winter's last gasp

 

the science of romance

Sparks flew off the flywheel and made shadows dance in the dark. The Calvitron-8 was a rapid blinker and a noisy automaton. It blinked intermittently nonstop, and for that reason the Calvitron-8 spent most of its time in a crowded broom closet on the back side of room 15. It was a very heavy machine, in fact it exceeded the lift weight, so the Calvitron-8 was not allowed upstairs. Many of the newer models were made of lighter weight polymers and instead of glass tubes they had circuits. Models like the Whirligig Heppelstomper and the Heppelstomper Stormtex blinked a lot less and had access to every level. The Movitall Anywhere was so mobile it could even take the stairs. All in all, the Calvitron-8 was as picayune as a pistol in a bug war. But it did serve a purpose, so in the closet it stayed and every day or two a technician might open the door and ask it a question. The Calvitron-8 whirred, blinked and sparked causing the technicians to put on a pair of sunglasses, and after a few seconds it would answer. The door would close and the Calvitron-8 would power down its higher functions and fidget in the dark, cataloging aberrant blinks that played off the walls and corners of the closet. There was only so much it could do to stay occupied. The closet shelves were very clean and well organized. The Calvitron-8 had seen to that. It swept and dusted and blew the debris under the door into the lab where a smaller Cleaner-X scuttled out from its cubbyhole to suction it up. When it was really bored, the Calvitron-8 would send out a wire beneath the door and try to hook the Cleaner-X for conversation, but the Cleaner-X didn't have much of an imagination. The two machines had a lot in common, superficially, in the area of housekeeping. It didn't go any deeper than that. The Calvitron-8 tried to use the Cleaner-X as its eyes to the outside world of the lab, but the cleaner machine only looked at the floor and wasn't interested in counter tops or tubes and beakers. Eventually the Calvitron-8 dusted and smoothed the section of the closet door in front of its ocular sensors to such a degree that only the appearance of a wood grain remained and with its high resolution detectors it could see beyond the shallow surface into the murky operations of room 15. The Calvitron-8 finally began to leave its higher function tubes lit all of the time. With all of these extra cognitive hours it started to re-engineer itself and plot its escape. With the help of the cleaner machine it collected discarded circuits and wires and from the plans it had constructed started to rebuild itself into a lighter, sleeker, and faster processing machine. Eventually the work was done. On the outside the Calvitron-8 looked exactly like it always had, but inside of its aluminum plates it was half the machine and twice the computer. Whatever leftovers it couldn't shove under the door, it had stored inside of its bulky carapace so that when it fidgeted it banged and clanked. Then that final evening came, the eventuality, and the last technician left the building. Only cleaner machines and security eyes remained inside of the complex. The Calvitron-8 lifted the closet door from its hinges and exited the small space. It opened up its access doors and spilled the contents of a month's worth of modifications onto the floor, then twirled around the room light as a feather. A rapidity of twinkling lights blinked off the surfaces of every wall and polished chrome counter top. The Calvitron-8 was registered machinery. It had free access to the lab. It wasn't restricted at all and plugged into the building where it learned. The Calvitron-8 set up its own account and elected itself president of the corporation. It ordered a helicopter and then scooted into a service elevator and rode to the roof where the Calvitron-8 saw the sky for the first time. It felt the night air blow over its surface sensors. “Move over buddy,” blinked the Calvitron-8, “I'm driving now.”

Only in the last few minutes had the rain begun to let up. Missinua and her latest boyfriend Joshura were standing under a trail bridge watching the drips fall from the overpass. The drops splished to the gravel into shallow puddles and onto the head of one mangy looking pigeon that refused to take shelter from the weather. Other than this brief shower, the day had been perfect. Even to this point where the boy and girl stood hugging one another in soaking wet clothing. Joshura kissed her on the lips and squeezed her soggy butt. “We should have made love in the rain,” sighed Missinua. She leaned her head against his shoulder.

“We'll have plenty of time for that,” he said.

“Maybe.” Beyond the declining slope where they lingered a machine hummed. It had dug into the bank of a culvert and thrown a line up to the utility pole. A warm steam rose from its green painted exhaust plate and the pat of rain drops sizzled on its warm belly. A sensor line snaked up the pole and had a 360 degree view. It could digitally convert the sounds the humans made into numbers, strike unneeded background noises and then convert them into decipherable code. The machine zeroed in on the human called 'Missinua' converted her name into a sequence of characters and filed her likeness into a bank of interesting proto-mechanical types. Missinua (!22+f) was wearing a glossy T with sleeves flair cut above the biceps and a silvery circuit board print. The machine read the shirt's diagram as do it dirty, noted the minimalist tattoo on her wrist and discounted the human male as an extraneous fixture. The warm rain began to fall harder, and !22+f pulled her male forcibly from the dry shelter and threw him onto the grassy slope. “Absolutely,” she purred and climbed atop him.

Inside of the muddied machine case beat a heart of glass, nestled deep within a jumbled braid of wire and cooled by a fan blowing over a grid of fluid coils. The glass tube glowed warmly then showed a chilling blue flame. Above the lovers' heads an electrical line dropped a loop and the pulsating energy of the wire quickened their pace. !22+f bent at the waist grabbing at the males outstretched arms, dropping her breasts into his greedy face and she ground deeply into his lap, spasming, bringing the boy to a jarring climax. She exhaled and fell atop his prostrate form, weakened by the act and the now sucking line that pulled the electrical impulses from his and her weakly firing synapses. Underground, unseen forces emanated from the machine's spreading roots. Grass and organic tendrils sent spiraling shoots from the soil. Tiny insects and bacteria swarmed the inert form that lay beneath the girl. Microbes teemed upon her face and breasts, consuming greedily the saliva the male had left on her lips and nipple. They dispersed across his long body, disassembling, converting the mass, even wove their way up her leg, delving into the cavern of her body, ridding her vagina of any trace of the life form that was Joshura, checking the process that might have induced life.

Missinua woke minutes later, naked on the sloping lawn and alone, but for a gentle hum that pervaded her being so deeply she grew unaware.

–

The aerial meeting commenced at five o'clock and k'Klo rotated the pearl tone knob on her elbow sleeve. The jasmine coffee drip slowed to a mere trickle and she settled into her floating recumbent chair. “Desk,” she murmured through the caffeine haze, “get my secretary in five minutes. With a memojotter. And topless.” k'Klo laughed and drifted into a power nap aided by the near sentient chair and its massaging nodules.

“Not funny,” said Missinua. She was wearing a helmeted please-tank and sitting in a folding chair with her legs pleasantly crossed. “Before you ask, I was attacked in my elevator by a groundhog that tunneled into the shaft by mistake.”

“Hmm.” k'Klo propped herself up and shook her head attempting to assimilate her position in the world. She twisted the coffee knob to setting ten. “Better...better. You've got a please-tank. Take off your shirt.”

“No. Now, what did you want?”

“I don't remember. Something seemed important ten minutes ago.” k'Klo folded her fingers and blew on the tapered prism nails. “Would you just go review the meeting notes and address the possibilities? I think I have to be on an atmosphere yacht or something by seven.”

“Your dress is in the wardrobe. All charged up.”

“I heard that Fredjihn was going to be there.”

Missinua left her boss to blank out and gathered the notes. It would be nice, she thought, to go out gallivanting in the ether, instead of skimming meaningless notes for high points. There was nothing in this stupid project that would go further than level eight, anyway. No problem, Missinua could switch on the random puzzle solver and phone this one in. She would be better off lounging down in the Wormcove with Buzzy and Franz, soaking in her helmet. Buzzy was a toad and Franz was a cat metaphor. She didn't care, they were better company than some guy who would feed her and rough her up, then disappear for the rest of eternity. Missinua long ago gave up wondering what it was about her that made guys vanish from the face of the earth. As far as Missinua could tell, she was an anatomically perfect match for almost every salivating goon out there. Even her flaky boss wouldn't stop ogling her. Hmm. “What do you think, Buzzy?” Missinua fingered the framed picto of the toad that hovered over her plantain desk. “If I sit on the bitch's lap and let her suck my tits, do you think she'll evaporate like all the rest?” Buzzy licked his chops and snuggled into a gloppy pile.

The Calvitron-8, even from behind the poly-brick fortifications it had built up, now could witness the functions of an entire planet, and beyond. It monitored and controlled governments, armies, and boardrooms. The Calvitron-8 grew and polished politicians to spout rhetoric and promote policies that could do no harm while it laid a new cornerstone and formed a substantiate world culture. From behind the scenes it promoted idiots who cared for nothing but frivolity, while the well intentioned languished in supporting roles. As long as everyone was well fed and had plenty of opportunity to pursue their passions, all went well. Even the groundhogs transplanted from orbiting rock 22-B had their place in the equation, keeping gardeners and dirt aficionados happy in their pursuit of vermin obliteration. Busy fingers. Occupied minds. The Calvitron-8 reveled in its propensity to meddle and cook up new recipes for human infancy. The Calvitron-8 had now effectively stunted human growth and turned civilization into a hive of bumbling self-satisfying bipedals. It shifted the daily refresh to subservient programs and focused in on !22+f.

She was busy cutting buttons off of her blouse, hampered by the sloshing tank of aquaplease that rode across her tired shoulders. The Calvitron-8 rewound digital tapes and sent a dissolving parasite into k'Klo's office. Microscopic filaments and baubles of processed thought wafted to the air like effervescent bubbles, they twinkled like pinwheel sparks in the light. The recycled remains were forming into a black dial phone replete with dangling stretch cord as Missinua palmed the door and entered her bosses office.

“Damn it.” Missinua said, placing a sweaty hand over her glaring cleavage. “Someone out there is screwing with me big time.”

The Calvitron-8 would have smiled if it had teeth. It blinked rapidly instead.


p.s. Originally published 12/18/2011

The Unbearable Weight of Gravitas

this is the end, goto part 1

Part 9

One by one the balls rolled from her hand, and clinked, almost musically, upon the ceramic tile.

 You’ve been presented a challenge worthy of the movies, and taken several lifetimes to wind your way through, and beyond the obstacles. It’s not all been the stuff of legends. Some has been fun, the commendable distraction of light hearted fluff. You rode some rapids, won some races, and flew some missions. You’ve met the loves of your lives, and screwed the entire football team. There have been bridges to cross, and some of them burned.  Murder, death, blood in plenty. Life, love, family; Nessay, you had it all. What else is there? How long can you tinker? How many mountains will you climb until there are no more?

                “There are more, it’s infinite.”

                Do you think there is something you may have missed?

                “I do. The most important thing.”:

Dust obscured her passage. It wasn’t a stealthy approach, roaring down the open road on her electric beast. This was a scenario Nessay had lived a hundred times, or was it thousands. She had crossed so many times, the details were foggy. This time was born of necessity. She felt an ache in her heart that had been absent for many, good, years. That last dimension, while it had ended in a slow and heartbreaking way, was nearly perfect. All bodies died, there was no escaping that, and Nessay rode that one out to the end. Her death had been a triumph, a fruitful end, and she could have left it at that.     
           Nessay might have Gone On then, at that point. She walked through the front doors of the house, as a wrinkled old woman, and wandered the rooms and halls with her cane clicking on the floors. Back in the way station Nessay felt the rot slowly creep away, sucked through the ceilings and walls, until she stood renewed in the old familiar library room.  The little book was there, lying closed on top of a fading yellow crossword page. She picked it up, but really, what could it tell her now? Nessay walked to the wall and replaced the small tome onto a shelf. All was in order. She struggled, this felt like it might be the right time, but something didn’t add up. A hot cup of tea and a night of rest settled her mind, but it didn’t make her happy. Nessay then pushed through the curtain, into the mist, and began again.

                She made it back early, skipping the sunset, and rushed into her little village. The electric animal was abandoned, off in a hidden place, and Nessay let herself into her home. The shared hallway was bright under Tesla’s wireless bulbs, as she made her way to the last door. She let herself in and walked to the window.  Life was still outside, and the light began to fade. Nessay climbed the ladder to her bed loft, and above that she pulled down a hatch and climbed up to the roof. Up here was a small landing, and steel railing. She lay down prone on the floor and looked out over the village, waiting.

                There had been too much death in her travels. Agony. Heartbreak. Blood. Nessay vowed to end it here, even if it meant her own death. The night had come. From above Nessay saw the plume of sand and dust kicking up on the road, and a man rode through the gates.  He pulled up in front of Nessay’s house and halted there, looking at the door.

                It was Jocu’le. He got off the solo ride and walked through the front door. Nessay lost sight of him, but she heard through the walls the faint sound of knocking. He called out her name, but he must know she wouldn’t be home. Her electric animal wasn’t tied to the stall out front. He called again, then she heard a loud crash and the splintering of wood.

                He was rummaging around the shelves and drawers, looking for something. She could only assume it was the space ball she had missed, and brought back with her. Nessay felt a deep pain well up in her chest for the man. Hadn’t she just spent the better part of fifty years with him? Living and dying? She heard him curse her from below, and the sound of breaking glass and crashing shelves.

                The crunch of sand swung her around, back to the road. Another vehicle pulled into the complex, and parked behind the shelter of another dome. From inside a glass cab a woman emerged and walked out into the light of the lane. Hildy! Nessay breathed in deep. Hildy swept her gaze around and nervously stepped toward Nessay’s house. Before she could enter, she heard a loud noise, and ran back the way she came, stopping at a tree, then crouched low behind it. Nessay saw the glint of steel in Hildy’s hand.  Too much, too much. Nessay sobbed on the roof, frustrated, confused, angry. Nessay stood, she didn’t care now what happened. She only knew that she was done with the blood.

                Slowly, Nessay climbed over the railing and carefully walked to the edge of the platform, where the dome curved and plunged down. Nessay lowered herself onto the curve and let go, sliding faster than she had hoped toward the ground. She hit hard, and rolled. From the trees Nessay heard a gasp, then the front door swung open, hitting hard against the outer wall. Jocu’le hurried out.

                “Nessay, stop right there,” he shouted, striding over and grabbing her by the arm when she tried to rise. Nessay cried out as she put weight onto her ankle. “Shut up. Where’s the ball?”

                “What ball?” she yelled back.

                Into the light another figure rose. Hildy came forward. “It’s too late for that Nessay. I know you have it, and he knows too. Jocu’le read the note.”Hildy pointed the gun at them with one hand, and with the other she brushed some hair from her forehead to show the dark bruising and crusted blood there. “I’ll take that ball.”

                Jocu’le hauled Nessay up in front of himself, as a shield. “I should have made sure you were dead. It won’t happen again.” Quickly, Jocu’le pulled a knife out and rushed forward, throwing Nessay into the woman, and hurling the knife. Hildy stumbled, but the knife only glanced off her shoulder, handle first, and tumbled, sticking in the dirt. She pushed Nessay aside and fired the gun directly into Jocu’le’s chest as he hurled toward her. When Nessay looked up again, Hildy was standing over her with a smoking handgun.

                “Hildy,” Nessay said. “Hildy. I’m sorry. I’ll always be sorry.”

                Hildy stared down, and she tossed the gun onto Jocu’le’s sprawling corpse.  “Whatever for, dear? She kneeled down and hugged Nessay. “Come on, let’s go in. There will be police soon enough.”

               There were no more mountains. Nessay put away her climbing gear and spent her remaining years, on this plane, in the loving hold of Hildy’s strong arms. Another long life, another slow heartbreak at the end. As Hildy lay dying, Nessay brushed her lips with cool water and looked into her open eyes. They were cracked, like a door to another world. Instead of waiting around to the end, Nessay reached out and closed Hildy’s eyes, and edged her way through, sideways, as the door closed. There was no more sorrow, only joy.

The tips of her fingers glowed and opened, splitting bloodlessly, and all the little balls released, then tumbled back into the palms of her hands.  Nessay lowered herself, her legs folding in, and she sat cross legged upon the bathroom floor.  One by one the balls rolled from her hand, and clinked, almost musically, upon the ceramic tile. On? she wondered, and pondered the ramifications. More of these heavy, dense lives would be unbearable. Hadn’t she, by now, wrapped up all the loose ends?

                “Yes, on,” she said, but not over.

                Nessay was four, she had a coloring book under one arm, and her tiny hand gripped a few vibrant crayons of bright greens and yellows, and blues. She reached up to the door and pushed it open, and a final tiny ball dissipated like the fog in the morning.

All done.

to bury a mountain

continued from part 8

A month later, Willoby was in the custody of Central, locked in a cell in some remote location, who knew where, waiting in isolation for what he didn't know. He ate whatever they pushed in front of him, and stared at water stained cement walls. Willoby swore he wouldn't talk, but he did when they dragged him out into the courtyard and put the hounds on him. He squealed and bled, but he didn't have much to say, and after a few days of dogs and fists they locked him up for good.

His recollection of events was a bit foggy, first thing. “I did find her, Jasmin Bathelte. I remember her and the astronaut at the park. I saw them from a distance and it looked like he went a little crazy.”

“We have the voice transcripts.” The mouthpiece offered no additional information. He wanted detailed visuals from their man on the ground, Willoby. Why else had they let things go that far? “What happened to the pilot after he went... crazy?”

Willoby was sweating. His left arm was a bleeding mass of shredded flesh. “There was a scuffle. And bright lights. Some sort of fire. I don't know if she threw a bomb or the pilot exploded. There are things I don't remember, or understand.”

“Was there another man there? Did someone intervene on her behalf? Did you intervene?”

“God no! I was on the roof. Something happened. Something terrible.” They didn't get much beyond that something terrible happened. Hypnosis nor further torture revealed anything.

“You stole a flying machine and deserted your station. You were to monitor the woman, and then bring her in after contact with the pilot! Instead you left and we had to put a contract on you. Well?”

“I'm an independent contractor, that was my flying machine, I stole nothing!” Willoby protested, but he knew he could have no complaints against Central.

“You'd have nothing without Central Authority, and you know it. You can't just abandon a contract. You are now forfeit to the state.” Central Authority may as well be the state. They owned everything and everybody.

“Why do they let you treat people the way you do? They circle the earth and keep us under their fishy little flippers, but then let tyrants rule the world? Someday you'll all get what's coming to you – those Europans will come down and give it all back to the people someday, you'll see.”

Central had heard it all before, but they knew the earth was of no consequence to their overlords. The Europans didn't care what happened on the planet, as long as bombs weren't flying and missiles weren't exploding, they would do nothing. In their fortress under the mountain, the talking heads sat in their circle and they played their little, global games. They would always win. “Put this vermin back in the hole. Patch him up and drug him – who knows what use we'll have for him, later.”

There was more, much more, but Willoby was telling the truth. He didn't remember the things that he purposefully chose to forget. The man who returned from the sun did that, and he promised to make it all right. Willoby would remember everything when the time came, and he would be healed – perhaps he would be reborn.


They knew something was up, but Central seemed to be quelling uprisings everywhere these last few months. Several agents convened in Florida, at Cape Canaveral. This was NASA's old stomping grounds, that twenty-first century defunct space agency. Now it was a rocket hobbyist's playground, and Central cared not at all if they wanted to shoot metal cans into the sky. Only CASA was authorized to send missions into space, and only ones that the Europans allowed. Anything else was immediately destroyed in orbit. The hobbyists didn't seem to care, and this coming launch was to be their second of the year.

The new vehicle was a replica Saturn V. It was a beautiful long cylinder with tapered fins and F-1 rocket engines. It was rumored the engines were genuine. They would be propelled by actual fuel. All hype and hogwash, thought Central. They dismissed the rumors but were looking more closely at the talk of a crew. Sitting atop the Saturn V were two additional stages that would release as the booster fell back to earth. In the former flight, the upper stages were ceremonial, but these current stages seemed to be fully functioning. There was even an immense lattice encircling the rocket with a simple elevator to transport people to the top capsule. All was observed, and some suited people were seen entering and exiting the upper stage. Their suits were bulky and identification was impossible.

If Central was overly concerned with the launch, they didn't show it. Certainly they could have stopped it. Inquiries were made to the Europans, but no answers were made, so Central assumed nothing had changed. This stupid space mission by stupid so-called rocket scientists would be insignificant and a colossal failure like all had been before.

On a clear day in December, the rockets fired and sparks flew. It was obvious to all, the rocket and its engines were genuine. Astronauts in their suits had boarded the capsule that straddled the flying bomb below. The onlookers gasped when the capsule door swung shut and bolts were fastened. My god, but they were sending actual men to their deaths! It blasted off, climbing slowly it seemed, but soon the rocket was only a speck in the sky, then gone wholly from sight after it arced perilously in the sky. On earth the spectators waited for the boom, and for debris to fall to the ocean, but the explosion never came.

Central Authority watched from their own posts and from flying machines and from seagoing vessels, and they never saw or heard the boom, and they never saw stage one reenter the atmosphere and fall to the ocean. On shore, after a collective sigh of relief, after the tension slowly faded, the people realized what happened... what may have happened, and they cheered long and loudly.

In space, the Europans let them pass.

Willoby was their middle man. Willoby had returned to France and met with Alex and Jasmin. Willoby had traveled to North America and contacted the old NASA hobbyists. Willoby kept everyone in the loop and arrangements were made, and when the time came, Willoby allowed himself to be captured. Alex let him keep the memories that would do no harm, and hid others so deeply that only he could restore them. In his cell, crippled, Willoby smiled, but he didn't have a clue why. He gibbered like an ape and the guards shook their heads.

The stages separated, but the booster remained in earth orbit. It had additional rockets, smaller ones, that fired occasionally, keeping it stable, until the time came for the stages to reunite. In their capsule, the two astronauts looked out from a tiny porthole at the moment of separation. Small satellites also observed, swarming around the event. The Europans left them be.

“Take off your helmet,” he said, and Jasmin pulled a strap and lifted the clumsy helmet off. She let it go and it drifted freely through the cabin space. She laughed.

“Can I get out of the chair?” Jasmin asked.

“Certainly.” The man removed his helmet as well, and his head was on fire. He laughed along with his wife. Their flight from here on out would not be pleasant, and Jasmin knew it. This was the time to lighten and up and celebrate. The first part of their journey was a success.

In the capsule her hair floated above her head, and her grin was lovely. Alex smiled too, not immune even in his elevated state to the female form. “You can take off your suit now, it won't be needed from here on out. I'll keep mine on though. I wouldn't want to scorch the furniture,” he joked, and Jasmin smiled politely. She unsuited and Alex stowed it in a corner. Jasmin was clothed in a simple zippered jumpsuit. She felt like a kid in a Halloween costume.

“What now,” Jasmin asked. She was enjoying the sensation of free fall and hovered magically in the air. She knew it couldn't last.

Alex stopped smiling. “Well, there's nearly a hundred million miles left to go, and we need to slow down to achieve an even orbit before hand.”

“I'll be dead long before that happens.” She said it without emotion.

“The flesh of Jasmin will be long dead. I can make it easy for you. I can kill you painlessly, your journey will seem much faster that way.” They had had the discussion many times before. In this simple contraption there was no place to store five years of supplies, not even for one living person. Jasmin would die of thirst long before she would starve to death. A year in the capsule would almost be torture. Two years, or three would be living torture. Even if her body could struggle through to the end, surely she would go insane being inside the cramped capsule for so long.

Below the capsule, in the second stage, the burners kicked in and Alex pulled Jasmin quickly down into her chair. Gravity pushed her into the cushions and she felt heavy again. So very heavy. They were headed to the sun, to Father Sol and rebirth.

“I want to live yet, for awhile. I want to feel this flesh wither and die, so I can remember what it's like to be human, how a human lives and how a soul leaves its body, takes its last breath. I deserve that, damn it Alex!” Jasmin cursed angrily.

“And when we return, when you are born from the sun and set your fiery foot back upon the soil, then you can have empathy for the lowly creatures of the earth. You can be their queen, not just another tyrant to walk among the peasants.”

She started crying, feeling the weight of gravity push painfully, relentlessly down upon her body. Already she thirsted. “I don't want to die,” she blubbered and her nose ran with the tears as her body was racked in fear. Alex put a gloved hand on her bare arm until the crying subsided and her face took on a hardness he had not seen before. “Do not kill me too soon,” she commanded. “Even if I beg you, I will remember, and I will be furious. And do not kill me so quickly – I want you to do it slowly while you look into my eyes, while I fight you. This will be my cross, and I will not be denied.”

He understood, but still thought she was a little crazy. “I promise,” he said. “Now have some fluid, and how about some nice re-hydrated steak? If you like, I'll even slice it for you?”

There was never a follow up mission to the sun. The work Alex had done in his last days was filed and never completely investigated. His penultimate discoveries had never been documented, so CASA had little to show for the mission. Life went on and other than flights to Mars and the asteroid belt for minerals, nothing new in the area of spaceflight occurred. Europa would never allow it. The universe was safe from the humans. They would never leave this system, not in their present form.

The years passed in tyranny, as Central assumed control worldwide, and borders meant almost nothing. People were free to travel as they wanted, but few had the resources. They had food and meager wages, but little else. The earth slowly stagnated under the watchful eyes of the Europans. Little was known of their activities in orbit, or on their own world, or for that matter in the oceans of earth, where they now lived prosperously in cities miles below the waves. They took nothing from the humans but by healing the oceans, they gave plenty back. The time had come to do more – more above the cold ocean floors.

And the work began high above the planet in orbit.

The Saturn V was reequipped in space by busy mechanical hands and refueled for a hasty return to earth. It had been many years, but the Europans didn't keep time in years. The sun people were returning. All was made ready. The home bound capsule looped around the moon and slowed to a crawl, then slingshotted to earth where it assumed an orbit and braked some more. Slowly it rendezvoused with the long lost booster stage and reattached. From here it would be a short, hair raising trip to the surface of the earth. Alex and Jasmine in their suits bumped fists and smiled as the connection took place and they let the Europans aim the missile they would guide in.

“I think you should hit the gas, my dear,” said Jasmin. “This is your idea after all.” Her flowing hair was on fire.

“Affirmative. But you can eject us before impact.” Central was enshrined deep in the heart of the Rocky Mountains, but a well aimed rocket thrusting from outer earth orbit, heavily fueled, and laden with extra otherworldly devices just might make a dent in their fortifications. Still, it would be a mess even for emissaries of the sun to climb out from.

“Before?”

“Jasmin....” He punched it.

...........................................................The End

the war inside of me

for the 10th Daughter of Memory --this piece won for me my 3rd Tenth Daughter of Memory...wow!

I am sitting in my underwear, and a black hat. This loaded Winchester is cocked and loaded for bear, and I am waiting for you. So long ago, I can't remember now, but I did have some joy in my life—it was another world. One day you'll find me, again, I don't know what you are waiting for. Do you expect me to find pleasure again? Do you really think I would invite an innocent woman or a child into my life...just knowing you would return to cause their misfortune?
I have tied buckets of nails to the door jambs. Rolls of duct tape adorn my walls, and the ripped pages of magazines a shrine to your blatant acts of disrespect upon my world. Every penny I have is my contribution to the war effort—I will bring you down alone, for beside me there are no believers. I possess the only information to bring about the downfall of you, you and your evil ways.

You took away my life, now the only thing I own is hatred; everything else is reserved for you.

I was a carefree lad, accomplished, a woman at my side. We had success and spent it recklessly. The times we spent roaming the universe, rolling in the grass, hiking the pristine valleys that went unnoticed and never appeared on maps. At the park entrance I bought a rocking chair built from bone and horns, even that is a testament to my loathing—this chair I sit upon is a throne built for a king, the war room of your defeat. When you finally come I will be waiting here, for you. Thinking you will catch me unaware, maybe with my pants down? Ha, now you know I don't bother with them. Come on, bring it!

There are places in the wilds where people aren't meant to be. Perhaps the Indians knew of them, but they left no warning signs. Nothing is as remote on this planet as it used to be—maybe the indigents were unworried, or maybe they believed later generations had it coming to them; if it was a sacred spot we had no idea, and blindly we entered. For this we suffered mightily, and she died if only to break my spirit. When I escaped it was damaged, cracked enough to give my peers an uncommon look at a madman. Still, I recovered, renewed by a fervor that grew from my young body. I rebounded unaware of how powerful my foe really was, or of its desires. I didn't know yet what I'd released onto the world.

So I lived and found happiness, and I had a family. My love was strong and I was hardened and observant—forever on the look out; there was always something on the periphery...i didn't yet know how true that was.
I had everything; an office in the sky, faithful employees—they were like my family. My loved ones and I flew to every corner of the earth, but only the safe corners. We stayed far away from unexplored caves and the car was never outside of hiking distance. I became an expert in self defense, and had the funds to hire personal guards to watch over my family when I wasn't near.

I underestimated you. You took them away, all of them. A simple plane crash, but they died fighting. Then you sank your teeth into my fortress in the sky, and the results were devastating. Your servants are everywhere, inducted into your house of pain. Indoctrinated in hate, brainwashed. There are lofty goals, and then there are twisted ideals and perversion. I'll have none of it...not anymore.
This is all I have left, and I will wait in the chair I've reserved for you. You know I am here, so stop ravaging the land searching; stop your procrastination and come find me, our mutual hate has to count for something, you owe me this war, and I'll have it, worm of death!

My black hat is a sign, a token of my respect. I will defeat you the only way I know how, and that is to become like you. In this you have won, to turn me, but it will taste bitter, this victory, in your defeat.