiful face, Cole adding; "You really are a piece of work, aren't you? It's so insidious Pete, it starts out so miniscule, so minor I really didn't give it any thought. Ten years ago, I was at the end of my rope; lonely as fuck. I was ready to find someone to settle down with and along you come, my sexy knight in shining armour. I was so lonely, I was willing to overlook a few mean words. It was just a bit of fun, wasn't it, just another piece of ass? It didn't mean anything, so I didn't mind if you were a bit mean. It's what I liked best about you back then, what drew me to you. You were my bully boy, I found it so fucking sexy. But you took it too far Pete, I'm not going to take it anymore." Pete's eyes clouded over in dark muted rage, furious at having his darkest aspects of his psyche laid bare. Catching Pete's look, Cole said, "See there? That look right there tells me all you want me to know buddy. You get off on the power trip of lording it over me."

"How do I lord it over you Cole?"

"Have you forgotten the racial differentiation you hold in position to me Pete? Let's not bring up my Garconer side. The fact you're Human just adds another log on the fire. You're on the top of the food chain in this day and age, in this part of the world. I'm half alien, and my Human side? What do you want to know, I'm Hispanic! Do you know how hard it was for me to get used to the idea even my Human side made me an outsider in the American Northwest arriving here in eighteen seventy, do you? It caused me some problems in the early days. I tried to give the entire thing a positive spin. As heartbroken as I was for my lost future and for the people I loved, I realized one good thing came out of the mess. Finally I was in a world where no one would know of my alien heritage; I could settle down with a woman, have her give me a couple of kids. I could never do that in my own era, I'd get too many dirty looks from those disapproving of men like me jamming up the gene pool with our mix breed stock."

"Come off it, Cole! You wanna compare oppression Olympics, have you forgotten? I'm not exactly at the top of the societal pyramid either, may I remind you. Besides, I can't picture you caring all that much what society thought; if you wanted to be with women, what was bloody stopping you, huh big boy?"

Eyes like a storm at sea, Cole said; "It wasn't that easy, Pete."

"It never is, my love."

"The political climate was nasty. Human women were raised to distrust Garconer men. We were made out to be nothing but a bunch of thugs and criminals and rapists; with Garconer females preferring a full blooded Garconer male, over one part Human. It was claimed our Humanity was nothing but a turn off. They'd claim it made us all stupid, a bit slow."

"That's real nice, that is."

"Even after the attacks on the colony worlds stopped; after life went back to relative normality once the peace talks managed to resolve most of the problems, society still frowned on mixed species breeding. By the time that sort of thing began to fall to the wayside, I was deeply in love with Horatio. The two of us were together for ten, twenty years before Human society let up on its hatred towards my kind." Looking Pete in the eye, Cole said, "There were other men, most with Horatio's involvement. My first sexual experience was with a Garconer man named James aboard Station Oort. I was eighteen, grieving my cousin Tommy's death and looking to find a new life in a new solar system. James was a sweetie; we remained friends for the next four decades. He could have been so much better had the GHOST Wars never reared their ugly head. Through James I met Horatio."

"How so?"

"James took me to Cardiff to see Horatio perform as Marilyn Monroe in 'Marilyn, My Marilyn' at the Millennium Centre. Imagine my shock when during the intermission, the star of the Opera comes right up to me; inquiring if I'd like to come back stage after the show."

"That's kismet, that is Cole."

"Oh yeah! After that, Horatio could only be the only man for me. Poor James seemed to take it rather well; considering Horatio's privileged position as wealthy Caucasian. I always had the sense James could feel the alignment of the timeline, playing his role as captain on the sea of life. The more attuned one is to the natural principles of the universe, the easier it is to connect to the quantum net linking us all together like a sentient internet."

"Cole, are you suggesting the development of the internet results from a subconscious instinct to reconnect mankind with a superluminal neural net?"

"Take the story of the fall of the tower of Babel. Let's say this represents not an act of God, nor a metaphor for this planet's diverse linguistic heritage; but a catastrophic act of terrorism by the Divisionists to sever mankind from the neural net. The internet in this situation becomes mankind's attempt to build a physical replacement for a natural ability long lost. Think of it as a wooden leg or a pacemaker."

"The Torah as science fiction, it sounds a tad blasphemous Cole."

"I think it makes it more realistic Pete; in similar vein to how the Irish tales of the Sidhe are actually fantasy tales of battles between differing Celtic tribes. There's the Irish tale of the Garconer, a male muse breaking female hearts; leaving epic poetic tales in his wake."

"Your people sure do get around Cole."

"They do at that, in the misty corridors of time. The way things are going with Google these days Pete; by my day it'd become a mere marketing tool for the likes of Horatio and his ilk. That's not necessarily a bad thing, used correctly; it can change the world. Horatio fought for peace on behalf of the Garconer people as well as sustainable food practices. In the same vein; Twitter's presently being used to promote the ISF; an amazing organization best known for stopping the Keystone Pipeline; as well as THARCE GULU, an organization working with former child soldiers. That's the beauty of celebrity Pete, it grants real ability to change the world for the better. In my day, Horatio had all sorts of adoring fan boys following his every move on the Holonet. Girls too, but Horatio tended to ignore them."

"The Holonet?"

"Match up Twitter, web cams and just a bit of reality TV; there you have it, the Holonet. Just think, Pete. I was stuck in the tail end of the nineteenth century. No Holoplays, no Holonet, no e-readers, no internet, no TV, no radio and no movies. I had a cache of e-reader material but it's just not the same losing that connection to the data cloud. Good thing I had a wife and kids to keep me busy; along with a very rewarding job as a dispute arbitrator." Cole smiled nostalgically, but Pete was too busy scowling to pay him any mind.

After a tense moment, Pete muttered darkly; "Bully for you. Some of us don't have that option. Nor do we have a projected lifespan of three centuries to experience everything we want to experience out of our lives. I don't know if you realize this Cole, but that's another privilege you alone of all of us, maintain."

"What in blue blazes are you on about now Pete?"

"You my darling, are the proud owner of 'Future Knowledge Privilege'."

Looking at Pete as though he'd sprouted a second head, Cole said; "What the hell is that?"

"You do the math, Mister sexy pants. You're the man from the future and a far off land; think of the advantages that gives you. Stock tips, knowing how major world events will play out. Your very existence in a world three millennia before your birth gives credence to the conspiracy kooks claims of a secret cabal with dark designs; all you need is the occasional refugee from the future, knowing what companies to put all their investments in and your descendants can rule the world."

"I think there's a temporal law preventing that Pete, the past can't be changed; you manipulate history to your own benefit and you'll find yourself in another timeline with no effect on contemporary society. The real danger is found in Humanity's refusal to move beyond the trap of instinct and into the intellectual mind. The refusal to accept our health and the health of every other living thing on this planet must always come before profit. Whether it's the oil companies, pharmaceutical companies; or anyone else; we are not Gods no matter how much the New Agers like to proclaim it. In that path lies the rubble of the enemy of life, his Fallen God Bombers and his murderous dark medics. Out of that emanates the force of fear; fear of judgment, fear of difference and fear the other will bring you pain. It only takes one man to stand up and demand a change. Those around him can choose to join him, making one, two, two, four; forever onwards until you have an entire army ready and willing to fight the good fight. Unfortunately, contemporary society is not ready and willing to make that choice. Thus that one man remains a single lone voice crying out into the wilderness. This world needs the Garconer Pete. Do you know what it is that separates that one man from the wolves and the snakes too cowardly to join him?"

"What's that Cole?"

"One word, intelligence; true intelligence. I'm not being ablest here Pete, when I refer to intelligence I don't mean one's intellectual quotient; I refer to one's willingness to work out of

the intellectual mind and not the id. This fear of the other, the fear of sticking out above the

crowd, the reptilian and mammalian brain deep below our more modern primate, Hominid and

sentient brain regions fears being plucked up by a bird of prey or taken down by a lion. Every

Human on this planet came out of Africa at some point in their lineage, home to the deadliest

predators on the planet. Sure, the only birds larger than a Human child are flightless, but that fear

comes not from dangers we presently face; but from our oldest genetic sequences; the ones we

share with lemurs. How do you tell that ten million year old gene strand a hawk will not capture

you in its beak if you refuse to cow tow to society's demands to be mediocre? It's that fear

preventing the common man from utilizing their full intellectual capacity. That refusal to hone

that mighty muscle in the brain, that anti-intellectual streak so endemic down south and anywhere else where New Age spirituality is rife; it's the one thing preventing the people of this planet from escaping the clutches of those anti life forces that would see them dissolve into the cosmic dust."

"How does having a hybridized lineage effect your own ancestral instincts Cole?"

"It all depends on one's personal Garconer history in that case Pete. The Garconer first left their home system two millennia ago; after that they settled on hundreds of worlds all over the galaxy. Some were uninhabited, others already had ruling civilizations welcoming them with open arms. They never went where they were unwanted, we're not really fighters Pete. At least we weren't until Humanity's brutality towards us led to a collective breakdown in our younger generations."

"Which is exactly what they were aiming for Cole, destroy the competition by having them destroy themselves."

"Of course Pete; even when you see right through it your life is still destroyed; the time you could spend enjoying your life; you're forced instead to become a warrior against oppression. You become a lone warrior fighting a one man war, those who should rightly stand beside you acting as cowards; showing submission instead of strength. The betrayal drives that lone warrior into a state of despair; leading him into a dark place, losing his mind. You see it in the child soldiers of contemporary Uganda; we saw it in the child soldiers of Germany towards the tail end of the Great War, we see it in the GLBT community; disdaining those unwilling to conform to mainstream society's view of gender conformity and monogamous marriages. It's there in the anger of second wave feminism fuelled by lesbian separatism, raging at their hetero and bi sisters for betraying them for the sake of keeping a roof over their heads and the love and protection of a man. Women claiming to be anti-feminists accuse their feminist sisters of being stuck in victim mode; I say they have Stockholm syndrome. There's two types of people in this world Pete; those who refuse to take things lying down and those who crumble in the face of adversity. It's there in the lower classes' tendency of coveting something for nothing. This insistence on monetary fairness through the fascistic movements of Occupy and NESARA; the Tottenham riots of August twenty eleven; young teens raised by parents on the dole burning down shops because in their eyes; anyone not on state assistance needs to be brought onto it. Can't have anyone on this planet enjoying life and happy now can we?"

"What's NESARA?"

"NESARA is the new age desire for an international communist state run out of China, of all places. There's a massive cult with Canadian headquarters here in Vancouver claiming to have the ear of those purportedly in charge of the running of the universe. In my opinion, any collective organization whether of Earthly origin, or otherwise; claiming to know the will of the

creator has a great big fall coming up. You know what they say Pete, 'arrogance shall be your

downfall'. That's exactly what the forces behind the Ashtar Command and the Galactic Federation of Light are; the essence behind the Luciferian myth, the desire to usurp God in

control of the universe. They want nothing less than the complete destruction of the physical

universe, God's supreme creation. They're like bratty children stomping on their brother's

toothpick design due to jealousy; their followers falling for their lies like lambs to the slaughter.

I believe the worse aspect to their ideology is their pathological hatred of those who've lucked

out in the lineage department. I've seen this before Pete with the Garconer of London. The chavs

of Human origin despised my people's intellectual prowess and our physical health so they made

it impossible for us to get jobs or placement in university. Of course it happened in Germany with your grandparents as well, the Nazis blaming all the nation's economic woes on the Jews.

These NESARA creeps tend to have a pathological hatred for wealthy families happening to have Jewish names. They claim these Galactic Federation of Light dorks plan to incinerate on a

photonic level the richest thirty percent of the planet. Bye bye J.K. Rowling and Margaret

Atwood and Bill Gates. Bid ado to every single talented person on this planet. We're down to the bottom seventy percent, half probably don't care to work a day in their life. That's what these vile people seek, life on state assistance, stolen from the talent and hard work of the dead."

"That's just beyond bizarre Cole."

"It violates so many spiritual laws Pete, it's the very definition of Hell on Earth. You make state assistance too easy to get and too easy to have a decent life on; you end up with the situation in England. Teenagers refusing to finish basic schooling despite the government paying them to attend; after all you don't need a diploma to get on welfare. Teenagers viewing anyone with a job as the enemy because they make more money than them, thus violating their insistence on monetary equality. Real estate's a mess over there due to the government providing free housing to those on the dole. Then you have the most vulnerable citizens, those on disability, most would love to have a job if only employers were willing to hire those with differing abilities; the way the government treats them under Cameron; you'd think they were waging a war against the genetically defective. It's like the nineteen thirties all over again, except back then Britain was one of the good guys. It's like the Nazis have incarnated into British society; Canadian society has seemingly become much more British than the British themselves."

"What do you want to bet Cole, those British politicians were once the eugenicists of Canadian society?"

"I'll take that bet Pete, not that either of us can ever know the truth. It could be a population issue, over-population resulting in degeneracy of the soul as the source is forced to release souls unfit for physical life into the planetary ecosystem, lest our over-breeding practices result in millions of miscarriages."

"Our species would be better off with less live births, quality over quantity and all that."

"You'll have to take that up with the prime mover Pete; 'Hey there creator of all, how about being a bit more choosy on who you allow down here?"

"I doubt it'd go over well Cole, Yahweh most likely would refuse to allow me back for another go around in order to teach me a lesson in non-judgment. I've heard a rumour that the natural rate of miscarriages has gone up over the last few years; the fundamentalists blaming it on the elite's desire to cull the population through the use of neonatal vaccines."

"I know it can be maternally devastating to lose a potential child, but a miscarriage represents a fatal error in the genetic material of a foetus, the sort of thing no one should ever have to endure. Twenty five percent of conceptions have fatal errors resulting in miscarriage sometime in the first three weeks, before most women realize they were ever pregnant at all; the number of fatal errors after that brings the number even higher. Down south, the Tea Party wants to force those grieving women to serve time in prison. You take a women who wants a child passionately, who blames herself for the embryo's failure to thrive; you lock her up for nature's frailty; it's no different from the cruel act of executing soldiers with PTSD during the Great War. The concept could conceivably make sense, if not ethical decency; were an extinction level event to occur where Humanity was down to a few hundred people; but not when the species already needs to be culled."

"Were that to occur Cole, Canada would be inundated with a mass influx of American women forced to claim refugee status. The way I hear it they also want to execute all who've sought abortions; forty percent of American women over the last four decades. We'll be flooded with sixty million American women were the law ever to come to fruition."

"It would be the worse war the world has ever seen, an entire planet of seven billion people joining together to get those sixty million women to safety. It won't happen of course, not unless history has changed."

"That's good to know. If we had to take in sixty million extra women, the government would need to allow five person marriage just to balance it out."

"A lot of them would bring families with them, so that's another twenty million right there. It could work as long as they all headed up north and stayed away from the urban areas. The Yukon Territory could be set aside as an American colony of the Commonwealth. Nothing to do with us, but under the Commonwealth's protection so the American lawmakers couldn't touch them."

"Ideologies like that make me ashamed I was born in Rhode Island."

"You poor boy. Don't let it get you down Pete, you've been Canadian a lot longer than that. Speaking of idiots blinded by ideology, the New Agers have this ridiculous idea this planet will convert to a star; causing mankind to miraculously wind up on the astral plane sometime this year."

"That's not physically possible."

"Remember what I was saying about their anti-intellectualism streak Pete; not to mention it conflicts with their NESARA plot. They can't make up their minds whether we'll be living in some fascist dystopia where everything will be a mess, or if we'll be trapped in the void between realities. They make up bizarre stuff; acting as though we're living in the days of the old testament when the average person knew nothing about scientific laws. Someone will point out how stupid they're being and they'll be like 'the great mystical woo-woo alien from the galactic fleet of light said so, so it must be true.'"

"The devil's an alien and he's being channelled."

"Actual Aliens would have no way of getting into people's heads. Even if they were a telepathic species, why on Earth would they want to pester Humans? They'd have better things to focus on in their own lives."

"The year's almost over Cole, I bet you they're darn disappointed life's the same as ever."

"They're fantasists with visions of all the criminals going to Hell and the law abiding citizens going to Heaven. Oh and we'll all be immortal. It's 'Miracle Day'TM and 'Immortals'TM all wrapped up in one huge honking horrific trap. It denies us our birthright of universal balance, a principle I view as paramount in my own spiritual development as well as the mercy of the cosmic scapegoat, the man from Galilee."

"People really need to pay attention to the warnings given in popular culture. The best writers keep one foot on the gas petal of the universal accelerator; sucking up the essence of the universe; sifting through the wreckage of history, telling the story of the source; gathering the tapestry of the ancient of days. Art in these days of commercial profit is no different at its core from how it has always been. Those with an ear to the ground still hear the heartbeat of the universe, gathering wool from the weaver's loom, weaving the tale they were born to tell; each artist granted a mere part of the greater tale all coming together in the end. With actors providing muse service for writers, singers providing emotional guidance for those same writers; writers providing their own muse service for those coming after in the circle of art. As it was in the days of King Arthur, Robin Hood and the Mabinogion shall it remain to this day. Ever onward, true storytellers don't care about copyright law and fortune, it's the story that matters. That's all any of us are in the end, we're all stories in the great mind of the universe."

"The problem is Pete, so much of popular culture is produced merely to entertain and pay the bills. People don't always realize which productions are developed to spread a message."

"Even when they do, those looking for messages often mistakenly believe the entire cultural industry works for the dark cabal; mistaking works warning of the dangers for perpetrators of corruption."

"People need to look beneath the surface of a work, utilizing their intelligence to decipher what an artist is saying; all the while sifting the wheat from the chaff; discerning message bearing artists from mere entertainers. Beyond that Pete, the existence of the Fallen Gods and their Master Commander Abbaddon have been woven into the tapestry of all major civilizations this planet has ever experienced from the Greek Titans to the Torah."

"Speaking of mysteries of the ages; there's a theory out there that some of the employees who worked at the World Trade Centre buildings in New York had advance warning not to come into work on that fateful day; a tip-off from one Captain Billington, perhaps?"

"I didn't know that was going to happen Pete."

"Likely story."

"I didn't; I didn't really study this time in history all that much Pete, three thousand years is a hell of a long time to cover. I was much more interested in other planetary civilizations in close range of my colony's star system. The Incubi Home World has always been a favourite of mine. Garconer Colony is basically right next door to the Incubi System. It takes about a day and a half to go between the two systems. Garconer Colony to the very edge of System Sol is a six week journey; the cost is immense. The first time I visited Earth, I was eighteen years old and passage cost me half my trust fund. That got me to Station Oort along the inside edge of the Oort disk, where I took a job tending bar; I'd already used up the other half of the fund."

"That's why teenagers shouldn't have access to trust funds Cole. Unless they've earned the money themselves of course."

"Good point, I did after all spend that money on nefarious activities."

"You naughty boy Cole."

"Seeing how horrible my people were treated by Earth patriots in their zeal to cleanse the universe of mixed species 'Ghosts', I was hardly in a receptive mood to hear about the terrestrial

goings on of the second period of classic Earth; even if I am half Human on my mother's side."

"Ghosts?"

"The name they gave us in the propaganda adverts, 'Garconer Human Offspring Species Traitors', 'GHOST' for short; referring to the erroneous idea that we weren't really people, we didn't exist. Neither Human nor Garconer, we were viewed as some new subspecies of its own. It certainly wasn't Human society's place to tell me and others like me where we stood in the grand scheme of things."

Raising an imaginary glass in honour of Cole's words, Pete said; "I'll drink to that." Pete mimed the act of taking a sip from his non-existent glass, getting a smile from Cole for his efforts.

# CHAPTER THIRTEEN

"I taught my children what I knew of our heritage; my e-reader was a great help there. When not on mediation assignment, I taught my kids all sorts of things about Garconer cosmology and the tales of our ancestors. Lessons on the future history of the region weren't going to benefit them during their lifetime, though. The differences in my home era and the late eighteen hundreds is

comparable to today's world parallel that of the Urnfield, Knoviz, Lusatian, Danubian and Terramare cultures of Central Europe; so named for their collective cultural developments of graveyards and crematory activity."

"Cole, your brain is like a sponge."

"That's the Garconer in me; our neurology is more akin to that of an autist, without the negative disabling side effects. It's also part of Humanity's evolving neurological structure. Right now there's a lot of hubbub over a purported Autism epidemic. It's evolution's means of constructing our next stage in development. As with most evolutionary mutations, it's not all that great. However, through time those with minor symptoms of the syndrome go on to pass it down to their children; slowly but surely the Human species takes on the positive traits of an autist, tossing off the negative traits. We become more chemically sensitive, bringing an end to the use

of nasty additives, sodium, fake sugar replacements, etc. from our food supplies. Human society

becomes resistant to current marketing methods due to resistance of those with autistic neurology to following the herd."

"Say goodbye to Kentucky Fried Chicken and their ilk."

"It doesn't go that far Pete; the chicken's just made in a healthier manner. Peer pressure is nil to people on the spectrum. Unless an individual actually wants to do something, they're not going to do it. Parents develop a greater awareness of their children's sensitivities. Individuals on the spectrum find climatic extremes extremely painful; they have an inability to enjoy winter sports or lie on the beach doing nothing."

"Idleness is the Devil's plaything."

"Human life is so short Pete, there's so much to learn; so much to see. There's never enough hours in the day to take it all in. Take a fifteen year old adolescent on the spectrum to Mexico; they'll much prefer to spend the afternoon perusing the local art galleries and museums then waiting for their mother to grow bored of roasting on a beach. Why visit a foreign country if you're not going to take in the culture? It's not like the child will be allowed to go off on their own to see the galleries, it's a complete waste of money and a huge lost opportunity for a bit of

cognitive education. Life's too short to waste it on boredom."

"That's the problem with too many affluent baby boomers Cole, they don't give a damn about the rights of their offspring to truly get to know a new city like the back of their hand. Why drag a young teen five thousand miles away for an adventure if you're not willing to spend a few days attending museums and galleries, perhaps even a theatrical event?"

"Back in ninety eight, we had this intern at the base named Cory; an archaeology major assigned to work on archiving items coming out of the gravity wells. She was awarded a Commonwealth Scholarship a year later to attend Cambridge, and now shares her time between several Commonwealth organizations throughout England and Wales; specializing in Ultra-terrestrial quantum remnants. There are plots of land on the outskirts of Cardiff, around Mount Snowdon, to the north of London and in the Lake District where our world rubs up against the etheric worlds; similar to tectonic plates. As with geological movements in the planet's interior, there can be a disruption in the quantum membrane separating the worlds, causing burial remains and landfill products to erupt from quantum fissures. Cory's a member of a team working on an ad-hoc basis, investigating open fissures and the refuse they send onto the planet. Humanity isn't the only higher civilization laying claim to the planet Pete, merely the rulers of the physical aspect of the planet. Other sentient beings rule the etheric, mental, astral and source aspects of the planet. The British Isles have the most intercommunication between us and them due to Britain's position as Top Dog in the majority of the other aspects. North America lays claim to that unfortunate honour on the Astral aspect."

"Why do you say unfortunate?"

"The Astral is the domain of illusion Pete. Ultra-terrestrial glamour, living holographic Animaes infused with the essence of Fallen Gods; the bait Abbaddon uses to reel in his prey. Sending celebrity constructs into the Astral lining of those chosen by him to perpetuate his Twin Flame delusion; he'll take the image of a particular celebrity, create a holographic animae in their image, place a Fallen God into the astral body, the entity is made to believe they truly are the still living celebrity. They truly believe they are journeying to their source birth mate, occasionally going as far as taking over the body of the prey, acting as a living person mental interject. They cause the victim to black out while this entity believing itself to be the celebrity will talk to those in the vicinity, informing them of the deeper essence of the living celebrity's inner being. The thing is, the entity is in reality a Fallen God refusing source's love, now truly believing itself to be the essence of said celebrity. Thus all it is capable of feeling is utter desolation; the victim, mistaking this for said celebrities' inner torment falls all the more in love with said celebrity. They do say, love of another comes first from empathy for their sorrow."

"The universe is truly more bizarre than any of us can ever know Cole."

"Compared to higher vibrations of Terra Firma where millions of sentient species live in relative peace, reaching ever higher in pursuit of knowledge and culture in the most loving of manners; the Astral is a blood strewn empire ruled with a brutal hand and an iron fist. It's a vibratory level where the Top Dogs consist of warlords millions of years in age, holding court over newly deceased, brainwashed by servants of the Fallen into denying source's love or its very existence. Those rejecting the status quo of the Black Brigade; lacking knowledge of life beyond the desolate realm of the Father of Lies, maintaining an inability to remove themselves from the lower planes to return to source's embrace, quickly find themselves in chains, held in the stone and wrought iron fortresses of said warlords."

"How positively medieval it all sounds Cole."

"That's why we've been dealing with these deplorable Galactic Federation of Light and Ashtar Command Tricksters urging true believers to pester Obama to allow the cat out of the bag on the topic of alien life. It's completely ridiculous for several reasons. One, Obama knows he can't say a peep without permission of Ottawa, London, Canberra and Shanghai; I can't see anyone signing off on it. Two, America may be the world's superpower in terms of weapons of war but when it comes to knowledge of the quantum field they've been locked out of the knowledge base maintained by the Commonwealth nations. The Americans are left pecking at the glass of our data-banks' firewalls and manpower. Which is why the claim by Project Camelot of sending Obama through time and through space is beyond dumb. We can't even do that, how would the Americans manage it? Finally, the less attention given the tricksters the better. One day our probes will capture indisputable video evidence of the vast array of Garconer, Stornaway and Incubi generation ships parked outside system Sol; species as physical as us. Species making no claims of ownership over the Human species and our birthright to our system of development. We evolved from the amino acids of Terra Firma as all other sentient species evolved from the cosmic soup of their home worlds. We don't need to muddy the waters, give credence to claims of the Galactic Federation of Light being our overseers, usurping our free will, desiring to murder the less evolved; stealing our collective rights to step into a future of our own making. Each and every one of us creates that future, warts and all Pete; taking the good with the bad. The healing we give the environment, the improvements we make to our food supplies, the community we create with other space faring civilizations; we make all that on our own initiative. The Evolutionary wars and the GHOST Wars; we initiate them as well, taking the good with the bad, we learn increased tolerance and peace from each and every disappointing action; our setbacks becoming our strengths. For a group based in the Astral to make claims on our eternal souls, threatening to take away our physical plane, our life support and safety net; forcing us into their fascistic empire on the Astral, they've got to be some truly nasty sons of bitches. We wouldn't stand a chance on their home turf. But God has our back; put your faith in him Pete and he'll always have your back."

"Bravo, lovely and yet creepy speech Cole."

"I'll never understand Humans and their refusal to accept genetic and cultural change. Without it, species stagnate; an inability to adapt leads to extinction. There's a war fought beneath the surface on a genetic level. The new Humans may just be a resurgence of the old Humans; pre agricultural revolution wise, battling for genetic superiority over contemporary neurotypical Humanity. The majority sense that on a subconscious level, they fear it just as Humans in the future feared my own people."

"We're fearful of what the future brings, how we as a species will change, will we even recognize ourselves in our descendants? We recoil at what autistic individuals say about our future as a species. Refusing to accept the inevitable, we try to destroy the harbingers of change."

"There are some truly awful parents out there Pete; hiding their cruelty behind a veneer of classy suburban decency; treating their neurotypical offspring with loving care, treating their autistic child like the outcast they view them as. They destroy their autistic child's sense of self-worth, they call it a disease; compare it to cancer, claim they'd rather their child be dead than on the

spectrum. A child can grow up believing themselves a demon, soulless, an escapee from Hell."

"That's a bit much Cole."

"That's how my lovely friend Cory once viewed herself. Told over and over again as a child by her mother and her younger sister that 'she had an ugly inside'; feeling it impossible to make her inside less ugly, for she had no idea how to fix herself; she imagined herself a demon held behind cell walls in the bowels of Hell. Which may have been an impression from the astral fortresses of the aforesaid warlords, come to think of it. Cory figured she'd either been given a metaphorical day pass to enjoy a single physical incarnation, at which point she believed she'd have to return to her cell in Hell for the rest of her eternal life; or she'd somehow managed to escape into physical incarnation, slipping from her jailers' grasps. Either way, she believed she'd have to return to that cell in Hell at the end of her life. All because of her differences, she never believed she'd any right to be alive; the world and her family would be better off had her mother chosen to abort her. Feeling she'd never meet the standards her parents set; they demanded a level of perfection she'd never hope to measure up to."

"Isn't that a symptom of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Cole?"

"Yes it is. My parents were great though. Enough was working against me from greater society, to get that within the home as well; that's deplorable. But that's what autistic children and other nonconformists have to face; from their parents, from their grandparents, from their siblings. Cory was told 'the only ones who care about you are your family'. Her family made her life a living hell, not seeming to care about her at all, while those outside her family were often far more welcoming. She knew it was a flat out abusive lie, for two reasons. First, because telling someone who you want to control, 'you're their only option, nobody else will treat them any better than the pittance you grant them', it's the oldest trick in the book. Cory knew that, she knew she was being gas lighted; and it hurt. Second, it's quite well known in greater society that families are chosen, not static; especially for outsiders. You want to know what's really crazy Pete?"

"Hit me," Noticing Cole get an odd look in his eye, Pete added; "Go on love."

"I came across a bizarre claim by online conspiracy theorists that the desire to stamp out inequality in the sexes so that women would no longer find life so horrible, so we would all be free to be whomever we are, so gender variant and gay youth would no longer end up on the street selling their bodies or taking their own lives; all this is an abhorrent plan for the future by the evil Illuminati."

"Were that true the imaginary Illuminati would be the good guys."

"I doubt it exists as a true contemporary organization Pete; if it does, I propose it promulgates an ideology similar in vein to Steven Moffat's SilenceTM; no longer the villains of the piece, becoming a force for good, a positive ideology promulgated by particular writers in order to promote a future era of true equality. Traditionalists, wanting to maintain their oppressive worldview, disclaim these positive societal advances as coming from the dark; when in reality it is they who promulgate Divisionist lies. After all, the word illuminati derives from illumination, inferring a state of enlightenment and the realization of ultimate truth. The original five members of the Bavarian Illuminati formed in the late eighteenth century, were free thinkers and proponents of the enlightenment movement. Those in authority were therefore threatened by these progressive thinkers, demonizing them in mass consciousness. To this very day, the authorities have the rabble convinced there's a conspiracy of world domination promulgated by the continued remnants of this late society. I see no conspiracy inherent in the desire for a kinder world Pete."

"Nor do I Cole."

"Cory and I talked for hours in the evenings during the year we worked together. I told her of the world of the future, and she revealed her sense of inadequacy in a world demanding perfection. The patriarchal caregivers in her life demanded subservience from her; stamping down on any self-worth she ever managed to develop for herself. The concept she had any value in the world was viciously denied."

"They say the Human psyche views that sort of treatment equivalent to being mentally strangled Cole, or locked in a box."

"I think in the case of Cory's father; his sense of masculinity was predicated on enforcing subservience from those he viewed as lower in status them him; women and children. His insecurity in his place in the world led him to make demands of those he viewed as lesser in status to him to cater to his ego; when they fought his demands it sent him into a rage. It's not proper for men to insist on women and children submitting to the hierarchical power structure of the Alpha-Beta male hierarchy that male bonding is built around. We size one another up in competition over various resources; we're genetically wired to protect women and children; it's

not natural for men to view women and children as a threat. Why not treat them as equals; they

can't physically harm us unless we mistreat them so poorly they snap and grab a weapon. There are radical feminists Pete, so ill treated by the men in their formative lives, they'd rather we all disappeared from the planet. They carry so much rage, they'd see the Human species go extinct before admitting that most modern men are decent blokes. "

"Perhaps by pleading for equality, some insecure men have come to see women as just as much of a threat as other men."

"It works both ways Pete. Women can be brutal to other women who take a male attitude towards life. They denigrate women who enjoy the hard sciences because no real women would

ever dare show an interest in such boring male pursuits; their words, not mine. Women who enjoy camping are told their enjoyment is inappropriate by other women; presumably a hold-over from days when only the lower classes worked the fields. Women who seek a living in the publishing industry are reprimanded by other women for their unwillingness to work for free in a

competitive industry. Gender wise, rejection by one's peers creates more gender dysphoria than

patriarchal oppression by a long shot. Both sexes need to learn to find balance in their gender expressions. Division will always be at odd with the need for cosmic balance."

"It would appear as though those on the antipodes of the gender divide, macho men and femme fatales are terrified of being seen as anything other than purely that; the thought of androgyny completely baffles them."

"In my day Pete, any man expecting others to play into his grandiosity would be ostracized by greater society until he was willing to do the work of looking into himself to resolve his problems. Women as well, but contemporary society allows men to slide on the King Henry the eighth attitude; especially those raised by women born in the first quarter of the twentieth century. That was my problem with my eldest son Jack; in his desire to please his mother, he'd no interest in honing himself into the type of man boys like me were raised to be. There may have been a sliver of xenophobia in there as well; denying the quarter Garconer aspect to his biology. Jack denied anything marking him as anything less than the norm. I often wonder; had

my son managed to live beyond the Great War; would age have tempered his hard edges?"

"I would have liked to meet Jack, Cole; I'm sorry for your loss. It's never good for a parent to lose a child, even if he was middle aged at the time."

"You've never met Emelio or Emelia Pete, let alone Jack. Unlike his brother; Emelio has always been the perfect Garconer son, perhaps mirroring the attitude of his older brother? In a way, Emelio embraced the Garconer aspect in himself that his brother denied; Jack embracing his own Humanity in a way Emelio never could."

"The family unit as collective organism."

"Were my children to show signs of environmental sensitivity, I would never dream of forcing them into situations that made them ill. Forcing an autistic child to suffer the cold or the heat is disgusting; it reveals true lack of empathy, the very thing scientists like Simon Baron-Cohen accuse autists of. As the gene sequences that produce physical symptoms of autism in an individual are also carried by at least one parent, it stands to reason that the parental figure is unable or unwilling to care how much they inflict suffering on their child. A father can be a multimillionaire while his grown autistic child lives in misery on disability because he wants to spend his millions on trips to Europe. There should be a federal law Pete, demanding an audit on the finances of parents of those applying for disability. It's not right for taxpayers to pay into a system to look after those whose parents have millions sitting in the bank. Government assistance needs to be set aside for those whose families have lived in poverty for generations. They should be garnishing the wages of these rich men with disabled offspring at the very least. Those from poor families have no choice but there's no excuse for those with wealthy parents not to have a decent life. If these men won't do the right thing out of a sense of love, ethics and morality, they should be mandated by law to do so. Some people need legal enforcement to do the right thing. Why should others support the poor and sick when wealthy family members refuse to look after their own?"

"With great wealth comes great responsibility, if you're not willing to take on that responsibility, you should never have been given the wealth."

"You take care of your own, then you take care of others. You set up charitable associations, guaranteeing your hard work will help future generations. Only then should one even consider living the good life. We need to get back to the attitude of the wealthy Romans two millennia ago, those with the greatest wealth had the greatest responsibility of civic service. The greatest social faux pas in Rome was to reveal your wealth in a manner benefiting no one but ones' own self."

"Those Romans were a civilized lot, even slaves gained freedom after seven years."

"We refer to those on the Autistic spectrum as having a disability, but neurotypicals have one as well from the point of view of an Autist."

"What would that be Cole?"

"The inability to maintain focus and truly feel the emotional pain of others. Neurotypical empathy lacks internalization of another's pain or interest in a subject. Parents of those on the spectrum may carry the genetic propensity for the syndrome, but they lack the heightened

emotional sense of injustice many autistics abhor. That's the disability many contemporary

neurotypicals suffer from; an inability to feel inequality on behalf of another at the same level as

those on the spectrum. While neurotypicals stridently complain about those with Aspergers not

following proper communication protocols, those with Aspergers will in return despair at the lack of caring for true suffering that so many neurotypicals are prone to. That's the true evolutionary advantage of the gene sequence my Human ancestors carry within them Pete. All this talk of putting jobs ahead of the environment, Steven Harper's war on the environment and the people of this province over the Northern Gateway Pipeline; he'd be laughed out of office in my day."

"The man is ridiculous."

"He's head clown of the Canadian circus alright Pete. The obsessive level of concern for conformity, control and maintaining the status quo is a disability inherent in men who place money above all other concerns. The same mechanism implicit in the tool of misogyny is there in how a certain segment of men treat their daughters. Combining their mistaken belief in their inherent superiority to the women around them, adding the erroneous idea that they are more valuable than their offspring."

# 

# CHAPTER FOURTEEN

"Those whom view themselves as the pinnacle of the hierarchical pyramid despise those who refuse to cow tow to them. They certainly aren't following the ideology found in the Christian New Testament- 'Be there neither rich nor poor, Jew nor Gentile, man nor woman in the eyes of the Lord'. We are all equal Pete; there are those refusing to see it; making the world a much crueler place than it ought to be. Tell a particular group of people that they're nothing, that they're scum, undeserving of life, they begin to believe it. They begin living down to society's expectations. In a way, they want to please society, give them what they demand. Society demands they be miserable, if that's what society wants, they can at least please those around them by doing as they command. They place their oppressors desires ahead of their own happiness because pleasing others is what life is all about and finding happiness is selfish."

"How depressing Cole."

"I am in a bit of a mood Pete. Look how long it took for feminism to get going; despite women only being halfway out of the dark, men already try putting a lid on equality. That's in our western society, other parts of the world are more at a ratio of five to ninety five percent on

equality for women; five being how far along they are compared to a possible hundred percent.

The odd thing is; it seems as though the current younger generation has been born with a propensity for extreme sensitivity to oppression. So young girls internalize the sexism inherent in

society. Instead of creating an army of feminists as their mothers did in the seventies; gaining their freedom and taking pride in their womanhood they despise it, punishing their female bodies

by injecting Testosterone and removing their source of fertility. I saw what that type of oppression did to my own people Pete; think the population of the East End times a thousand.

Garconer in London weren't allowed the pittance of minimum wage jobs; kids at the top of their

class were unable to gain credentials. Thousands of Einsteins forced to sell their bodies or traffic drugs, and on and on."

"Our world is a sick place Cole."

"When my friend Cory developed gender dysphoria, she couldn't take testosterone as the generalized anxiety she experienced from existing as a second class citizen meant she'd already

developed high blood pressure resistant to medication. Testosterone most likely would have killed her, as well as produce innumerable cancers. She had to settle for the same as Cecil; to be

viewed as a man by those she worked with and associated with. They may have developed more

medical treatment nowadays than when Cecil was around, but it's not good medical treatment Pete."

"It's not like you Cole to be judgmental."

"I certainly judge those making money off harming others Pete. Contemporary medical treatment of transsexualism is nothing more than a money-maker for surgeons, pharmaceutical companies and endocrinologists. Then you have all the cancers created in formerly healthy female bodies; think of the chemotherapy drugs the pharmaceutical companies will sell. It's not good policy for a country using socialized medicine; then again I doubt its appreciated by American medical insurers either. The only ones benefiting there are the pharmaceutical companies and the doctors who get kickbacks from them, possibly."

Picking a piece of lint from Cole's shirt, Pete said; "People are pretty wary of pharmaceutical companies nowadays, someone ought to lay a smack-down on companies not working for the common good."

"Bio-medical research does have a habit of testing toxic substances on vulnerable populations as a means of getting rid of undesirable populations; look what happened with AZT. You have people with compromised C4 cells, but plenty of immunity left in the bone marrow. AZT destroys the bone marrow; now I hate thinking the worse of people Pete, but why else would you give people medication that was guaranteed to kill them?"

"It's horrific, is what it is. My worse nightmares involve blood and the killer plague."

"At least you were pre-puberty during the deadly eighties Pete, the winter of our discontent. I was in a foul mood, due to Cecil's passing in the late seventies. My response to my grief was the worse attitude under the situation. I tried sticking to women for safeties sake, but I have natural immunity from my childhood vaccinations anyways. I had a bit of a fling with a former colleague Elizabeth May, not the politician. She transferred to Vancouver from the Shropshire Patrol Company in the early eighties. She didn't like my attitude so we went caput."

"That's too bad."

"AZT was manufactured in the fifties as a chemotherapy treatment; once they realized it did nothing but kill patients, it was shelved in nineteen fifty seven, banned by the FDA."

"I really don't like the idea that it had to be banned by the FDA before they stopped using it."

"Nor do I; they kept supplies of it when it should have been destroyed. Giving them the benefit of the doubt; I suppose they didn't want to damage the environment or something. A more cynical person would say; biological warfare."

"AKA Russell's 'Miracle Day'TM."

"Exactly what I was thinking Pete; without the undying aspect and the hole through the centre of the planet from Shanghai to Buenos Aires."

"There's no such thing as a morphic field, Rupert Sheldrake notwithstanding."

"Those scenes drove me bonkers. I was like hello, Jack is a temporal agent, he'd be a genius when it comes to quantum mechanics, not a dimwit; he'd know Rupert Sheldrake's theory was pseudo-science. Low and behold, I'm strolling through Chapters in mid-July as the show's airing; Sheldrake's book had a reprint Summer of twenty eleven."

"It all makes so much more sense now."

"Doesn't it just? Stepping away from the dramatic world of Los Angeles; nineteen eighty one arrives and boom, oh look, we have a new virus that happens to affect a lot of groups we want gone. Let's kill them quickly in the worse possible way."

"Nightmare city."

"People will do anything to destroy people they want dead, history's taught us that Pete. That's why uber feminists are so wary of medical treatment of transgender men; both the lesbians and the heteros. Back in Cecil's day, transgender men did the best they could with the bodies they had; searching out niche communities accepting them for the men they were. They had herbal remedies that were useless hormonally, but they were often good immune boosters. Cecil tried purchasing a tree from Asia, it didn't exactly go as planned. They may not have worked, but I believe it often had a placebo effect, decreasing dysphoria through the illusion of having some sort of effect. Along comes medical transition, and now, some will say, unless you do it all, we won't treat you like a man at all. Meanwhile, you've got female bodied people, many who are attracted to females, the ones who aren't are still viewed as masculine, no matter how much of a femmey gay man they are inside; the medical establishment has tricked them into slowly killing themselves by proscribing testosterone. Testosterone is to non-conforming females, especially those who love women, what AZT was to gay men, African Americans, sex workers and intravenous drug users back in the eighties. The fact these Trans Men will most likely eventually need chemotherapy from the harm brought on by the testosterone, the link to a toxic chemotherapy drug from the fifties becomes all too apparent."

His hand covering his mouth in horrified realization, Pete said; "My God, that's horrifying Cole."

"Women who love women weren't liable to become infected, so boom; exact same time, they begin offering medical treatment as a viable option; going from a treatment of last resort, for those whose dysphoria was most likely genetically inherent; to a primary treatment of the many. Especially since until the very late eighties, anyone admitting to being primarily attracted to men was refused hormonal treatment; after all, it was only the females who loved other females they wanted to dispose of. The fact of the matter is, feminism owes its continued existence to gay women. The majority of women fear the loss of the love of their husbands if they go too far in demanding equality. Gay women could care less what men think so they carry on the fight; they have nothing to lose emotionally. Physically they may be endangering themselves, but not romantically. Some even believe that hetero women are traitors, that men in general will never change their ways until all hetero women divorce their husbands and dump their boyfriends, standing together united with one voice. They don't seem to understand that ninety eight percent of women love men because they're pretty, they smell nice and they just darn love them."

"Men are pretty and smell nice; especially you Cole."

"Right back at ya Pete."

"Their plan would still fail, because not all men care if a woman will diddle him."

"I doubt the other two percent would really make a difference Pete."

"It's so much better being a man."

"Hell ya, I know I could stand to lose a few pounds, but I've got muscles, baby."

"You've also got something else very lovely Cole."

Winking, Cole said; "Oh, tell me more honey."

"You're my honey bear, my pot of gold at the end of the rainbow."

"I'm the wizard at the end of the yellow brick road Pete."

"Aint you just; where's Toto?"

"Cecil and I had a dog, we named him Russell, cause' he was a Jack Russell. Such a sweetie he was."

"Cecil or the dog?"

Chuckling, Cole said; "It split the community as well. Cisgender Drag Queens don't want to be viewed as Trans Women in their daily lives; Butch Lesbians get frustrated by people calling them sir; and transgender men who prefer women no longer want to be associated with the community, claiming they're no different from any cisgender hetero man."

"You have a point there, Cole."

" I come from a future where transsexuality is extremely rare; when it does show up the treatment is at a cellular level; sort of like a starfish growing a new leg. It's not harmful; there's

no surgery as we'd know it, there's no shortening of lives. Medics at the Queen Anne Research

Facility in Chiltern, utilizing a methodology developed by the Betran Andronicus Empire devised a molecular-chemical test determining the validity to an individual's internal gender. Those lacking the biological evidence for a mismatch in sex-gender correlation on a molecular-chemical level had been inappropriately treated by their caregivers or others in the surrounding environs, those societal throwbacks beholden to the forces of division."

"I suppose that includes the vast majority of the present crop of transgender individuals."

"There's a reason so many transgender men nowadays are on the spectrum Pete; our male dominated society has fought against true equality for women, with the younger generation of autistic females taking the brunt of it due to their inability to show blindness to gendered expectations. Those on the spectrum have higher levels of natural testosterone production then typical females. Their natural inclination is to act more towards the male baseline than the female one; the Divisionist forces running our world do not hold with any colouring outside the lines by contemporary children. Individualists are a threat to the divisionist status quo. They see right through it and they fight it; autistics are a gift to the world, not a curse as the bigots behind 'Cure Autism Now' and 'Autism Speaks' would have it. Those horrific groups are no better than any other group supporting genocidal ideologies, autistic people are a culture Pete. It's a culture arising organically, intuitively, without need for modeling. It's a true evolutionary change, perhaps the forerunner to species differentiation."

"Like those three species of African Baboon that were once a single species."

"Right; or the three higher species of Incubi on Incuba Five beginning as a single species millions of years ago. We never would have seen through the divisionist lies if not for the autistics Pete. They tend to have the gift of discernment; they're warriors for justice and fairness

in the world. They come into life knowing they're fighting a war; it's exhausting for them. The enemy is all around, supporters of the Divisionists are all around. Their own mothers, fathers,

sisters, grandfathers, teachers, counselors; none are willing to lose the war. They want the autistics gone; mothers killing autistic children, psychiatrists shutting down their discerning minds with drugs, sentencing them to group homes where they're told they're nothing, they'll

never accomplish anything. In most cases they've done nothing wrong and yet a group home is

just as much a prison as any facility housing criminals. No wonder they're often filled with rage;

they see the battle that must be fought and as children they don't have the resources, the clout, nor the respect to do anything about it. Then they become an adult; once authorities realize they're an undesirable, differently wired then the norm, their rights are taken away from them."

"So much for equality Cole; woe be those who are seen by the cult of psychiatry to be outliers."

"The idea that one can be a success in life and still be authentic is terrifying to mental health authorities because they value the opinions of others above all else. If they're not able to be authentic in their own lives, they certainly aren't going to allow others to propagate an environment of diversity."

"They're cowards Cole, too chicken shit to follow the adage of 'to thy own self be true.'"

"Thankfully, the provincial government shut down most of the group homes in the province a decade ago; medical authorities no longer have the power to force high functioning autistics into homes. A lot of innocent people were finally able to live decent normal lives once the homes were de-funded."

"Mental health is a real racket Cole."

"Like that behavioral therapy treatment that parents of autistic children keep pressuring the federal government to cover; a forty thousand dollar a year treatment amounting to PTSD inducing emotional abuse. The government's right not to cover it; the secret is, when it works, it does so by inducing dissociative identity disorder. The child's core-self disappearing deep inside, the mind creating one or more alternate identities more able to mimic normality. When it doesn't work, it's due to a lack of dissociative ability, since the ability is believed to have a genetic component. Not all lineages carry the trait. Parents should not expect taxpayers to pay therapists to traumatize their children. Thing is, this is all anecdotal, most mental health workers disclaim the very existence of dissociative identity disorder; if quite a few so called cured autistics happen to claim to have dissociative identity disorder after the fact; the government is not going to risk a libel suit. Much easier just to play the Grinch card."

"It would be pretty hard to prove when you get down to it."

"Sure, there's other explanations; many may be suffering the effects of PTSD from former lifetimes; Vietnam, the wars of the early twentieth century, perhaps future incarnations, parallel incarnations. It's like they've got training for psychological warfare, but they're a mess."

"I don't think I could handle it Cole."

"You could say they're the elite of elite Special Forces of the Angelic Guard; impervious to Divisionist demands. An autistic child's caregivers, beholden to Divisionist forces, stood in judgement of their child's obstinacy; the child fights all the more, they will not cower in the face

of evil, standing tall and resolute. I'm not talking about bratty behavior Pete, I'm talking about gender expectations in most cases. That's where the rage derives from, autistics tend to like following rules; if they're committing antisocial acts, you can bet they're trying to send a message to someone."

"These Divisionists, who do you refer to?"

"Human society both now and in the fifty first century has two types of people; the difference being, the status of the groups between now and then reverse."

"Go on."

"Right now, Humanity is obsessed with a binary system of division. Men and women are different; never the twain shall meet. It makes women miserable; it causes perfectly straight men

to be gay bashed because their, gasp, the horror, too girly. Then you have the outliers; individuals unable to cope with the differentiation between the sexes, leading to gender dysphoria."

"How does it change in the next three millennia?"

"In the next few hundred years, we meet up with groups like the Stornaway and the people of Incuba Five. They're pretty horrified by our divisive practices; not just between the sexes, but between cultural groups as well. Incuba Five has three separate sentient species, Humanity is the same species; the concept of one faction of a single species viewing itself as separate from another faction is a rather bizarre one from a universal standpoint. It goes beyond a physical division, there's also a spiritual division; once we realized that, we were able to turn the tables, we had the Divisionists on the run."

"How so?"

"The quantum universe is built around two opposing forces, creation and entropy. These two opposing forces are kept in balance by a further two opposing forces of combination and division. The force of combination wants to bring everything back to the source; the force of

division wants everything to separate. Division can be thought of as the Luciferian Force, combination as the Angelic Force. Anything supporting the concept of masculinity and femininity needing to be separate; that men can't show a trace of femininity, that women mustn't

act in any way deemed too masculine lest they be seen as inappropriate; it all derives from the force of division. Religion, groups that by all rights should be honouring the Angelic Force, chose the policies of the Fallen One instead. New Age groups aren't any better; supporting the

erroneous idea of souls being either masculine or feminine. The concept of balancing polarities within one's own self is abhorrent to them; they'll go on and on about the source balancing the polarities behind the scenes, the concept of maintaining balance within their own selves anathema."

"That's what I like best about Orthodox Judaism Cole; there's no flaky charlatans running around claiming things that require magical thinking, it's psychologically coherent."

"Scientific Garconer is similar in that aspect Pete. It's a means of giving structure to our universe. Using themes derived from the underpinnings of Christianity and Judaism; particularly

the ritual scapegoat, viewing the story of the resurrection of Christ as our collective karma on a

quantum scale. It's a mystery religion with no demands for acceptance of an unknowable afterlife. It's a living religion built on the lives of historic personages throughout the known

universe and in every form of sentient life. It's very similar to Judaism in some respects. "

"Cole; the two of us are such a perfect match. I, with my link to the past; you with your link to the future."

"There's this kooky cult in the U.K. involving a very complex blueprint of the soul lineage of those in incarnation. If you read between the lines you can make out the basic gist of it without all the complex imagery. The idea being that the average soul clade, basically the spiritual equivalent of a tribe is made up of between three point five and four point five million individuals. Therefore, connections between members of these city size groups are liable to be

stronger than connections between members of differing clades."

"That makes sense."

"Unfortunately they destroy the simplicity of it by adding details about Aliens and pyramids. That's what makes it a cult. Scammers never want things to be simple Pete, they create bizarre Gnosis followers can't possibly understand, leaving the details to the gurus orchestrating the theological underpinnings of the belief structure. For some bizarre reason unknown to me they work to in-still a sense of entitlement over the non-physical aspects of celebrities by the lower classes. Vulnerable individuals in grip of celebrity obsession syndrome are led to believe their delusions are based in reality by unscrupulous charlatans somehow benefiting from the harm they cause to celebrities."

"That'll end well."

"One never knows when obsession could lead to murder; garner one crazed fan claiming to be your Twin Flame, others come to believe the same. Like moths to a flame, the celebrity attracts devotees like a God; lonely souls desiring the love of the star; their soul flaring as hot and as bright as the sun. Their love for the star feeling as that for God; all the reverence of the fans fanning the flames of worship; the star is no longer honoured for who they are, but for what they can give their admirers."

# CHAPTER FIFTEEN

"One particular woman involved with the aforesaid cult has been stalking her chosen celebrity obsession, a married gay man."

"She sounds desperate Cole."

"He is a cutie Pete; although you wouldn't know it with the botox addiction he has going on."

"A botox addiction, is that like a plastic surgery addiction?"

"He's pumping his face full of the Black Death, he's starting to look like death."

"Not a good sign Cole."

"Definitely not. I do have a theory the woman in question is merely a P.R. stunt perpetrated by Mister Celeb. Either as mere publicity, to promote his own bizarre cult without ruining his reputation or means to talk to people on the internet through the use of a character. There are some rather odd actors out there after all, one never knows."

"How very odd."

"Quite; I'm sure it all links back to the Black Brigade, otherwise known as The Galactic Fleet of Light or The Ashtar Command; wherein Commander Abbaddon goes by the name Commander Ashtar. After all, were he to use his rightful name, the gig would be up. Or in popular culture; Russell's 'Trickster Brigade"TM.

"Discernment, the masses need it."

"The warnings are there for those with eyes to see and ears to hear the messages written in the literary consciousness of the Commonwealth. Miss Twin Flame; assuming she's not the actor having a laugh at his fans; believes she and Mister Celebrity were members of an alien species known as the Andromedans in former lives, which is a bit odd when you think about it."

"It's hardly the oddest thing about it Cole."

"No, it's odd because Andromeda is an entire galaxy. It would be like Humanity referring to themselves as Milky Wayans. Not to mention, there's a two million light year difference between our two galaxies; the farther out we go, the less we know of the region. It's possible she came from that galaxy, but if so, why doesn't she know the species designation? Putting this all in perspective Pete, in my time our political discourse revolved around issues emanating out of the Milky Way galaxy. Despite knowing of those from the nearest ten galaxies, we didn't involve ourselves in activity of other galaxies. They didn't bother us, we didn't bother them. A different world is how other galaxies seemed to us. Imagine our galaxy as a stage Pete; we're stage left, Incuba Five and the solar systems surrounding Garconer Colony are upper mid stage. The Andromeda Galaxy would be the prop room."

"Nice one Cole."

"Clearly certain members of the Black Brigade have more hope than brains."

"Their first mistake was assigning a woman as the snake in the grass to a gay man, a smart evil force would have sent another gay man in her stead."

"Could be the universal tax man gave him his orientation as a protective measure, insuring the woman wouldn't be a temptation, cancelling out any nefarious plans the Black Brigade had for him."

"Spooky world we inhabit Cole."

"Spooky universe. Horatio had this lovesick woman named Rebecca Swartz claiming my honey was her Twin Flame; the fact he had absolutely no interest in ever bedding a woman meant nothing to her. She'd work on film sets when Horatio was working a scene, she'd volunteer to work at my man's sustainable food charities, which is not a bad thing exactly. Just she didn't quite seem to be truly invested in the project. She kept bugging Horatio to study holistic healing, to become a Reiki practitioner; something he had no inclination towards whatsoever. Those working the PSYOP angle on the Black Brigade's behalf desire to lead people away from their mission in life, convincing them they need to take up a more worthy goal. In many people's eyes, there's a hierarchy of life's work; if the universal tax man assigned an entity the job of entertaining people, making them think, allowing one the clout needed to make real change in the world; in the eyes of the Black Brigades' puppets; it means nothing, since they're not doing personal healing. That's why fundamentalist Christians tend to not like certain popular singers, they're too non-conformist and thought provoking to their liking; making people think about things those obsessed with conformity would rather they ignore."

Moving closer to Cole, Pete said; "What did you guys do?"

"Rebecca was everywhere, we couldn't get away from her. Until one day she just disappeared, kind of like how I did."

"Ooh spooky."

"Of course, due to certain youthful indiscretions of my own, suspicion fell on me; after all she was after my man. It was all rather silly because I knew she was no threat. Just a mere gnat attempting to squeeze in through a window screen. There was also the unfortunate matter of a little tete a tete the pair of us had immediately preceding her disappearance."

"A fling?"

"Oh no, the three of us were in Cardiff working on a Holovision serial in fifty one hundred. Horatio played the lead, I was consulting on extremist psychological underpinnings and Rebecca worked in costuming. I wasn't on set all that often, so in my down time I did pro bono work as a social worker in town. Rebecca showed no signs of letting up on her obsession with my husband so I figured I'd try a little sociological analyzing on her behalf. At the time, the serial we worked on concerned the Fallen God Bombers, minions of Abbaddon. Set during the nineteen forties after the war; Horatio played a private detective in a trench coat. Turns out, although I didn't know this at the time; the Head Writer was onto something, although the storyline was completely made up. Rebecca's obsession was brought on by her involvement in the machinations of the Black Brigade. I did a little research into her belief system online. I found information going back to twenty ten in the archives. I met with her at a sweet little café' down by Mermaid Quay, showed her the four one, one on her friends in the Ashtar Command."

"And then what Cole?"

"That was that; she stomped out of the café' furious. I watched her head towards the barrage and out of sight, out of mind; settling in for a cup of honey tea and a read through of the following week's script. Once she was reported missing, the cops were sure I must have had something to do with it. A few years after that, Horatio's long-time friend Liz Carnegie got hired on with some deep government Operation in Wales. This was far beyond anything we're doing in the Commonwealth agencies; although it may have developed out of the foundations of said agencies. I was never in the loop on what exactly Liz was working on; but at some point in fifty

one hundred and five; she let slip she'd seen Rebecca. Ever since then, I'd notice her watching me, like she knew something she could never tell me; something I really ought to know but needed to discover on my own."

"Did you ever learn what she knew?"

"I can't be sure. If it's the existence of the gravity wells; that gets leaked to the Daily Mail sometime in the next decade. Fortunately, due to the rags' disreputable reputation as purveyor of lies; it's written off in the annals of history similar to how it's an unspoken truth across the pond odd things go on in Wales."

Laughing, Pete said; "How odd?"

"Tourists claim to have odd dreams involving aliens when staying in local hotels, and northern Wales is said to have the same rate of cattle and sheep mutilations as certain American locales. Back in twenty eleven, the farms surrounding Cardiff were reporting astronomical rates of sheep mutilations. Then you have all these sci fi serials filmed around Cardiff; one may wonder if it has some sort of bizarre effect on the astral overlay."

"Like a beacon; millions of people focused on Cardiff and its environs. To anyone who hasn't visited London, it looks like Cardiff."

"Even Sherlock's London looks like Cardiff Pete."

"Like how I can't watch Kripke's 'Supernatural'TM without seeing our neighbourhood. It's just not possible to imagine the leads wandering around America, when I can clearly see that they're wandering around Coal Harbour, Robson Street and Water Street."

"There's this parcel of land that happens to be smack dab in the centre of a confluence of ley lines in a nation renowned for its ultra-terrestrial connections down through history. You base the most well-loved serials in the world out of that parcel of land, millions connecting to the same mental region on a super conscious level, what do you get?"

"What do we get Cole?"

"I'll tell you what we get. We get one honking siren call out to the universe; saying 'look here, here be the land of milk and honey'. So all these entities are like 'hey guys, this is intriguing, let's go check it out.'"

"So they come; realize it's some boring place and they promptly leave."

"Exactly! Except it's not boring from a Human perspective; it just isn't the holy grail that the entities were expecting."

"They're so ticked off that they got scammed, they take it out on the sheep."

"There's the solution Pete; those poor sheep. Back to Liz; presently the Time Line Investigation Unit out of London can see into the future, a sort of remote viewing. It's possible that Liz's group developed the technology to see into the past as well. Thus she knows that I'm back here.

Rebecca could be arriving any day now."

"Presumably the integrity of the timeline would prevent actual physical travel I'm guessing Cole."

"Makes sense; if one's incarnational cycle has temporal displacement written into the blueprint, allowances are made. If not, the physical form is quantum locked." Pulling himself from the couch, Cole wandered into the kitchenette, pouring himself a glass of water from the tap. Gesturing towards Pete with the glass, Cole asked; "Thirsty?"

"A bit."

Pouring a second glass of water, Cole returned to the couch carrying a glass in each hand. Taking a seat by Pete's side, Cole handed him one of the drinks, saying; "There you go."

"Thanks love," Taking a sip, Pete smiled at him.

"Ten thousand years ago we developed a system of international nation-states in response to the agricultural revolution. Suddenly, instead of travelling around, we were forced to stay on the same plot of land, tilling our fields. People began setting up shops instead of taking our wares from village to village, exploring the world around us. Once we develop interstellar travel, the idea of preventing a nomadic style of living between Earth nations becomes anathema."

Gazing out the window at the city at night, Pete said; "Brand new world."

"First, there's a bit of a struggle."

Massaging Cole's shoulders, Pete said; "There always is."

"From what I know of the historical records for the next century; in the next few decades, two things coalesce, creating a seething cauldron of hate directed towards the Autism Rights Movement. In Canada, the federal government will someday play host to an opposition party reminiscent of the American Tea Party; they'll want those with an autistic lineage stamped out. Even now, the stuff Ottawa says about those on the spectrum is abhorrent. Meanwhile, beyond the realm of politics and the shrieking Harpies leading the offensive against their own children whom they view as faulty; the creative industries and activist movements are gifted with innumerable national treasures. In the next few generations, quite a few brilliant individuals on the spectrum get into power and begin making wonderful changes. Many new Hollywood producers and actors turn out to be on the spectrum; refusing to allow the sorts of lies used to sell

product. People no longer trust the talent pool; they've become Januses, saying one thing, getting

people to watch their latest project, and you end up with an inferior product. The new crop of talent refuse to be two faced; they want their fans to trust and respect their word. What they say

becomes truth; it's no longer a capitalist scam, becoming instead about the art and the message being promoted. The old guard talent under contract to these new powerbrokers demanding transparency and integrity; either they get with the program, stop lying to the consumer, or they find themselves tossed out onto the street."

Punching the air in feigned triumph, Pete said; "Power to the people!"

"A lot of people who prefer the old ways of doing things are not happy at all with this new state of affairs. Especially in Ottawa; it's the whole 'the liberal commies are destroying society' old chestnut."

"That song never gets old."

"It gets real nasty; there's talk of rounding up the new guard, doing away with them for the sake of traditional society. When existence of the gravity wells is leaked to the media; people erroneously suspect the autism epidemic to be either a result of alien genetics in the Human gene pool, or a result of temporal refugees inflicting their future genetics onto the present breeding pool. As long we remain a multitude of voices within the oneness of the Prime Mover, there will always be conflict. We could go thousands of years without full out war, but a single spark could ignite an inferno on a galactic scale."

"That's the catch twenty two of freedom love. Allow yourself to embrace your wild animal instincts inherent in the Human species or any other sentient species for that matter and you become a deadly predator."

"Not in all cases Pete, some dominant life forms evolved on worlds without any predators, their animal instincts default to a more communal attitude. There's a connection with sexual differentiation as well. The aggressive traits inherent in Humanity does seem to link back to the increase in mass and strength men have over women. In species where sexual differentiation is reversed or less apparent, the female gender takes centre stage in anthropological development."

"Imagine living in an era where scientists have an entire galaxy to study. The things you know Cole."

"Garconer and Incubi are both examples of sentient species with androgynous programming running the genetic structures. Both our species get our source of animal protein from fish and birds. Both our home worlds are sparse on land animals. Garconer put all their focus into science and spirituality. Because both aspects are as important as the other, you don't end up with cases of people putting knowledge ahead of the wellbeing of others. Incubi put all their focus into relationships with others and women run the show."

"On the other side of mankind's double edged sword Cole, with our testosterone running the game, you repress all your emotions and you end up with monsters like Mengele."

"Right, or a Mechanical Jester, these isolationist creatures adorned in a suit of stainless steel from the moment of birth. Their genetic structure became damaged from hundreds of years of gamma rays. The only solution was to sheath themselves in these protective suits. They've never been seen au natural by anyone, ever. Mankind may never manage to dissolve their aggressive tendencies, but they're not brutes. They do come to learn that there's no honour in mutual destruction. The fighting spanned solar systems but they did in a way return to the honourable warrior mentality of pre-twentieth century warfare."

"In what way Cole?"

"Out in space, warships used gamma bombs and weapons causing ship wide systems to fail, but we didn't use nuclear weapons or chemical or biological agents. Our society had too many horror stories of their use in outlying areas by ancient cultural groups. Our mythology is full of cities devastated by plaques and planetary devastation. On Earth, after the Earth Firsters gained power in London; unwilling to stop at mere economic stagnation for Garconer civilians, they moved on to concentration camps."

"Shit."

"It was horrifying all right. There were other less fatal internment camps, but the one built outside London on seized parkland, that one you did not come out of. The kids were alright though, they never mistreated the kids. My people knew that, so they'd make sure they got their

kids to safety in the safe zones before they went on the run themselves. Most people in the area

were good people, they just didn't know how to stop the atrocities occurring in their area. People

like the Carnegies and the Dominis. Horatio grew up in London with Liz, a Trans Woman who had stem cell realignment treatment developed by the Stornaway people, as a mere child. Liz lost her father at age ten; he'd been a medic aboard a Garconer Warship. His Humanity hadn't deterred him from joining the right side of the war. He was a true doctor in all iterations of the term; including Steven Moffat's 'Mighty Warrior'. His ship was part of a convoy protecting a group of civilian cruisers taking Londoners away from Earth; next in line for the camp, the authorities wanted no survivors."

"What monsters."

"Humans caught protecting Garconer were shot on sight Pete. Liz's father was killed in a Gamma Blast striking the ship he served on. There were people like Doctor Mark Iblis; persecuted by the English authorities for helping Garconer get safe passage into Northern Wales

where the English government couldn't touch them. By the turn of the twenty sixth century, Wales achieves national sovereignty with a federal Parliament based in Cardiff. Wales becomes

an economic powerhouse before this present century is over and its citizens tire of having to pay

out equalization payments to England and Scotland. By the time the thirty first century rolls around, the nation consists of two provinces; South Wales and North Wales, as well as a territory

consisting of a conglomeration of surrounding islands. Scottish separatists continue agitating for

national sovereignty for the next three millennia, but they never gain the economic clout of Wales. Once Wales separates; Scotland loses access to equalization payments from the wealthy

powerhouse, the smaller population centres become virtual ghost towns. Young adults flock to Edinburgh, home to most new jobs, the crime rate increases; it's a real mess. Around the year five thousand the two Irelands become a single sovereign nation."

# CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Leaning back where he sat, Pete ruffled Cole's dark hair and Cole said; "Soldiers loyal to the anti-Garconer cause staged raids on more than a thousand colonies over a time-span of close to three decades. Ground troops of the Earth Forces sent to the colonies forsook the use of artillery weapons; styling their fighting after contemporary Kali, a hand to hand combat method out of the Philippines utilizing small daggers. Aiming for the jugular; it's a sight you never forget."

Cole's vision clouding over in remembrance, Pete laid a hand atop his shoulder, saying; "Your father?"

"Both of them; I viewed my half-brother's father as mine as well, secondary to my own."

"That must have been odd."

Turning to look at Pete, Cole said; "It's what I knew; Garconer believe that best propagation results come from using a different father for each child. Species evolve faster and you get more

diversity in the gene pool. Here on Earth, contemporary biologists have cottoned on to the concept through studying certain bird species. I believe my mother loved my primary father romantically, viewing my secondary father as more of a friend."

"Friends with benefits."

Stroking Pete's hand, Cole said; "Something like that. Humanity mixed stock with Garconer in immense numbers. A lot of alien species were just too different from Humans to make breeding viable. So it was my people the Divisionists really wanted out of the picture. Once we cottoned on to what was truly creating the idea of division, we were able to choose to refuse to go along with it."

"Sounds like a lot of mumbo jumbo to me Cole."

"I know Pete, you disdain anything feminine in yourself. Nobody's going to make you do anything."

"Darn right; I'm guessing these Divisionists were opposed to species mixing?"

"Humanity was in the process of evolving an entirely new branch to its family tree; scaring diehard traditionalists half to death. People like me; fifty, fifty splits of Garconer and Human; you could say we were the new Adam and Eves of a brand new species."

"Don't tell me we still have Creationists that far in the future."

"No one believed the world was made in six days by my day. Although, someof those off-world religions can get pretty out there in their thinking."

"I'll bet."

"It was more a desire to stay the same, to keep the Human species the way it's been for thousands of years."

"They'd be digging their own graves Cole. It would end up creating a bottleneck in the gene pool. Over time, Humanity will eventually reach a population numbering in the trillions, with hundreds of new subspecies spread out across the universe; people remaining here would amount to a tiny drop in the bucket of the diversity of the Human family."

"They'll have to leave eventually Pete; best case scenario, the sun converts to red giant form in a billion years' time. The surface of the planet will be too hot to sustain liquid H20 so unless we develop atmospheric shielding like purported by previous 'Doctor Who'TM Custodian Russell T. Davies; all terrestrial life will be extinguished at that point. Besides, by my time there were plenty of non-terrestrial immigrants living on the planet. Despite its short brush with interspecies intolerance throughout the bulk of my childhood, the people of Earth eventually manage for the most part to grow out of that childish phase. By the year fifty one twenty, the year I was swept up by the gravity well; the Earth was well and truly headed towards becoming a mature and accepting cosmopolitan civilization. As well, the British Isles becomes the fifty second century's equivalent of America in the twentieth. The Garconer made England their chosen land; as such, a lot of people did not take kindly to these alien interlopers living amongst them. It began; oddly enough, with a girl."

"A girl, what do you mean?"

"Some Duke or some such discovered his wife had an affair with a Garconer man, knocking her up; it all went downhill from there."

"For want of a condom, a battle raged."

"Far across the stars. Later on, Horatio got me interested in the history of the first half of the twentieth century. He had a real interest in that time period; adoring the fashions and the era's literary output; drawing great inspiration for his art from events of the past century. Once I began looking into the historical records upon his urgings, I realized that the politics under-girding the atrocities of the second world war were quite pertinent to my own contemporary life. Three thousand years later, give or take a century or so; history was set on a collision course with destiny waiting to repeat itself. Seeing how I have now lived through both periods of history, I quite frankly don't know which time was worse."

"Sometimes I forget how old you truly are, Cole."

Moving closer to Pete, speaking softly in his ear; Cole said; "You're not just with an older man; you're with a much older man."

Turning to face him, Pete said; "Who often acts a bit like a child."

"Hey baby, accept me how I am; because I ain't changing for no one."

"From where I'm standing, change is all you seem to do Cole."

"For God's sake Pete," Cole stood abruptly, crossing the room to the front entrance, saying; "Just when we're starting to enjoy a nice conversation, you have to go and ruin it. Sweet dreams my Prince, if you can bear to have any." Opening the door into the corridor, gazing at Pete, Cole said; "I'm serious Pete, you're on notice from this point onwards. I don't know how much more I can take, I do have feelings you know."

Pete stood, saying; "Oh, do you now?"

"I let you belittle me; I allow you to taunt me about my weight and I don't say a thing; not a fucking thing. Do you want to know why Pete, why I put up with so much shit from you? Shit I don't deserve; you know bloody well I could find someone who would worship the very ground I walk on if I so desired. I take everything you dish out at me because I, poor sap that I am, I love you."

"Why do I find that a bit hard to believe Cole?"

"I don't know Pete, low self-esteem?," Pete looked like a bull headed into the ring; an apt metaphor given his penchant for attending rodeos and his love of cowboy boots. "I do love you

Pete. You own me; my heart, my body, my very soul if such a thing exists. You own it all. But not much longer; one of these days, I'll manage to get my act together, I'll be out of here. You

can have the entire place to yourself. You can have it all, I don't care." Taking another step into

the corridor, Cole wore a tight lipped smile, saying; "I'll call you in the morning once we both

have a chance to chill off. I'll head back to work for the night, I'm not staying here; that's for

bloody certain."

"Cole don't go, stay here with me baby."

"No, I fucking won't stay here; not tonight. I could do with some peace and quiet about now."

Re-entering the lounge of the CPB; taking a seat on the couch, Cole rubbed his eyes in frustration, wondering if he'd ever manage to get any sleep. Removing his shoes, tossing them to

the side of the couch, he lay down on his side, attempting to arrange his overcoat into a semblance of a pillow. Cole lay there, the sounds of the century old building his only companion;

mind halfway between the waking world and sleep, memories of the previous evening continuing

to haunt him.

"Cole," Earlier; stood in the entrance to their condo, Pete tried getting Cole's attention before he could make a beeline for the elevator at the end of the corridor.

Not realizing how far gone his partner had become, Cole couldn't have known how truly dangerous the situation had become for him in that moment. Ignoring the danger signals before him; confident he was the one in control, Cole allowed Pete one last chance to apologize. Stepping back inside, checking his side pocket for his keys, Cole looked up a tad too late as Pete

silently slid up beside him, shutting the door behind him. "What?," Pete was stood far too close;

so close Cole could smell the hot, intoxicated breath of his strung out lover. The triple bills of

alcohol, lust and hurt filled rage brought Pete beyond the edge of reasoning. Cole knew he needed to remove himself from the situation before either of them did something they'd both

regret. Facing the door once more, turning back to Pete, Cole said; "I'll get out of your hair for

the night, Pete. I'm so sorry it's come to this."

Remaining in front of the door, stubbornly blocking Cole's way out, Pete said; "Don't you walk out on me Cole!"

"I'm sorry Pete," Reaching for the doorknob, Cole grew frustrated as Pete continued to block his way out.

"You're not going anywhere, dude. Not until I've gotten what you were planning on giving me anyways." Stood with his arms crossed across his chest, Pete glowered down at Cole.

Stunned by his partner's unflinching single mindedness in satiating his own needs, pulling his hand away from the door handle in shocked incredulity, Cole said; "You can't be serious, Pete are you really this stupid?" A glint in Pete's eyes revealed signs of more than just alcohol in his system; Cole telling him in no uncertain terms; "We're not having sex tonight you idiot, you saw to that." Glaring at him; Pete gripped Cole's bicep with a vice like grip, Cole struggling to wriggle free, saying; "Now let me go." In response, Pete merely gripped him harder, Cole demanding; "Let me go Pete, we're not doing this!"

Shoving Cole against the wall, Pete kissed him roughly. Going limp, Cole refused to give Pete the response he sought. This lack of reciprocation left Pete unfazed; he was ruthless in his pursuit of power over Cole, utilizing the cruelest manner he could devise. Cole began to despair, he'd found himself in a scene from a nightmare. His gorgeous man was releasing all his pent up rage on him; the rage he held locked inside for decades, much as Cole's own adolescent rage sought retribution in the form of mass death. Cole could understand Pete's rage, that didn't mean he would just take it like a man. The longer Cole remained aloof to Pete's advances, the angrier Pete got; the grip on Cole's arm tightening, his mind lost inside a fog of lust. Losing the will to fight Pete off, his mind was a morass of conflicting emotions. Love, fear, anger; worry for the days ahead. The fear and shock of what Cole knew was about to take place sent him scurrying back to that hidden corner of his mind he spent three years of his adolescence in; hiding from the darkness of the reality he'd created for himself, his dark protector living his life. The following moments a blur; Pete attempted to take what Cole was not willing to give that night, culminating in Cole finally fighting back.

# CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Twenty minutes later, Cole found himself splayed out on the hardwood floor, his ass an agony of raised, red, fingerprint sized welts. Moving slowly across the floor, body in agony, mind in turmoil; Cole knew there was a big, black hole filling the space where the memory of the past few minutes should rightly be. Gazing across the room, Cole was horrified. Pete was laid prone, his back propped up against the dividing wall of the kitchenette where the hall led to their bedroom. Pete's normally beautiful face sported a split lip and a shiner beneath his left eye. It was worse than that though; Pete breathed heavily in obvious pain, a huge, purple bruise noticeable around his pelvic area.

Sitting up, squelching a scream of pain from the impact of the welts, Cole said; "My God Pete, are you alright? I am so sorry."

Looking away, unable to look Cole in the eye, Pete said; "Don't apologize Cole; I don't deserve it. You did what you had to do." Running a hand through his hair, Pete said; "God, I really am a monster, aren't I? You can call the cops if you'd like; I certainly deserve it."

"I think you need an ambulance, Pete."

"Sure I do, and a straitjacket as well, eh? You're always thinking of others, aren't you, love? I just frickin' raped you, and you're worried about my injuries. That's why I love you so much, and it scares me Cole. After what I did to you, why are you still here? Go on, I certainly won't think any less of you if you leave."

"Pete," Struggling to his feet, going to stand by Pete's side, Cole said; "The fact that you feel so awful about it shows me you are not a monster." As Pete shook his head, Cole knelt down beside him, saying; "Listen to me Pete, you are not a monster; you are not."

"Yes, I am."

"Pete, I think it's possible you may have been slipped something in one of your drinks; I really do." Pete's automatic expression of realization and wide eyed relief, followed quickly by alternating expressions of anger and resignation, was enough to satisfy Cole that his partner wasn't doing recreational drugs. He asked Pete, "Do you want to know who the real monster here is?" Standing up as Pete lifted a bleary pair of eyes towards him, Cole said, "I am."

"No."

"Oh, but I am. It's a painful truth that I've had to live with for most of my very long life. But I am a monster, and the things I've done will haunt me to the day I die. I've accepted that fact, it's

why I have such a drive to be a better man, to make the world a better place. It'll never change what I've done, but every little bit helps to lighten the load a little bit more." Watching Pete attempt to stand, his legs collapsing from the pain; Cole quickly reached out to help him, saying;

"Here, let me help you Pete." He helped Pete towards the couch, where the pair sat in uncomfortable pain.

"Thanks."

"I guess it's been long enough, it's time to lay myself bare before you. I just hope once I tell you what I've done, you won't turn away from me in disgust."

"I won't Cole."

"We'll see," Hanging his head in remembered guilt, Cole said; "It was during the GHOST Wars; my family had been utterly destroyed, my culture had been devastated, and I was looking for some serious payback. I wanted to hurt Humanity the way they'd hurt me. I was a kid, and the Garconer adolescent stage lasts a whole lot longer than the Human one. I was hurting, bitter, caught between cultures and being bombarded by the high levels of testosterone puberty brings. Add to that, the standard Human male hormonal wash is a tad higher than the Garconer standard; I was hit with an added one two punch of the adolescent rage so typical of fifteen year old brats." Pete chuckled lightly, Cole placing his right arm atop the back of the couch, turning to face Pete to the left, saying; "Garconer Colony was quite well known as an enclave of Human-Garconer relationships which had certain people back on Earth crying foul. Luckily, I managed to bypass all that by choosing to settle down with Horatio. There were still diehard traditionalists frowning on same sex couples; but at least I didn't have to deal with the whole 'Oh God, he's getting his icky alien DNA into our Human stock' rhetoric."

"God Cole, that's horrible."

"Pete, you would have adored Horatio; everyone did. He was a beautiful man, both physically and mentally. He was a star, a beautiful, glorious star; whose memory I'm sure will be kept alive by historians long past his death. He was a holoplay actor, which meant that wherever you went, throughout the galaxy, every decent four star hotel and resort had rooms with holo-projectors. Horatio was the number one choice for in room fantasy play programs. Each time one of his programs was activated; well he got the royalties, didn't he? So my gorgeous honey of a man was worth a fortune. Oh, the places we went; it was grand. It's odd how quickly life can change, you know?" Pete nodded as Cole continued his tale with, "When I was born in fifty sixty, life in the colony was reportedly pretty good. A mere five years later; by fifty sixty five, the major economic powers of Earth had gone into decline. I was just a kid and it was so long ago, I'm not quite clear on exactly what went down. I do know it involved mining rights to an area of space considered to be an inter-cultural zone where minerals were free for the taking by anyone. Earth relied heavily on those mines for a lot of its interstellar transportation needs. When things changed and the Betran Andronicus Empire won complete rights to the region in a dispute hearing, they no longer allowed Humanity any access rights to the mines."

"Bummer," Cole rolled his eyes, Pete saying; "Sorry."

"Earth was in an uproar; the cost of transportation between star systems skyrocketed, the entertainment industry was in dire straits. Companies could no longer afford to shoot on location if a holo-movie was set anywhere other than Earth. Performers could no longer afford vast, galactic wide show tours; and even if they could, their most diehard fans could no longer afford to follow them from system to system."

"Cole, I've really made a blunder here, haven't I?"

"We'll get through this Pete; in the grand scheme of things, this is just another bump in the road." Gazing off into space, Cole was momentarily lost in his memories. Looking at Pete, rewarding him with a big, dopy grin, Cole became serious once again, saying; "I travelled lots of

places in the universe in my first sixty years of life; but I couldn't go back home to Garconer Colony. There were too many painful memories, too many angry ghosts, too many people hurt by my actions still holding grudges. It was far easier to just stay away. Besides, I was on the run

from the authorities for a long time. It was only after I began speaking to the masses about creating a peace process that they finally agreed to lift the charges. I really didn't want to spend

decades behind bars and I was not going to allow what happened to my cousin Tommy, to happen to me."

Moving in close, Pete asked; "What happened to Tommy, Cole?"

"He was tortured," Pete's eyes going wide, Cole continued with; "They were after me; they wanted to know where I was located. They tortured Tommy; trying to get him to reveal my whereabouts." Smiling sadly, Cole said; "He was too loyal to a fault. Family was everything to

Tommy, even a scoundrel of a half breed cousin like myself. I was too much of a coward to give

myself up. They tortured Tommy to death as I had the communication channels open. I sat there

hiding in the bushes behind the government holding facility, little chicken shit that I was, listening to my cousin being tortured to death, too paralyzed with fear to get up and turn myself

in, too cowardly to do the right thing. My cousin is dead because of me, Pete. You see what kind

of man I truly am? I can hide it with a million good works and an era far removed from where I

first began, but I can't hide who I really am from myself. I'll always know the full and unvarnished truth."

"How old were you Cole, how old were you when this all went down?"

"I was just past my eighteenth birthday. Tommy was seventeen; he was looking at a lifespan of half a millennium. He had his entire life ahead of him, and it was snuffed out all because I couldn't see the forest for the trees. I was so angry, angry at the people who destroyed my family, first by outright killing the heads of our households; we all lost our fathers that day. Next, by the seizure of the youngest sons, my half-brother along with other young boys were taken back to Earth to be raised by Human parents. They stole their heritage and their culture. My own brother was taught to hate his own people, even his own family. When I finally managed to track him down to where he'd been working in London at a pharmaceutical company in fifty, ninety; he wanted nothing to do with me, nor any of his mongrel cousins."

"Oh Cole."

"Everything changed that day, I changed; I became a different person that day. I was no longer the same happy go lucky young chap I'd once been. In the space of a single weekend, I'd gone from class clown, nary a single harsh word to say to anyone, to angry young Garconer Patriot, unable to stand the sight of any full blooded Human. That Monday morning, when my Human friend Anna came to give me a hug, after the events of the Saturday before; I spit on the ground before her, I called her a nasty name and I walked away telling her I wanted her out of my sight; we never spoke again. I really hurt her, Pete. I think she loved me, in her youthful adolescent way. She died in a system hopper crash two years later. I'll always regret those two years I lost out on knowing her as a friend. Once it was all over, it was too late to tell her how truly sorry I was. I was fifteen years old, and for the next three years I allowed myself to become a monster. I couldn't allow myself to forgive; I couldn't allow myself to feel any sense of sympathy for the enemy, not even my own mother who was Human through and through. I became a cold and heartless military commander leading an army of child soldiers; my loyal followers who would have done anything I asked of them they were in such awe of me. I was everything to them; they were everything to me."

"You do have that charismatic quality about you Cole, it's kind of scary."

"Don't I know it Pete. In the decade preceding the attack on our village, anti-alien sentiment grew by leaps and bounds. Beginning with a small but vocal fringe group calling themselves the 'Human Purity League', they used the energy crisis of fifty, sixty five as a springboard into the wider public consciousness. Up until that point they'd been around in some form or another for centuries, most likely ever since the very beginnings of mankind's first sojourns into deep space just after the year three thousand. The energy crisis gave the league a springboard they could use, hoisting my people up as carrier of all Humanity's woes; never mind the fact that my people had nothing whatsoever to do with the issue at all. Some later scholars, writing on the issue during the second decade of the fifty second century took the view that the Ghost Wars were nothing more than a second front in the Evolutionary battles of the twenty first century. There was fear that hybrids like me would change the neurological structure of the Human brain, as those with the autism gene had done before."

Enjoying the rustic scent of Cole's hair, Pete said; "That's a long ass second front."

"You know academics Pete, always searching for links between historical events. My people certainly didn't set out to change Humanity or create a secondary species; no more than those with the autism gene are attempting a coup of Humanity's evolutionary path. In both cases, that's exactly how it was portrayed by political propagandists."

Trying to find a more comfortable position on the couch, Pete said; "Life is a complicated beast."

"During the middle of the fifty first century the Human Purity League began a concentrated attack on British Garconer utilizing political propaganda. Their crap infected everything; so much so, that at the height of it, you couldn't enjoy a single new Holo-play without Garconer hate finding its way into the dialogue in some form or another. When the business with the duke and his wife occurred in London it all boiled over. Worsening the situation was the uncomfortable fact that my people's elite had quite a lot of financial investment tied up in mining companies owned by citizens of the BAE, or the Empire for short. Human corporations suffered massive bankruptcies while Garconer shareholders of BAE mining companies thrived; doing quite well for themselves. For the sake of dumb luck, Humanity saw fit to punish innocent colonists, for the most part having no familial connections to Garconer elite profiting from Humanity's unfortunate spate of bad luck. Plenty of my own people invested heavily in Earth based companies; we were hit just as hard as they were when that all went down." Rubbing Pete's back; Cole watched him give out a wide, air sucking yawn, his eyes barely staying open, his need for sleep self-evident in his actions, Cole asking him; "Are you going to be alright Pete, you didn't hit your head, did you?"

Stretching, checking the extent of his injuries, Pete said; "I'll be fine Cole, no need to worry your pretty head over me, hot stuff."

Heading towards the entrance into the corridor, Cole said; "Look, I've had enough for tonight. I've got to get out of here. We'll talk tomorrow night. You get some sleep, okay Pete? You've got that big meeting early in the morning, you don't want to miss that, do you?"

"Cole, you shouldn't have to leave your own home. I'm the bad guy here. I'll leave if you need me to." Cole would not to be swayed in his intent to head out for the night; opening the door and walking down the hall, trying to shut out Pete's desperate calls as he went; "Cole! Come back love; Cole, I love you, baby." Making his way to the end of the corridor, Cole waited for the elevator to arrive, Pete calling out; "Cole! Come back."

Sighing; Cole breathed out in relief as the elevator finally arrived. Stepping into it, he gazed back at Pete's desolate face with stoic eyes as the door slid shut between them; slamming home the true enormity in both their minds of how truly damaged their relationship had become. Rubbing his eyes, Cole pressed the button to descend down towards the underground parking garage.

# CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Cole was dreaming; he knew this by the fact that he was younger, much younger; perhaps eighteen? Cole shuddered from the horrifying sound of a man who sounded like he was suffering

severe agony behind the iron door to Cole's left. It was Cole's cousin Tommy being tortured to death. Cole's memories contorted into new and unique pathways, revealing things he'd not known before. When this entire thing originally occurred; Cole had been huddled behind a

transplanted blackberry bush outside the grounds of the Human Authority Headquarters, the screams of his cousin reverberating through the radio. But now, here he was wandering down the

dark, metal corridors, clad in black like a crook.

In one quick motion, Cole grabbed a hold of the heavy door, slamming it open. Doing so, the heavy iron door making a loud reverberating 'boom' as it hit the wall opposite it; Cole realized his mistake. Expecting to find his young cousin Tommy; in his place was Pete. Cole covered his mouth in horror. The sound coming from Pete's screaming mouth was only the memory of Tommy's screams of pain, Pete taking the torture in his place. Frozen in fear, unable to know what to do, Cole whispered; "Pete?"

Pete showed no sign whatsoever of acknowledging Cole's presence, nor did the trio of torturers busy making dream Pete's life a living hell. Turning his face away from the image of his screaming lover and the damage they were inflicting on his body; Cole didn't know what was

worse, the sight of Pete being tortured, or the sound of his cousin's screaming. Damn! There was

nothing he could do here, none of this was real and it was all rather pointless. Backing out of the

room, Cole began heading back down the dark corridor, until suddenly he was somewhere else.

Cole was in his mother's house, eating Garconer Stew. He was fifteen years old, angry, hurting and full of rage. Rage at his life, rage at his parents for creating a life in which he was stuck in the middle. Neither fully Human nor Garconer, he was nothing. He didn't exist; a GHOST, moving through life not really existing. Most of all, he raged at Humanity for starting this stupid war in the first place. There was his mother, barely able to look him in the eye. She knew what he did when he went out at night. She knew what a bad influence he was on the youngsters around him; taking their anger over family members taken from them, and instead of helping them mourn their dead, he warped that grief into a fine edged sword. He made them into soldiers, ready and willing to take any orders he issued like his loyal guards.

Time moving inexplicably forwards, Cole's youthful life flashed before him in the blink of an eye. Two years passed in a moment. Now seventeen, Cole was Lord of the Manor. He didn't go to school anymore, he barely even came home, not even for his beloved Garconer Stew for which his ma won village awards. He spent his days issuing orders, trawling the e-markets for the absolute best deals on small arms artillery stock, and when he wasn't doing that, he patrolled the Holonet forums, looking for new angry young sympathizers he could bring to his cause. Lost in his memories of some of the worse years of his life, Cole could do nothing but go through the motions of his angry, adolescent self. He was a different man back then. Not even a man, a boy. A boy battle hardened by a childhood stripped of naivety by the propaganda and lies of a distant world. Frozen in time, his memories like brittle glass, Cole could do nothing but repeat words he'd spoken for the first time more than a century and a half ago. Cole saw himself making passionate speeches to a warehouse thronged with disaffected Garconer youth. Sometimes the cheers which followed Cole's speeches were so loud; Cole feared the authorities would discover them.

Stood atop a wooden packing crate, using it as a makeshift stage, Cole called his loyal soldiers to action, saying; "Let's get them where it'll hurt them the most, where they'll never expect it. Once we take out enough of the elite's lineage, eventually they'll have to rethink their policies. Are you with me?" There were cheers all around. Then Cole spoke louder, "I said, are you with me?"

In unison, the crowd yelled; "Yes!" There was a loud, raucous stamping of feet, banging of metal objects together and general mayhem. A chant arose, full of hero worship for the boy who'd brought them all here, starting in the back, moving ever closer to the stage he stood upon; "Cole! Cole! Cole! Cole! Cole!" It continued onwards, circling around the cavernous warehouse, a twisted sense of love built upon the most unloving of deeds. The chant became ever louder, ever more adoring, giving Cole the one thing he craved most out of life-love and acceptance. Just for being who he was, what you see is what you get. No holds barred, no demands he be any different than how he was. The chant reached a feverish pitch, ending in a crescendo of a wave of sound, eventually reaching such high decibel rates that Cole's name became a song.

Cole smiled tightly. It was the closest anyone would see him feeling anything close to joy in a very long time. This was what Cole lived for now, the love of his adoring worshippers, his obedient fans doing anything he told them; the lost and lonely boy wanting nothing more than to

have his brother back at his side and to see his fathers come back to life. This was all Cole had now, playing the role of the villain in his own life.

"Alright then," Waiting for his obedient followers to quiet down, Cole used the time to pull up his plans on his e-reader. When he had their attentions once more he told them; "Our next target is the Mackenzie family living on Liverpool Lane; fifty five, ten Liverpool Lane over in the Heritage District. You can't miss it, it's a big blue arched A-frame home done up in the style of an old Earth farm house." Pausing to reassure himself that they were paying him proper attention, Cole continued with, "The Mackenzie's have ancestral links all the way down the centuries to President Geoff Mackenzie of the American Mackenzie Administration, circa forty seven, eighty to eighty eight." Loving the obedience and respect his loyal soldiers gave him, Cole said; "They also have a cousin, ten times removed from the present leader of the Security Council to the U.N. back on Earth. Now remember, hit them hard and hit them fast. We don't want any of them getting away this time. Don't let yourselves be discovered. We can't allow the same mistake that occurred last time to happen again." Nodding to a grey jacketed youth in the back, Cole said; "Old lady Jefferson nearly made you, Tommy. Don't let that happen again."

Looking down in misery, his cousin was disconsolate about earning Cole's disappointment, saying; "Sorry."

"Don't be sorry, be smart."

Time sped ever onwards, moving at an unimaginably quick pace, until in the blink of an eye, Cole found himself back in the warehouse. Gone were the crowd of youths, the only remaining Garconer followers were the pair stood in the far corner by the southeast door of the warehouse, sorting through a cardboard box filled with assault rifles and magazine casings. Dressed in black uniforms, the pair each sported a gold insignia stitched into the left hand side breast pocket of their black shirts; the Garconer symbol for the trio of Gods at the top of the Garconer pantheon. Jenson Star, the patron Saint of children; Spring Heel Jack, the patron Saint of soldiers; and Tristan, the patron Saint of Love. The Black Guard Patriots, as Cole dubbed his crew; honoured Spring Heel Jack for obvious reasons, Jenson Star because they were still children and despite the fact that war was not a child's endeavor, they acknowledged that they still were children in their species' eye; and Tristan for their love of their culture and the survival of their species.

Watching his soldiers do inventory on stockpiled weapons, Cole sat atop a makeshift bed created out of a pile of crates. Cole had a couple of his new recruits, a pair of Garconer brothers losing both parents in the latest raid on Eire Carn, a nearby Garconer colony world located in the next system over; requisition him a luxury bed set from the Sumer Fe department store one village over. Cole lived in the warehouse now, gathering his most treasured possessions from his mother's house in the dead of night; climbing in through his bedroom window like a cat after a mouse, trying not to make a sound. Arranging the north end of the warehouse into a cozy little suite; there was no kitchen, and no bathing facilities, but he'd make do. A stream out back would do in a pinch.

Cole's mother, despite her disappointment in her eldest son's chosen vocation, her disapproval obvious, did her best to bring Cole fresh food every day. He was still a minor, and as such, under her moral and legal care. All the more so for being a Garconer half breed, for which the adolescent maturation phases lasted a whole lot longer. It would take a full century for his brain to reach the Human equivalent of a full grown adult. Compared to the Human children of Cole's same age, he and his Garconer brethren were like children playing cops and robbers. Unfortunately for their chosen targets, their game had consequences all too real. In the eyes of his full blood Garconer cousin Tommy, despite their chronological age being nearly the same, Cole's Human side gave him the air of wisdom that only came with age. His cousin revered the ground Cole walked upon, littered with thorns though it may be.

Sat atop his makeshift bed, Cole gave silent thanks to the gods that all his soldiers had come back from the latest mission alive and well. None had been arrested or detained for questioning; all their identities were in the clear. The massacre had gone off without a hitch. The entire Mackenzie brood homesteaded in the village had been taken out in their sleep, they hadn't felt a thing; silencers fitted over assault rifles so no one would hear a sound. Quickly, methodically, his soldiers snuck from room to room like thieves in the night. They were all soon dead, none of the neighbours any the wiser.

Cole had long since quashed the part of him screaming out in horror at the knowledge of the lives he'd ordered snuffed out; stamping down the nausea threatening to come up with each meal he ate. These deaths meant something; they'd not died in vain. In the end, it would all turn out for the best, even as each raid became worse than the last. In the end, they'd have to listen. He'd

get them to put society right, even if he had to die himself in order to do it. Resigning himself to the role of the bad guy, considering the burden of guilt he'd chosen to take on, his role in the pageantry of a freeing of a people; Cole liked to believe it all had a point, there was a lesson to be learned in this fight. Someday, were Cole to survive these times of tribulation, some good would come of it; he just didn't know how. But it would come, better days would come about; he'd see to it, somehow.

Contemplating this life that Cole created for himself, he flicked on the holo-vid application on his e-reader device. It was lonely at the top, even surrounded by followers adoring him. Checking the latest news reports for the area-bringing up a still holo-image of the front of the Mackenzie home; pressing 'play', Cole began to watch his handiwork in action.

"At the top of the hour, we have breaking news concerning one more brutal massacre of an entire Human family." Holo-news reporter Darlene Stamp stood in front of the Mackenzie home. She was Human, with clear traces of a Zenobrat ancestor or two somewhere in her family lineage. Cole knew this by the faint, barely noticeable traces of grey specks evident in her skin melanin. She continued with, "The Mackenzie family were found dead in their beds; every single one of them, this morning by the housekeeper, Maggie Renard. It is thought to be yet another attack by the group calling themselves 'The Black Guard Patriots'. Their leader; a man known only by the Holo-net forum handle 'COE2009', is still unknown to the authorities. Attempts to trace the device associated with COE2009 have so far been unsuccessful. He has been able to find a way to constantly shift provider satellites on a minute by minute basis."

Switching off the newscast, Cole looked towards the northwest entrance of the warehouse, smiling at the sight of his cousin Tommy entering the building. Tommy carried a plate of wild mushroom sandwiches; a village delicacy from 'Gerstmyers's Wild Foods shop' on Lexington Avenue, to Cole's side. Cole greeting his cousin with; "Tommy you've brought my favourite! You're the best cousin a boy could ever have."

Smiling, Tommy placed the plate of sandwiches atop a nearby pile of crates laid on their sides like a bureau. They were filled with Cole's clothing; positioned at the head of what had become Cole's bed. Tommy said, "Gerstmyers's having a deal on these things. Apparently it's been a very good year for Colony Mushrooms." Placing the plate atop the top crate, Tommy found another nearby to sit on.

Grabbing himself a sandwich, Cole stood, saying; "They look great Tommy, I'm glad you're alright. Are you still having issues with your father? Because you know, if you ever need a place to crash, there's plenty of space here."

"Yeah, things are rough; he's really disappointed in you, cousin."

Smirking, Cole said; "I am such a rebel."

"I think we both know you've gone long past a mere rebel, Cole."

Looking down at the wooden floorboards, a sense of guilt permeating Cole's youthful features, he muttered; "Yeah, I know that." Raising his hands in the air in a gesture of futility, he said; "But what can you do, eh? Someone's got to do it, it's sick the way the ideologues back on Earth have dragged our entire civilization through the mud. You can't trust a Garconer, right? We're just thugs, or so they'd like us to believe; I'll show them a thug, they've never seen the likes of me before. They never will; I'll get them to change their ways, or I'll die trying."

Looking down in sorrow, clearly hating to see his cousin hurting so, Tommy said, "Stay safe, cousin. Your family loves you, I love you. I'd do anything for you; you know that, don't you Cole?"

"Yeah, I know that Tommy. That's what scares me so much. I brought you into this mess, and I don't know how much deeper into the shit it's going to get." Looking Tommy directly in the eye, deadly serious, Cole said; "I can't keep you safe, and if something were to happen to you, I truly believe uncle Moriarty would murder me with his bare hands. Your father adores you. You're such a sweet and gentle soul, and here I've gone and turned you into a murderer. I bet there's got to be some serious hell awaiting me when I die, eh Tommy?" Tommy just turned away, the talk of death scaring him.

The scene shifted again, Cole finding himself stood in the doorway to his ma's sitting room, quietly observing her watch a holo-documentary about her eldest son's fall from grace. Years had passed; it was all done and finished with now. Cole changed his life around, he was working for peace now and he was planning his wedding to the love of his life, Horatio Domini. The hurt was still there though, those individuals snuffed out by his loyal soldiers; they'd had lives, all gone now. They'd had other family members, friends, colleagues, associates, people they passed on the street, bought groceries from; every single one of them would mourn them. None of them would be forgotten, Cole would see to it. Their deaths would lie upon his conscience until the day he would die, whenever that may be.

Slowly, his ma turned to him, a need to understand written in her eyes, clear as the day was long, saying; "Cole honey, why'd you do it; why did you decide to turn yourself into such a monster?" Cole visibly flinched, turning to leave her sight. She stopped him before he could go too far out of the room, saying; "No, don't just ignore me Cole, I need to understand. What went through that bright head of yours; what would lead you to become the person you did? What happened to my beautiful young boy who'd never dream of hurting a single living thing, let alone organize a long string of massacres?"

Defensive, not wanting to be psychoanalyzed by his mother, holding his arms close against his chest in a protective manner, almost as though he were protecting his heart from her rejection, Cole said; "You know why I did it ma, it was just something I had to do. I didn't want to become the villain of the piece, but someone had to do it."

Turning away from him, her eyes resting on the holo-image of Cole in the documentary, his ma said; "That's crazy, and you know it."

Trying his best to stamp down on the fit of rage simmering just beneath the surface of his calm exterior, Cole said; "If you say so ma."

Torn from his memories, thrown into a more surreal like dream world; sliding down the rabbit hole of his archetypal mind, Cole found himself mired in a weird cosmic soup of both memory and dream. The memories of his fight with Pete quickly flashed through Cole's mind as overlapping this was the strange sense of being forced under the murky waters of Burrard Inlet.

Fighting for air; Cole attempted to tread water, the tall condos of Coal Harbour rimming the

shoreline in front of him. A moment later, Cole realized the cause of the pressure forcing him

down into the water. Pete was behind him; hands gripping Cole's shoulders, fingernails digging into Cole's skin, making him bleed, the sea water washing it all away. Groaning in pain, struggling against Pete's grip, Cole attempted to swim away. Escaping Pete's grip, Cole quickly swam to shore.

The dream shifted again, and Cole was back on Garconer Colony once more. Stood by his cousin's grave, head bowed in mourning, the silence was broken by the arrival on the scene of one Mister Roschilde. Pushing his face roughly into Cole's, Pete taunted him with; "It's all your fault Cole." Saying this, Pete's normally beautiful features were twisted into an ugly grimace.

Shoving him out of his face, Cole said; "Shut the hell up! You don't know what the fuck you're talking about."

"Don't I now? I'm you, stupid. I know all, I see all; I remember everything Cole. You were a worthless piece of crap the day you were born, and you are still a piece of crap now."

"Shut up, just shut up!"

Stalking around the graveyard like a jungle cat, Pete said; "What are you going to do Cole, huh fat boy; what are you going to do?" Quicker than his tormentor could ever possibly anticipate Cole turned in a counter-clockwise motion, pinning Pete to the ground as the man groaned; "Upth!" Cole roughly straddled the man across the thighs, his girth pressing Pete's firm tight ass hard against the alien ground; the mud, red like ochre coating his loves' trousers. Lost as he was in the labyrinth of his own dream, Cole still managed to contemplate the symbolic significance of it all. Pete squeezed out his name, "Cole!"

Pete was no longer the monster of Cole's dream. His tormentor subdued, wriggling beneath Cole's ample thighs like a snake desperate to escape the grip of a large predator, Cole said; "How do you like that, 'Mister I'll take what's in front of me; and to heck with the wishes of the other party', Roschilde? Not so fun now, is it, my little sex fiend?"

Dream Pete still had a bit of spark left in him yet. Struggling beneath his captor, his every word clearly an effort to make, he spit out the words; "I'm the sex fiend now, eh? Now that's rich, it really is Cole."

Sat atop Pete, Cole's face revealed a mixture of confusion and affront, his dream-self befuddled by the fog of unreality. Try as he might, the neuro-chemicals awash throughout his sleeping brain prevented him from making heads or tails of what this part of his psyche was trying to tell him. Remaining astride Pete, Cole's vision bi-located back into his memories, into a scene of horror from a century ago; a memory he tried so hard to forget. Like the quantum hard-drive stored on Cole's e-reader; the engine running the karmic software of the universe had its own method of doing things. Nothing happened without a reason, not even horrific crimes and betrayals. There was a reason Pete did what he had to Cole; debt paid; Cole was granted deeper knowledge of his part in the squabble.

Looking out through bleary eyes, Cole saw an image of Granville Street as he'd once known it back in a horror-filled night in nineteen thirteen. Cole hadn't been himself that night; the instigator of the adolescent fugue causing so much misery and destruction taking a circuitous

route through Cole's temporal life-stream. This was where it had all started, the Black Brigade; the force opposing all physical, sentient life using young Cole's overwhelming fury at what had been done to his family, twisting his psyche to their own ends.

This night, a century ago, Cole's body had been seized for use by a being without a name. Knowing only that the insubstantial creature lived a leper like existence millions of years ago on

Incuba Five, suffering from the rare disorder of Senatorial Sociopathism; an Incubi disorder which lead to homicidal ideation; he'd been easy prey to Abbaddon, itinerant leader to the Black

Brigade. The nature of the Abbaddon group meant that the consciousness overtaking Cole's mind was really no more than a sentient Senatorial Sociopathism virus, travelling via the temporal corridors; like neutrinos amidst a cell wall. Until the thirty first century when a Garconer, Grotto Incubi hybrid known as Simon the Polymath, or the Patron Saint of Scientists, discovered a pharmaceutical suppressant for the virus ferried disorder; there'd been no hope for sufferers. The sentient virus, theorized by some to be a manufactured creation born out of the research labs aboard the ships of the Black Brigade; utilized the quantum temporal receptors in its hosts' brain to change the past. In this way, medical researchers beholden to the auspices of the Black Brigade, truly the opposite in calling to those desiring mantle of healer; devised a means of controlling time, slowing down the natural spiritual evolution of the host's quantum signature.

Passing in front of the Dorian Gray Gentlemen's Club, street packed with young couples out on the town; Cole, dressed to the nines, his century of life veiled in the form of a man a quarter of that; strolled up to the entrance of the club. Mind in a fog, not merely due to the dream; Cole spotted a middle aged man with a bit of a paunch smoking a cigar to his right. For a split second, another's man's etheric image overlay that of the man Cole faced; Pete. In that single instant, Cole realized the cause of Pete's actions; knowing he owed it to both of them to forgive. Then the overlay of Pete was gone, and Cole was left with the memory of what he'd done all those years ago.

The man's name was Tyrone, and as he stood smoking a cigar, the two watched a pair of men stroll past. Checking the men out, Tyrone revealed to the stranger in front of him where his interests lay, saying; "Warm night, isn't it?" Nodding towards a nearby alley to the south, Cole

caught Tyrone's eye as he added; "Things are certainly looking up, aren't they my friend?" The

pair quickly headed around the building into the nearby alley. Approaching Tyrone, dancing to

the choreography of his unseen puppet master, Cole looked Tyrone up and down, pushing him

back against the brick wall of the neighbouring building, kissing him hard on the mouth. Pulling

gently away, Tyrone said; "I'm Tyrone, what's your name, handsome fellow?" Placing his hands

low on Tyrone's thigh, Cole remained silent, frotting his hips against Tyrone's, the man saying;

"You don't want to say, eh; I can respect that. A man has a right to his secrets, after all."

Kissing him, Cole's consciousness pulled away from the scene, watching his Incubi led brain continue to control his actions. Prepping themselves, Incubi driven Cole stood behind Tyrone as they began another kiss. Pulling away, Cole whispered; "I'll make you feel so good."

"Well, go on then."

Leaving the scene completely, Cole could still hear Tyrone's moans of pleasure as he said; "You're amazing, oh, yeah! Oh, yeah!"

Finding himself inside a dark warehouse, Cole was confronted by the image of a heavy metal door slamming shut, a bolt slid across it; the false image finally giving way to Cole's memory of the following morning.

Opposite the Dorian Gray, the CPB's 's company horse and carriage stopped beneath a bright blue sky. Mere speck of disembodied consciousness; Cole hovered over the scene, watching from a vantage point just above the roof of the private gentlemen's club. Stood near the entrance to the alley, two RCMP Officers were on the scene. From his vantage point, Cole observed his younger self, pretty Emily, Doctor Blaine Giancomo and Charlie Denton step from the carriage, crossing the street to meet the officers.

Remembering Emily, Cole thought of happy times he'd spent by her side. God how Cole missed her, she'd died far too young. The good she could have achieved, had she the time. Blaine, the man truly put the archetypal healer into his calling of doctor. Such a loving and sweet man to his patients; Cole one of them in more than one timeline. During this debacle which Cole was recalling, the creature inside him, master manipulator of his hosts' personal timeline as he was,

showed Cole the way things could have been, had Cole's luck taken a left turn. Through it all,

Blaine saved his life, piecing together research off Cole's e-reader, re-engineering the SSV suppressant developed by Simon the Polymath. Charlie; good ol Charlie Denton. He'd had no

title, his placement was royally sanctioned, a blue blood out of Southwest Wales.

Speaking of Charlie Denton, his attention on the officers, he asked; "How many murders has this guy committed now?"

An officer by the name of Constable Smithers replied, "He seems to be changing his M.O.."

"How so?"

"For a start, the latest victim isn't a young man, on top of that, he's got plenty of cash left in his wallet."

Stepping forwards, Blaine stated; "It wasn't about money, then."

"I suppose not."

Charlie asked, "Can we see the body?"

Stepping aside, Constable Smithers showed them the view of Tyrone's corpse propped against the wall of the neighbouring building, as though he'd just nodded off. A look of recognition flashed across Cole's younger self's' face, he remembered the previous night's events with full clarity. It didn't matter that Cole had been locked inside a warehouse in his mind; the Incubi virus overcoming all his defenses; Cole's hands twisted Tyrone's neck, killing him stone dead. For that, Cole's body carried the weight of karma; leading to the feet of Pete Roschilde, purveyor of the organic universe's retribution.

From his vantage point above the alley, Cole observed his younger self gazing down at Tyrone's corpse, stunned. Taking a step back, ready to bolt at any moment; Cole glanced nervously at Emily as Charlie flipped through Tyrone's wallet. Glancing back towards the corpse, knowledge of what he'd wrought with his bloodstained hands hit Cole like a pinpoint bomb; mind burst asunder by shrapnel built of iron nails.

Backing away from the corpse towards the street, Cole gasped; "Oh God." Eyes filling with guilt and horror, a single tear winding its way down past the edge of his chin, Cole said; "Oh God."

Watching his younger self run off, tormented with the knowledge of what he'd done; from his vantage point above the alley, Cole gazed down at Tyrone. His vision blurry, he saw Pete's image once again overlain atop the corpse.

Bi-locating once more into his own past, Cole found himself stood amidst a crowd of Human teenagers. Cole saw his younger self, now fifteen, stalk angrily through a high school corridor, leading a crew of Garconer toughs. Stopping at a bank of lockers set against the wall, Cole greeted his cousin Tommy. As the pair spoke, the dislocated Cole, the one having the dream saw Tommy overlain first with a transparent image of Tyrone; second by that of Pete.

Three becoming one, alternating one after the other, Cole said to nobody but his own self; "Of course, Tommy is Pete, Pete was, will one day be born as Tommy. A century ago, he was Tyrone, I killed him just like my hatred for humanity led to Tommy's death. Tyrone seemed like

such a good soul, had things been different, we could have been good together. No wonder Pete

treated me such as he did, and as Tommy his loyalty to me could be considered in some form, the same co-dependent relationship I have with him as Pete."

Watching his younger self wander off down the corridor with Tommy, Cole fell head first onto the sodden ground; finding himself back in the graveyard with Pete. Losing lucidity, Cole's recent clarity of the situation was lost to the fog of dream.

Grinding his voice out like brittle glass, Cole said; "This is so unfair. You're not even real in here; you're still the one in charge."

"How do you figure that Cole?"

Cole had no answer to that; watching in emotionless repose as the rain which was not really rain began to fall in rivulets around Pete, his hair sopping wet in an instant. It was the sort of rain one could only find in the likes of dreams such as this. It was rain without odour, rain without reason, rain no more than symbolic imagery of the psyche's hidden desires. Seconds ticking past; Pete's facial features began to melt like wax, revealing Pete's true identity- the Wicked Bitch of the West. Cole stood, the now grey mud splashing about his ankles, freezing him to the bone, saying; "Why don't you fly away on your broom, you fucking monster?"

Saying this, Pete's features alternated between a grey skinned hag and some sort of hairy beast. Taking a step back, slamming into a black marble wall that hadn't been there a moment before, glancing back in surprise and just a small amount of pain; Cole took in the hard flat surface, the colour of obsidian glass. Sat atop the marble surface was a crow, a white rose clutched in its beak.

Stood on a balcony, Cole found himself overlooking the city of Orion. The city was built atop an asteroid positioned on the edge of the Betran Andronicus home system, hosting the galaxy's largest corporate shipyards. The building the balcony was attached to hovered several feet above the swampy ground, suspended in midair by way of an anti-grav generator. This was how most of the city was laid out around him as Cole gazed out across the city towards the horizon; his eyes taking in the sight of the interstellar shipyards, the colours of the asteroid's Aurora Borealis giving the air a turquoise glint.

Turning and smiling; Cole watched Horatio step forwards from the nearby doorway into the building. He was young and beautiful, the way Cole would always remember him, skin pale like ivory, hair long and wavy, blonde as Earth's Sun. Horatio held in his hand a beautiful white rose, specially cultivated in the lush gardens of Santa Fe Colony; an offering of his love.

Coming up to him, placing a hand upon his shoulder, Cole said breathlessly; "Hello handsome." Moving in for a long and passionate kiss, never wanting it to end; Cole knew it had to end eventually, everything did. Everything had its time; everything would come to an end eventually

In the beginning, Cole had been unsure where he'd stood when it came to Horatio. The gift of a single white rose really turned the tide, showing Cole the true depth of Horatio's feelings for him. That single little beauty, grown in the system's most splendorous garden planet, showed the lengths Horatio would go to snag Cole. While the star certainly had the money, the flower revealed much more than that. After that, Cole chose to make the white rose his flower of choice.

# 

# CHAPTER NINETEEN

Walking into the lounge of the CPB early the next morning, Sera Rasmussen found her boss asleep on the couch, flailing about as he cried out in his sleep. Going to him, gently trying to wake him from his nightmare, speaking quietly, Sera said; "Cole, it's all right."

Sera backed up as Cole flailed out an arm in response, shouting, "No! Pete please don't do this, please don't ruin this. I love you so much."

"Cole?," Peering down at him in concern, Sera said; "Cole, honey wake up. Cole, it's all right. You're having a nightmare. Come on now, wake up Cole." As he continued to toss about, beginning to whimper; taking a chance, Sera grabbed Cole's shoulders, shaking him, saying; "Stop it."

With a start, Cole sat up, nearly jumping from the couch, saying; What?" Looking around the lounge, then at Sera, he said; "What a night, oh God Sera, what a night." Rubbing his eyes, Cole pushed his hair away from his face.

Bending over the couch, rubbing Cole's shoulder, Sera said; "That must have been one nasty dream Cole."

Looking at Sera in surprise, Cole asked; "What?"

Pointing at Cole's face, Sera said; "You've got some tears that slipped out." Cole rubbed his cheek in sheepish embarrassment as she continued with; "Plus, you were talking in your sleep, yelling actually."

Looking up in alarm, Cole said; "what did I say?"

"I'm not sure, something about 'the Humans are coming'."

"How weird," Sera giggled, and Cole found himself falling just a little bit more in love with her, if that were at all possible, saying; "You know, I really don't know how I would have managed the last few years without you, Ser."

"You've got Pete haven't you Cole, doesn't he make life worth living?"

Groaning in misery, thinking of the horror that occurred just a few short hours ago, Cole said; "I don't want to see his scrawny hide anywhere near my ass, anytime in the conceivable future."

"Did you two have a fight?"

"You could say that. You could also say Mister Roschilde is incredibly lucky I love him like I do; anyone else, heck, if anyone else had tried what Pete did last night with me, I really would have killed them, I am fucking serious!"

"What the hell happened Cole, what did Pete do to you?"

"Let's just say Pete Roschilde needs to lay off the alcohol and watch where he leaves his drinks a little more carefully. It was bad; it was real bad, Sera."

Placing a comforting hand on Cole's upper arm, Sera lead him back to the couch, and the pair took a seat. Then she said, "Tell me what happened, Cole."

"I had such high hopes for the night. I had it all planned out, it was going to be special, you know?" Taking a gulp, throat closing up with a gasp, the anxiety of the previous night's horror finally catching up to him, he said; "It was special all right, just not in the manner I was expecting."

Rubbing circles across Cole's shoulder blades with her hands, Sera said; "It doesn't sound too great."

"Pete can be a bit of a beast at the best of times, but last night Sera I think even he realized that he took it too far."

"Cole, why haven't you ever said anything about this; Pete's been to my house, we've had dinner together, done things as a group. You've never once let on there was anything wrong. Why haven't you ever said a single word about all this?"

"I couldn't. I thought if I tried to ignore it, it wouldn't be happening to me. None of it would really be happening if I just put it at the back of my mind and pretend it didn't exist."

"But we could've helped you Cole. If I'd known what was really going on, if your friends knew what Pete was really like, we would have helped you get away from him."

"You don't really know what has been going on, Sera. He's not that bad, I didn't want to get away from him. I just wanted him to stop being so freaking judgmental. Nothing I do is ever good enough for him. He's constantly harping about my weight; and I just take it and take it and I take it just a little bit more. Then when I've finally had enough, and I just can't take it anymore,

and I actually speak up, it's supposedly all my fault."

"That's not right. That's not right at all, Cole. You need to get yourself out of that situation, post haste."

"Last night it all came to a head. Sera, you would not believe the way Pete was acting. It was so bad that I actually managed to black out. There's twenty minutes that I have absolutely no memory of, it was that bad."

"What do you think happened during that missing time span, Cole?"

"Once I came too, lover boy pretty much admitted to taking his liberties with my person. I never believed he could ever have it in him to do that sort of thing. He is so full of rage, Sera. He's never gotten over the way he was bullied as a youth and he's been taking it all out on me the past few years. I've been letting him; he's my bully boy, and I love him. I wish I didn't, I really do. It would make this whole thing so much easier. I'm going to have to leave him, and I don't know how I'll be able to bare it."

Moving slightly on the couch, Cole squelched an expression of pain, his ass still raw from the bruising he took the other night. Sera noticed, Cole never could put anything past his RCMP trained colleague, and she asked him; "Are you going to be alright, Cole? You don't look too good there."

"Thanks, I needed that, Sera."

"You know what I mean Cole."

"Yeah, of course, it's just my ego's been taking a bit of a bruising for the last little while. A guy can only take so much, you know what I'm saying?"

"Cole you do know that if things were different, I could see myself falling so hard for you; you know that, don't you? If I didn't have Gerald to come home to at the end of the day, I could see myself falling so deeply, you'd have to send in the rescue crew to get me out of that well."

Laughing, Cole said; "Oh God! You remember that American girl who got trapped in a Texas well? That was some scary shit."

"Don't laugh, Cole. That was a national nightmare."

"International even."

"Just remember this Cole, you are loved. Maybe not in the way you'd prefer, but you are loved. We all love you, each and every one of us here at the bureau. We're all here to give you a hand, a shoulder to cry upon." At this, Cole graced her with a withering look, and she said; "Oh I know, Captain Billington never cries. But maybe you should. You need some way to release all that stress."

"That's what sex is for, Sera my love."

Backing up, Sera said; "Alright then. I see you've got it all in hand."

Getting cleaned up for the day through use of the campus' gymnasium showers; Cole enjoyed a hearty breakfast he'd bought from the campus McDonalds, sharing it with Bailey and Sera at the table in the lounge, saying, "So! How would you feel about accompanying me to the Celebrities Club this morning to do some investigating, Constable?"

"Here's where my police training comes in handy."

Cole took a lusty bite of his Egg McMuffin; washing it all down with a large gulp of coffee as Bailey pushed aside the last of his bran muffin, brushing crumbs from the top of his lip, saying; "Are you sure you wouldn't rather have the cops do that sort of thing, Cole? It might be easier on you. You've got enough on your plate to deal with right now, without this as well."

"I've got to do something, Bailey. I need some way to regain control of the situation. That was taken from me last night, and it wouldn't have happened if someone hadn't messed with Pete's drink. He's just as much a victim as I. He was drugged; that's a violation of his person all on its own. He needs justice, just as much as I do; but we'll handle this my way. We don't need to get the cops involved, alright? I don't want Pete having to deal with charges, not while I still want to try working things out with him."

"Cole, you are far too forgiving, do you know that?"

"Bailey, if I ever want to be forgiven for my various and sundry misdeeds, and believe you me, I've got some doozies; then I need to return the favour. Turn the other cheek. It's a lesson I learned too late. My hands have brought about death, and this time, I gave the orders." Giving Cole an inscrutable look, Bailey glanced at Sera, her eyes wide. Cole added, "I haven't always been a very nice man Bailey. This is why I live my life as I do. I need to make amends, to balance the books. I hope, if I live long enough, I'll just about manage it. I bloody well hope."

Sera reminded him; "I am a member of the RCMP, you realize?"

Cole visibly startled, dropping his Egg McMuffin to the table as Bailey smirked and Cole said; "What? Oh right. Well you can consider this case classified, have you got that?"

"Fine."

"What's classified?," The three spun around as Brittany entered the room.

Turning to face her, eyes downcast and dispirited, speaking quietly, Cole said; "Come and sit down."

Taking a seat, Brittany asked, "What's going on?"

Looking off into the distance, catching sight of a tiny brown sparrow happily hopping about just outside the window; Cole smiled at Brittany, asking her; "So Brit, ever been to the club 'Celebrities'?"

"No, I don't think so. Why?"

"Now first, this is eyes only."

"Is this official, government wise?"

Shaking his head, Cole said; "No, it's personal."

"Okay."

That out of the way, Cole proceeded to describe the previous evening's visit to the club, concluding with; "After that, let's just say that I don't want to talk about it. But Sera and I are going to do a bit of investigating." Pushing his chair away from the table, Cole stood a bit unsteadily on his feet, heading over to grab his coat from where he left it. Shrugging into the coat, Cole commanded, "Man the fort while we're gone, eh Brit?"

"Sure thing sir."

As Sera joined him at the door, Cole added; "When Reg comes in, feel free to fill him in, eh?"

"Sure thing."

Smiling widely, Cole said; "You're the best." Cole headed out; Sera following right after, like a dog after a bone.

Feeling on top of the world, Jason Bowen stepped through the doors of the city's most elite gay bar, 'Celebrities'. Stopping in at the Central library, searching for material on journalism ethics, Jason had gotten orders from Marsha to be a fly on the wall while Captain Billington partook in a bit of investigating. Spotting the man in question leaning on the bar, chatting up the Latino bartender; Jason took a seat nearby.

Frustrated with the bartender's obstinacy, The RCN Captain said; "Listen, you're going to want to help me out here; want to ask me how I know that, buddy?"

"How do you know that?"

"I know that you're not going to want the bad publicity of this case if you refuse to cooperate and I'm forced to bring the cops in on this, all right?" The bartender nodded in agreement, Captain Billington adding; "Good man."

Across the room, the stage was being set up for the evening's charity drag show to raise funds for a new East End youth soccer team. Jason knew this from the wavy banner strung atop the ceiling, overhanging the stage. Under this banner stood Jacquelyn's good gal pal Naomi Swartz; hard at work affixing silver streamers to the walls of the stage with scotch tape. Planning to enter the show that upcoming evening; Naomi was a fellow Trans Woman like Jacquelyn. Twenty five years of age; Naomi had her gender affirming surgery three years earlier at age twenty two. Born to rather liberal parents with plenty of cash and a swanky home in the West End; Naomi started taking oestrogen with her parents blessing just after her seventeenth birthday. Jason never knew a girl happier than Naomi Swartz; just about walking on air the last little while, busying herself with planning her upcoming nuptials to her beau Jake Chillingham.

Catching sight of Jason, putting down the scotch tape and streamers she held, Naomi crossed the room to where he sat. While she was doing so, Jason watched Constable Rasmussen pull a police badge from her white jacket, showing it to the bartender. Listening in on the conversation, Jason heard the man behind the bar explain that; "We had an incident around midnight. A bar patron collapsed to the floor; he started shaking, like he was having some sort of seizure you know; foaming at the mouth, all that? We called an ambulance, had him taken out by stretcher. We just assumed he was epileptic or some such. But now you know, come to think of it, he could have reacted poorly to something someone put in his drink. Perhaps the same fellow who got your friend. Could be something, you know?"

Captain Billington told him, "Thanks."

As the captain continued to banter with the bartender, Naomi slid onto the bar stool to Jason's right, saying; "Fancy meeting you here; Jacquelyn are you going to join us on stage tonight?"

"I wasn't planning to. I could, if I can make the time. I'm kinda working on something at the moment."

Naomi turned to look where Jason had focused his attention. Captain Billington was going over the previous night's chain of events, saying; "So that new Lady Gaga single came on, I dragged Pete onto the dance floor to shake his stuff. That's when it must have happened. Man, we were so stupid!" The captain slapped the bar top, gazing down at it in desolation.

Going to him, rubbing his shoulders in comfort, Constable Rasmussen said; "Don't do this to yourself Cole. It's not your fault."

Naomi whispered in Jason's ear, "I think you're out of luck."

Turning to her, confused, Jason said; "What?" Quickly realizing Naomi's meaning, Jason shook his head, saying; "No, not that."

"If you have time, do you want to go shopping together this afternoon? We'll get you all dolled up for the show. You'll have men eating out of your hand, pretty thing like you."

Rolling his eyes, smiling slightly from the compliment, Jason said; Do you want to go to the mall?"

Peering at her nails, Naomi looked up, grinning widely, saying; "I want to go shopping!"

Adding his own grin to hers, Jason said; "Shopping it is, now back to work."

Naomi stood from her stool, saying; "Back to work." Heading back up to the stage, she blew Jason a kiss as she went.

Enjoying an early lunch at the Russian Tea Room around the corner from Smith and Company Designs, Pete Roschilde celebrated one more slam dunk on his latest design proposal. Sat across the table was Latisha Davies, the promotional design artist on his design team; the others arrayed at various tables in front of him. Eying Pete's black eye with concern, adamant in her fears for his safety, Latisha said; "I mean it Pete; you need to get away from that old man. He's clearly a jerk, he's in his fifties, and he's seriously let himself go. You can do so much better. You're still young; try for an older guy in his early forties, say."

Pete's perturbed expression would see Latisha spontaneously combust had he that power, telling her; "Drop it Tish, I mean it. I've already lost him; your nattering certainly isn't making it any easier."

"Fine, I just think you could do better; that's all."

Gazing at his colleague for a long moment, Pete finally said; "Hmm, and by doing better, you mean you, don't you Tish?"

Fork halfway to her mouth, a slice of tomato from her Chef Salad hanging from the bottom, Latisha said; "Now you know I'm not stupid enough to believe I'd be your one exception to the 'men only policy' you've got going on there Pete."

Stirring his borsht absentmindedly with his soup spoon, Pete said; "Never the less, you wish things could be different, don't you?"

"I just want to see you happy, Pete."

"I've done this to myself, Latisha. I found a great guy who treats me like a Prince. What do I do? I treat him like crap, I walk all over him, and I tell him via my actions that I view him as nothing. When the truth is that he's everything. He's everything I could ever want or need in a partner, everything I want in a friend; and I, self-sabotaging guy that I am, I pushed him away. I need help Tish, I really do. But only because I want Cole back, otherwise I could really care less. As my good looking man likes to say, 'Accept me as I am, because I ain't changing'. For his sake, I'll do it; I'll try my very best. That's the best I can offer."

Gazing out at the street through the nearest window, a pair of reflective vest wearing city workers sweeping the pile of autumn leaves from the grey, stonework foundations of the building; Latisha turned to Pete, saying evenly; "Maybe it's for the best, you need to have your

heart set on becoming a better man, Pete. Otherwise you're only going through the motions. You

owe yourself as well as anyone you're partnered up with to give it your all; don't you agree?"

Looking down at the floor, fidgeting with his hands in a self-conscious manner, Pete said; "You're right Tish, you are absolutely right."

The subdued mood was broken up suddenly by the sound of Lady Gaga's 'Boys, Boys, Boys' ditty as Pete's phone went off; his face turning crimson in embarrassment from the noise it made in the quiet restaurant. Quickly answering it, he said; "Hullo."

"Hey Pete," Cole sounded uncharacteristically shy, as though unsure of where he stood with Pete, after walking out on him the night before.

Speaking in a rush, Pete did his best to ignore Latisha's angry scowl beside him; "Cole I'm so glad you called. I'm so sorry about last night. Do you think you could ever forgive me, baby?"

Pausing for a moment, Cole said; "We need to talk. Are you free now?"

Letting out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, Pete said; "I'm eating lunch; my team is celebrating a million dollar development deal we've drawn a home run on, Cole."

"Good for you, Pete."

Pete could imagine Cole on the other end of the line, grinning cheekily and nodding his head. Answering slowly, unsure of where the future was leading them, Pete said; "Do you want to meet with me now Cole, where are you?"

"I'm at the club, you know, where we went last night?"

"Alright, what are you up to, love?"

"I'm trying to track down the identity of the creep who spiked your drink. From what I've managed to piece together so far, it sounds like the bastard may have targeted more than just you, Pete."

"Oh, what've you got?"

"Just a second Pete."

Put on hold; Pete scowled at his suddenly silent phone. Glancing unhappily across the table at Latisha, busy throwing, 'what did I tell you', looks his way, he muttered; "He put me on hold." Latisha smirked, telling him everything she thought of the situation, through her eyes alone.

At the bar, Cole turned to Sera, coming to stand beside him holding a stack of security papers taken by the bouncer scanning in the ID cards at the door, saying, "Here's everyone in attendance at the club last night." Placing the pile of papers onto the bar in front of him, she gazed at Cole, as he looked at them wearily.

Putting Pete's call through again, Cole said; "Pete?"

"Yes Cole?"

"Do you think you could come by now? The club manager's allowing us to look through the security footage to see if we can find the creep who spiked your drink with the ID files. After we're done that, we'll talk. You know, about us?"

"I'd like that Cole. I'll be there in a few minutes, alright love?"

"Love you Pete," Ending the call; Cole put the phone away, glancing over at the bored looking fellow sat at the far end of the bar silently observing him, sipping an ice tea. Quickly turning his face away, choosing to pay the man no mind, Cole considered what he'd say to Pete when he finally walked through that door.

Moments later, as Pete walked through the door, Cole watched the main entrance like a hawk; some pretty little Drag Queen perching herself atop a ladder, wearing a gold miniskirt and a pair of gold go-go boots, helping to affix another banner to the ceiling. Moments earlier, Sera headed into the security centre with Tyrell Carins, the club manager, where they were now going over the tapes from the previous night. Strolling in with his arms outstretched, Pete dramatically said; "Here I am love, ready and willing to work things out, if you'll have me." This earned him the attention of most everyone in the club, if not for his theatrical entrance, then for the shiner he sported beneath his left eye.

Cole stood to greet him, concern etched on his face at the sight of Pete's black eye. Going towards him, placing a gentle hand on Pete's shoulder, Cole lead him back to the bar, whispering; "Pete, I feel awful about the bruise."

"This is just the one they can see; you don't want to know what the other one looks like Cole."

Shaking his head in guilt-laden sorrow, looking down at the floor, closing in on himself, Cole said; "Pete, I'm so sorry."

"Love, I told you last night. You have nothing to apologize for. I'm the bad guy here, we both know it."

Turning around slowly, Cole sensed someone's eyes on the back of his neck. It was that same androgynous fellow, looking away once more; it was kinda creepy. Quietly drawing Pete's attention, Cole said; "That guy, he keeps looking at me, and not in a good way."

Back-stepping, looking quickly over his right shoulder, Pete said; "Just ignore him love, I think he's a hustler."

"Huh, that would explain it. I must look like a walking bank to him."

Placing a friendly hand on Cole's shoulder, Pete whispered in his ear; "Now now, don't make fun of him. We've all got to make a living somehow." Sending the man a sympathetic glance, Pete muttered; "There go by the grace of God, and all that rot."

Stepping away, smiling, Cole said; "Oh, you don't want to go offending that great big Spaghetti Monster in the sky now."

Giving Cole a look which could scrape tar from the pavement had he that power, Pete stated; "I'm Jewish, you know that."

Wrapping an arm around Pete's waist, Cole dragged him towards the stage where Naomi Swartz and her little cohort of volunteers were sat deep in conversation, saying; "Let's see if the girls can do anything with some concealer, eh love?" Calling out to the group, Cole asked; "Does anyone want to help a fellow out here?"

Naomi stood to offer her assistance to the two older men as Constable Rasmussen stepped back into the main room. Stepping further into the room, Sera faltered mid step, catching sight of her employer with his arm wrapped territorially about his partner's waist, unsure how to treat the man who hurt her friend so dreadfully. Captain Billington called out to her in a joyful greeting, "Sera! Look who's here."

Heading towards the bar, Constable Rasmussen revealed her lack of enthusiasm to be in Pete's presence, saying; "Hello Pete." Shaking her head wearily, she smiled tightly.

Focus back on the task at hand, Captain Billington nodded towards Naomi, saying; "Hey there."

Bounding towards the pair, pleased as punch to help out these two handsome fellows, Naomi peered at Pete's eye, saying; "Oh that looks nasty! Would you like some blue eye shadow while I'm at it? You'd look great."

Scowling in annoyance at Cole's smirk, Pete told her; "No! I don't want to wear blue eye shadow! Thank you very much. I'd never hear the end of it."

Captain Billington burst into laughter as Naomi attempted to cajole Pete into trying out a new look, saying; "Come on baby, I can make you look pretty."

Gamely attempting to push Naomi's eye liner brush away from his face; Cole came to Pete's rescue, saying; "Come on now, leave the poor man alone. He's already pretty." Looking Pete up and down, allowing his gaze to rest a tad overly long on Pete's ass; Cole looked at Naomi, saying; "Look at those cheek bones, you ain't ever going to find a better pair of those. Here, or in the future."

Unsure quite how to take the man's last statement, Naomi sent a befuddled look Jason's way. Saved from Naomi's make up wheedling hands, Pete said; "Thank you Cole."

"You're welcome," Unable to hold in her laughter any longer, Constable Rasmussen burst into chortles; Captain Billington followed soon after; allowing a few chuckles out, Pete rolling his eyes in annoyance.

# CHAPTER TWENTY

After allowing Naomi Swartz to apply a jab of concealer to the skin beneath his left eye, Pete spent an inordinate amount of time going over the security footage with Cole, Sera and Tyrell in

the tiny back room housing the club's security centre. Not that it'd done them much good; the club had been packed to the rafters the previous night, making visual recognition of anyone's

individual movements amongst the crowd an utter impossibility. Choosing to concede defeat,

Pete left the task to the experts to sort out; Cole following him out of the room, leaving Sera and

Tyrell to finish the job.

Sat at the bar, the pair nursed Mint Baileys; Pete listening to Cole finish his tale in the quiet of the bar. Moments earlier, laying his cards out on the table, Cole told Pete in no uncertain terms that were their relationship to work, they both needed to work out their issues with a professional; both individually as well as together. Later in the day, Cole would come by the

condo to pack up a few things to store at the CPB while he looked for temporary lodging for their time apart. Cole's choice of words gave Pete a sense of hope that this would all work out in the end.

"My people, the Garconer, they were really smart. I mean, the average pure blood Garconer could give Einstein a run for his money."

Laying his head on his elbows on the bar, raising an eye at Cole's unfettered pride in his people's intellectual prowess, Pete said; "Let me get this straight Cole, you're from the planet of the geeks."

"Pretty much. Here's my point-there's a moral to this story Pete. Traits that fit well amongst a singular culture don't always stand up against the weight of a warrior based competing species. The intellectual giants of the galaxy were no match for the battle hardened bullies of Humanity. Brilliant minds were no match for the fists and knives of a hate fuelled propaganda machine run by leaders working from their basest instincts, those driven by survival; of a species, a culture and a very way of life. It was a fear driven by evolution's arrow, a goal for a species' survival, the will to carry on; the basest drive overtaking Humanity's better qualities, a weak populace highly motivated to find a scapegoat for the source of their many ills. In the Garconer they thought they found the solution to the source of their society's failure to thrive."

"Sounds like history repeating itself."

"People never learn, do they Pete? You know how people are when the economy has gone to crap?" Pete nodded, Cole saying; "In a tale as old as time, Humanity's descendants sought to search outwards for a source much easier found within. The Garconer came to represent everything that was wrong with the universe, an easy target, one thought never to put up much

of a fight; easy to take down, the bullies overtaking the weak. Innocent of everything but the pure and unvarnished truth of this one thing. They were better than Humanity. In everything they set out to do, they were truly better than their Human cousins."

Wagging a finger in front of Cole's face, Pete said; "You my friend should be ashamed of yourself."

"Believe me Pete, I am."

"Well good."

"Released from their long dead animal natures sloughed off through eons of evolution and gene augmentation, the intellectual giants of the galaxy managed to throw off the shackles of their species' former lower natures. Like all higher species, they weren't all that different from mankind."

"But they were better than us, eh Cole?"

Stricken, Cole said; "Pete!"

"Yeah I know love, go on. Regale me with some military history."

"Humanity's enmity towards such a benign force derived from a childish instinct, a sense of fairness and even handedness in the cards they'd been dealt by the universe; seeing in the Garconer a species far in advance of Humanity, both in intellectual prowess as well as in the care

of the soul. Coming together as a community in common cause, the Garconer worked for the betterment of the entire species."

"How so?"

"Millennia before Humanity built the first city states; the Home World of my ancestors thrived in its scientific endeavours. Each and every one of its major population centres was home to its own centre of scientific research."

Leaning against the bar top, admiring Cole like no other man could, Pete said; "It sounds promising."

"It was. Er, so I've been told."

"How's that then?"

"I never got to see the Home World for myself. I just know the stories my father told me as a boy and the written records I studied in school. We lost our way back; I suppose my ancestors never had a Garconer version of leaving out bread crumbs."

"They couldn't figure out how to find their way home; how did that happen?"

"They just kept travelling, they never stopped. They wanted to experience it all, all the universe had to offer. All the sights and sounds, all the wonder and the beauty, they wanted to know it all. At some point, they went too far, got thrown off course, who knows what went wrong. They were too far out; their universal coordinate guiding system no longer made sense. They say that different areas of the universe may be running on different rates of time; I suppose it's possible that this part of the universe is slightly out of phase with the Garconer Home World, or something."

Behind Cole, Naomi Swartz wandered past with a bundle of blue flyers for the evening's festivities, saying; "Hey fellas, are you going to donate to the East End Youth Soccer Fund? Tonight should be a blast, you should come." Handing Cole a flyer detailing where the financial contributions would be going to; Naomi peered sideways at him, saying; "There'll be lots of pretty girls, and boys playing at being girls for the evening."

Grinning like a wolf, Cole said; "Sounds intriguing."

Pete muttered beneath his breath, "I've no interest in girls, or faux girls."

"Suit yourself," Heading off to the other end of the bar, Naomi took a seat next to the man who Pete swore was a hustler.

Focus back on Cole, Pete said; "Where were we?"

"We were discussing my ancestral Home World."

"Go on then."

"Back on the planet in question, things were hopping."

"Let's hear it then, oh Môn Orator."

"Each major centre focused on a different scientific field. The coastal ports of call focused on the marine sciences, the interior settlements held the fresh water sciences as their claim to fame, and other learning centres had any number of disciplines at their fingertips. Around the time of the Akkadian Empire here on Earth, the Garconer Home World reached the stage of development which this planet is at now. Around the time when the Roman Empire arose here on Earth, my people had reached the edge of the Home System, ready to begin their interstellar exploration voyages. Back on the Home World, the race was on for the greatest scientific discovery Garconer scientists would ever make- the voyage to eternity."

"This was what now?"

"Longevity."

"Ah!"

"It's the reason I just may live for another century, and why my father was two and a half centuries old when he was killed, yet he only looked forty."

Placing an arm on Cole's shoulder, Pete said; "I'm so sorry Cole."

"That was a long time ago. They called it the 'Eternity Project'. They wanted to develop a guarantee that our species would never go extinct. You see; researchers realized that through the process of evolution, after billions of years, a species would no longer be the same originating species. They wanted some means of slowing the process down, so they could control it, as well as have the means of recording the changes. They wanted a straight line through time, from where they were, to the big crunch, hundreds of thousands of trillions of years down the line, when the universe will go into its final singularity. Or so it's believed. Of course, that all fell to

the wayside, once we got lost."

"I guess the universe didn't want your people to live forever Cole."

"No, I suppose not. In the long run, we all live forever in a way, just not in the same physical form."

"We hope."

"My people teach in the Scientific Garconer belief system, that when this universe reaches its final singularity, going into its big crunch, hundreds of trillions of years down the line, it will all

combine into one immortal being made up of the molecules of the entire universe. Each universe

will eventually become its own sentient being known as an Archetype; giving birth to new universes. Whichever archetype this particular universe is, that's the overarching theme of our

universe. You've got The Healer, the Warrior, the Professor, the Lover, the Entertainer, who

knows what else. Those paintings I did of Spring Heel Jack, Jenson Star and Tristan; they are

believed by my people to be the personification of former universes. The narrative tales of what

Jenson and Jack had to go through, throughout the ages, it's truly sad; it reminds me of a certain

fictional character on a certain BBC Wales television production. Jack and Jenson are Omni

Source beings, meaning they combine two or more universes together. Jack is both healer and

warrior, as well as representative Scapegoat to the quantum karma of our universe, what Christians would view as Christ; although he isn't the one written about in the New Testament, just the archetype behind it. Jenson is healer, professor, storyteller, gardener, the Great Shepherd, and Great Gift-giver. Christ and Father Christmas all wrapped up in one. The first mover begat a three-fold universe. The three in one divided into many. The many begat duality; the concept of conflict; giving rise to separation, judgment, cruelty, and misery." Taking a sip of his drink, Cole said; "The core issue was whether it was better to learn through first hand action or through re-experiencing the actions of others, gaining knowledge of others mistakes and learning from it so that one didn't make the same mistake. There are those who would demand others suffer as they suffered; out of spite. You see it in people purposely infecting others with tainted blood, you see it in parents purchasing lollipops infected with Chicken Pox or forcing their children to attend Chicken Pox parties instead of just getting them vaccinated. Children do occasionally die from Chicken Pox. Why social services refuses to step in, I'll never know. If you ask me Pete, parents like that, It's probably just the tip of the iceberg. The state gives far too much power to parents when it comes to how they treat their offspring. These are vulnerable sentient beings and too many parents view those they create as pieces of property. In my day, no parent would ever be allowed to get away with ninety percent of the abuse that parents heap on their kids nowadays."

"What prevents it?"

"We develop this tool called the Quantum Karma Register; measuring the addition or subtraction of negative karma in our quantum signature. If a man starts yelling and screaming at his child, the QKR registers the terror that he inflicts in his child. It beeps, the info is sent to a galactic database. In most cases the beep is enough to remind him to calm down. If the database is activated too often, the authorities look into it. Of course, it becomes an excellent tool for law enforcement agencies as well. Trying to infect a child with Chicken Pox would warrant immediate arrest because you're using bio warfare and torture against those you should cherish the most; and manslaughter if your child happens to perish. In that particular case, the child advocate will attempt to prove the possibility of the parents truly wanting the child dead, especially if the child had issues or physical disabilities. Why else would they purposely infect their child with an illness that sometimes kills? They tend to lose on that account; parents will claim ignorance of a potential for fatalities; but they do try. The QKR registers betrayal of a child's trust, the same goes for gender enforcement. If a mother tries preventing her daughter from taking shop class because it's a so called 'boy thing' she's betrayed her daughters trust in her mother always having her back, boosting her up in life. Beep, there's the QKR warning. The same goes for men and boys who bully their more femmey counterparts or judge girls and women for being less than feminine."

"Strike one for justice."

"Conflict arose within the Omni source, half the minor consciousnesses supporting an ideology of remaining in the physical worlds, never recombining to form Archetypes; going as far as to claim that returning to source was the ultimate evil, that only physical forms could maintain life. The other half supported the idea of keeping themselves pure, only taking physical form when they'd developed a truly worthy idea for the betterment of the societies they incarnated into; learning everything they could by studying the memory of the universe. These became known as source beings, the scholars of the universe."

Looking at Cole intently, Pete said; "Do you know which group you're from Cole?"

"I believe that I'm a source entity; I believe Cecil was a source entity, split into two incarnations due to both my temporal inversion, as well as the differences in our life-spans. Cecil in the twentieth century, Horatio in the fifty first. I believe that you may be a source entity Pete, living numerous incarnations at the same time. I know that you're very important to me Pete, despite the fact that we've both mistreated one another, and not just in this lifetime."

"Cole, you haven't mistreated me; and the bruises don't count."

"I had this dream this morning, I knew you back in nineteen thirteen, I committed the ultimate betrayal, far worse than what you did to me last night. Then you became my cousin Tommy, I

betrayed your trust once again by using your familial love for me to hone you into the ultimate

child soldier. I completely destroyed you, I'm so sorry Pete."

Leaning in close, Pete said; "We were kids Cole, God forgives."

"They do say that God is love, which is true in the case of Tristan; nobody knows much about him, other than his connection to the tale of Tristan and Isolde, he's one of the oldest Omni Source beings. The archetype of love is both the oldest force in creation, giving form to creation

itself, as well as the first and last lesson we must learn as we travel through the chain of life. Through love, the universe begat physical creation; through love artists bring forth paintings,

architectural wonders, literature, theatrical performances, love brings us divine meals, fashion,

perfumes, music, medical advances and the province of ideas. Love is the Alpha and Omega, the

oldest idea, the last idea. The first and last question, the question that must be asked, but must

never be answered, for with that answer comes an end to all things; what is love? That is Tristan,

representative of love, the God that must be ignored, for through knowing him, we bring the lesson to a close."

"I love that," Moving in for a quick, chaste kiss, Pete moved back just as quick.

Smiling, Cole continued; "Spring heel Jack; he's been persecuted and reviled, held captive for a crime he never committed. He was discovered on the planet Nesara; the only survivor of a bio weapon, his adoptive son Jerra dying in his arms. Falsely implicated by agents of the Black Brigade, he was held for two millennia in a state of quantum lock, unable to leave the temporal plane. Jenson's said to have been tricked into accidentally releasing an air borne plague into an alien world. They managed to get it contained, but there was a child, a sort of patient zero, hosting a new and deadlier strain of the virus. The only way to save the population of the planet was to sacrifice the child. From that day onwards, Jenson made it his sole mission in life to protect the children of the cosmos. So as a young boy, I was taught to put my faith in him. In both cases, it was the work of the dark medics aboard the fleets of the Black Brigade. They are said to overlay those on Earth with dark designs involving Human research subjects; Individuals such as Mengele, or the Japanese medical researchers perpetrating horrific experiments on POWs during World War Two. The saddest thing about that whole sordid era Pete was that there were Canadian World War Two veterans maintaining grudges against the entire Japanese lineage even into the mid-nineties. I knew a man who begrudged even the teenagers of Japan, that is the evil of hatred Pete; innocent children and he wanted them dead because of what the men his age or his fathers' age had done five decades earlier. He certainly didn't hold the same enmity toward the Germans, so it was pure, unadulterated racism. I told him, 'look, you want to hold a grudge towards the men who committed the atrocities, fair point, but you have absolutely no right to hold the sins of the grandfathers against Japanese adolescents.' He was all, 'Children are always a chip off the old block, never fail'. We know that's a falsehood. Age doesn't always bring wisdom and kindness Pete."

"When we stop trying to become better Human beings, we stagnate, the soul begins to decay; physical death can't be too far behind."

"Good point, if Humanity ever wants to live as long as the Garconer, they'll need to look into the connection between the effect of kindness on the telomeres. That's species specific, I'd think they'd need to introduce specific Garconer genes into the Human genome. Which they'll never do, considering that they tried to wipe us out of existence."

"Our descendants are going to need to release a lot of Human-centric arrogance in our own superiority, put the good of the species' front and centre if we want to increase our longevity over the long run."

"I believe that the universe has given us a nudge in that direction in whatever funnel of creation it is fuelling the engine of evolutionary change. Were I an evolutionary biologist I'd set my sights on determining an emulsifying agent driving that engine of speciation. Evidence suggests that agent has clear links to the Autistic genetic sequence; the very people valuing diversity the most. The very people my Human ancestors credit for bringing to light the misery wrought by the forces of Division; warriors born to defy the Black Brigade at every battlement. Not all mind; some individuals use their autistic gifts in full support of the Black Brigade. That's their modus operandi Pete; going after those who'd be their greatest adversaries in other circumstances. They just give up fighting the good fight, it's easier to just give up and serve the divisionists and stop fighting, then do the right thing, and continue fighting the good fight. That's why they targeted me; they knew that I'd be a great force for good both in my own time, as well as in the here and now. They wiped out all good I've done by manipulating my darker aspects. So I'll try to forgive you Pete for what you've done, as I've been forgiving you all along. For now I know, I've done you wrong in at least two other lifetimes."

"That's good of you love, you are not an evil man Cole; no matter how much your conscience tells you so. I love you Cole, even if my actions have revealed otherwise."

"I love you too, Pete."

"I'm glad to hear that."

"The Garconer are up there somewhere Pete; somewhere in that vast expanse of cold and dark space, travelling the stars."

"Alright then," Pete ruffled Cole's hair affectionately. Relaxing into Pete's gentle caress, Cole sighed in happiness, leaning back and stretching his muscular arms outwards in a counter clockwise motion. Glancing around the club, all tough guy exterior, Cole caught the eye of the odd fellow sat next to Naomi.

# 

# CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

Discussing the finer points of quantum cohesion with Bailey, Reginald was sat casually at his desk, doing his best to look dashing and debonair; as Brittany sat at her desk, working on Captain Billington's Fort Worth expansion proposal. Reginald said, "I've been mulling over the

meaning of the gravity wells."

"Oh? Do tell, Doctor Desmoire," Bailey was perched on a nearby black leather spinning chair.

"I think, due to the makeup of the quantum field, each particle of space being its own simple harmonic oscillator, this is proof that the gravity wells are not a natural phenomenon, but are in fact a created aspect of the universe."

Sitting up in interest, Bailey said; "Why do you say that, Reg?"

"Think of this Bailey, how does a nuclear bomb go off?," Looking up from the work she'd been doing, Brittany wondered where on Earth Reginald was going with this.

"We smash atoms together."

"Exactly! Simple harmonic oscillators are the equivalent of atoms on a quantum level. So how do you create a bridge between these particles? There has to be some created force pulling these particles apart, see?"

Smiling, appreciative of his friend's intellect, Bailey said; "Lord, are you brilliant, or what; are you going to write a paper, Reg? It looks like you're about to hit the big time."

"I'd have to get permission from the higher ups, seeing as this is all pretty much classified. But who knows, eh?"

"Good work, Reg. You, my man, are brilliant."

Flushing, Reginald said; "Thanks."

Noticing a change in the position of the local gravity well on the computer monitor nearby, Brittany said; "Boys, the gravity well's on the move."

Turning in her direction, the two men followed her gaze towards the monitor. Hurrying over to check the schematics mixing satellite telemeter movements over the city, with the quantum signature of the open fissure in space-time, Reginald said; "We've got trouble people."

Crowding up behind their colleague, Brittany and Bailey watched Reginald type in the computer code, getting the gravity well's new coordinates, Brittany asking; "How bad is it?"

"Take a look," Moving aside, Reginald allowed her to see the monitor showing the space-time disturbance having taken position just off shore of the Coal Harbour neighbourhood, along the tidal flat of Burrard Inlet.

"My God! There'll be tons of people in that area."

Bailey asked, "How's the wind speed registering?"

Moving in front of Bailey, checking the weather patterns for the inlet, Reginald said; "Just one moment." With a click of the mouse, Reginald brought up the applicable reading, saying; "Hmm, look at that. The storm just came out of nowhere. Man, these things really are inter-related. The wind speed is seventy five miles an hour, the rain is just coming down in buckets." Turning to Bailey, he said; "We should give Cole a call."

"I'd get on that if I were you, Reg."

"You should get yourself into town Bailey, just in case the captain needs your help."

"Perhaps. Get Cole on the phone, see if he wants my help." As Reginald headed off to do just that, Bailey smiled wearily at Brittany.

"Look at that."

Following Pete's gaze towards the club's front entrance, Cole observed the sudden onset of rain seemingly arriving out of nowhere. Beating against the steel grating covering the security gate, water pooled around the entrance to the club, as though an invading force. "Wow," Watching Naomi Swartz and her androgynous friend stand back from the entrance, displeased; Cole smirked as Naomi appeared to be considering taking the issue up with Mother Nature herself. "I don't quite fancy having to go out in that downpour."

Nodding, Pete agreed; "Nor I."

Spotting Sera coming out of the club's security centre with Tyrell Carins, the club manager, Cole asked; "Find anything useful, you two?"

They headed towards Cole and Pete's sides at the bar. Unhappy, Sera said, "Not really."

Cole's phone began to play the theme from 'Irish Skies', and he said; "Oops, that's me."

Chuckling, Pete said; "You and your obsession with that television show. Never change, love."

Taking out his phone, Cole answered it with, "Yeah, hello?"

Reginald was on the other end of the line; he spoke hurriedly, saying; "Cole; the gravity well's moved position, it's in Coal Harbour!"

Shouting, dread seeped into Cole's voice; "What? Shit, just what we need. What's it doing?"

"It's positioned itself above the tidal basin of the marina. There's something about tides, I think they attract it."

"Yeah, we'll have to look into that. Thanks for letting me know. I guess Sera and I had best be off to deal with this, right away."

"Would you like a Medic on hand?"

"We'll chance it. Tell Bailey to be ready to head out the instant we need him."

Cole could hear Reginald relay this information to Bailey on the other end of the line, concluding the call with; "We'll be waiting."

Putting away his phone, giving an expectant Pete a light peck on the cheek, Cole guided Sera towards the entrance, saying; "We've got to go." Turning once more to the man he loved, Cole said; "I'll come by for my stuff later."

Pete nodded, frog lodged firmly in his throat, his emotion laden eyes watching Cole as though he were the most important person in the entire world. Cole led Sera out into the downpour. Once outside, Sera asked; "What's going on?"

"Gravity well," Sera nodded in understanding, both heading off to their respective vehicles parked out front of the club.

Driving through the winding streets of the city's West End, the rain pounded down around Cole, pouring past the windows and pounding like a steel drum against the roof of the vehicle. Sera followed a fair pace behind in her silver Ford Pinto. Lost in thought, fearful of what he would soon find down at the harbour, Cole began flipping through the radio dial. Searching for something to calm his nerves, he finally settled on a station playing the song 'Collide' by Howie Day. Humming along to the song, Cole tapped a finger distractedly against the dash.

Arriving at the marina, Cole pulled into the parking lot abutting the Coal Harbour Community Centre, gaping in horror at the massive funnel cloud opening up just a few feet above the water line of the inlet. Stepping out of his vehicle, Cole locked the door just as Sera pulled up next to him in her Ford Pinto. Cole's phone went off, the theme to 'Irish Skies' breaking up the monotony of the quiet neighbourhood.

Sera stepped out of her vehicle as Cole answered the call, saying; "Hello?"

"Captain Billington, I do hope you're on top of the little situation we have going on down in Coal Harbour right now. If not, your little team needs to get it's ass down there, tut' suite."

"Premier, this is a surprise. It just so happens that I've got the funnel in my sights right now."

"I'm in town for the Leadership Convention; let me tell you Captain, I've been getting calls from freaked out constituents; constituents with a boatload of money, may I add. I need to know that your team has this situation under control."

"I'll see what I can do, sir. You can count on us."

"Let's hope so," With that, the Premier ended the call.

Turning to Sera, face plastered with a dopy grin, Cole said; "We've got the bigwigs riding our asses here."

Grabbing her technical gear from the back of her vehicle, Sera muttered, "Scary."

Glancing once more at the funnel hovering over the water a ways away from where they stood, Cole told her; "I'll protect you Sera."

"Oh yes, you're my big freaking hero Cole."

"It's always with the mocking," Grabbing his own set of gear from the back seat of the Roadster, Cole took Sera's hand, aiming them towards the Marina, saying; "Let's get to work."

"Aye aye, Captain."

Heading towards the sea wall, the pair held tight to one another, the gravity well's external force exerting an immense amount of pressure on their bodies. The locals seemed to have gotten the memo to stay away. Onlookers stared out of tower windows while pedestrians stood about on the upper streets, but they at least had enough common sense to keep themselves away from the shoreline and out of danger.

Things quickly spun out of control, the funnel cloud spinning wildly. Golden electromagnetic bolts of lightning mixed with the occasional gamma ray burst and microscopic particles of antimatter, causing the tech in their gear to beep occasionally; curling around the base of the spinning funnel. Cole pulled Sera close as various unknown technological gizmos flew out of the funnel. Some landed in the water, floating away; some shot to the bottom of the sea floor at immense speeds, others fell to the ground near Cole and Sera's feet.

One item appeared to be trapped in an air pocket inside the gravity well; appearing to float slowly towards Cole and Sera, held aloft in front of their faces; the force of gravity acting as an anti-grav device. As though trapped in slow motion, they both reached out to grab the object at the same time; each grabbing one side of the technological device. In doing so, they caused the object to glow red hot; each screeching in pain, both letting go of the object.

The force of gravity began pulling the object away, sending it out into the sea. Feeling light headed; swaying on his feet, Cole's vision began to blur, and he noticed that Sera appeared to be experiencing the same problem. Collapsing to the hard ground, Sera landing atop his chest, breathing shallowly; Cole had one last second to enjoy the scent of the constable's soft body

against his, before fading into unconsciousness.

Coming to a little while later, feeling light headed, Cole could feel the beginnings of a pounding headache sneak up on him like a freight train. Keeping his eyes shut, snuggling against a warm body smelling vaguely familiar; Cole tried ferreting out what it was that felt off. Item one, who was the man next to him? Item two; why did he feel so tiny, and like something was missing? Item three, where was Sera? Cole shot open his eyes as the man next to him screamed in a very unmanly fashion.

Looking down at his body, Cole did a bit of unmanly screaming himself; "Ah!! What the hell?" Cole looked over at the other man lain on the ground, eyes wide in terror. It was him; Cole did a double take, and then a triple take, saying; "Seriously, what the hell?"

When the other man spoke, Cole finally began to put two and two together, the man saying; "Why aren't I in my body?" Cole's look alike shook in absolute terror.

Cole couldn't believe the thought that crossed his mind as he gazed at his look alike in wonder, saying; "Sera, is that you?"

"Why are you in my body?"

Scared and angry, Cole fired back; "I don't know."

Gazing at him, Sera peered into his eyes, trying to find the essence of her friend hidden behind her borrowed form, saying; "Cole?" As Cole nodded, she said; "What happened?"  
Helping her up, Cole gazed down at his- Sera's body in horror, saying; "I don't know how this could have happened Sera, perhaps some kind of matter transference malfunction on an electromagnetic level?"  
Grabbing her- Cole's crotch, Sera said; "Hell no! Cole, this can't be happening."  
"Don't look at me, Sera! You know I've always wanted to get to know you better, but this wasn't exactly what I had in mind; believe me."  
"How do we fix this; where the hell did that piece of tech go?" Sera stalked around the seawall, on the warpath. Cole had to laugh, even in his body; Sera looked so cute, all irritated and girly. She shot Cole a look as he burst into laughter.  
As rain pelted down around them, items still being thrown their way, Cole griped; "I can't see a bloody thing in this storm." Weaving unsteadily on his feet, the abrupt shift in his body's centre of gravity kept Cole off-centre; the driving force of freezing rain pushing his soppy hair into his eyes.  
Taking Cole's arm, speaking in her new baritone voice, Sera said; "Here, let me help you."  
Allowing Sera to steady him, Cole kept his feet away from the slowly growing pool of water nearby. It was odd hearing his own voice speak to him. It was odder still seeing his own body walk around without him in it. Gazing at Sera's new form, Cole appraised his own body; grimacing disapprovingly at his verging on pudgy frame. Is this what Pete saw each time they

made love, how could he stand it?

Noticing Cole's disgruntled ogling of the body she now wore, Sera nervously moved to cover her now non-existent cleavage. To Cole's sceptical glance, Sera said; "What?" She sounded vulnerable despite her newly baritone voice.  
"I look so fat!"  
"Fine time to be insulting yourself, when I'm you."  
"For now, we'll get this sorted Sera, we'll find that damn piece of tech, we'll reverse what it's done to us and we'll darn well destroy it; fucking piece of crap."

Turning the corner of the corridor leading from his lab, Doctor Bailey O'Bannion grew increasingly concerned by the series of unhappy moans and groans coming from the lounge. Then he heard his employer say the oddest thing; "Oh my God! I mean look at me Cole, I'm freaking huge!"

Stopping to listen just outside the lounge, unable to see exactly who Cole was speaking to, Bailey heard Sera's equally strange response to her employer; "Hey now Sera, way to make a

guy feel bad. I don't want to hear any more cracks about my weight. Remember who signs your

pay checks every other week, darling."

Bailey arrived in the main room; Reginald and Brittany both standing in the doorway to the lounge. He asked the pair, "What's going on?"

Turning as one to face him; Bailey attempting to see around them into the lounge, Reginald answered brusquely; "I haven't a clue."

Watching Cole place his wet coat onto the coat rack, Bailey noticed him moving rather oddly; in a way that couldn't be passed off due to mere injury. No, the man's entire way of being was completely different. There was something off, down to his very essence. It was there in the way he moved, it was in his eyes, it was everything about him. Cole's eyes revealed innocence and youth; properties Bailey had yet to see in Cole in all the twenty nine years he'd been working with him. Also, call him crazy, but there appeared to be some sort of feminine, girlish force animating him; not in a femme male sort of way, but in an 'I am a girl' sort of way. Something was very wrong with this image.

Turning his attentions to Sera, acting rather out of sorts herself; Bailey watched her stride across the room as though she owned the place, nothing at all like her usual cheerful self. Sera's essence had a level of darkness not there before, and an air of wisdom far surpassing her age, hidden behind the mask of her eyes. On top of this, while Cole seemed to have changed his entire manner towards the feminine end of the spectrum, Sera had gone in completely the opposite direction; all suave and debonair, with just a touch of the dandy to her.

Calling out authoritatively towards the three of them, Sera said; "Come in here you three; We've got something to discuss."

Pushing away from the door, Reginald headed towards the table; Brittany following his lead shortly after. Doing the same; Bailey took a seat at the table where the other four sat. Outside, on the other side of the window, the rain slid down the glass, causing it to fog up. Bailey asked, "What's going on with the gravity well?"

Cole answered, "We've assigned a squad from the East End RCMP Constabulary to set up a watch around the area."

Sera added, "We also put out a call to the Transportation Ministry. All air travel and shipping traffic is closed for the foreseeable future in the applicable area."

Nodding approvingly, Bailey wondered at the pair's role reversal in their typical professional assignments, saying; "Is anyone going to enlighten me as to why you two are acting so freaking odd today?"

The two in question exchanged a series of meaningful looks between themselves, before Sera relayed the oddest tale Bailey ever heard, saying; "When we arrived down at the water front, various objects flung themselves at our feet. Something came towards us, and we both grabbed

for it at the same time. The pain was excruciating, luckily it only lasted for a second. I began to

feel dizzy, and then I lost consciousness." Gesturing towards Cole, she said; "We both did." Cole

nodded in agreement, Sera continuing with; "When I came to; this is where you might have a bit

of a problem with our tale."

Cole blurted out, "We aren't who you think we are."

Reginald wondered, "Who are you not?"

Gesturing to Cole, Sera said; "I'm supposed to be over there, and she's supposed to be over here."

Reginald scrunched up his nose, baffled, saying; "Huh?"

Bailey muttered, "So succinct Doctor. I couldn't have put it better myself."

Sera finally blurted out; "For God's sake, we switched bodies, alright?"

The three of them stared at her for a good long minute. Then, after exchanging a series of worried looks amongst themselves, they began talking loudly over one another, not knowing

exactly how to handle this strange state of affairs. Reginald wondered, "Perhaps we should get hold of Gerald. Where's he at, Sera?"

"No! I can't let him see me like this!" The three turned to Cole's form in surprise, having forgotten it took two to tangle in this strange tale of misplaced identities.

Stepping away from the table, Bailey began pacing the floor between the chair Cole's form sat on and the counter where the coffee machine was set out. Turning suddenly, gesturing with his hands, Bailey said; "I put forth to you fine people the notion that the pair of you are suffering some sort of neural pathway malfunction."

"I'm not crazy, Bailey."

Turning to look at his employer, Bailey said; "I never said you were, Cole."

"I'm glad to hear it."

"What I'm trying to say Cole is there are two possibilities that may not have crossed your mind."

"Oh?," Looking at Bailey in interest, Cole said; "Enlighten me then, en Doctor."

"Consider option one, the much more likely answer to our dilemma."

Cole shrugged, his long dark hair falling against his now angular face, as he said; "Which is?"

"That machine made an imprint of your neurological patterns, sending a copy to each of your identity centres, now overlaying and subsuming your real sense of self. You are not Cole. You are Sera Rasmussen; you just think you are Cole."

Shaking his head in disapproval, Cole said; "I don't like that theory. What's the other one Bailey?"

"I really think this is it, Cole. It's the only thing that really makes any sense at all."

Not to be placated that easily, Cole sat with his arms crossed across his new cleavage, saying; "Tell me what the other option is Bailey."

"Fine, the machine somehow managed to cross your neuronal signals; you're seeing through one another's eyes."

Sera looked first at Bailey, then at Cole, who just shrugged in disbelief, saying; "I don't think so. I think I'm in the wrong body." Sera nodded quickly in agreement.

Frustrated, Bailey ran a hand through his hair, saying; "Ah, this is ridiculous. Cole, you can't be in the wrong body; it's just not possible."

"The science of the unknown is indistinguishable from magic Bailey. You know that." About to comment on this statement, Cole cut Bailey off with; "Read up on my possession case from nineteen thirteen. I even grew wings temporarily. I had to go through major surgery in the aftermath. Check it out; it's filed under 'Off world serial killers'. Under the circumstances, I believe this is all rather mundane."

As Sera gave Cole a thoughtful look, Bailey said; "Assuming what you believe is true, what are you going to do about it?"

"We need to take a look at that piece of tech out in the harbour; once it's safe of course. But right now." Cole stood from the table, heading towards the doorway into the main corridor, saying; "I've got to find myself an audio modulator to hook up to the phone in my office, so I can sound more like myself." Off he went.

# CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

Shivering against the driving wind and icy rain, Cole headed towards the Chan Centre for the Performing Arts elsewhere on campus; hoping to find himself an audio modulator. The flimsy white fleece jacket Sera had worn throughout the day, now worn by Cole, was nothing in terms of protection from the elements compared to the heavy wool rifle green Canadian Naval jacket Cole was so used to wearing. Pondering his lost manhood he'd taken so blithely, Cole held his flimsy jacket protectively over his body's mammary glands, so heavy against his petite form. Not that they were all that large in a statistical sense, they just didn't feel right against his chest wall. There was pressure there he wanted gone. Walking hunched over, Cole was uncomfortable both from this overwhelming pressure on his small frame, his lack of decent musculature making it all the more apparent; as well as in response to the leering looks Cole got from passing men. Cole wouldn't mind the appreciative looks if only he'd been wearing his rightful body. But as it was, they weren't cruising Cole because they appreciated the look of the suave man he was, but because they believed him an attractive female. The inability to wear his favoured uniform of choice due to Cole's smaller frame at present, served to throw one more cruel log onto the already immense bonfire that was Cole's day.

Now Cole knew how Cecil felt, having to wear a female body when his essence screamed out for a male one. They'd fought over and over again on that very topic. Never out of animosity, out of Cole's desire to help his lover see that he was perfect just the way that he was. He was a fine, sweet and gentle man, perfect just the way that he was. Despite his small breasts, despite his feminine hips, despite his youthful face never to see the masculinising effects of testosterone, and last of all, despite the monthly red death of his fertility, he would forever be a man. Cole's acceptance, as well as that of the vast majority of the employees of the CPB at the time, had not been enough. Having to accept his mismatch of sex and gender as just a part of who he was, something that he had to accept, it was anathema to Cecil's very being. Cole hadn't understood it at the time; he'd compared it to himself in his own mind, the same as all the things he'd had to accept about his own self. Like being a half breed, not belonging anywhere. Knowing that there were vast empires out there, spread across the deep expanse of space, that only he knew existed. Cole hadn't understood how deep the misery went; he did now.

Cole's only hope was that this situation could be reversed in the coming days. There was more than just gender and identity on the line here. There was his career; his relationship with Pete, his relationship with his children and his grandchildren, and all the others. There was Cole's desire to provide a platform for his daughter Emelia to do for Fort Worth what Cole did here in Vancouver with the CPB. Last of all, there was his cultural heritage which he'd lose if he never got back his own body. If worse came to worse, and they learned that they were stuck like this;

physical transition was out of the question for Cole, he couldn't risk the health of his body, causing his much shortened Human lifespan to become even shorter by hormonal treatments that

would not be appreciated by his borrowed female body.

Stepping up to the front entrance of the Chan Centre, Cole spotted Sam shooting the breeze with a young woman. He said, "Sam, you're just the man who I was looking for."

Sam straightened up, moving away from the wall that he'd been leaning against, saying; "Hello Constable Rasmussen. What can I do for you?"

Cole smiled at Sam's little friend, trying to remind himself that he was supposed to be putting forth an image of a typical hetero woman. Keeping his smile innocent, Cole said; "We've got a few personal matters that we're dealing with over at the bureau right now. Captain Billington wanted me to relay the information that he'd like you to take the rest of the week off. We have an eyes only situation going on right now, and I'm sorry Sam, but you're not authorized, alright?"

Sam looked disappointed at the news of his lost wages, his friend looking intrigued at the prospect of an ongoing secret, Sam saying; "Seriously? Oh man, crud!"

"Sorry about that, man," As Cole headed through the door into the building; Sam appraised Cole suspiciously at his masculine turn of phrase.

After getting a rather bizarre phone call from Cole; Pete Roschilde strolled into the lounge of the CPB in search of his partner. The place looking deserted, Pete calling out; "Cole love, is there anyone here?" Constable Rasmussen stopped short, passing by the doorway to the lounge, about to exit the main room. Giving her a friendly smile, embarrassed that she knew how he'd mistreated her employer, Pete said; "Sera have you seen Cole?" Looking down at her shoes, shyly fidgeting with her hands, Sera was unable to look Pete in the eye; almost as though she had the hots for him. That was just silly though, wasn't it? "What's happened to him, Sera?" Not saying a word, Sera just stood where she was, raising her head slowly, gazing deeply into Pete's eyes, as though attempting to pierce the very depths of his soul. Looking away, uncomfortable with her intensity, Pete said; "What's going on, Sera?"

"Pete, it's me, Cole."  
Laughing nervously, Pete found the atmosphere in the room stifling, saying; "Yeah right, great joke. Well done! Top marks in all categories."

Looking at her contemptuously, Pete could barely hide the seething rage that jokes at his own expense always brought out in him. His fifteen year old self may have been willing to accept the

constant daily verbal barbs that were thrown his way, so convinced that if he said nothing, his tormentors would soon tire of their games. They never did, Pete said nothing until graduation, shoving the rage and hurt deep down inside. Not even his parents knew that his high school career had been a daily torture, he never said a word, not allowing one word to slip of how miserable he'd truly been. Telling Cole of those years had been the hardest thing Pete ever did. The great secret held close to his heart, his greatest shame, that he'd been the whipping boy; he'd turned it around, making himself the bully, making Cole, the man that he loved more than anything, the scapegoat. All that rage, all that sorrow, he'd dumped it onto Cole, pretending that the man who treated him like a prince was each and every one of the bullies of Pete's youth. The fact that Cole reacted the same as Pete once had, just taking it, hoping Pete would eventually let up; this all made Pete all the more angry. He was angry at Cole for the same reason that he was angry at himself. The anger made Pete aware that he'd become the bully, the thought of that fuelling the ever growing fire of hatred he directed back at his former tormentors. This was what their torment had wrought; this is how they'd ruined Pete's life. Here he was tossing verbal barbs at such a loving, gentle man; because of them. At the same time, the fury toward himself grew ever brighter, Pete knew that his own failings drove his actions. It was a vicious circle that ended the previous night.

Here was Sera, mocking him with a ridiculous claim; Sera just looking at him, eyes filling with tears. Pete looked away, not understanding what was going on. "Pete, look at me," Stepping into his personal space, making Pete uncomfortable, Sera said; "Baby, look at me." Extending a hand to pull him towards her, Pete stepped out of reach as she said; "Can't you see me? Pete, this is me, I'm in here; I'm Cole."  
"Cut your crap; fuck off Sera, get the hell out of my face before I do something that I'll regret! You know that I have it in me." Angrily pointing towards the entrance to the lounge, Pete shouted this last bit.

Watching dispassionately, Pete saw her half stumble, half run out of the room and into the campus corridor in tears. It served her right. Did she really hate Pete so much that she'd go this far to humiliate him? Pete never thought that she was that type of woman. Was it Cole, did she want him for herself? She couldn't have him, that was for sure. Was Gerald just not doing it for her any longer, did she have to be gunning for his man, as well? The nerve of the woman! To think that he'd considered her a friend; no more.

Heading deeper into the facility, Pete called out; "Cole, are you in here? Honey, I really need to find you." Spotting Cole inside the medical lab, his heart went out to him. There Cole sat on the hard floor, legs splayed uncomfortably in front of him, back resting against the row of grey metallic medical cabinets behind him. With a look of utter despair across his beautiful face; Cole barely seemed to be home behind those gorgeous eyes at all. Hurrying to Cole's side, Pete said; "Cole?" Cole looked up into his eyes, and Pete got a sudden hitch in his throat. Something was wrong; Pete couldn't put his finger on what it was exactly, but something was wrong with his darling man. Pushing the bangs away from Cole's bloodshot eyes; looking as though he'd been crying, Pete said; "Baby you need to tell me what's wrong. I can't help you if I don't know." Wiping a tear from Cole's left cheek as it trickled down his face; Pete removed his hand in rejection as Cole began to subtly edge away from him. Locking eyes with one another; Cole appeared to be daring Pete to make one wrong move. Unnerved and rejected, Pete stood up, backing away from him into the centre of the lab, resting a hand against the front end of the medical bench, saying; "You're scaring me Cole, talk to me love."

Speaking quietly, sounding nothing like himself whatsoever, Cole said; "Cole tried telling you what happened Pete. You refused to believe him. I can't talk to you. You think that I'm Cole, and

I'm not. Cole's out there, having to put up with your verbal abuse."  
Looking worriedly from the man in front of him, to the door, Pete thought of the previous angry words which he'd exchanged earlier with Sera, saying; "What the? No Cole, this doesn't make any sense. You can't just switch bodies with other people."

The man in front of him stood up somewhat unsteadily, saying; "I don't know how it happened Pete, but I'm not Cole, I'm Sera."  
Oh shit; Pete didn't know what was going on, but this certainly wasn't the time to be acting like an ass. Pulling his hand through his light fringe of hair, Pete turned to the doorway of the lab, saying; "God! Oh God, I'm sorry Sera; I'm sorry that I doubted you. You're a great friend; I've got to go, I need to find Cole. I'm so sorry!" Pete shot out of the lab like a race horse on steroids.  
Coming across Cole in the building's Student Lounge; Pete watched him kick the candy machine in frustration, saying; "Give me my 'Snicker's Bar', you fucker!" Sliding to the floor in an exhausted heap, Cole appeared not to care that people were gaping at him in stunned silence.  
Sighing, Pete was embarrassed for both Cole and Sera's reputations. He needed to get him out of here before he made any more of an ass of himself. Looking up from his crumpled position on the floor, tears dampening his cheeks; Cole gazed morosely at Pete. Pushing a hand through his hair, Pete took a deep breath, attempting to calm himself. Going to Cole's side; extending a hand to help him to his feet, Pete said; "Cole, come here you big lug." Standing before him, Cole gave Pete a look of utter betrayal. Pleading for some small measure of forgiveness, Pete said; "Come on now Cole, how was I supposed to know?"

"Okay; all's forgiven on that issue. You have to get me my Snicker's Bar though. It's being a wily little sucker." Doing a little shimmy in front of the vending machine, Cole said; "Come to papa."

"Cole, you don't need the Snicker's Bar. You've got me." Pete grinned like the cat that had just captured the canary.

Turning to look at him in annoyance, Cole said; "Pete darling?"

"Yes Cole?"

"First of all, would you mind not patronizing me?" Pete frowned as Cole continued with, "Second of all, you are many things my dear, but a chocolate bar is not one of them. Now come on, pony up big guy." Gesturing with his hands, Cole did a backwards walk between the vending machine and the nearby couch; almost as though he were attempting a badly thought out Moon Walk.

Placing a toonie into the machine, waiting for it to drop the bar of chocolate straight into Cole's greedy little hands, Pete said, "I doubt Sera will appreciate you using her body to gobble down chocolate bars. Besides, what the hell happened?"

Pausing in unwrapping the tasty treat, Cole said; "I'll have a light dinner then." Taking a bite, Cole took Pete's arm, leading him out of the lounge. Heading down the corridor towards the CPB, Cole said; "That's a very good question; one which I don't know the answer to. Bailey has all sorts of theories about it, all of them complete hogwash, I'm sure. He's planning to write a paper about this, apparently."

"Ah."

Taking a nibble from his chocolate, Cole said; "Now that we've established that I am in fact Cole

and not Sera playing a nasty, nasty trick on you; if you knew her any better, you'd know she'd never do that sort of thing; we've got some things to discuss." Pete fidgeted beside him as they wandered down the campus corridor.

"Hey there Pete, Constable Rasmussen;" Doctor Jerome Marsters nearly careened into them, coming around the corner. Fifty four years old and newly divorced for the third time; Jerome had been good friends with Cole since the mid nineteen eighties when he'd first become a professor at the university. He said, "Where's Cole? I sense serious shit is going down, am I right?"

Pete answered with, "You've got it."

Jerome grinned; his to die for cheekbones flushed red from the cold air from outside, saying; "So where is he?"

Cole answered his query, his now alto tenured voice hiding his true self; "It's complicated."

A tenured professor with the university since the mid-nineties; Jerome still was not cleared to know about the deep workings of the CPB. This thing that happened to Cole, this was inconceivable. This was deep stuff, this. Most disturbing to note in Pete's mind was that his

partner's scent no longer smelled like him, it was alien. As alien as Cole himself, but to Pete's

great surprise, Cole's otherworldly scent made him the most Human. It was his subtle, unrecognizable to the Human nose, Garconer scent making him stand out in a crowd. Pete could

be in a crowded bar, or a teeming dance club, filled with the overwhelming fumes of alcohol, sex, leather and the occasional trace of tobacco smoke; and still, if Cole were anywhere in the

building, he'd be able to sense him like a beacon in the night. That sense was gone now, despite

Cole standing right next to him, the very thing making Cole, Cole; his alien heritage, was gone.

Pete felt like something beyond value had been stolen from his man, and he was angry on Cole's

behalf.

This was such a mind bender. Aliens and time travel Pete could understand, it was a bit out of his contemporary way of thinking; but a physical body switch, that was beyond anything that Pete thought possible. Pete was an open minded kind of guy, living with an alien from the future led to that sort of thing; but this was just beyond his understanding.

Strolling past Jerome, the pair gave him their regards as they went on their way. Waving, Jerome said; "See ya!"

Turning to Jerome with a smile, Cole said; "Sure thing." Jerome nodded in response as the pair headed into the lounge of the CPB. Entering the room ahead of Pete, Cole spotted Bailey frantically scribbling notes onto a yellow notepad, sat at the end of the table, hard at work. "Trying to determine the solution to my dilemma, are you Bailey?"

"It's not you who I'm worried about Cole, its Sera."

Striding farther into the room, Cole placed his hands flat on the table to Bailey's left, asking him; "What's got you so worried about Sera, Bailey?"

Indicating the area through the doorway into the main room, Bailey said; "Brittany's speaking to her now in my lab. I had to sedate her."

Getting in the physician's face, Cole demanded; "Why?"

Dropping his silver pen with the CPB logo emblazoned across it onto the table in front of him; Bailey looked at Cole, eyes full of worry for his friend and colleague, saying; "She was looking to do serious injury to a part of her that either isn't her's to damage, or to which she'd seriously regret once her mind comes back to the status quo."

Pete's eyes rose in stunned horror as Cole ran to the door of the main room, shouting; "What? Shit! Are they alright?"

Pete joined Cole near the door as Bailey stated calmly, "Yes Cole, your boys are alright."

Sighing in relief, Cole said; "Well thank God!" Pete seemed to think this was hilarious, earning him Cole's disapproval. Turning to look at Pete in annoyance, Cole said; "Well, I'm glad that you're finding this all so very amusing, Pete. Be glad that it's not your body that little Miss Sera found herself in."

Pete stopped laughing immediately, his grin snapping shut like a bolt being screwed up tight. The image that this sight brought to Cole's mind was that of a Mechanical Jester, an alien species of which no genetic information was known. Cole learned of the beings in his 'Isolated Societies' module in his Cultural Studies component of his Diplomatic training on Incuba Five. Their planet of origin was completely off limits to anyone not born of the species. All interspecies contact was carried out off world. When meeting with one of these individuals, one saw only a being perfectly encased in metallic casing, a painted face granting them the appearance of a medieval china doll done up in a court jester style façade.

This is what Pete's expression reminded Cole of right now as he muttered; "Right, sorry about that."

Grinning, Cole patted Pete on the shoulder, stepping away, gazing at Bailey as he scribbled down more of his thoughts on the matter at hand. Cole asked the doctor, "Where's Reginald gone off to?"

"He's gone home for the day. There's nothing more he can do here, is there Captain?"

"No, you're right," Cole watched Pete silently, enjoying the view of his strong and muscular arms, hands perfect for designing blueprints.

Wrapped up in this engaging activity as he was, Cole barely noticed Brittany come up behind him through the entrance to the lounge; helping support a slightly out of it Sera, eyes red from crying. Passing him, Sera caught Cole's eye and he turned to watch her take a seat across the room, settling herself onto the couch. Looking at her now, ignoring the strangeness of someone else driving his rightful form, Cole never felt more love for her then he did in this moment; the pain mirrored in her eyes cutting him to the bone. Stood here next to Pete, hidden stash of unexamined hurt turned to anger and rage, the pain calling to Cole out of his need to comfort the hurting; the pain he saw expressed in Sera's eyes would forever trump Pete's.

Brittany stood in the centre of the room, still as a photograph plastered to a museum wall forever in posterity, saying; "We need a trained Psychologist on staff for these types of situations."

"Unfortunately, the bureau's provincial supply of qualified head-shrinkers are all based in the interior right now. I suppose we could bring one out here; that won't happen right away though. I was going to do that anyways, after last night's ordeal." Gazing into Pete's eyes, Cole said; "Sorry love."

"Sure thing," Brittany went to sit by Sera; Cole watching her stroke her friend's hair in comfort; an action which lead Pete to become tight lipped at the sight, saying; "This is not supposed to happen, it's not right."

Considering Pete's words, Cole said; "You're right, wherever this thing came from, it's a war crime. I'd really like to find out where this thing originated from and give the developers a firm talking to."

Looking up from where she sat, Sera said; "Sam was worried that a missile could come through a gravity well one of these days."

Turning to address the others, Bailey said; "Here's a thought. While you two were down at that club, Reg came up with a statement of proof that the gravity wells must be a specially created development and cannot be a natural aspect of the universe. Bearing that in mind, there is a minute possibility that we've got ourselves some volatile alien race, either now, or further up the time line, with plans to wipe us out of existence. It could be some massive revenge plot for some

horrible act of war perpetrated upon them by our descendants."

Flummoxed, Cole said; "Oh, stop your worrying Bailey. There's nothing we can do about it now, is there?"

Brittany stood from the couch, saying, "Perhaps my new client Jacquelyn may have some insight into this particular situation."

Cole asked, "Who's this we're talking about now?"

"She's a Trans Woman I'm in the process of helping out. What do you say sir, can I bring Miss Bowen in on this bizarre little exercise?"

Considering the idea for a moment, Cole glanced thoughtfully at Pete to see what he thought of the idea. Pete just raised an eye at the strange sense of synchronicity appearing to overtake their lives. Cole asked her, "Can you trust her; do you believe that she can be let in on matters of confidentiality?"

"I believe that I can. I also believe that she's someone who could do a lot of good for society, were we to give her the help and the training that she needs."

"Alright, bring her in. I'll meet with her and I'll see if I think that she's a good fit for us or not."

"Thank you Sir."

"You're welcome."

Coughing into his hand, Bailey muttered a single word; "Nepotism."

Bemused at the randomness of Bailey's utterance, Cole said; "What?"

"She only wants you to hire Miss Bowen because she's got the hots for her. She told me all about it last night."

Brittany scowled at the doctor, Cole exchanging a look with Pete, saying; "Really? Well, let's not hold that against either of them. She'll come in for an interview; and either she's on the team

or she's not. Brittany's little crush won't have anything to do with it."

Glaring daggers at the back of Bailey's head, Brittany said to Cole quietly, "Thank you." Swiveling to face Bailey, Brittany added; "That's not nepotism, you doofus."

Turning to face her, Bailey said; "No?"

"It's only nepotism if you hire a family member."

"Oh."

"Alright, people," Steepling his hands together; Cole turned first to Pete, then back around to where Sera sat curled up on the couch, saying; "Let's get you home, Sera. We'll try to explain this to Gerald, I just hope that he doesn't blow a gasket."

Getting to her feet, Sera said; "You drive Cole. I'm in no condition to be behind the wheel."

"Pete, how about you follow us in Sera's car? Then the two of us can come back here afterwards." Pete agreed, the trio heading out of the room, giving their regards to Bailey and Brittany, heading off for the day.

# 

# CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

Driving Sera home to North Vancouver, loyal Gerald waiting with a Tuna Casserole heating inside the oven; Cole unthinkingly placed a comforting hand atop Sera's thigh; immediately pulling his hand away after realizing the irony of touching his own body.

"Don't start something which you have no intention of ever finishing, Cole."  
Face reddening in embarrassment, Cole said; "Let's get you home to Gerald. I dread to think what he's going to say about all this Sera."  
Fighting an onslaught of tears, Sera spoke quietly; "What if it's permanent? Cole, I can't be a man, I just can't."  
Taking Sera's hand, Cole gently rubbed circles across it in reassurance, saying; "Hey Sera, it won't be forever; I promise you that. We'll find the machine that did this; we'll reverse it, I promise. Don't worry; I don't want to be a woman any more than you want to be a man." Sera

looked down at her lap once more as Cole cupped her chin in his hands, saying; "Sera look at me." Sera looked up into Cole's face, eyes brimming with tears, as Cole said; "We'll get through this. I promise you Sera, this won't be forever."  
"I think I kind of love you," Cole quickly hid a grin as Sera added; "I don't know how I'll be able to stand it."  
Grinning cheekily, Cole said; "Hey, it's not that bad. Just, do me a favour; could you do something about the tears? I really don't want Gerald to see me looking like that."  
Slapping Cole across the arm as he steered the Roadster onto her street, Sera said; "Cole Billington, I'll cry if I want to."  
Pulling his arm back in surprised pain, Cole quickly grabbed the wheel with his other arm, trying not to lose control of his beauty of an antique vehicle as it continued to barrel down the street, saying; "Careful there missy, that bloody hurt! You don't know your own strength now. I can feel a bruise developing right now, soon to mar your pretty skin."

Sera pouted, Cole pulling the vehicle to a stop at the curb in front of her home. Stepping from the vehicle, Cole waited for Pete to pull up behind them in Sera's car. Gesturing towards him, Cole invited him to join the pair of them as they headed up the stone walkway to the front entrance of the Rasmussen home. It was still raining, lesser so then before.

Arriving at the front entrance, Cole placed Sera's house key in the lock, opening the door. Peering in, Cole spotted Gerald sat on the couch, watching the local news.

Looking up from where he sat, Gerald aimed a smile Cole's way, saying; "Hey doll, how was work?" Getting to his feet, Gerald came to greet his wife with a kiss.

Hoping to forestall any awkward actions, Cole opened the door wide, revealing the pair behind him, saying; "Look who's come for a visit."

Stilling his actions, Gerald stopped just short of giving Cole a peck on the cheek, saying; "Oh hey guys, it's nice to see you." Whispering in Cole's ear, Gerald said; "I've only got enough Tuna Casserole for the two of us, love."

Sera and Pete squeezed past the pair, heading into the living room as Cole said; "They're not staying." Sera gazed at Gerald with the most sorrowful look of longing, a look born of a woman's fear of never being able to be with the man she loved ever again. Spotting this, Cole knew that he needed to inform Gerald what was really going on. The sooner that Gerald realized he was nuzzled up against someone really a man, the better for them all. Gazing in sympathy at his desolate friend and colleague, Cole placed his hands on Gerald's shoulders; directing him silently towards the living room, saying; "Head on in there. There's something the four of us need to discuss."

Doing as he was told, Gerald took a seat on the brown, leather lazy boy recliner; hands arrayed as though he were a promoter on a showroom floor, saying; "Let's have it then."

Taking seats on the nearby black leather couch, Cole and Sera both looked to the other to take the plunge. Finally, deciding that he should be the one to take the lead, Cole blurted out; "I'm not who you believe me to be."

Doing a double take, looking quickly from Cole, Sera and Pete; and back to Cole again, Gerald said; "Come again?"

Stood in the middle of the small, cosy room, hands arrayed in a ranch hand style, Pete decided to help his man out, saying; "There was a rather bizarre accident down at the harbour front today."

Moving his gaze quickly to the pair sat on the couch, Gerald asked; "Is anyone hurt?"

Cole confessed, "We were both knocked unconscious for a bit this afternoon."

Beside himself with worry for his wife's health, Gerald quickly jumped to his feet saying; "What! Why didn't you call me?" Looking first at Cole, then Sera, he said; "Either of you?" Cole tried to speak, but Gerald wasn't finished yet, saying; "Losing consciousness, even for a few seconds, is a serious matter Billington. It's not something to be taken lightly."

Sera said, "We know that."

Giving the man who he believed to be Cole a searching look, Gerald caught Sera's eye, maintaining it for a moment, suddenly backing up a step, losing his composure, blinking in

discomfort. Confused, Gerald tentatively took a chance on once again looking Sera in the eye.

Noticing this, Cole and Pete exchanged a knowing look, happy to note that half the battle had already been won. If Gerald could sense his wife from behind Cole's eyes, even if he had yet to

pull together all the puzzle pieces, the battle was nearly done. Knowing this, Cole allowed Gerald to pull the rest of the puzzle pieces together. Getting up from the couch, Cole wandered up to Gerald; placing his hands on both Gerald's arms, spinning him around so that they now faced one another.

Looking the man directly in the eye, the pair now stood eye to eye, even if Cole had to raise his chin a bit in order to do so. Cole said; "What do you see when you look at me, I mean when you really look at me Gerald, there's something off, isn't there?"

Stepping just out of Cole's reach, a perplexed look on his face, Gerald said; "Looking at you Sera, I see my wife; my lovely, gorgeous, wonderful wife. I see the woman who I pledged my love to, the woman I married; the woman I promised to cherish and to honour until my dying breath. I aim to keep that promise, love. You'll always be the only woman for me; I'll never stop loving you."

Sparing a glance at Sera, Cole saw her practically swoon at her husband's words. Placing his hands back on Gerald's arms, Cole looked him in the eye, daring him to see the hidden truth behind his wife's eyes. Cole said, "Now what do you really see? What is it your mind knows beyond a shadow of a doubt but your common sense tells you it can't ever be?"

Voice filled with grief, Gerald's confusion was heartbreaking in its intensity. Cutting Cole to the core, Gerald whispered in guilt filled horror; "My heart says that you can't be my wife. Why is it saying that, why would it ever say that? Who are you, where's my wife?"

Touching Gerald's shoulder gently, Cole gestured in Sera's direction. Spinning around, Gerald peered at the male form which she now wore in shock, Cole telling him; "There was a transfer of neurological bio-patterns. We'll get it fixed somehow."

"Sera?"

Gazing at the floor in shame, Sera shook her head, saying; "I'm sorry Gerald, I'm so sorry."

Gerald gazed at her, clearly overwhelmed by this bizarre piece of news that had taken him by surprise like a thief in the night. Overcome by it all, he lay into Cole, saying; "What the hell are you people experimenting with out there, Billington? I've heard of the Americans doing bizarre things inside their top secret research projects. Project Paper Clip, The Philadelphia Project, Project Montauk, Area Fifty One; are any of these ringing a bell? But come on man , this is Canada; we're supposed to be better than that."

Pete took offence to Gerald's disparagement of his nation of birth. Born to Jacob and Esther Roschilde in Providence, Rhode Island; the pair brought their young son to Canada at the age of three. Pete spent the bulk of his childhood growing up in the West End, his father working in an electronics plant closing up shop in two thousand and nine. Cole wasn't all that pleased about it either, saying; "Hey Rasmussen, my kids are American. Knock it off why don't you?"

"Whatever man. But seriously, I want to know what the hell you're doing out there. Sera was hired as an RCMP Liaison Officer. I worry about her getting shot or jabbed with a dirty needle by some strung out junkie on the street. I didn't think I had to worry about some unforeseen effect of a scientific experiment."

"There was no experiment Gerald, at least there wasn't on our end."

"How's that then?"

"Word on the street is that both the Philadelphia Project and Project Montauk involved some sort of experiment involving time. The theory goes, the two experiments somehow managed to connect through time on a quantum level, ripping a hole in the fabric of the cosmos, creating all sorts of havoc. Now, it's all supposed to be a bunch of conspiracy theory mumbo jumbo, but what if the gravity wells are caused by something similar? Perhaps not those two purported projects, but perhaps there's other projects further up the timeline or in another world line; even another planet? Who knows what's being done with the building blocks of existence out there. Either way, we're not doing any experiments; temporal or otherwise. We're too busy keeping things contained, as well as doing our bit to help society out while we're at it. Perhaps the Central Canadian Division over at the University of Calgary is blundering around with things they shouldn't be, if so, I haven't been apprised of it."

"Alright Billington, I'll get off your case. But what the blue blazes caused this?"

"Some sort of machine down at the Coal Harbour Marina. We need to get a dive team together to pick it out of the inlet."

Taking a seat on the couch next to Sera, Gerald kept his focus on Cole, saying; "What do we do now?" Sera fidgeted morosely beside Gerald, who looked right past her.

After a tense moment, Cole said; "If you don't mind, I'd like to take a few days' worth of Sera's clothes with me so that I'll have something to wear until we get this all straightened out."

"Yeah sure, I suppose."

Cole looked to Sera for her approval and she said; "Be my guest Cole; feel free to take whatever you need."

Nodding gratefully, Cole smiled, saying; "Thanks Sera." Sera stood, showing Cole to the bedroom.

As the pair walked past Pete, Pete turned to Gerald, saying; "I'll come by later tonight with some of Cole's clothing for Sera to wear." Gerald nodded.

Moments later, Cole and Pete were out front, heading towards Cole's vehicle, ready to head back to the bureau. Cole said, "We need to make a quick stop at The Bay. I need new Boxers; I have a feeling that my own will be falling down around my knees in this body." Pete chuckled, smiling peacefully as Cole finished with; "No way am I wearing any of Sera's undergarments." Pete got in the passenger side of the car, and Cole turned the key in the ignition, saying; "We're off."

# CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

Stood inside the lounge of the bureau, Cole fixed himself some coffee. Looking down at the female body that he wore, Cole sighed; wondering if this was karmic retribution for his childhood indiscretions. The Prime Mover couldn't be that cruel could it? Cole had always revered and respected women, even embracing his own feminine aspects. Misogyny arose primarily as a response to men's rejection of their softer aspects. Embracing balance in all things, Cole saw no relevance in this lesson. Sure, he could be a bit of a pest to Sera, but what was her stake in all this? Then Cole knew therein lie the answer, there lie reassurance that this would not be permanent; hope sprang eternal.

Looking up, Cole spotted Pete hovering in the doorway behind him, watching him silently with a sad smile. Walking towards him slowly, Pete placed a hand on Cole's shoulder. Turning to face him, Cole buried his face in the crook of Pete's neck as Pete said to him; "We'll get through this Cole, it'll be alright."

"I hope you're right Pete. Would you like to hear how I met Cecil Smith?"

Rubbing Cole's back, shoulders sore from the unaccustomed weight of Sera's small breasts; Pete laid a kiss atop Cole's forehead, telling him; "Go for it."

"The day I met Cecil was a day that I'll never forget; for the day I met Cecil was the day I got news of my granddaughter Anne's death."

Placing a comforting hand on Cole's shoulder, Pete said; "Cole, I'm sorry."

Taking a deep breath, Cole dredged up the bittersweet memory of that day; stirring up emotions which he hadn't allowed himself to feel in a great many years. The oestrogen flowing through his brain serving as catalyst, Cole re-experienced the feelings in a new way. He said, "In the space of a single day, I gained a new great grandson, sadly losing the child's mother Anne. Always a sickly child, doctors warned dear Anne of the dangers of carrying a child to term. Not to be put off, my Anne always was a stubborn one. She'd tried for a baby, hoping for the best. In the end, a new life came to be, but the boy's ability to know his own mother, for that, fate hadn't been so kind."

Cole thought back all those long years ago. He'd gotten the phone call concerning both the birth and the death, earlier that morning. But there was another issue at hand here, one directly impacting Cole; if worse came to worse and he and Sera; bless her heart, were to be stuck this way. It was unlikely, given his previous inner knowing but one daren't be too arrogant in one's absolutes. The memory of Cecil brought to mind the differences between then and now, specifically those concerning an increasingly medicalized view of transgender individuals. A viewpoint Cole considered worthy of consideration as long as said medicalization was advanced

enough not to cause physical harm to an individuals' body. An attribute the present era was sorely lacking.

Noticing Cole's abruptly darkened mood, Pete turned him around, looking him in the eye, asking; "Are you alright?"

"I was thinking how different the world is for transgender men now compared to seven decades ago when they had no choice but to accept their bodies as they were. When you're living in a world where you're lucky to survive childhood, I believe one is able to come to a better acknowledgement of just how lucky you are to be alive. It also gives you a greater sense of how

incredibly important it is to keep yourself alive and healthy. That sense has been lost on the last few generations of youth. When you take life for granted, it loses all meaning; you begin living for the moment with no thought to the consequences."

"Hasn't that always been true for men though Cole?"

"Only because we're raised to be heroes and to take on risks to benefit others, as well as Testosterone's effect upon our brains; we act before thinking. Women only tend to react as we do when their child's in immediate danger. We're considered cowards if we value our life, as though it were the gravest of sins; while women must be protected at all costs. But depending on the culture and circumstance; it all goes out the window if it fit's a man's needs. Daughters murdered for offending their fathers' honour, women dying in labour because they were prevented from having an abortion, husbands beating their wives because they annoyed them. It's completely hypocritical."

"Good point Cole."

"I find it horrifying how western society has convinced Transgender men that they need to accept a much shortened life in order to be viewed as the men they are. European culture has the

gender binary so ingrained in the collective psyche, and its happened in less than five centuries. In some ways, gender variance was accepted more easily in the days of King Henry the eighth than it is now. The Divisionists really win there Pete, especially when you have Transgender men acting more misogynistic than the average metro-sexual. Instead of being a force for good,

fighting on behalf of equality, they join the divisionists, claiming they're a man with a birth defect. Sometimes they are, but their overt misogyny only serves to increase the hardship to women, turning uber feminists against them."

"You know Cole; some would say in response, 'why should Transgender men be held to higher standards then cisgender men?"

"To that I'd respond Pete; 'there's a reason the universe put you in this situation, learn your lesson now lest you incarnate as another Transgender man in the future."

"Excellent answer. Let's make a rule, you want to take testosterone buddy; prove you're a gentleman first."

Smiling, Cole said; "Like my Cecil, he was a true gentleman. Of course, he had the benefit of social class. Not that it helped much economically, but his mother was an Englishwoman. I wouldn't say that all transgender individuals are being taught the dangers of sexism and misogyny, they see it, they experience it, they'd never inflict it on another Human being; the

better specimens of Humanity may be here to show the world all the ways in which it needs to

change. Some may be here to write of their experiences, making the world aware of the issues. Through their work they may change hearts and minds, saving others from going through the experience themselves. Others may want to experience the condition first hand, the classic overachiever. That's the danger revealed by the fruit of the tree of knowledge at the centre of

creation, the willingness to place oneself in the centre of the storm, taking all the pain; when really it's not needed at all. The First Mover never demanded that any of us suffer as we do, that's the doing of Commander Abbaddon; whispering in the ears of the ones first leaving the source field, confusing them with lies, telling them that they must not return home until they'd suffered the pains of eternity. All the First Mover asks is for us to do our best; we've been led to believe that our best is never good enough. We judge ourselves wanting, others judge us wanting, our families judge us wanting; no one is ever good enough for anyone. But we are good enough for the First Mover, it knows that we can only ever do our best."

"I'm sure macho redneck, low class acting transgender men would accuse us of being classist Cole."

"I'm sure they would Pete; but they're doing women no favours by being creeps, merely revealing their insecurities in embodying their manhood. Like how bullies always pick on those

they believe better than themselves. They've internalized the lies of the Divisionists; once cultural modeling imbeds itself into the psyche of a preschooler it's pretty much impossible to remove it."

"Cole you should give philosophy seminars."

"The grammar schools on Garconer Colony are taught at an undergrad level. I dropped out when I turned sixteen to focus on my own desires, but I eventually caught up later. I never actually earned any official Doctorates, but I earned Masters in Sociology and Galactic Political Ecology; meaning I studied a bit of everything in fair quantity."

"You're the Pied Piper of esoteric information Cole; leaving breadcrumbs of cosmic data along the winding path that you stroll."

"That's great Pete, although I, come to think of it, I am the Pied Piper. Some of that fruit that I plucked from the tree of knowledge lies on the ground, growing rancid."

"Nice image, Mister self-effacing."

"One of those strands of information which I studied concerned identity development and the differential between those of the neurotypical norm and those on the spectrum. This is where the

identity confusion of a gender dysphoric individual on the spectrum comes into play. Someone

like Cecil or Horatio's childhood friend Liz Carnegie, those two were clearly neurotypical. Their

gender identity would have formed around age two or three; forming one cohesive identity resistant to change. Autistics don't have that; subconsciously creating personas instead; they're

natural method actors. A neurotypical transgender individual, having no means of changing their

base persona, is less able to discern the bigger picture; that the world around them has done them

wrong by creating a false gender dichotomy. An individual on the spectrum looks at life from

behind alternating masks in a similar vein to an actor; peeling back the falsehood inherent in the

concept of a true unchanging self. They're still affected by societal enculturation on a subconscious level, but without that single all-encompassing identity they can't say which identity is their core identity, nor whether they have an inner sense of being a man or a woman

and all that entails because they all are, and none of them are. At the same time; seeing through

the lies society tells, they know that the issue is environmental and not nature."

"The greatest actors the world has seen, the man with many masks."

"We haven't even scratched the surface Pete. In coming years, the entertainment world will encounter a wave of actors on the spectrum, granting them a level of genius in their skill at embodying the characters they portray unparalleled by any coming before. In the same way, the image we put out to the world at large is ever changing and full of artifice. Transgender individuals on the spectrum are quite aware that they've developed a secondary disorder brought on by society, they just don't know how to change the effects of faulty enculturation on their psyche. They'll change their name and if they hit rock bottom, go on testosterone; despite knowing how harmful it is, like a heroin addict wanting to go clean, just not knowing how."

"Just say no to drugs, man."

"One could make a comparison between use of testosterone by Transgender men and those using meth and other club drugs; or the heroin and cocaine junkies of the East End; with endocrinologists as the dealers. The entire medical profession has been infiltrated by the dark Medics of the Black Brigade. It must be hard for decent instinctive healers like Bailey and other medics working with the agencies of the Commonwealth, making their way through the system without becoming corrupted by their colleagues. "

"Why the differentiation Cole?"

"I don't know what it is about the Commonwealth agencies Pete, but we're definitely the good guys. Don't get me wrong, we've had our share of bad eggs, Commander Bertram for one. He wasn't evil per say, merely fearful of differences. It was the nineteen fifties and everyone was

paranoid. I'm still a bit peeved that he threatened to shoot me."

"He what?"

"It was the classic, you shoot the enemy, soldier; or I'll shoot you. Poor little lost alien evolved along the lines of a land manatee; of course we'd need a marine biologist to translate its language; the Commander wasn't having any of that. So I murdered the poor thing. It was horrible."

"I guess so."

"Other than him Pete, we've got a knack for sorting the wheat from the chaff; we won't ally ourselves with the dark."

# CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

A much younger and fitter Captain Billington headed into the bureau's lounge one fine autumn morning in nineteen twenty eight, mood subdued from the grief of the early morning phone call out of Texas from his youngest son Emelio. Happy to have a new baby great grandson to call his own, Cole grieved the boy's mother's death. Motherless, his son Emelio would need to see to the raising of the boy. Stood in the centre of the room were Cole's fellow colleagues Robert Chu, the bureau's twenty eight year old ballistics expert for the past three years and Doctor Gilles Fontaine, the bureau's forty eight year old doctor of both medicine and the exciting new field of psychiatry.

Grown bored with the medical field, working out of a family practice clinic on the grounds of McGill, the Quebecois transfer returned to his studies for a short period of time here at the university where he'd been promptly recruited by the bureau. They'd been in quick need of a new medic after their former one Doctor Blaine Giancomo chose to retire to the Roman countryside four years previous. Next to the doctor stood Detective Calvin Edwards, on loan from the Point Grey RCMP Constabulary. It was the Detective's job to connect the dots in cases

involving possible criminal activity in connection to a bit of the otherworldly.

In the far corner, stood by the table was Maggie Rutledge, acting assistant and transcriber to the bureau's chief officer, General Tyson Montgomery. Maggie had a bit of a thing for Cole; he wasn't biting. Stepping further into the room, Cole's eyes landed on the most beautiful sight he'd ever seen. The General told him that he'd hired a new recruit highly recommended for his talent

for deciphering complicated codes and unknown languages by the higher brass at the nearby army base. This talent would certainly come in handy at the CPB next time they came across an

individual not speaking any of the planet's present languages, or when stumbling across a piece of technology written in unknown code. Cecil Smith was exactly what the bureau needed at present. What the General failed to tell Cole about Cecil was how utterly beautiful the new hire

was.

When Cole's eyes connected with those of the slight, light haired Cecil Smith, he forgot about his dead grand-daughter and the loneliness which he felt each and every day; living here on his own in Vancouver, thousands of miles away from family. He forgot for just a moment that he was an outsider in more ways than one, saying, "Hello." His breath caught in his throat; Cole stared into the most beautiful gray eyes he'd ever seen. Not even Horatio could compare in this physical aspect.

"Hello," Cecil's reply was shy and retiring; the pair continuing to maintain eye contact.

The other three taller men moved aside, allowing the pair to get a better look at one another. Cecil was twenty eight years old, standing around five foot six inches in height; a tad short for a man, but on the tall end of the spectrum for a member of his birth sex. Despite the biology of Cecil's birth, Cole could see the truth that lay beneath the gorgeous man's eyes. Cole took in the clothing he wore; an off white Hudson Bay sweater draped with a pale red knit scarf worn over army regulation trousers; these were all topped off with a grey cap covering his head.

Grinning widely, Cole extended a hand in greeting, saying; "I'm Captain Cole Billington, and you are?" Ducking his head in close, Cole looked at Cecil with a deep and penetrating gaze. It was a gaze filled with promise for what later days could bring, a gaze built on connecting with

lives lived elsewhere. More went on beneath the surface of their present contemporary world than either knew.

Cecil shook Cole's hand, smiling, taking in Cole's appearance. At a hundred and eighteen years of age, Cole gave the false appearance of closing in on his third decade of life. He was healthy and fit and well put together. Cole was happy to note that Cecil seemed to approve, saying, "Cecil Smith, sir." Cole nodded, happiness knocked down a tad by the memory of the early morning's family tragedy.

Entering from the main room; Cole's superior officer, General Tyson Montgomery broke the mood in the room, saying; "Don't just stand there you two, get to work. We don't have time to stand around lollygagging; we have a crash site to investigate. Chop, chop, time's a wasting."

Tyson Montgomery was a tall, broad man in his late forties, with an off regulation hair style that Cole liked to tease him about. The general claimed that his wife approved of his hair and that's all that really mattered. Cole liked that about his superior officer, he may be a military man but he still managed to keep his sense of individuality. His wife Rosita was a very lucky woman to find such a man as Tyson Montgomery for a husband.

The mention of a crash site getting Cole's attention, he said; "A crash site, what sort?"

"We won't know that until after we get there, Billington. Now get your rear in gear." Gesturing to him and Cecil, Tyson said; "You two, you're coming with me."

The trio headed into the main room; turning down the corridor past Tyson's office, reaching the armoury. Eying Cecil; Cole tried viewing the bureau through a new recruit's eyes and as the general headed over to a munitions cabinet, Cole asked; "Are we thinking that there's liable to be trouble, General? Do you really think that we need to go in armed?"

Turning to Cole as he unlocked the cabinet, General Montgomery said; "Hopefully not, but you know that we can't be too sure Captain." His hands resting on the firearms in the case, he asked;

"Do you want one or not Captain?"

"Sure why not eh, better safe than sorry, hmm?" Tyson handed Cole the Remington Model Eight. Checking the device for ammunition, making sure to keep the safety on as he did so, Cole grabbed himself a leather hip holster, putting it on, saying; "Thanks." Cole placed the weapon discreetly by his side.

Turning to speak to Cecil, General Montgomery said; "How's your aim, Cecil?"

"I'm completely comfortable with the use of firearms, General."

Giving Cecil a look of respect; Tyson directed Cole to provide Cecil with another Model Eight. This taken care of, Tyson commanded the pair; "Alright; off we go boys. We've got little green men to contend with."

Noticing Cecil's aghast expression; Cole reassured him with, "I highly doubt that they'll actually be green." Cecil graced him with a cheerful smile as the pair followed the General out.

General Montgomery was the first to step from the bureau's company jeep parked just atop the water line at English Bay beach, saying; "Step lightly, boys."

Cole watched discretely from the corner of his eye as the general stepped carefully down the rock and log strewn beach; green uniform jacket and army regulation boots giving him an aura of the military man, ready and willing to issue the harshest of orders. Cole liked a man with a bit of authority in his bearing; hmm, hmm. Cole shook his head in silent appreciation, a gesture Cecil took note of; smiling and giving Cole a knowing look, licking his lips in lust. Thankfully, the general was none the wiser. Cole doubted Tyson would take kindly to Cole appreciating his physical assets. Cole had a hankering for a little after hours rough and tumble.

There hadn't been anyone serious in Cole's life since Carmina's death a decade earlier. The mother of his children died of the Spanish Flu at age sixty five. Thank God his two surviving children had strong, fifty first century immune systems from their father. The Flu had bounced off them like the barest of common colds. Once researchers managed to develop the Universal Influenza vaccine in the mid twenty teens, the flu had been wiped from existence. The three millennium passing between now and Cole's birth would give way to a completely overhauled immune system via the natural process of evolution. Cole's children and their descendants would thankfully live to benefit from their father's improved genetic profile; others Cole had known and loved hadn't been so lucky. His one-time girlfriend and colleague at the CPB Emily died of the flu that year. Cole adored Emily; during the year which Cole spent healing from the aftermath of the Incubi incident, she'd been his rock. She'd been a lovely, slim little thing; nary a prejudiced bone in her lithe body. The aftermath of that incident left Cole with a hell of a clean- up job. The bureau brought in top specialists in dentistry, orthopaedics and gastro-intestinal surgery from throughout the world; all to get Cole back into tip top shape. Emily helped Cole through it all; the guilt of what he'd done while under the influence of the entity, the shame of

the deformities produced by the entity, and finally, the pain of healing from the surgeries which he'd gone through. Cole headed off to London in nineteen fourteen to work in the House of Lords during the war; his recent surgeries precluding him from being sent closer to the fighting.

Returning five years later, lovely Emily was dead.

Following General Montgomery's lead, Cole headed down the embankment after him, holding his right arm out protectively for Cecil's benefit. Gazing out across the brackish water line, Cole's eyes came to rest on the crash site. Half submerged in murky water lay a shuttle sized space craft. Surrounding the charcoal gray vehicle, the smouldering crater was quickly filling with sea water. Heading across the dry yellow sand, and then further out, Cole groused as his trousers became water-logged with wet sand, saying; "Yowsers."

Tyson Montgomery looked back at Cole, smiling as he said; "Be a man Billington, stop pussy footing around."

Rolling his eyes, Cole said; "Some day Tyson, that sort of talk will be verboten; nil quate'."

Cecil hurried past the two squabbling men, attempting to get a closer look at the alien space craft, Tyson muttering; "Somehow, I don't think that time will be any time soon." Looking over at Cecil, he warned him; "Careful there lad."

Continuing down the beach, Cole attempted to get a proper look. Inside the crater, the craft sat with its space resistant, glass roof blown to smithereens. Inside the tiny vehicle, Cole could see the dead body of an alien pilot splayed out in his captain's chair, looking as though he'd been subjected to high doses of gamma radiation.

Coming to stand next to Cole outside the crater, Tyson Montgomery said; "Do you recognize this guy's species, Cole?"

"I'm not sure," Stepping closer, Cole craned his neck to get a better look at the deceased individual.

"Careful! It might be radioactive."

"I'll be careful," Turning to Tyson, Cole said; "I appreciate your concern, however." Peering inside the small craft, Cole noticed that the deceased was quite small in stature, perhaps five foot, if that. His skin was an odd mixture of muted shades of blue and pink. His head was small and hairless; a pair of small, bony protuberances just above the eyes. Cole said, "Sorry, I don't recognize the species, sir. It's a big, wide universe out there. I haven't seen everything."

"Shoot, that's unfortunate. We have no real way of determining what this fellow may have been up to. No way to know if he's part of an invasion plan, or if he just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"I can check the ship records, go through the computer guidance system, that sort of thing."

Waving him off, giving Cole a somewhat blank look, General Montgomery said; "Sure, sure." It was clear that the general didn't really know what Cole was going on about, adding; "You know Billington, all these years that I've known you; I still don't know half the stuff you babble on about."

"I know, isn't it great?," The general just scowled, Cole bending forwards to grab one end of the sinking ship. Looking over his shoulder at the pair stood next to him, Cole said; "Are you two going to give me a hand here or am I going to have to make an impression of the Incredible Hulk?"

Cecil merely gave him a blank look at that anachronistic reference point, one Cole only knew because he'd really been into Classical Earth comic art work as a child. The general went to help Cole lift the other side of the ship out of the sand, saying; "Here we go."

Carting the wreckage up the hill towards the company jeep, the three CPB Operatives headed back to the base. Once there, they set the ship down in the main room where the others ooh and ahhed, doing a bit of fake retching over the corpse; before taking it into a side room past Doctor Fontaine's Medical Lab. The medical doctor retrieved the poor sod from the pilot seat, placing him onto a pull out autopsy table in the corner by the door. Once the space craft had been relieved of the remains of the deceased, Cole had been paired with Robert Chu to give the vehicle a look over. The ballistics expert had been assigned the task of finding any weapons or hidden booby traps that may have been placed somewhere inside the vehicle.

Pressing a green button on the control panel, Robert accidentally blew a hole in a nearby filing cabinet with a green burst of gamma rays. Robert crowed, "We've got weapons, yes!"

Reassuring Doctor Fontaine as he scurried through the door behind them at the sound of the gamma ray burst, Cole said; "It's all right, nobodies hurt."

"Good to know."

Peering down at the green button, Cole said; "Gamma burst relay; used mostly for protection against space debris; asteroids, meteorites, that sort of thing."

Peering in at the control panel, Robert said; "Huh! Good to know." He and Doctor Fontaine shared a look at the realization that they appeared to be speaking in tandem.

Later, Cole took the guidance system apart to better examine its records and place of origin. That's where Cecil happened across him hours later after everyone else had gone home for the evening. Coming around the corner from the main room, carrying a mug filled to the brim with Hot Toddy, Cecil found Cole sat on the stone steps separating the CPB's medical lab from the technical investigation archive. Holding the mug out to him, Cecil said; "Hot Toddy sir?"

"Lovely idea Cecil my man; don't mind if I do." Cole turned to face the delicate wisp of a man, an appreciative, verging on leering expression on his face.

Handing the hot mug to Cole, Cecil glanced at the bits and pieces of the crashed shuttle which Cole had managed to take apart. Various pieces of the quantum database making up the control panel motherboard were laid strewn across the stone steps, Cecil saying; "You sure like to make a mess, don't you sir?"

"You know it," Nervous for a tick, Cole's eyes were hooded with desire, as he said; "Did anyone ever tell you, that you have the sweetest smile Cecil?" To this, he earned one of those smiles, saying; "By the way, call me Cole. None of this sir nonsense; I'd like to be on equal footing with you here."

"Sure thing Cole;" Cecil smirked, clearly amused by the other man's clear and evident interest in him. He said, "Do you know what you're doing here? I certainly can't make heads or tails of it."

"I'll tell you this Cecil. It certainly ain't anything made anywhere on Earth at this point in time."

"And the alien?," Cecil looked to the darkened medical lab where the not as yet identified alien creature lay in the cold repose of death.

Cole stopped fiddling with the piece of black alloyed equipment he'd been examining, taking a moment to reflect on the lost life of the brave alien pilot. This was nineteen twenty eight as far as Humanity was concerned; and the local space lanes were a lot less backlogged by interplanetary traffic then they'd one day become. Encounter problems with a shipboard engine in System Sol during the pre-contact years; and one had absolutely no hope of ever being rescued. This fellow was either incredibly brave or incredibly stupid; Cole was unsure of which, perhaps a combination of both. He admired him for that, if only a little. Cole never could manage to wrap

his mind around the concept of taking on too much personal risk.

"I have no idea Cecil. Doctor Fontaine hasn't finished his full autopsy report yet. We need to get the results of the chemical analysis back first. Even then, there's not much to know when there's no record of the species on the books."

Kneeling down next to where Cole sat, Cecil said; "Have you seen anything at all similar to this guy?"

Considering the tiny, emaciated, pink hued alien, the creature from the stars, now turned grey with decomposition; Cole contemplated his final dying breath. Was it quick and instantaneous, or was it slow and agonizing; each second counting down to the final moment which this creature had left? Cole could emphasize so much with that alien, lost and alone in a great wide

universe, too enormous for even him to contemplate. Cole's existence as a galactic mongrel acted as bridge across the great divide between two great species. His genetics evenly split fifty-fifty down the middle; Cole was neither Human nor Garconer. He was of literally two minds; the Human bicameral brain battling the much more nuanced Garconer mind, both in constant battle for supremacy, neither willing to give an inch, concede defeat to the other. The question which Cole had to answer for himself, the question to which he'd never gotten a satisfactory answer to; was this; how much of that battle was truly physical and how much had been created by Humanity's war against his species?

Ending his silence, Cole said; "No," Glancing down at the bits of alien computer innards which

appeared to have brought him to great disadvantage; frowning, Cole said; "This guy's technology has me utterly stumped."

"I can see that," Revealing the sexiest little smile that Cole had ever seen, Cecil made Cole feel as though he were the only one who truly mattered in the eyes of this lovely man.

For the first time in a very long time, edging into decades now; Cole felt the signs of a very old, very primal force reasserting itself. Feelings arose in Cole's nether regions, in his very gut; feelings he hadn't felt this strongly since it all went downhill with his late wife Carmina; God, how he missed her. Not just her, Cole missed his entire brood. His daughter Emelia, so angry with her father for abandoning them for a greater mission and his youngest, now only living son Emelio; so intent on pleasing his father, so brilliant in his own way. Cole hoped that his son truly was happy in his career. He was so proud of him for his desire to make the world a better place.

Cecil gave Cole a penetrating look. He brought to mind an old general Cole tussled with once or twice on occasion during the Great War. So intent was he on getting his men into the field of battle, he was unable to see the greater picture. Without troops in the pipeline, the seasoned soldiers in the first line of defence would have no backup. The grizzled old general; of which Cecil was neither old nor grizzled; had gone straight to the top; he'd stood in front of Cole, sat amidst his betters, war time negotiators and seasoned members of the British House of Lords. The general had plead his case, time and again. He reminded Cole so much of himself in the early years of his career as a Garconer peacemaker; the one time terrorist, now back to make good.

Living in Vancouver, family thousands of miles away in Fort Worth; it ate at Cole on a daily basis like moths working their way through a long forgotten winter coat shoved to the back of the closet, never to be taken out again. Cole occasionally broached the topic of immigration to his son Emelio. He'd find him a position with the bureau, allow him to work alongside him, father and son, partners in arms, working to protect the Pacific Coast from an alien incursion. Or perhaps something a little more mundane, like an invading force of the Human kind. However much Emelio may love his father, the siren call of closer family ties, as well as an ingrained sense of national patriotism to his country of birth; both of these worked against father and son reconnecting on a regular basis. His son had his own family to worry about now; a loving, younger wife who by all accounts seemed to adore him to bits, and a pair of happy youngsters to call his own. A daughter Julie, age six; as well as a two year old son named Samael. Cole recently received a piece of correspondence from his son with photos of his grandchildren. They were beautiful children; and with Emelio as their father, they couldn't help but become amazing people as they grew into adulthood. Now they had the newborn to contend with as well. Emelio's older sister Emelia was in no shape to look after her dead daughter's child right now; she needed time to grieve.

Smiling sadly, Cole said; "Do you want to know what truly stumps ol Cole Billington, Cecil?"

"Hit me."

Cole grinned like a shark, saying; "The fact that I have grandchildren and great grandchildren, but I still look barely thirty." Cecil gave Cole a startled look, Cole shyly returning one of his own, saying; "Do you wanna see?" Cecil nodded; Cole retrieving his slim black leather wallet, flipping it open, revealing an assortment of black and white, mostly half faded photographs of those Cole held near to his heart. Handing the wallet to Cecil, Cole said; "The top photo is of my son Emelio's wife and my grandson Samael."

Peering at the recently taken photograph, Cecil said; "What a sweetie."

Grinning with a grandfather's pride, Cole said; "They both are."

Baby Samael had Emelio's hair texture and skin tone, but his mother's blond tresses, little boy curls falling haphazardly into his green eyes. His mother Annalise had the pale complexion of her Norwegian forefathers; emerald eyes glistening with a mother's love for her baby boy. Quickly, Cole flipped the photo insert towards the next picture. Emelio stood beside young Julie; her taffeta Sunday best clearly pleasing her, sporting a happy smile the likes of which only children know.

Cecil looked at the man stood next to Julie in the photo, then across at Cole and quickly back down towards the figure in black and white, saying; "This is your son?"

"Forty three years old, he doesn't look a day over twenty," Suddenly overcome with the urge to take a chance on this beautiful man, with a flash of courage Cole said; "Cecil, would you do me the honour of having dinner with me one of these days?"

Pleased as punch at the offer, Cecil grinned, saying; "I'd love that, Cole."

"Wonderful! Let's do that then," Cecil nodded, plopping himself down next to Cole, setting to work on helping him deal with the bits and pieces that were arrayed around them.

# CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

A few months later, the Champagne was on tap, party platters close to overflowing as the good folks associated with the Commonwealth Protection Bureau celebrated the end of nineteen twenty eight. Stood by the table in the lounge, appetizers laid out in a tantalizing display of winter treats; Cole held a glass of Champagne, preparing to make a speech in honour of the general's leadership qualities, saying; "Here's to the greatest boss a man could ever ask for." Nodding jovially over at Tyson Montgomery, sat on the couch, an arm draped around his blond,

flapper wife, Cole finished up with; "May he lead us towards a better future!"

Tyson looked over at Cole, stroking his wife's hair, saying; "Thank you Cole, that was very nice of you." He then bent to give his wife a kiss.

Cole grinned, chuckling as Maggie bent across the table behind him to whisper something dirty in his ear. Cecil stood nearby, eying her with distaste as Cole turned sideways, responding to Maggie's attentions the best he could, saying; "You're drunk, Mags, leave me be."

Huffing, Maggie headed unsteadily across the room, plopping herself down next to the Montgomerys, saying; "Nice night, eh?"

Cole chuckled, smiling contentedly at Cecil, saying; "Having a fun time, Cecil?"

"I'm actually a tad bored, to tell you the truth Cole."

Moving in close to Cecil's side, Cole whispered; "That's too bad, is there anything I can do to liven things up a bit?"

Cecil grinned, intrigued by where the conversation could lead. Placing a hand atop Cole's left shoulder, doing his best to play the seduction card, seeing where it would lead him, he said; "Do you want to go somewhere private Cole, somewhere we can talk?"

Cole turned to face Cecil, his interest peaked, saying; "What did you have in mind, Cecil?"

Gesturing towards the entrance with a nod, Cecil said; "Your place or mine Cole?"

Grinning wolfishly, Cole said; "You tell me Cecil."

Rubbing up close to him, Cecil said; "I'd love to see your home, Cole."

"Alright."

Giving his regards to the others, wishing them a happy new year, Cole led Cecil to his Studebaker in the lot. A small layer of snow lay across the pavement, remnant of a fading snow

fall from earlier in the evening. Cole lived in Yale Town next to the rail yard; people were always coming and going on a regular basis. That night the pair became lost in one another's scent, losing themselves in each other's eyes; barely hearing the clickety clack of the trains in the yard outside, and the orders given by the workmen unloading the overnight freight. Falling asleep afterwards, wrapped in one another's arms, Cole and Cecil tried to keep the cold at bay.

The next morning, Cole made the pair a breakfast of eggs and sausages; sun shining in through the kitchen window. Sat at the table in the corner, Cole said; "Lovely day out there, eh Cecil?" Cecil fidgeted nervously with his hands, ready to bolt. Worried, Cole said; "What's wrong?" Cole was hurt; he'd thought last night was amazing, saying; "You're not disappointed in me are you Cecil?"

"You were fine, Cole."

"Just fine, that's it?"

Looking at him, Cecil said; "It's not something which I really enjoy, not in this body. I don't know how I ever can. It's not you Cole, you were lovely. I just can't really get all that enthused about something that I'm not all that into."

"Oh," Placing a hand on Cecil's shoulder, Cole took their plates to the sink, allowing them to soak, saying; "I can live with some cuddling I suppose."

Two years passed since the beginning of what came to be known as 'The Great Depression', the period taking an extreme toll on everyone Cole knew. Even the bureau, a covert government organization partly funded through the Dominion's military budget, thus exempting it from the vagaries of the marketplace; even the bureau was forced to do some cost cutting of its own. Maggie Rutledge was first to go, along with a little helpful advice from the general to seek help for her over indulgence in the bottle. Cole never liked her as it was, that didn't mean that he hadn't felt just a bit of sympathy for her lost income. The rest of them, those who hadn't earned

themselves one or two Doctorates, were forced to take a five percent pay cut in order to keep the

place going.

Tonight, Cole was ensconced on a zebra toned couch in the corner of a cabaret bar known as 'The African Safari'. Next to him, Cecil was curled up into a mock image of a Human ball, enjoying the soothing sounds of the Baroque band playing in the corner. Over the past two years,

Cole painfully observed Cecil falling into a deep depression, mirroring the malaise gripping the

world around them; due in most part to the mistreatment and unwillingness to understand his needs by his mother Georgia and his younger brother Mark. Over the past two years, Cecil had been forced to allow the pair to move into his home in Gas Town once the economy went south.

Cecil's father had been killed during the Great War in nineteen sixteen during the battle of the

Somme. After the economic collapse of the banking system in the early part of nineteen twenty

nine; Mark lost his job at the local lumber mill, their mother let go from her job designing costumes for a professional theatre company on Granville Street.

Cecil's desire to do right by his mother; taking on the duties of her eldest son, looking after her in the absence of his father; none of it was respected. Georgia Smith would never see him as the man he truly was, only the daughter she'd given birth to thirty one years earlier. His brother Mark followed in their mother's footsteps, insisting on referring to him as Cecelia, his older sister on a daily basis, out of nothing more than pure spite.

Despite this, the pair's status as societal misfits served only to bring the pair closer together. Holding onto one another, their hands gripping each other tenderly, Cole and Cecil fell into a soft and gentle kiss; losing themselves in the double strands of the lovely music bouncing around the bar, as well as the high running emotions which lay between them. The tiny establishment gave a false appearance of being somewhat larger in size through use of several strategically placed, floor to ceiling mirrors covering walls throughout the room.

The pair were at the establishment this evening lending support to Cecil's friend Iana Ferguson, the evening's headlining act for The African Safari's Burlesque Show. Hitting a break in the act, Iana came towards the pair, carrying a small piece of white paper in her hand, saying; "Hello lovey, are you enjoying the show?"

Sitting up, Cecil pulled away from Cole's embrace, giving Iana his full and undivided attention. Cole rewarded him with a pout, Cecil saying; "You're doing great work girl. Keep it up."  
Bending forwards, Iana spoke quietly, waving the small piece of paper about with her pink polished nails, saying; "That thing we spoke about earlier?" Handing Cecil the piece of paper, leaning provocatively forwards, silver cocktail dress showing off all her best assets, Iana said; "Here you go honey. Try these people on West Pender Street. It should be of some help to you, what little there is."

Smiling, happier then he'd been in quite a while, Cecil said; "Thank you Iana." He reached up to give her a grateful hug.

"I'm glad to help, Cecil," Iana pulled away from his embrace. Distracted by the drag Queen's tight little ass, Cole finally glanced up, realizing the direction the conversation was going; pursing his lips in a tiny frown, uncomfortable with the topic of hormonal intervention. Glancing back up at the stage, Iana said; "Well, I've got a show to put on." Off she scurried, back onto the stage to strut her stuff.

Days later; a hard days' work of filing reports on the city's vagrancy problems behind him, Cole invited Cecil home for a home cooked meal. The evening started out great with spicy potato slices broiled in Cajun sauce with green beans; done up in a manner which Cole learned from Carmina decades earlier. Halfway through the meal the conversation quickly went down-hill, Cecil informing Cole that he'd placed an order for a Tongkat Ali tree with a Chinese Herbalist on West Pender Street. The tree purportedly had Testosterone boosting properties, among other more mundane medicinal qualities.

Pacing the room, Cole said; "Come on Cecil, you don't need to spend what little amount of money you have on worthless herbal remedies that won't do you a load of squat. That stuff's worthless, and you know it."

"I don't know anything of the sort, Cole."

"Come on Cecil, the shopkeeper is preying on your desperation. Please don't waste your money. Honey, you know that I think you're perfect just the way that you are. Don't do this to yourself."

"Cole, this isn't about you; don't make it about you, alright?"

His expression stormy, words as sharp as broken glass, Cole said; "You're right Cecil, this isn't about me. It's about your mother and your flipping brother. If you hadn't opened your doors, taking them in to live with you, this wouldn't be bothering you so much. Never have I hated anyone so much since my youth. Your brother is a real bastard, Cecil. You're only in this state right now because of those two slamming home the biological reality on a daily basis. Georgia is a guest in your home and you're covering her living expenses; the least your mother can do is to be kind."

Cecil's face softened, love for his mother evident in his words, saying; "She doesn't believe that she's being cruel Cole. She believes that she's doing her motherly duty in helping me to face reality. But the only thing that I've ever wanted in this life was to be a man; that's the one thing I'll never have." Overcome by emotion, Cecil stood up. Not wanting Cole to see him cry; he turned away.

Coming forwards, wrapping his arms around Cecil's waist, Cole whispered in his ear; "You already are a man Cecil, inside where it counts. Nothing your mother will ever say, can ever take that away from you. I love you Cecil; it hurts me to see how you allow your mother to torture you like this. But this herbal remedy, it's all a bunch of quackery. Honey, I don't want to see you wasting your money on a scam. If the economy wasn't so bad, I'd be all for the use of placebos if it would help your dysphoria; but not in the middle of the Great Depression."

Holding his hand out for Cole to take hold of, Cecil said; "It gets under your skin Cole, this need to make my body match the man I am inside."

Whispering in Cecil's ear, Cole said; "Come on love, I think that it's just about time for my favourite comedy radio show to begin any minute now. That should cheer you up, hopefully." Kissing Cecil on the forehead, Cole pulled away to switch on the radio in the corner.  
Strolling down West Pender Street in the heart of China Town a few weeks later; the early morning light of the rising sun tinged the skies orange, a light breeze ruffling Cecil's hair. A happy crow cawed it's greeting at Cecil, peering down at him from a nearby shop roof. The street appeared deserted, but not quite. At five a.m. in the morning the district was being watched

covertly by a pair of on duty police constables sat in an unmarked squad car, just around the corner from 'The Yellow Orchid Chinese Herbalist'.

"We've got movement out front," Officer Dwayne Goodacre spotted the young man through the pair of binoculars he peered through as he sat in the driver's seat of the patrol car.

His partner Officer James McGill was out of the passenger side door in a flash, saying; "Let's be on the move then."

The officers headed across the empty road at a brisk pace; bodies bent low to the ground, knees positioned for the fastest movement their style of walking would allow. Reaching the far side of the road, they stood with their backs against a boarded up market, just one of many victims of the economic down turn. The Depression was the reason the pair were out here in the first place. In the last two years, many a long time shop and business had gone into receivership; those staying afloat were often rumoured to be supplementing their profits with proceeds from the Opium Trade.

'The Yellow Orchid Chinese Herbalist' shop had been under suspicion of illicit business for some time now. A recent tip off from one time crook Jimmy Weaver of the arrival of an expensive shipment from Malaysia this morning to be picked up by one Cecil Smith; that told

them all that they needed to know, hadn't it?

Cecil smiled as he entered the shop. Mister Wu, proprietor of the shop, promised to have the Tongkat Ali tree ready for Cecil this morning. Entering the dimly lit, quaint little shop, Cecil called out a friendly greeting towards the back, saying; "Mister Wu; are you there?"

"Just a moment lad," Jerry Wu entered the main retail area of the shop a moment later, carrying a long, narrow wrapped package; stepping through the beaded curtains covering the entrance to the backroom.

Cecil smiled happily, catching sight of the package, saying; "How much do I owe you, Jerry?"

Grinning, Jerry placed the package on top of the counter, saying; "I'll tell you what, lad. Since you do good work, working for the government, I think I shall give you a ten percent discount. How does that sound?"

Cecil nodded, ready to pay for his shipment; the sound of shuffling police boots coming from just outside the shop. Cecil turned his head to see what all the fuss was about; officers Goodacre and McGill charging through the door, their service revolvers held at the ready. One of the officers said, "You're coming with us sir." Then he nodded to his partner, saying; "It's a woman."

Cecil groaned, the second officer appraising him head to foot, saying; "I think you're right James. Come on Miss, we're bringing you into police custody on suspicion of Opium trafficking, as well as being in violation of the dress code laws for this province."

Cecil rolled his eyes as James bent forward towards him, saying; "Tsk, tsk, you must have been in such a hurry to make your purchase this morning that you forgot about the required one item of female clothing loophole allowing you to slide. Come on!" With that, the officer roughly grabbed Cecil by the shoulder, frog marching him out to the squad car; the other officer remaining inside the shop, questioning Jerry Wu about his shipments.

Sat under the watchful eyes of about twenty police constables, as well as the receptionist behind the glass and a few crooks waiting to be processed in the front processing area of the East End Police Constabulary; Cecil felt their eyes on the back of his head, feeling as though they bore a hole into his cerebellum. Pulling him to his feet, Officer James McGill lead Cecil past the front processing area, down the hall on the right hand side of the room, towards the east end of the building.

Officer McGill opened the heavy iron door to his right labeled 'Women's Jail', saying; "Get in here, you freak!" Cringing in despair, Cecil was led inside the interior cell block of the Police Station. Gripping Cecil tightly by the wrists, the constable dragged him along behind him, creating red welts along his wrists in the places he was being held. As he did so, the officer muttered; "I don't care if you do work for the government; I think people like you are the scum of the Earth. Now get in there, bitch!" Roughly shoving Cecil through the open cell door of the first available jail cell; Officer McGill squeezed Cecil's shoulder painfully, causing him to trip over the metal groove in the floor of the cell door opening, saying; "You need a good man to put you in your place, bitch!" With that, the officer shoved Cecil roughly into the jail cell, not caring in the least as Cecil took a tumble onto the hard, filthy cement floor. Cecil looked up into the

constable's angry face, tears threatening to fall as the officer said; "You'll get your phone call in a while you freak." Slamming the cell door in Cecil's face, the officer slammed the lock into place; walking away with a macho swagger, muttering furiously beneath his breath; "Fucking dyke."  
Staring a metaphorical hole in the cement floor, Cecil whispered reverently; "I've got a man, sir, and what a man he is." Getting to his feet slowly, Cecil backed into a wall; his clothes grey with dust, skin rubbed raw in various places.

Wallet out to pay Cecil's bail; Cole handed a bundle of bills to the receptionist sat behind the glass at the East End Police Constabulary, saying; "There you go, Miss."

She smiled; the arresting officer for Cecil's case heading down the corridor, calling out; "Hey freak! Mister Money bags is here to give you your freedom. Not that you deserve it, or anything."

Stood like a coiled spring, Cole's wrists formed tight balls of anger. Body tight as an African drum, coiled like a hungry Cobra ready to spring into action, Cole said; "What the fuck?" Noticing the receptionist's disapproving look, Cole told her; "Sorry." Stalwartly tight lipped, he waited for Cecil to be released.  
Walking out of the facility moments later; Cole draped an arm over Cecil's shoulder, gently guiding him through the doors of the police station. Peering at Cecil's face in distress, it hurt Cole to see the man he loved in such a state, saying; "Good God Cecil." Cole whispered despairingly, "How could they do this to you? You're just a..." Voice caught in his throat, Cole

realized what he'd been about to say. Don't fuck this up, Billington.  
"I'm just what Cole; a woman? It's nice to know exactly where I stand in this relationship, isn't it? That's all that I'll ever be to you Cole, you'll never see me as a man, will you?"  
Oh dear, he'd really put his foot in his mouth this time, hadn't he? Horrified, the thought of Cecil believing this was how Cole viewed him broke Cole's heart. He needed to get this sorted immediately. Cole said; "No Cecil! That wasn't what I was going to say at all." Eying Cole dispassionately, Cecil was clearly not convinced in the least. Carrying on, Cole said; "I was just

going to say that you're such a little fellow." Oh dear, now Cecil was affronted. Forging ever onwards, hoping to retrieve a small sliver of absolution, Cole said; "They had no right to rough you up like that darling."  
Making a face, Cecil said; "That doesn't make me feel any better, Cole."  
"I know," Cole bent to comfort Cecil, saying; "I know, Cecil."  
Cecil angrily pushed Cole away with a shove, saying; "You don't know, Cole! How can you ever know? You're a man, a man that no one would ever dare accuse of being anything less. You don't know what it's like to wake up each morning, having to look down at the body you're in, seeing a woman, and wishing you could see a man."  
Reaching for him, Cecil sidestepped away from Cole's grasp, walking resolutely ahead down the walkway. Sighing, Cole hurried to join him, eventually managing to walk side by side with the best friend he'd had in years. Cole couldn't lose that; he feared that he'd managed to bungle this entire thing up. Trying for a bit of levity, Cole said; "Cecil what exactly were you aiming for in China Town?"  
"You know what I was looking for Cole. We've talked about it often enough."

"You were after that Herbal remedy to use as an Androgen booster?"

"You know it."

"Cecil, it won't work. Not like that."

"I'm just about at the end of my rope, Cole. I don't know how much more of this I can take. If you have any suggestions which I can actually use, I'm all ears, toss them my way."

Pulling Cecil close beneath the shade of an overhanging tree; Cole led him into the privacy of a nearby alley, saying; "Oh honey, it hurts me to see you suffering so." Cecil gazed into his eyes, Cole placing a hand gently against his cheek, red and raw from the officer's ill treatment, saying; "I promise you that I'll try my best to take your mind off of what troubles you; let your man Cole take your troubles away." Cole kissed Cecil gently on the lips.

Eventually, lips swollen with desire, Cecil pushed Cole gently away, saying; "I've got to go Cole; we both do. I can't go into the bureau looking like this. There'll be too many questions; people will make assumptions and it'll look bad on you."

Stepping back in stunned horror, Cole said; "On me, why would it?" Taking a deep breath, he said; "Do you really think that people think that poorly of me Cecil, that I'd beat my partner?"

"It's not you Cole, it's the times that we're living in. It's the way things are. Men beat their wives with impunity. I may not be your wife, nor see myself as a woman, but life is what it is."

"It's not right, Cecil. It's sick, the way the most vulnerable citizens of a sentient species are beaten into the dirt."

Leaning in close, brushing against Cole's chest, Cecil said; "It's all right, Cole. The world is how it is; there's nothing we can do about it."

Brushing a hand through Cecil's hair, Cole said; "Oh there is Cecil, I promise you that the world will be different in the future. I've got to tell you, Humanity may have tried to wipe my father's people out of existence, but at least they treated their women better."

Gripping Cole's hand in comfort, Cecil said; "Good God Cole, that's horrible! But you're forgetting one thing."

Cole sighed, rubbing circles along Cecil's hand, saying; "I know, but it is what it is. Um, what am I forgetting?"

"That I'm not a woman."

"Right, of course not."

Cecil laughed wearily, saying; "Come on tough guy; let's get out of here before the cops think of something else they can charge us with."

"Let them try."

Patting Cole's shoulder affectionately, Cecil said; "Cole, we don't need this. Not now." Cecil sighed as Cole looked guiltily out onto the street, saying; "Just take me home, okay?"

"You've got it."

# 

# CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

Heading into work for the day, Cecil was still sore from the cuts and bruises which he'd suffered at the hands of the constable. Taking one look at him, General Montgomery, stood by the tea tray, just cringed, saying; "Cecil, what the blue blazes happened to you?"

"I got in a fight sir, with a constable."

Eyes widened in shock, General Montgomery said, "You what?"

Cole rolled his eyes, saying; "Don't ask."

Taking Cecil aside just out of earshot of Cole's hearing, Tyson said; "Are you still feeling up to this evening's festivities, Smith?"

Glancing over his shoulder at Cole, smiling peacefully at him from across the room, Cecil said quietly; "It's Cole's Birthday, let's make it a good one."

Patting Cecil gently on the shoulder, Tyson whispered; "You're a good man." Calling to Cole across the room in a loud booming voice, he said; "Billington, I've got a mission for the pair of you."

Glancing up from the morning's newspaper, excitement evident in his eyes at the mention of a mission, Cole said, "Oh? I do love me some missions. So what's the what?"

Grinning, Cecil said; "This should be interesting. What have you got for us, General?"

"There's been word of some strange, glowing sea creature similar in description to the Irish Merrow, singing to fishermen just offshore the university. I want the pair of you to go out in a boat and do a bit of offshore fishing for a few hours. Do a few circuits around the bay; see if you can't scare up a sighting or two."

Looking at Tyson in surprise, Cole said; "How come this is the first I'm hearing about this odd little tale?"

"Because I'm the general, and you're merely the captain, Billington."

"That you are, Montgomery," Cole gestured for Cecil to join him in the corridor.

Half an hour later, the pair sat in the company canoe, fishing lines dangling from the side of 'The CPB Sparrow', soaking in the rays of the morning sun. Cole said, "I don't hear anything, do you Cecil?"

"No, I don't see anything either, Cole."

Back on shore, in the lounge of the CPB, Detective Calvin Edwards helped Robert Chu hang a banner from the ceiling above the table reading; 'Happy Birthday Cole. May your 121st year be better than your 120th'. Giving the banner a sideways look; Doctor Fontaine preparing the punch behind them, Calvin said; "Does that look alright Robert?"

"Pretty much."

An hour and a half later, Cole and Cecil completed another circuit around the bay, having yet to spot anything unusual besides Cole catching himself a Cucumber Fish; promptly tossing it back over the side of the canoe. Cole said, "I think we might as well head back to shore, Cecil. Whatever this creature is, he's not being friendly today."

"Alright Cole, that sounds about right."

Back on shore, they dragged 'The CPB Sparrow' up the beach towards the CPB boathouse hidden away from the general public's prying eyes between a grove of trees along the woodsy hillside. Cole declared, "It's a real nice day out, isn't it Cecil?"

"It sure is Cole."

"I still want to know why I've never managed to hear about this singing sea creature until today."

"I'm sure you'll get your answer eventually Cole."

Rolling his eyes at this non-answer of Cecil's, Cole helped finish securing the boat inside the boathouse, saying; "Let's go." Heading up the hill and back to the base, the pair walked hand in hand with one another.  
Turning to enter the lounge of the CPB, Cole tensed up, senses on high alert. As Cecil reached past him to turn the light switch on, there was a sudden burst of CPB operatives jumping from their hiding places, calling out simultaneously; "Surprise!"  
Gazing around the decorated room, a big dopy grin spreading across Cole's face in realization, he said; "You guys did all this for me, you remembered my birthday?" Heading further inside the room towards the table where glasses of fruit punch were laid out, Cole said; "Now, where's that cake that I smell?"

A few more years passed and on April the twenty first, of nineteen thirty five; Georgia Smith passed away at Saint Paul's Hospital after battling a case of Ovarian Cancer for the past two years. "So what are we going to do?," Cecil's brother stood in the doorway of the home he shared with Cecil, having just got news from the hospital their mother had gone into convulsions;

drawing her last breath one hour ago.

Sat with an arm wrapped around Cecil on the green couch in the corner of the sitting room, Cole rubbed his man's back, Cecil's head bent in mournful sorrow. Cole asked, "Would you like me to arrange the funeral?"

Placing his hand in Cole's, Cecil said; "That would be nice, love." Falling into a sweet embrace, the pair lost themselves in each other's lips, breaking off the kiss only after Cecil's brother cleared his throat to remind the pair that he was still inside the room.

Pulling away, Cole stood to go, saying; "I've got to go to work." Bending to give Cecil another kiss, he gave Mark a wave goodbye, saying; "If you could get me a list of details for the funeral that would be Jim Dandy." Nodding stoically Cecil watched Cole go, eyes rimmed red with old tears.

Days later; Cole stood next to Cecil, gripping his hand firmly in front of Georgia Smith's casket. Stood next to Mark and Meredith, Mark's lady friend; they listened to the Reverend Broadbent recite funeral rites over the casket. Droplets of rain trickled down around them, Cole wrapping an arm around Cecil's waist, pulling him close. As the reverend concluded his sermon and the first bit of earth was tossed atop Georgia Smith's coffin, Cole led Cecil away to the shelter of a nearby Willow Tree.

Bending forwards to kiss Cecil on the forehead; playing with his blond bangs, Cole told him; "Come on Cecil, I've got a surprise for you."

Cecil looked up at Cole, then over at the graveside where his mother's coffin was now almost completely covered by the wet earth. General Montgomery and his other CPB colleagues were in quiet conversation with Mark and Meredith, and Cecil asked; "Will I like it?"

Running a finger down Cecil's arm, Cole said; "I hope so, Cecil."

"Alright," Taking one more look back at his mother's gravesite, Cecil took Cole's proffered hand, saying; "Carry on, McDuff."

Leading Cecil away to the car lot where he'd left his aging vehicle in the far corner, Cole said, "Remember our first mission out at English Bay?" Cole opened the car door for Cecil.

Getting into the vehicle, Cecil answered; "Of course Cole, how could I forget that poor sod."

Starting the engine, Cole said, "I've placed a down payment on one of the cottages out there. I'd like you to come share it with me, Cecil. What do you say, do you want to move in with me Cecil?" Cecil was silent, clearly shocked; so Cole decided to fill the silence with a description of the place, saying; "This place is huge, Cecil. It's got three upstairs bedrooms. The first floor has a fully equipped stainless steel kitchen and an old fashioned sitting room. You'll love it; it's amazing."

"It sounds great, Cole."

"It will be."

Cole pulled the vehicle to a stop in the driveway of the cottage at English Bay; tide at its lowest mark of the day, front lawn freshly mown. Stepping out of the vehicle, Cecil gazed up at the pair of century old trees set to the side of the driveway, saying; "Wow!" Turning to look at Cole as he locked up the car, Cecil said; "You're right, Cole. It really is beautiful."

"I'm glad you like it Cecil. Come on, wait until you see the interior." Taking Cecil's hand, Cole led him inside.

Four years later, the leaves were just beginning to turn their September shades of brilliant orange, red and yellow as Cole entered the stone and wood thatched cottage he now shared with

Cecil. The road leading out of English Bay was cool and tree lined; sea at high tide. Cole could hear the slap of waves against the algae strewn rocks on the beach nearby. The days were just

beginning to grow shorter, the balmy Summer days turning to the chill of early Autumn. It was

September the third, nineteen thirty nine and Britain had just declared war on Germany. Earlier in the day, the cruise ship S.S. Athenia, en route to Montreal by way of Glasgow had been torpedoed off the coast of Ireland. Canada would be going off to war any day now. Plans and

rumours of war were rumbling all throughout the corridors of power.

General Montgomery, now age fifty nine, was too old to be sent into battle; this didn't stop the top brass from considering a restructuring in the management level of the CPB. Were this to happen, Cole wondered who they'd get to replace Tyson Montgomery as the big cheese of the Western Division of the bureau. It wouldn't be him, that was for certain. The top brass wanted someone who would do exactly as they were told and not ask questions. That was so not him. There was something else to consider though; Cole was a captain in the Canadian Navy, not that he liked to brag or anything. Would the bigwigs in the halls of power take it upon themselves to conscript him into the field of battle? He hoped not, he liked his job here at the CPB. He liked his relatively peaceful life that he shared with Cecil, even more.

Entering the cottage, an air of quiet desperation hit Cole like a punch to the chest. Front entrance dark; Cole knew that he was not alone. Snapping on the lights in the foyer, Cole went in search of Cecil. A moment later, he found what he'd been seeking; catching a whiff of Cecil's understated, Sandalwood Cologne. The scent drove Cole crazy; it was a scent which Cole associated with happy, lazy afternoons at the seaside. Afternoons spent with Cecil; Cole hunting for sea glass and anemones. Memories of Cecil sat above the tide line reading a mystery novel; Cole making cheeky attempts to juggle a pair of sand dollars. That always made his man laugh, no matter how deep into his book he'd delved.

In the sitting room, off the front entrance foyer; Cecil was sat in a reclining chair in the corner. The lights were dim; the only light emanating from the one above the front entrance, and Cecil looked as though his dog died. Cole's breath caught in his throat, a worrying thought coming to mind.

Calling out for the four year old Jack Russell Terrier that the pair had bought from an old family

farm in Mission a few years back, Cole said; "Russell! Here Russell, Russell! Come on boy." Cole's short lived fear of his tiny, furry friend's demise was quickly put to rest by the sight of the

tiny pup running to greet him, pleasure evident on his little furry face; yipping in happy excitement at the prospect of getting some much desired attention from one of his two Masters.

"Oh, thank God!," Bending to scratch the pup behind the ear; something the Jack Russell clearly

adored, Cole said; "You're a good boy, aren't you, puppy? Yes you are." Looking towards Cecil;

sat stone faced in the other room, Cole asked;"God, what's wrong?" Preparing for the worst, Cole snuck his head around the edge of the door. Speaking quietly, Cole said; "Cecil, would you

like to talk? I'm here for you, you know love." For a long moment, Cecil continued to just sit in

silence, tears battling to escape their tightly guarded prison behind his beautiful grey eyes. Horrified at the despair that he read behind Cecil's blank eyes, Cole peered in at his man's essence; it felt as though Cecil had taken a sabbatical from life. He said, "Darling, what's wrong? I would like to help, if you'll let me."

Breaking through the narrow space between Cole's legs, Russell surprised him; trampling over his navy regulation boots, nearly causing Cole to topple over backwards, muttering; "Russell!" Gazing at Cecil, Cole said; "Well, I see that got your attention, you silly dog." Bending to pick the tiny pup up, Cole said; "You almost knocked me over like a feather." Cole looked to Cecil for his input.

"You're hardly a feather, Cole."

"Oh, thanks," The pair exchanged a long and knowing look; Cole breaking the silence with a question; "Are you going to tell me what's wrong Cecil, or am I going to have to play twenty questions to get it out of you?"

Motioning to the seat next to him, Cecil said; "Sit down, Cole. I have something to tell you."

"Alright," Taking the chair next to him, Cole said; "What seems to be the problem?"

Taking Cole's hand, Cecil said; "I've been given orders to take up a new post in Ottawa."

"What?"

"They're transferring me to the Holding Facility out there. They need someone with my skills to work with the residents speaking the neo planetary languages out there. You know they've got individuals from fifteen thousand years in the future out there?"

Devastated, Cole said; "Can you turn them down?"

"I already tried. It's either this, or I'm out of a job."

"Those bastards!," Then Cole had a thought, saying; "I'll come with you."

"Really Cole, you'd do that?"

"Of course Cecil, I love you. I'm not about to lose you now after eleven years. We'll make a go of it in Ottawa. It'll be great. You'll see."

At this, Cecil brightened considerably, saying; "You know what Cole, this could be a good thing. Once I've worked out of Ottawa for a few years, I could get a referral to the Time Line Investigation Unit based out of London. I hear they're doing amazing things over there. They've mapped the planet's languages for the next one hundred thousand years." Pausing, remembering the war which had just begun, he said; "Of course, that's assuming the Germans don't manage to get a foothold onto the British Isles and the mouse scares the elephant off."

Placing a hand on Cecil's shoulder, Cole said; "Don't worry Cecil; Hitler's minions will scurry home with their tails between their legs eventually. I'd wait another decade before heading across the pond permanently though, if I were you."

"The thing is Cole, that's the timeline that you originated in. What if this one is a world where the allies lose?"

Cole didn't even want to consider contemplating that worrying piece of quantum theory; needing a distraction from history's foibles, he decided that the perfect solution to this problem was a kiss. Cecil went with it, pulling away after a moment, breathless with desire, but not willing to

just forget his worries. Laying his head on Cole's shoulder, taking comfort in his warmth, Cole

reassured him with; "It'll be okay Cecil. Everything will turn out for the best."

Cole went into work the next day, endeavouring to make a decent play for a transfer of his own. When the higher ups in Victoria hadn't been willing to approve his transfer, he'd played the retirement card. He was after all, a hundred and twenty nine years old, even if he only looked thirty two. That failed to sway his superiors who even threatened to use his half alien nature against him; threatening to name him as an alien combatant if he refused to stay inside the city where they could keep an eye on him. It made no difference to them that Cole had been a Canadian citizen for nigh on twenty five years now, nor did it matter that where he'd come from, the majority of Garconer on Earth resided in Great Britain. Besides Cole, the only other Garconer residing on the planet in the present era which he knew of were his own descendants, most still residing down south in America. Cole was as loyal as they could come.

War, it seemed that Cole could never escape it. If it wasn't intergalactic, fought across multiple solar systems in the far future, it was planet wide, fought among nations. The issues never changed; the only thing different was that this time all parties were fully human, even if some would have their people believe differently. To the Romany, Cole was reminded of the Garconer,

travelling the stars, searching for a home they'd long since lost. To the Italians, Cole thought back to memories of the propaganda leaflets thrown from shuttle pods terrorizing his village; as well as hundreds of villages just like his on thousands of colony worlds just like his. To the Japanese, so proud to die for their Emperor, Cole remembered his own cadre of youthful soldiers, promising to change the universe for the betterment of the Garconer. Last of all, the Jews, victim to their neighbour's hate, their leaders endeavoring to do to them; what Mankind would one day try again on a galactic wide basis. This was where it all began; history would continue to repeat itself. The political ideologies making possible events of the major wars of the twentieth century were predicated upon earlier events of the past few thousand years. As well, events of the twentieth century would go on to give inspiration to later generations of future warmongers.

A few weeks later, Cecil woke on the morning of the twenty first to the sound of rain battering against the window of the cosy bedroom he shared with Cole. Feeling the cold of the day creep into his bones, Cecil snuggled up to his sleeping lover beneath the woollen Hudson Bay blanket which they shared between them. This was the last day he'd get to spend with Cole for a very long time. He'd be leaving on the train in the early afternoon, heading off to Ottawa where he'd been promised a furnished apartment close to the Holding Facility near the grounds of the

Parliament buildings. The nation had declared war on Germany eleven days earlier on the tenth of September; and throughout the previous week, the university grounds had been awash in troops training for the fields of battle they'd be leaving for in the coming weeks. Four days earlier, The HMS Courageous had sunk off the coast of Ireland, losing more than five hundred of her crew. One of the deceased had been Geraint Smith, a cousin of Cecil's. That night, Cole had

taken him to Barley's on Water Street to toast Geraint into the afterlife.

That morning, Cole had taken the morning off work to spend it with Cecil. They'd made sweet love in a manner that both could appreciate. Neither had any complaints in that department this

morning. Later on, the pair laid out a fancy picnic on the front lawn of the cottage. They'd fed

each other blackberries, trying to keep out of the quiet drizzle of the falling rain; pledging their

love for one another for the hundredth time, promising to keep in touch as often as they could.

Now, Cole saw Cecil off on the two O'clock train; Cecil staring out at Cole through a passenger

window of the Canadian National Rail line, eyes brimming with tears, watching Cole get smaller

and smaller as the distance between them increased.

# CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT

"What happened next?," Placing a hand atop Cole's shoulder, Pete's inquiry brought him back to the present day.

Looking down, Cole smiled sadly at his hopefully temporary female form. He glanced around the quiet lounge. They'd taken their conversation to the couch, window fogged up from the ever present rain. Cole said, "Before Cecil left for Ottawa, he bought a matching set of journals. He kept one, giving the other to me. We'd agreed to write in them every day and once we were able to meet up again, we'd allow the other to read what we'd written."

"Did you ever meet up again?"

"We did that Christmas."

Grabbing Cole's hand, Pete said; "How was it?"

Leaning back on the couch thoughtfully, Cole said; "It was both awkward and amazing. Awkward, because we hadn't seen one another in months, even if we did manage to speak on the

phone about once every two weeks; sending each other letters on a weekly basis; but also amazing, because the moment we caught sight of one another, we knew nothing had changed. We were both still madly in love with one another; that would never change. No matter how long we had to wait in between visits. They say after all, that absence makes the heart grow fonder."

Snuggling up to him, Pete asked; "So how was Christmas?"

"I was given orders not to leave the province for the foreseeable future, so Cecil came back to the city for his holiday break." Cole smiled, remembering their reunion, saying; "It was a little odd, since I'd finally managed to get my son Emelio to come pay me a visit with his family. We had seventeen year old Julie and thirteen year old Samael, along with Emelio and his wife all there, when I was trying to reconnect with Cecil; I was trying to reconnect with Emelio and the

kids as well, all at the same time."

"Wait, what about the kid who's mother died. Didn't you say that Emelio took him in as well?"

"He did for a few years. But once he began his schooling, he went to live with Emelia."

"Ah, I see. So how was Christmas?"

"It was pretty good, all things considered. Remember Pete, there was a war going on."

"How could I ever forget? My grandparents escaped through the skin of their teeth from the death camps."

"I know, you told me once that both sets of your grandparents managed to get out of Germany just before the onset of Kristallnacht, in the winter of nineteen thirty eight." Giving Pete a sorrowful look, Cole said; "You may never have been born otherwise."

"I think I'm going to be sick."

Rubbing Pete's back, Cole said; "No, don't do that."

"You know, when I was a teen, I attended a few years of Hebrew school at the local Congregation Schara Tzedeck on Oak Street; when I was fifteen, I literally was sick once, when we did the module on the history of Germany's horrific treatment of the Jews throughout the thirties and forties."

"You poor boy. You know, once news of the Reichstag fire of Berlin, and the removal of key civil liberties in Germany hit newsstands in February of nineteen thirty three; I tried devising a means of saving a few lives. I worried about the consequences of changing history, but I figured whatever I managed to do was what was always meant to happen. In the end, I realized that there wasn't much I could do, really; beyond putting pressure on the federal government to allow more asylum seekers in. They were hell bent on blocking passage into the country of anyone truly needing it. During the war, they accepted all sorts of British children in danger of being bombed, but the poor Jewish children of Germany; the ones who truly needed saving, they didn't care one whit about them. It seems that things take so long to change for the better. I'll never understand people's unwillingness to bring about a better world. How does it benefit society to be so uncaring about the world around oneself?"

Reaching a hand up to play with Cole's long dark hair, Pete smiled affectionately, saying; "You care so much, that's why I love you Cole."

"I'm guessing that we should skip ahead a bit to after the war."

"That would be nice."

Taking on a thoughtful expression; shades of sadness underlying his voice, Cole said; "By the nineteen fifties, Cecil was in his fifties, while I looked to be in my mid-thirties. Cecil grew tired of the ever growing age discrepancy, and he started looking closer to home for a partner who wouldn't make him feel so old. We agreed to widen the playing field; we still considered each other our primary partner; we still had our semi-annual reunions, but Cecil had a man in his age bracket he began seeing on a regular basis. As well, by the time that the nineteen sixties arrived, I'd settled myself quite comfortably amidst a ménage' trios between a man and a woman. Cara and Martin were a married couple tracking the path of the temporal scale running across the Atlantic, on behalf of the Americans. We seem to have a sort of Devil's Triangle formation occurring with the gravity wells in the area. There's three vulnerable regions, all interconnected, forming a lopsided triangle. Vancouver, North Dakota and crossing the Atlantic all the way to Cardiff. The pair worked as independent operators in the city, but they had the CPB's expertise on hand when they needed it. Through meeting them, I came up with my research for the gravity wave detectors. That relationship lasted approximately twenty years; it was never about love, it was just a bit of fun. But it made the nights a bit less lonely. You know the saying, 'If you can't be with the one that you love, love the ones you're with."

"You were lonely."

"Utterly, and when Cecil died in nineteen seventy nine, at seventy nine years of age, I kind of lost it." Gazing into Pete's eyes, ruefully glancing at Sera's borrowed boobs, Cole said; "I was a

wreck all through the eighties, you can get Bailey's word on that. It was a wonder that I wasn't let go back then, especially when the recession arrived on the scene."

"Are you going to be alright love? I need to pack some of your clothing to take to Sera tonight."

Shifting in his seat, giving Pete a kiss good night, Cole said; "You bring her some of my swankiest duds, you hear, Pete?"

"I'll do that," Off Pete went, gone to have a look see through Cole's closet.  
Sat in his office, flipping through expense accounts in need of filing with the provincial government; Cole glanced at the clock atop his desk. It was nine O'clock in the evening. In a day

or two; they'd find the gizmo which created this mess, he'd get his rightful body back and everything would go back to normal. Or as normal a life with the CPB and a life lived in the past could ever get for a man born in fifty, sixty. Then he and Pete could begin working on their tattered relationship. He wanted this to work; Cole needed it to work; because quite frankly, Cole really didn't want to be alone at this stage in his life.

Grinning, Cole reminisced about times past, long after becoming stranded on Earth, but before the loneliness of the nineteen eighties truly hit him. To the short lived Humans around him, Cole was anathema to their beliefs of how the world should rightly operate. To them, he was revealed as a Dorian Grey portrait in the very real flesh. They thought him ridiculous, unreal, impossible; yet here he was, in the very real and yet improbable flesh.

Needing to get away from it all, Cole decided to give himself a bit of a distraction from his own life. Flipping open his laptop, Cole searched his media files for his 'Irish Skies' down loads. The eerie music of the opening score entitled 'Land Of The Lost' began playing during the teaser trailer of the pilot episode, the scene opening with an overhead shot of twenty first century Britain. Beginning with a wide, over-arching shot of the southeast coast of the tiny island nation,

the camera made a series of quick consecutive close-up shots of the overhead views of first London, then Cardiff, down and around the south coast of Ireland; finally coming to stop over the skies of Galway. The scene shifted lightning fast to a close-up of Cardiff Castle. Moving away from the castle, the camera angle slowly moved up into the sky, revealing an overhead shot

of the entire Welsh city.

Quick flashes of the city in another era began flashing across the screen. German planes flew over the city at night. Bombs fell all around the city as the wail of air raid sirens resounded beneath the eerie theme tune of the series. Tiny figures of civilians dressed in nineteen forties period dress ran from their homes, quickly rushing towards Anderson bomb shelters set up in their backyards.

Back to a daylight contemporary scene; the view alternating swiftly between bright sunny skies and dark, lightning strewn ones. All the while; the eerie chords of 'Land of the Lost' continued to play, understated and mournful; while the opening narration by leading man, James Hollytree began in a southwest London accented voice over.

Leaning back in his chair, attempting to get comfortable enjoying his favourite television series, Cole allowed his mind to wander into what were both his own past as well as the world's future. Things had been going so good back then. The love of his life, Horatio, adored him. He'd made real headway, bringing to light how his people had been mistreated by the rotten core of Humanity. Cole found help for his inner turmoil; convincing his brother to do the same.

Cole mourned his lost love, Horatio. The thing that killed him the most, was the timing of it all. Horatio had been at his lowest point in life, grieving his lost youth, secure enough in Cole's love to confide in him. Building his reputation on a triumvirate of career platforms, Horatio was known for three things; historical analysis of the battles of recent decades through the medium of

Holo-production; promotion of ethical food production policies and four decades of his portrayal of Marilyn in various versions of Marilyn, My Marilyn. The day that Horatio turned sixty, he got word from his agent, a well-established Garconer closing in on two and a half centuries of life; that the producers of the most recent Marilyn Holo-movie chose another route in casting the lead role. Horatio had been heartbroken; for him to wake the following morning, to find Cole gone, never to be seen again; it must have cut him to the core. Cole raged against the unfairness of it all in the early years of his fall through time.

Returning his focus once more to the tale unfolding on screen; Cole noted that it was a bright sunny day in Central Cardiff; the star of the show playing Scott Gilbray from London stepped out of his upscale apartment complex. Egan Byr, a man played by a Welsh actor who Cole never could manage to remember the name of; stood outside the Llansannor Drive Apartment Complex holding open the door for his English cousin. Carrying two large green rucksacks towards the parked Cardiff Capital Cab; the Romanian driver stood by the open backseat door; Scott handing the man the bags to deal with, saying his goodbyes to his Welsh cousin.

The man playing Egan was a big man in contrast to the leading man's own slim and wiry frame. Scott rolled his eyes at something Egan said; the quiet of the early morning broken up by a young boy riding a bicycle to school. The boy rode past the trio of men, arm haphazardly pressing down on the bicycle bell; Scott taking one last look down the low level apartment building lined Welsh street, the occasional tree breaking up the cement monotony.

Across the street, Tricia Llanreda stood smoking a cigarette in her pink hoodie, her frizzy blonde hair waving about in the light breeze. The sprinklers along the grounds of the Apartment Complex to Tricia's left turned on, quickly drenching a white cat enjoying a relaxing nap in the

early morning sun. Freddy the cat stalked off, angrily hissing his displeasure at this unfortunate

turn of events.

In his chair, Cole chuckled at the cat's fury, watching the furry creature turn up his nose at the blue Welsh sky, a patchwork quilt formation of cumulous clouds filling the screen. In the distance, acting as a precursor to future events, a small plane lazily made its rounds high above. All the while, down below, Scott smiled, aiming his gaze across the street, towards the sodden cat. As the Romanian cabdriver stage whispered something in Scott's ear, Scott kept smiling.  
Pausing the scene right there, Cole stood from his desk, heading out into the main part of the facility. Stood in the corridor, smiling weakly, Cole caught sight of the line of photographs of his former colleagues, some retired; others deceased. Some transferred to other divisions in other parts of the country, or other, similar organizations in other parts of the world. A transfer of knowledge and people amongst the elite of the planet, the reality of alien life, it was a closely held, tightly guarded secret kept away from civilians for their own good.

In later years, once mankind managed to travel to the farthest reaches of the galaxy and beyond; the present era's international policy of communal cover up would be one historians would debate with great gusto and fervour. Was it right to hide the truth from the teeming masses? If knowledge was power, hiding the truth of the immense greatness of the universe from the citizens of the world acted as an incredible dividing line between have and have-not.

Contemplating the day's events, searching for meaning in the randomness of the cosmos; Cole wondered, what did it all mean? At the back of his mind, Cole wondered if Cecil's ghost was trying to contact him. Back when Cecil had been alive, Cole wanted so much to connect with the man that Cecil had been on the deepest of levels. He'd a sneaking suspicion that this desire to truly know how his friend saw the world set up a series of events on a cosmic level, bringing Cole in vicinity of the odd body switching gizmo. It made sense in a world where one's thoughts could truly effect where one's life ended up.

Thoughts still on the strangeness of the cosmos, Cole re-entered his office, glancing at the bag of clothing which he'd placed in the far chair, closest to the filing cabinet holding the bureau's oldest records; from before the advent of decent electronic databases. The stories those files would reveal. Like the time that he'd become infested with the Senatorial virus from Incuba Five, causing him to go on a killing spree back in nineteen thirteen. Cole knew many an individual in that state living on the planet in question. They weren't all killers; no more than the average Human was a killer. But every once in a while, you'd get the Incubi equivalent of a Robert Pickton, then watch out! Unfortunately for Cole, that had been exactly the case.

The case went on to mar the image of the society from which the spirit had come in the eyes of the CPB; making it much harder for his friend Ramelin to escape the pre-judgment of his colleagues at the bureau, upon falling through a gravity well in nineteen eighty six.

Ramelin wasn't even from the same species as the Incubi from nineteen thirteen. A Grotto Dwelling Incubi, Ramelin was a descendant of the former Slave Caste. Purportedly from a well off family living off interest derived from the reparations given their ancestors by the Senate for their ill treatment; they'd been able to save even more money by taking cheap, rent free housing in the capital city's largest grotto. Were one willing to put up with the near constant drone of passing bullet trains, the metallic whine becoming rather soothing when acclimated to it; free housing was available for all former Slave Caste descendants. It was the least the Senate could do, under the circumstances.

Between the Grotto Dwellers and the Senatorial Caste, were the Hominids; favouring the desert lands outside the cities. Similar to Humanity, Hominids survived on the planet's enormous variation in sea life and trace amounts of desert vegetation. They made their habitations in underground caverns created through slow erosion of the yellow sands of the desert, over millions of years. Most settlements were located just outside the various oases, close enough to be considered bedroom communities of the larger communities. That's exactly what they were, for they spent their days in the city proper, their nights bordering it.

The main difference between a Hominid of Earth and these galactic cousins was that the latter had the ability to take on a secondary entity, choosing its host very carefully. Being chosen was a

great honour in Incubi society. The chosen grew wings like an Angel, coming to be appointed to

the planetary Senate in the capital city. Without a host Hominid, the creatures were invisible to the Human eye.

Senators and Diplomats made their homes in the cities in what contemporary western Earth society would view as the norm. Once Incubi society began accepting off-worlders to live amongst them, housing became much more uniform. Ancient habitations were relegated to places of reverent awe; museums and art galleries, places of sacred geometry, sometimes even shelter from the elements in times of need.

It worried Cole back then, what being chosen as a host by a psychopathic Incubi really said about the state of his soul; especially taking into account his youthful indiscretions as a criminal mastermind. Perhaps that hidden part of Cole's soul, his shadow self; attracted the killer to him, not the better part of him; the part wanting to do good by the people around him. Sighing, realizing that beating himself up over the sins of the past would do nobody any good, Cole took a seat behind his desk; laptop still paused on the opening scene of 'Irish Skies'.

Pressing play, video continuing from where it left off; Scott Gilbray slid into the backseat of the cab, waving goodbye to his big hearted cousin who'd quite literally, saved his life more than once. As the camera followed Scott; sat in the back of the moving cab, sad smile gracing his lips, one more voice over by the leading man rounded out the scene. Outside the cab, the streets of Cardiff were packed with people enjoying a rare spot of sunshine in the early morning.

Reaching the Cardiff Wales Airport, the cab finally pulled to a stop just outside the main terminal. Watching this, Cole smiled, reminiscing of his own memories of the Welsh city. In the

distant future of Cole's youth, the entertainment capital of Britain grew by leaps and bounds;

economically, as well as population-wise. Nowhere near as large as London of course, but still

much larger than its present state. In the early part of the last century, serving as negotiator in London during the Great War, Cole took the opportunity to have a jaunt around Cardiff as well. The game of compare and contrast had been an interesting past time.

On screen, Scott Gilbray stepped out of the cab; retrieved his rucksacks, paying the cabdriver; as overlaying the scene, the narration continued. As Scott headed inside the airport terminal; Cole thought back to the time he'd spent in Cardiff during the late fifty first century, getting treatment for his youthful issues. Doctor Beverly Fisher of the Cardiff Trauma Facility won prestigious awards for her revolutionary treatment methods for PTSD. Foremost expert in treating the disorder; Doctor Fisher had been extremely hard to get in to see, with an international, sometimes pan galactic client roster.

Owing all he was to Doctor Fisher, not to mention Horatio; fighting tooth and nail to get Cole into the program; in Cardiff, Cole developed his desire to give back to the world, transforming his hatred into sympathy and love for the world around him. Transforming his drive to punish Humanity for their cruelty towards individuals like him, Cole took solace in his faith, looking to the Patron Saint of Soldiers; LOGOS to the Garconer. Paralleling Cole's mongrel status; despite his Garconer link via a tenuous mythologism, Spring Heel Jack, AKA the Patron Saint of Soldiers; began his last physical incarnation on Earth. Encompassing the duel archetypes of Healer and warrior; Jack grew up in a bicultural Australian household of Aborigine and Vietnamese lineage during the mid-twentieth century. Desiring a career as a surgeon; Jack chose

the inadvisable direction of signing up with the Commonwealth nation's Royal Australian Army

Medical Corps at the height of the Vietnamese War. Going to the aid of an injured soldier, Jack was fatally struck in the centre of his forehead by an enemy bullet.

That should have been Jack's closing bow; instead somehow his soul remained, locking in his physical form to the quantum matter around him. There were things that Cole knew due to his

originating point in the timeline which he couldn't reveal to anyone. Cole knew that Jack was employed as Medic to Melbourne's equivalent to the CPB. Cole knew also that a millennium from now, Jack would be saviour to an entire crew of one of Humanity's first long range interstellar cruisers. A radiation surge in the fusion drive reactor room would mean certain death for all aboard. Jack would spend decades in that room, taking the full brunt of it, shielding the rest of the ship from damage. Arriving at their final destination, the crew would come to realize that while Jack remained physically intact, his quantum lock stability was morphologically a mess. Jack was a quantum temporal bomb ready to go off at any moment. Decades of radiation exposure and Jack was soaking in it; he was now a danger to all he met.

It was at this point, that the Human named Jack became aware of his true existence as a Universal Archetype; taking on the moniker of Spring Heel Jack, covering his face in a metal

visor to protect those around him from leakage of his temporal energy, taking on the mantle of

Patron Saint of Soldiers. Jack's existence served to reveal one aspect of the triumvirate forming

the physical morphology of the universal LOGOS; the other two aspects formed by Jenson Star

and Tristan.

With Jack serving as representative of healer and warrior, his heroic martyrdom so integral to his service as cosmic whipping boy and scapegoat; Jenson, also an occasional healer, was forced through circumstance to take lives to save lives. As a gardener pulls weeds to cultivate vegetables, a child was euthanized to stop a plague from spreading. A hard weight to carry for the aspect of the LOGOS meant to carry the service of the universal shepherd and good gift giver. The final representation of the LOGOS was the universal force of love, born by unknowable Tristan.

This trait of Scientific Garconer, of developing a mystery religion so analogous in deeper meaning to Christianity; this had been the lure reeling Cole's mother in to live a Garconer life. As a young girl growing up in Seaside village on Garconer Colony, she'd lived on the opposite

side of town, in an area made up of mostly Human families and mostly Hispanic ones at that. So

in awe of the handsome Garconer boys living across town in a more diverse neighbourhood, she

read anything she could on their complicated belief structure which guided their lives. Cole's Human grandparents had been thankful for both raising such an intelligent, loving daughter, and that she wasn't looking to get involved with one of the more unusual appearing species, such as Incubi or Betran. Not that they'd make a fuss if she had.

She'd go on to build a career out of compiling a twenty six volume encyclopedia set of the Garconer Patron Saints, of which each Garconer family had their own favourites. Garconer families focused on the sciences or politics revered a different slate of Archetypes than did families involved in finance or military affairs. Cole's grandparents, both his Human and Garconer sides were middle class financial families with investments in a wide variety of galactic corporations, granting Cole a sizable trust fund.

To Cole's detriment, he'd accessed a sizable percentage of the funds in pursuit of his deadly mission, turning his rage against the injustices perpetuated against his people into murderous actions. Beginning with the long voyage from Garconer Colony to Station Oort where he took a job tending bar, Cole slowly pulled his life and reputation back together. Each step Cole took, brought more healing to his tattered soul; tending bar soothed Cole's weary soul.

There was an unspoken rule in the establishment, a nicety established in deference to those with autist neurology and war weary warriors and civilians; speak quietly as to not create that horrible all-encompassing buzz of conversation. Here, Cole met his first boyfriend James. James was an extremely tall and attractive, dark grey Garconer, a sweet, loving man; remaining a good friend until the day Cole disappeared into the past. There'd been no jealousy on James' part when Cole realized that he loved Horatio more than anyone else. There were things Garconer just knew; James knew on some level that he was meant to be a bridge connecting Cole to Horatio; there was no competition there.

Through Horatio, Cole rediscovered an ability to love the Humanity in himself, as well as other Humans. In therapy, Cole learned to feel sorrow for his oppressors' devastating hate. He learned his differences weren't at fault; it was the unwillingness of others to accept his differences that were the problem. Where Cole faltered, was his unwillingness to turn the other cheek. That phrase may have come from a five millennium old book of proverbs, but it was still a good code to live by. He'd forgotten the lesson portrayed by Spring Heel Jack, forgiveness.

They may strike you down, torture you to the brink of death and beyond; but they can never win, for they can never destroy your eternal essence. Using violence to force one's oppressors to be kind, served only to make the oppressors dig their heels in all the more. Nobody likes to be told what to do, let alone by those they despise. There was another saying which Cole picked up somewhere along the line- 'The best defence against hate is love'- love your tormentors long enough, eventually their hate will dissolve in the fires of spiritual purification.

Upon acceptance into Doctor Fisher's program, Cole entered the offices of the Cardiff Treatment Centre, a high rise building overlooking Cardiff Bay, the view of the Harbour once made famous by a long forgotten serial on the telly. A serial which still brought sci fi fans flocking to Roald Dahl Plass in the present day. The view was amazing, one yet to be found in this present era. Cardiff was a glorious Welsh city, nearly as glorious as Vancouver herself; and yet, the city of the late fifty first century would not even recognize its contemporary town site as part of its illustrious history. The present city of just under three hundred thousand could not begin to hold a candle to its future population of three million. During the time that Cole spent there, he discovered a dark underbelly to the heart of the city. Part of his treatment at the centre was getting his mind off his own problems by volunteering at a soup kitchen in run down Splott. Splott saved Cole; helping him see that there was a light at the end of the tunnel. Slowly, but surely, Cole worked through the pain; Horatio by his side the entire way.

On screen, Scott headed into the departure lounge for his flight to Galway. The opening act of Cole's latest obsession trailed off into the black screen of a commercial break, Cole sitting back in his chair, chin raised upwards in thought. Mind still elsewhere in his own past, Cole thought back to the stint he'd spent in Cardiff, searching for healing in the fifty first century. Cole was guilty of a lot of bad things during those three, rage fuelled years of his tormented adolescence; the guilt could not be ignored, not for long.

That, in its very essence was the core of the scorn which Cole quite willingly heaped upon himself. The soldiers' plight, the survivor's ordeal, the trial without end; it can all start and end in a single instant. A single moment in time; a blight on the life of a culture, so far from home. There were days, deep in his despair, when Cole wished that he could just forget it all. Forget the memories blighting his childhood with blunt traumatic force. That day which he'd never forget, blocking sight of all good that had gone before; a freight train barrowing down a hill, breaks dislodged, a pedestrian on the tracks, frozen in fear. Life and fate and chance would happen, nothing Cole could ever do would bring the dead to life.

# CHAPTER TWENTY NINE

Waking slowly, still groggy in the still dark hours of the a.m; Gerald Rasmussen listened to the quiet sobs of his beloved wife Sera. Turning to Sera's side of the bed, he realized that she wasn't there. In his fear of the unknown; his wife wearing the body of a large man, he'd banished her to the eternal doghouse of bad spouses, the couch. Taking a moment to get his bearings, Gerald realized that Sera's sobs came from the kitchen. Switching on the lamp atop his bedside table, he peered blearily at the clock. Three a.m, just about. Oh, how his heart was in a shambles.  
Wrapping a robe tightly around his wiry frame, Gerald shuffled silently down the hall, stopping to peer warily around the corner. Encased in Billington's body, Sera sat, legs splayed outwards on the hard kitchen floor, tears streaming down her masculine features. The unceasing trail of tears landed unceremoniously into an expensive tin carton of 'Ben and Jerry's coffee cream tin roast ice cream. Gerald feared for the captain's already ample figure. On the upside, his wife didn't really seem all that interested in the ice cream, giving the cold treat a token gesture of moving her spoon around in a distracted manner.  
Entering the small kitchen slowly, carefully, not wanting to upset his wife any more than she already was; hands up in a placatory manner, Gerald said; "Sera honey? Please don't cry. I didn't mean what I said earlier. I'm a bad, rude man, I know that you aren't Cole. Come to bed, will ya?"  
Looking up with red rimmed eyes, a tiny smile graced Sera's masculine features. On Sera, at any other time, this expression would make Gerald fall in love with his wife all over again. Now, the same expression set on Cole Billington's face just gave Gerald the willies. Hiding a shudder as Sera shakily got to her feet, placing an unsteady hand against the edge of the sink; Gerald silently backed away; Sera spinning quickly to face him, her voice coming out in a moan. Gazing down at the floor, Sera implored; "Just leave off, Ger. You wouldn't understand."  
Coming closer, Gerald said; "I can try though, Sera just give me a chance. You know that you can talk to me about anything, anything on your mind. Just give it a go. I'm here to listen, because I love you Sera, for better or for worse, remember?" He lifted her chin towards his to meet his eyes.  
"Ger, it's like I've suddenly grown a third leg and I've got to drag it everywhere I go now."  
"Oh please! I'm sure Billington isn't all that well-endowed."  
Glaring icy daggers at him, Sera stated; "That's not what I meant, and you know it, Gerald Rasmussen."  
Looking abashed, Gerald made a motion of miming the zipping of his lips, following that up by the throwing away of a key, saying; "You're right love; I was being snarky, when I promised that I'd just listen. I'm sorry, Sera."  
Wiping her eyes, Sera stated; "I swear, Ger, the amount of Testosterone which this man has in his body is ridiculous. I feel like an elephant; it constantly has me needing to fight the urge to ram my head into the wall."  
"Do you think it's because he's from outer space, Garconer physiology, and all that?" To that, Sera gave Gerald a withering look, and he stepped back into the hall, concluding with; "I'm just gonna head back to bed now. Please don't kill me."  
Nodding resolutely, Sera stated; "You do that Gerald. I'll still be here in the morning."  
"Good good, I wouldn't want you to do something stupid there Sera." With that, Gerald wandered back down the hall towards their shared bedroom; looking back at Sera as she sighed a

deep and bone weary sigh. As Gerald re-entered the bedroom, Sera slid back down to the floor, head held down against her knees in mournful contemplation.

# CHAPTER THIRTY

The next morning, as Pete Roschilde wandered into the lounge of the CPB; the team looked up from the table which they sat at. Looking up from the car magazine he'd been flipping through, Cole saw that Pete had brought someone else along with him, saying; "Hey Jerome, what brings you to our little operation?"

"Pete has apprised me of the situation. As I hear it, you're in need of a dive team; I know just the people to ask."

"Oh? Do tell Jerome. I'm all ears."

Taking a seat near Cole's small frame; gesturing for Pete to take the chair next to him, Jerome said; "I've a friend working at the University of Victoria as a Marine Archaeologist. If your little organization would be so kind to cover the cost, I can get him to bring his team out here as soon as the weather clears up."

"That's excellent news Jerome," Cole stood from the table, pulling Pete with him, dragging him into the main room, saying; "Let's go."

"What are you doing, Cole?"

Out of earshot of Jerome, Cole whispered in Pete's ear; "How much does he know?"

"I went with Bailey's theory of the gizmo doing something wonky to your brain."

"What?"

"He thinks you're Sera, sporting a false Cole Billington imprint."

Lowering his head in a hangdog manner, nuzzling into Pete's washboard abs, Cole muttered; "Kill me now."

"Where's my tough, take no prisoners guy gone to?"

Turning around, walking back into the lounge, Cole said; "You know that I'm more a granting mercy sort of man Pete."

Patting Cole on the back, following behind, Pete said; "Yes you are; I love you for that."

Taking a seat at the table, followed by Pete; Cole turned to Sera, wearing Cole's snazzy white silk trousers and caramel toned, cashmere sweater, asking her; "How are you, Sera?"

"All things considered, Cole, I'm doing great."

"Good to hear it," Cole stood, placing a hand on Pete's shoulder, saying; "Perhaps you should get yourself off to work, love. You must have a lot of things to do, what with that new development project you've snagged yourself." Cole gave Pete a kiss on the side of his cheek.

Pete stood, saying; "Good idea and you know what Cole? I'll give Latisha your regards."

"You do that, Pete," Watching Pete head out of the room, Cole made the sound of a plane plummeting to the ground, representing his utter confusion at this entire, mind boggling situation. Turning to Jerome, he said; "You and me, man. We need to get this deal with the dive team squared away right away. Step into my office; we'll deal with all the logistics."

Jerome stood, saying; "You got it."

Turning his attentions to Brittany; sat between the two doctors nearest the door of the main room, Cole said; "Brittany, when you have time, schedule an introductory interview with Miss Bowen as soon as you can. We'll see how she works out."

"I'm on it," With that, Cole gestured to Jerome, the pair filing into Cole's office.

Jacquelyn Bowen had just finished up entertaining a client in her bedroom on Union Street when her cell phone began buzzing. Glancing through the orange and pink curtains pulled across the nearby window, she grabbed the phone from her bedside table, quickly answering it; "Yes?"

"Jacquelyn, it's Brittany Longfellow, I've good news for you if you're interested."

Smiling, Jacquelyn followed her middle age client, John Maplethorpe out the bedroom door, into the kitchen, saying; "Miss Longfellow, I'm sure that I'll be interested in anything you have to offer. How's life?"

"Life's good; I hope I can say the same for you?"

"So what's the good news you've got for me then?"

"My employer, Captain Billington has a job offer for you, if you're interested in working for the bureau."

Following John Maplethorpe into the living room, leading towards the front entrance, Jacquelyn said; "That's great!" Conflicted, John walked out the front door, Jacquelyn saying; "So what's next?"

Heading to the front door, closing and locking it behind John Maplethorpe's retreating figure; Jacquelyn listened as Miss Longfellow asked her; "Can you make it to an introductory interview at the CPB base this afternoon at three? We're located just inside the chemistry building at UBC's Point Grey Campus."

"Alright, I'll see you there Miss Longfellow."

"Good, I'll look forward to seeing you again, Jacquelyn," Ending the call, Jacquelyn headed off cheerfully to take a shower.

Hours later, the main players involved with the Commonwealth Protection Bureau awaited Jacquelyn Bowen's arrival in the lounge. The interview would be led by Sera, facilitated via heavy use of text messaging between her and Cole, giving her the appearance of being Captain Billington. As the five of them watched the propped open door leading out into the main corridor, Sera asked Cole; "What exactly are you going to hire her on as, Cole?"

"I'll think of something."

Spotting Jacquelyn Bowen headed down the corridor towards the entrance of the lounge, Sera placed a finger atop her lips for the others to be quiet, whispering, "Shh! Here she comes." As Jacquelyn Bowen tentatively stepped through the doorway, Sera stood to greet her.

Taking a double take, Cole realized that it was the man from the club. What was he up to? Grabbing his Blackberry, Cole sent Sera a message.

-Something's fishy-

Shaking Jacquelyn Bowen's hand, Sera said; "Hello Miss Bowen, it's good to meet you."

"Thank you for giving me the opportunity to come meet with you."

Gesturing towards the table where the rest of the team sat, Sera said; "Why don't you take a seat?" Miss Bowen caught Brittany's eye, bringing a smile to her pretty face. As the pair took their seats at the table, Cole gestured covertly to Sera's Blackberry, propped up on the table next to where she sat. Checking the message Cole sent; Sera gave him a confused look, setting about introducing the others, saying; "Well, let's get down to business then, shall we?"

Miss Bowen gave her a nod, surreptitiously glancing Cole's way as though she knew it was he truly running the show. Smiling nervously, Cole pushed aside his paranoia for the time being. Getting down to brass tacks, Sera began the introductions with; "I'm Captain Billington. I, for the most part, run the show here at the bureau." Jacquelyn gave her a shy smile as Sera gestured to Cole, saying; "This is Constable Sera Rasmussen; she's our liaison to the local RCMP Detachment." Exchanging a look with Miss Bowen, Cole fought the urge to give her a salute. Moving her attentions to Brittany, motioning towards her, Sera said; "You already know Miss Brittany Longfellow."

The pair exchanging nervous smiles, Brittany said; "Hello Jacquelyn, it's great to see you again."

"Likewise, Miss Longfellow."

Aiming her gaze towards Bailey, Sera said; "This is Doctor Bailey O'Bannion, our medic." Bailey saluted Jacquelyn smartly, making her smirk in amusement, Sera continuing with; "This-" Turning in her seat to indicate Reginald, she said; "This is Doctor Reginald Desmoire, our resident theoretical physicist. Our little team has grown immeasurably from his brilliance."

"Hey there."

Grinning ruefully at Reginald's response, Jacquelyn said; "Hey, yourself."

Next, the crew got down to the heart of the matter; asking Miss Bowen about her schooling, her life experience, skills she thought she'd be able to bring to the team, and finally, what she was willing to bring about if she were to be hired on by the bureau. Everything seemed in order; Cole couldn't for the life of him figure out what was raising red flags for him concerning Miss Bowen. Cole sent Sera another text message.

-Ask if she plans to keep working the streets-

Cole tapped his Blackberry lightly against the table, indicating the need for Sera to check her messages. Glancing down, Sera quickly read the text that Cole sent her, turning back to Jacquelyn, saying; "This next question is a bit sensitive I know; but if we can find a spot for you

on the employment roster, do you have any plans to continue in the sex trade, or would you like

us to help you get out of that business; if there's anyone forcing you to work that gig, for instance?"

Reddening in embarrassment, Miss Bowen said; "I'm my own operator on that end Captain. I don't have a pimp, or any huge debts. Just my mortgage, the usual assortment of monthly bills, groceries, you know, general purchases; that sort of thing."

"Alright," Sending Cole's Blackberry a text message, Sera waited as he read it.

-What's the job offer?-

Cole sent back a response.

-Not much at first. Could be more if she gets herself a few credentials-

Reading it, Sera relayed the information to Jacquelyn Bowen, saying; "If we take you on Miss Bowen, it'll be on a per case basis. Now, were you to get training in a relevant field, it would help your career immensely. We can help with that. The law enforcement field is a good one; so is anything in the social or physical sciences; there may be others if you're at all interested."

Smiling nervously, Jacquelyn glanced at Cole knowingly. He smiled nervously back, not sure what her game was. Glancing down, he saw that Sera sent him another text message.

-Anything else?-

Cole sent her a final message.

-We're done-

Turning in her seat to face Jacquelyn, Sera said; "Well, that looks to be about it. We'll call you sometime next week with the final decision on whether or not we want to give you a more in depth interview. That'll be one on one with me." Stepping away from the table, shaking Jacquelyn's hand, Sera finished off with; "It was good to meet you Jacquelyn." Getting to her feet, the rest of the team gave Jacquelyn their regards as they also stood, thanking Cole for making them all a rare round of coffee.

# CHAPTER THIRTY ONE

When Thursday afternoon arrived, the weather in the downtown core cleared up, the gravity well pushing itself out towards the army base just offshore of Stanley Park. The dive team arrived in the morning, and now they were planning on taking out Cole's pride and joy, 'The Garconer Pride', his personal yacht. Wandering down to the Coal Harbour Marina, the slim, Asian female

body that Cole was presently housed in, occasionally knocking him off balance with the differing ratio of Sera's frame versus Cole's subjective image of himself; the sun shining brightly above him, giving the water an orange and pink glow of tranquillity.

A few paces behind Cole, frowning morosely, Pete stumbled slightly over a fallen tree branch from the previous day's windstorm. "Oof!," Reaching out, Pete frantically scrambled for Cole's strong and muscular arms which were unfortunately not so strong and muscular at the present moment.

Hearing Pete cry out, Cole spun around quickly, rushing to grab a hold of Pete's arm, saying; "Is everything all right, love?"

Placing a hand atop Cole's, Pete thanked him for the saving grip; "My Saviour."

Giving Pete a sideways smile, Cole watched the waterfront where Jerome stood with his arms in the air, motioning towards the pair of them. Across from Jerome, leaning against the cement wall, was the dive team, all suited up and ready to go. Down at the docks, stood parallel to where the Garconer Pride was anchored, were the Rasmussen's. The couple had retrieved their life jackets from the boat, wearing them as they waited. Cole greeted Jerome warmly, happy to soon be able to put this sordid state of affairs completely behind him, saying; "Hey Jerome, feel free to come aboard." Cole gestured for the dive team to follow his lead.

The six divers, one of whom Cole knew must be Jerome's friend from UVIC, fell in line behind him, Pete and Jerome both trailing behind the others. The friend in question, Doctor Garret Babinger introduced his team, saying; "Nice to meet you, Captain Billington."

Turning lightly on his heels, Cole granted the man a nod. Clearly his friend of nearly three decades had apprised the others of the ongoing identity confusion that Cole and Sera appeared to be suffering from. It couldn't be helped. Not if Cole wanted to direct the dive operation with proper authority.

Continuing to speak, Doctor Babinger said; "I'm Doctor Garret Babinger, this here." Reaching over, placing a friendly hand on the shoulder of a red haired man in his early thirties, he said; "Is Darrell Belfast." Turning the corner onto the dock, they came within earshot of the Rasmussen's. Turning to the other four men suited up with dive gear, Doctor Babinger proceeded to introduce them. Gesturing to an African Canadian man, he introduced him as Neil Hendrick. Next to Neil was William Edmundson; growing up, up north in Nunavut, in a tiny Inuit village. Behind William stood Greg Kartheiser, a curly haired Italian in his late twenties, and Bruce Hanson, originally a local boy from Mount Pleasant.

Proceeding to introduce the others; Cole twisted around a bit, trying to find an angle to focus his gaze on the Rasmussen's, without the Sun getting in his eye, saying; "These two lovely people are Sera and Gerald Rasmussen, and." Turning sideways a bit, smiling pleasantly at Pete, Cole added; "This is Pete Roschilde, my partner."

As the three said their hellos to the out-of- towners, Cole directed them onto the boat. It wore its namesake 'The Garconer Pride' across the right hand side of the wooden plated, upper hull, and Cole said, "Welcome to The Garconer Pride', ain't she a beauty?"

Complimenting him, Sera said; "She really is."

The eleven of them clambered aboard the ship, Cole last to board. Finding a stack of life jackets under the emergency supplies, Pete handed one to Cole as well as another to Jerome, before grabbing one for himself. Setting out to play the role of the consummate captain to his passengers, Cole said; "Alright then, let's get this show on the road. Pete, come here and help me

bring this anchor up."

That done, Cole carefully guided The Garconer Pride out past the harbour, positioning it just offshore in deeper waters. From this position, they'd an excellent view of Coal Harbour. "Alright," Directing his attentions to the dive team, Cole said; "This is where the item would have gone down. You'll need to take extreme precaution while handling any of these objects, gents. We don't want this to happen again." Gazing out across the water, taking note of a distant ripple; the result of a jumping fish, Cole added; "At least you're all men."

Proceeding to get to work, down into the water the five went; not deep enough to do much actual diving. The water level at this position was mostly shallow enough to allow the men to sit in the silt, heads still mostly exposed to air. Rummaging through silt and rocks, they collected an assortment of cosmic flotsam and jetsam, placing it inside a box aboard The Garconer Pride. During this time, the others nibbled on an assortment of seafood finger sandwiches, while sipping bottled water.

An hour later, having collected anything that appeared a tad suspicious, including several rather benign items from the very early part of the twentieth century; curly haired Greg climbed out of the water, carefully placing an item on top of the other items in the box, saying, "I bet that's it, is it?" Greg looked to Cole, hopeful for some sort of confirmation.

Giving the object a once over with his eyes, Cole nodded his head, gesturing for Sera to give it a look. Doing so, she said; "That's it alright, the little machine of evil."

"All right then, let's head ashore," Bringing his boat back into the Marina, Cole finally stepped back onto solid ground.

Arriving at the base, Cole stepped through the entrance to the lounge directly behind Sera, lugging the heavy box of cosmic scrap as she came in. Stepping past Sera, Cole helped her carry it to the nearby table, ducking his head in through the far door; checking to see if the others were in the main room. As expected, there sat Brittany hard at work at her desk. Glancing up from her preparatory readings, Brittany took note of Cole's appearance in the room. Desperate to finish the required secondary sources for her upcoming research into the Myth of the Undying One, the topic of Brittany's Dissertation Study; she gave Cole a mere cursory look, before going back to her reading of a large academic tome titled 'Regenerative Lives Of The Gods'.

An old, barely remembered myth cycle in contemporary life, The Myth of the Undying One had cosmic bearings, reaching forwards and back, into all incarnations of the universe; the source code for all forms of life. The full extent of the LOGOS could never be completely understood, its fundamental values filtering down through the collective unconsciousness via the medium of story. On the surface, the tale spoke of a man who would not die. Popping up in the tale of The Fisher King in Wales; in Ireland, there was the legend of Stingy Jack, forced to walk the Earth forever more after defaulting on a loan he'd taken out with the Devil himself. Also in Ireland, Cole's own people had found their way into local legend in the tale of the Garconer; a Faery Muse said to romance young women, gallivanting blithely off once he'd drunk his fill of creative inspiration. It was clearly metaphor for a much more mundane tale of Human woe, if Cole ever heard one. The story traversed the globe for the last two millennia; popping up in six of seven continents on the planet. It was purported that the man who gave birth to the world's multitude of Undying tales still walked the land; perhaps even somewhere in this very city amongst the rest of the half a million souls making Vancouver their home.

Smiling in Brittany's direction, much chipper now that he had the troublesome machine on hand so that he could examine it, finally setting things right, Cole said; "Yo, Brit! My troublesome days are about to come to an end."

Oops, that hadn't quite come out as he'd meant it to; causing Brittany to gaze at Cole in great distress, saying, "Are you saying that you're dying?"

"No, no! I worded that all wrong. I just meant that I'll be able to fix the little snafu which Sera and I have found ourselves in. That's all that I meant."

Face instantly melting back into a relaxed expression of general wellbeing, Brittany said; "Oh, I'm glad."

"Why miss Longfellow, I didn't know that you cared."

Making an impression of swatting away a fly, Brittany said; "Go get your situation sorted. I want to hang with Sera; and right now, she's not quite in the mood. We'd planned to do some shopping for the charity dinner that she's supposed to attend with Gerald on Sunday night. I shudder to think of what the saleswomen at the shops would think of your body in a dress. For one thing, she'd have to shop in the plus size department; and for another, it would just look weird." Seeing Cole's hurt expression, Brittany quickly apologised for her cruel words. Tinged with guilt, she said; "Sorry."

About to lay into Brittany for her fat-phobic words, her apology had been enough to allay Cole's irritation. Not to mention, Cole quite agreed with her; his body would not look good in a dress. Perhaps had he been younger and slimmer; his body could have looked good in a cocktail dress. But even Horatio hadn't been able to get Cole into a dress. Cole had too much self- respect to wear something he felt uncomfortable in.

Smiling shyly at Brittany, Cole said; "Don't give it another thought." Aiming his eyes towards the far corner of the main room where the corridor leading down to the Medical Lab could be seen, Cole said; "Is Bailey down there?" Cole figured that Bailey should be on hand when he and Sera began fiddling with the troublesome doodad from another time or place.

Brittany told Cole that Bailey was hard at work developing a compound derived from the kelp-like vegetation that wound its way through the tides of time and space from the seas of Andronicus; days earlier. Wandering back into the lounge where the others awaited his next

decision, Cole saw Sera sat on the couch, watching Cole like a hawk, Gerald sitting next to her

absentmindedly checking his Blackberry for important studio contacts. Pete paced the floor near

the coat rack, head down in worry; while Jerome busied himself making coffee for himself and

everyone else in the room. The six members of the dive team stood by the door, looking rather

bored.

Grabbing himself a bundle of paper towels from the counter next to the Coffee Mate machine; Cole carefully pulled the gizmo from the box, placing it onto the table atop a few sheets of those same paper towels. Looking up at the dive team, he said, "You guys will never know how absolutely grateful I am to you for today. You don't need to be here right now though, we can take it from here." Shaking the men's hands one by one, Cole wished them all a safe trip home.

Jerome finished preparing the coffee, draining it into Styrofoam disposable cups before handing them off to the others. Grabbing a final cup for himself, heading out into the corridor with the others, he said; "Let me show you fine gents the sights around here."

Watching the men go for a moment, Cole allowed his eyes to rest on the troublesome gadget sat on the table before him. Now, all he needed to do was wait for it to dry out so he wouldn't accidentally zap himself into an early grave. A dead Cole would be a very displeased Cole; he'd things to do, people and places to see. Best wait for Reginald to finish up his Graduate Seminar on the intricacies of String Theory; so he could do his thing.

Turning to Pete, Gerald and Sera; Cole said, "This is going to be awhile. I need to allow the gadget to dry out. Who knows how long that'll take; you'd best be off, you two. Go on, go out and make a living."

"I'm not leaving my wife's side, Billington. I'm staying right here by Sera's side, no matter how long it takes." Sliding his fingers into Sera's, Gerald held her hand tenderly, reaching over her broad shoulders with his one free hand to massage her upper back lovingly. Relaxing into her husband's firm but gentle caress, Sera sighed in contentment.

Stood nearby, glaring daggers at the image the pair presented to the room, Pete said; "I'll be off I suppose. You'll tell me when you have this thing resolved, won't you Cole?"

"Alright, I'll see you later love," Pete nodded, giving a slight wave to the couple sat on the couch as he went. The pair responded with a dual set of stiff smiles; Cole watching Pete head into the corridor.

Cole headed off in search of Doctor O'Bannion, spotting him in the Medical Lab hard at work at his desk, presumably writing up his findings on the Andronicus Kelp from earlier in the week. Cole feigned a cough to get the doctor's attention.

Pushing back on his black leather wheeled chair; Bailey turned to face him, saying; "What can I do for you, Cole?"

Moving away from the door, Cole stepped further into the Lab, saying; "I'm going to need you here this evening, Doctor. You might as well take the rest of the afternoon off, just as long as you're back here by six."

"Billington," Shaking his head in disappointment, Bailey said; "Never mind, it's nothing."

Concerned, Cole asked him; "What is it?"

"I just don't like leaving the clinic in the lurch. They're bad enough off in that neighbourhood as it is Billington."

"Don't you have someone to replace you for the evening Bailey?"

"Let's hope so, Billington."

"Well, you do what you want Bailey, just make sure to be here at six." Allowing no more room for discussion, Cole turned on his heels and left the lab.

For the rest of the afternoon, Cole hunkered down inside his office, dealing with paperwork he'd allowed to pile up; coming out every now and then to refill his coffee, use the toilets, procrastinate with the others, and once, to ask the same of Reginald what he'd earlier asked from Bailey. As the clock at the edge of Cole's desk, a black antique from the twenties, clicked onto the six o'clock hour; at long last, Cole knew this troublesome ordeal taking him unawares would soon be over. Getting up from his chair, Cole lifted his arms above his head, relaxing his upper back muscles, looking forward to being able to do the same to his rightful form.

Leaving his office, following the narrow corridor out into the main room, Cole noted Brittany was gone for the day. Stood in the doorway to the lounge watching Bailey set out an assortment of boxed appetizers from a nearby Vietnamese restaurant onto the table nearby, Cole said; "Mm, hmm, Bailey, that place is the best."

"I knew you'd heartedly approve, Cole."

Sauntering over to the table, handing Reginald a small white box, sat nearby in a black leather wheeled chair, Cole said; "Your food, oh dashing sir." Smiling, Reginald was clearly amused at Cole's shenanigans as he gave a bow, feigning the removal of a cap from his head, like a man come a courting.

"Thanks for that."

Sera and Gerald simultaneously stood from the couch, heading across the room. Sera chuckled as she arrived at Cole's side; reaching over for another box of appetizers, passing it to Gerald, saying; "There you go hun."

"Thanks."

Gazing at Cole curiously, Reginald said; "Too bad you're a man Billington, otherwise you and I could have a good thing going on."

As Sera spun to face Reginald in surprise, Cole said drolly; "Not to mention you're married."

Reginald's face reddened in embarrassment; Bailey tutting mock disappointment at him, saying; "My my, Reg, you are a man of great complexity."

Confused, Cole asked; "Wait, why is that a bad thing?" With this, sharing a round of chuckles, they all dug into their meal.

Half an hour later, Reginald hooked up the troublesome gizmo to the scanner attachment on Cole's ancient e-reader, allowing them to download the 'Manufacturers' Guide'. Switching on the systems' translation program, they were able to read the instructions for reversing the issue. Setting the gadget on the table in front of him; Cole sat in a chair, Reginald stood to his side, saying, "Alright." Getting up, stepping away from the table, Cole took the gadget with him,

saying to Sera; "Come sit with me on the couch Sera. We need to be comfortable when we do

this."

Shooting Cole a suspicious glance, Gerald said; "Sounds like an excuse for a bit of cuddling Billington, if I ever heard one."

"She's wearing my body, Gerald. It's not like I'd get much out of it." Sera followed Cole to the other side of the room, both taking a seat on the couch, Cole saying; "Let's do this." Turning to Sera, Cole said; "We've got to do exactly as we did before. I'm not looking forward to that again." Turning to address the others across the room, Cole said; "We'll be knocked unconscious, I'm not quite sure how long it'll be; it can't be more than a few moments. Nobody

seems to have spotted anything amiss when we switched before, so there shouldn't be anything to worry about."

Cole extended the gadget towards Sera, the others watching warily as she tentatively reached a hand towards it. Doing the same; Cole felt the same agonizing pain as before, dropping the object with a shriek, causing it to clatter to the floor. The next stage settling in; Cole found himself quickly overcome by dizziness, and a moment later, Cole slumped over onto Sera, the

waking world fading from his consciousness.

That evening, after getting his rightful body back, Cole sat behind his desk facing Sera, sat in a chair across from him. The atmosphere in his office was subdued, as both contemplated the events of the previous few days. The knowledge one was more than just their body was life changing. Sure, Cole always hoped some part of him would manage to continue on, once he

finally croaked. But to really see it, to really experience life from beyond his born body, now that

truly was an amazing experience. He hadn't seen it while being forced to experience life as a

woman; the last few days, forced to inhabit Sera's female body had been pure and agonizing hell

for Cole.

Now that everything was back to relative normality however, Cole saw the greater implications implicit in the experience; clear evidence of transmigration of mind between bodies. Bailey would pooh, pooh it of course; he'd claim Cole never truly left his body at all, only believing himself to be Sera the past few days; there'd been nothing more to it than that. Cole didn't care what Bailey thought possible; after all, it hadn't been Bailey going through this experience. Cole was ever so glad to have his own, wonderfully male body back. Despite all its imperfections, those were minor compared to the horror of having the wrong sexed body. Cole may have been out of shape, and he could do without the crows' nest arranging itself around his eyes, but that all paled to the fact his body was so wonderfully male. Over the past few days, Cole had gained new respect for his body. From this day onwards, Cole resolved to give it the love and care it deserved. No longer would he treat it like a garbage receptacle, stuffing it full of junk that needn't be in there. For once in a long time, he'd actually endeavor to work on his physical embodiment. Cole spent most of the past two centuries developing his inner being, now was the time to work on improving his outer garment, equal in how he'd fought to improve his inner-most self.

"I suppose I should start looking for a place to crash. I've got a busy night ahead of me."

Sera stood from her chair, saying; "Alright."

"I'll see you later Sera."

"Sweet dreams Cole."

"Perhaps; now you give Gerald a kiss, okay?"

"I'll do that, and you be good to yourself Cole, you hear?"

"I'll try," Smiling tightly, Cole watched Sera, his friend he adored, leave the room, heading home for the night.

# TIME LINE OF THE GHOST WARS

1910 The Commonwealth Protection Bureau officially starts up.

1920 The Time Line Investigation Unit, Bloomsbury starts up its RV program.

2015 THE DAILY MAIL gets hold of information on the Gravity Wells.

2030-2050 era of the Cold Evolutionary Wars

2050-2080 consumer uprisings force the oil industry to shut down.

2090 Small towns and suburbs become ghost towns due to lack of clean public transit.

25th century- The cultural industry defaults to Holo-technology.

Now an economic powerhouse; Wales is divided into the two provinces of North Wales and South Wales, as well as the Island Territory. Northern and Southern Ireland amalgamate into a single nation. GM foods and non-organic produce are banned worldwide.

SPACE STATION OORT is set up at the edges of the solar system. Humanity makes official contact with the Garconer, Stornaway and Incubi civilizations. Great Britain begins allowing off world immigration. London becomes the planetary headquarters for the Galactic Alliance.

31st century- Humanity starts colonizing available planets in one quarter of the Milky Way Galaxy. Traditionalists begin discriminating against off world visitors and immigrants.

51st century- The cold war between Divisionists and Unionists goes hot. The Temporal Brigade begins experimenting with temporal energy. The Fallen God Bombers and Dark Medics of the Black Brigade target civilians of Earth.

5055-5080, the English Parliament begins passing draconian laws against the large numbers of Garconer citizens residing in England. Wales offers refugee status to Garconer from throughout the alliance. Cardiff declares war against London, sending Welsh troops to close down the death camps and internment camps.

61st century, The Temporal Brigade develops full time travel capability. Humanity learns their true history, a history misinterpreted by a failure to communicate.
