High on a craggy peak of an extinct volcanic island... far to the south of Casterbridge City, on the planet Acadia, a lone figure danced... her gossamer gown wafting in the slight breeze. Like a siren of ancient lore that lured mariners to destruction with her singing... she sang... but not to the seas... she sang to the crater far below her. For days, Konton danced... while far below a bulge grew... until it spanned the entire caldera. Vents around the bulge spewed hot gases into the air. Days passed before a large hole formed in the center of the bulge.

From out of the hole, a large pale green sharp hook appeared... then another... followed by spined legs. A triangular shaped head with two long antennae... large, round compound eyes on the sides of the head peeked out... and a mouth made for chewing and biting. There were no ears on the head... the only ear she possessed was a slit in the middle of her abdomen on the underside, and she was deaf to most sounds... exception being ultrasonic. She heaved herself out of the hole... a long, narrow thorax followed by her elongated abdomen and four rear legs that were longer than the front ones. For several moments, she stood, her front arms in a praying position... then walked to the edge of the caldera - flexing her fully formed wings in preparation of flight. Another creature started climbing out... and Konton danced.

When three of these giant insects... ten foot tall carnivorous visions from a nightmare... had emerged and flexed their wings... they took to the air... heading north. More would follow in time... many, many more. And they would all head for the only two continents on Acadia. These three flew directly to the smallest continent...  that was home to the city of Casterbridge. Landing on a remote edge of the continent... they started feeding. Their appetite insatiable, no living creature was exempted... bone, hoof, scale and feather fell before the advancing horde... and as more and more mantids arrived, they spread out - leaving a land devoid of any life-forms. Calls for help from small towns and villages went unheeded as there were no living ears to hear them. Law enforcement agencies were inundated with calls that abruptly ended.

*********************************************************

The woman Kabri had healed... thinking that the mob might think that she had been infected by the ‘freak’... started running away. Down alleys... across crowded streets... she ran... until, in one alley a long hooked arm reached out and impaled her before she had a chance to cry out. The advance scouts of these monstrosities had reached the city.

At the space port, one of the giant insects was seen climbing a control tower... with ease it smashed the slanted windows of the top structure, picking out prey with it’s long fore-arm. Guards in front of some of the space craft met a similar fate, though most managed to escape into their ships. Sirens blared as the entire port was shut down to incoming and outgoing vessels... there was no one left in the Mandatory Frequency Station to man the equipment.

All over the city, frantic calls were cut short... emergency broadcasts were sent out for Federation assistance... cars, their roofs torn off and the occupants missing, littered the highways... survivors huddled in windowless basements... while at sea, ships were being attacked by the flying jaws of destruction.... “We are doomed,” said a radio announcer just before his station abruptly shut down.... the nuclear reactor facility, that provided electricity to the city, had been breached... 

And Konton Danced................

Ebozo:
Keerist, that wind is brutal!

Normally, he watched this building for ten minutes or more, looking for any sign of life before chancing an entrance, but tonight he had found no vantage point to shield him from the wind, and after only a moment or two he had slipped in quickly.

It had been a long time, and although some small changes were obvious, it was pretty much as he had remembered it. The main thing was that although he couldn’t quite put his finger on it, there was something about the plact that seemed more subdued.

Oh, well, on with it. Business first, so to speak.

A half pot of coffee, still warm enough so that a few minutes heat would do. He turned the switch on and headed for the refrigerator. Oh, man! colcannon, beef stew, cheesecake. Jackpot!

Quickly to the cupboard. Yup, paper plates and cups, plastic utensils. I love this place. He slipped a knife, fork and spoon into a pocket, took two cups and a plate, and closed the cupboard.

Over to the wastebasket. A good-sized paper bag, and look - two beef stew cans. OK, so it wasn’t home made. It’d do, and the cans were a great find. He’d put them on an open fire with the stew in one and colcannon in the other.

He went to the sink and washed out the cans, then to the refrigerator, where he half filled one can with stew and the other with colcannon. A three inch square of inch deep cheesecake went into a paper plate and was quickly covered by another plate. Two paper towels wrapped around each can provided covers. Imperfect, but they’d do. The cans went into the bottom of the bag, one on another, and the plates went on top. He’d carry a cup of coffee, which would at least keep one hand warm.

A speedy tour of the work area was next. Someone had left a heavy sweater draped over the back of a chair. He wanted it, but his rule was to take as little as possible of anything still useful to the current owners. He would scrounge, but did not consider himself a thief.

Several cubicles now had prints of big eyed urchins and jesters. Must be a fad of some kind.

Two of the wastebaskets were topped off with birthday wrapping paper and ribbons. Well, they wouldn’t stay there long if she came. He wouldn’t have admitted it to anyone, but he hoped a little that she would.
His heart nearly stopped! Whew... Just mannequins. Wonder what they’re doing here.

Back to the coffee pot. He had long ago learned to like his coffee black, and needed nothing but the cup, which he filled to within an inch. Any more and it’d slop over onto his fingers as he walked in that wind.

A quick check of the bulletin board to see what the latest items of interest were. Hmm. Irish quotes. “I’m troubled, I’m dissatisfied. I’m Irish.” Hah! Try being jobless and homeless.

Pictures of people measuring themselves. Head to toe; hand to hand, arms outstretched; nose to fingers - What the Hell is that?

Wow! The corner that had been reserved for political items was now used for recipes and pictures of animals. Must have been some personnel changes.

OK, let’s go. He went back to the counter, picked up the bag and coffee cup, and headed for the door. Halfway there he stopped and shook his head. Getting old. He returned to the counter, turned the coffee maker off, and retraced his path to the door. Holding the bag in the crook of an arm to free a hand for the coffee cup, he turned the knob, opened the door an inch or so, took a quick look, and was gone.

Kabri:
Standing in the shadows, alone, naked... waiting, she watched him arrive. He hadn’t been here in a long time, and tonight he was a little earlier than ever before.

As usual, he headed to the coffee pot. She watched him flip the switch on and head to the refrigerator.

“Please... Please... Notice Me!” her mind cried out to him.

He went to the cupboard, took out some things and put some in his pocket... the rest he carried with him to the waste basket. There, he removed a crumpled paper bag and two empty cans. After washing the cans, he went back to the refrigerator and started putting some stuff in them.

“Please... Take me with you!” her heart cried.

She knew she wasn’t much to look at... a broken toe... and all sorts of defects that had made her unsuitable for this business.

He was now putting everything from the refrigerator into the paper bag. She watched him make a quick tour of the work area... then he went back to the coffee pot and poured some coffee into a cup.

“Oh... Mr Lonely Man...” (She had called him that ever since he had first coming here), “I will keep yu company... I...” her thoughts stopped there. She knew as she watched him pick up the bag and the coffee that he was leaving and she would never see him again... for tomorrow, she would be put in the dumpster... (she had heard them talking earlier)... the end to all chipped, peeling, and broken mannequins.

She watched as he slipped out the door... a single crystalline tear appearing on her cheek.

“Good Night and Happy Dreams,” she sighed into the blast of cold air that hit her just before he closed the door.

Nonamegoddess:
What’s This? He asked himself as he pulled a scrap of newspaper from a cold, hard foot. His heart skipped a beat just before he realized it was only a mannequin. She’s pretty and the thought occurred to him that she reminded him of Belinda in a way. He loaded her onto his cart, looked around for the missing hand, and finally decided to move on without it. At least he found those old, lacy nightgowns in there, so she would have some proper attire.

Closing the door behind them, he wiped her down with a clean rag, warming up to the thought of finally having some company in this cold, empty house. He positioned her in the dining room, near the window, pulled the gown over her naked form, not realizing that he was prattling on to her as if she understood. She almost seemed to be coming alive with his touch, though he was sure it was just the imaginings of a lonely old man.

Something still wasn’t right.  He slowly walked upstairs and stood at the door that had been Belinda’s door while she was alive, then took a deep breath and opened it. A bottle of nail polish, a little makeup, and a wig. It had been so long since these things had seen any use.

Hours later, he stepped back and admired his handiwork. She did look much better now than she did when he found her. “Good night, Belinda,” he whispered as he turned out the lights and headed for bed then stopped, halfway to the stairs when the lights flickered back on for one short, sweet moment, then back off again.

Nodding his head in understanding, up the stairs he went.

Posted in memory of a very happy day

All these years of traveling and still all the questions remain unanswered. Why am I here? Why do I have the power to kill?

Why do I exist?

“Wake up.”

What? Who’s that? I don’t know who you are, get out of my head. Why are you talking to me?

“Wake up.”

Wake up? From what? I’m not asleep…am I?

“Wake to sleep…and take the waking slow. Then you will know…”

You don’t make any sense Leave me alone

Aidan sat up in his bed abruptly. The same nightmare that had been plaguing him for all these years hadn’t spared him tonight either. He brought his hand to his forehead and kept it there, feeling the sweat seep between his fingers. With his other hand he grabbed the small glass of water he always kept on his nightstand and brought it to his lips. Slowly he drank, letting the cool liquid sooth his nerves.

His sheets were soaked, and he noted with a frown that he’d have to wash them again. It seemed that he had to wash his sheets almost every day, and it was a habit he was getting quite tired of. Sighing quietly, he rose from the bed and gathered the sheets, throwing them into his laundry bag. It was a long walk to the laundromat, almost two miles, and his laundry bag was heavy with dirty clothes. Being a construction worker wasn’t easy, and it wasn’t really a job he enjoyed, but after the events that took place yesterday he doubted he would have to worry about being called in to work.

After eating toast and eggs for breakfast, Aidan went back to his room and put on his only pair of clean clothes left. He shrugged into a black t-shirt and then wrestled on some loose-fitting jeans. His steel-toed black boots were in a heap by the front door, and he went to fetch them, bringing the bag of dirty clothes with him. He tied his shoelaces, threw the laundry bag over his shoulder, and walked out the door.

One of the few times the city seemed beautiful to him was at five in the morning. People weren’t awake yet, and the city seemed to be in a state of hibernation. It was the side of the city that not many people cared to notice, which was fine for him because it was people he wanted to avoid. He thought the glass-laden skyscrapers looked extraordinarily beautiful in the orange glow of sunrise. A gentle smile played across his lips as he walked down the empty streets.

Aidan ran his fingers through his short, dark brown hair as he reflected on yesterday. He was lucky that he wasn’t arrested and thrown in jail for a while. Why did he have such an uncontrollable temper? That man he punched was lucky to still have his jaw attached to his face. Even if the man had been harassing him, it still didn’t give him an excuse to nearly kill the guy. It was a good thing that Aidan’s boss Mike had known that the man had deserved to be put in his place, and it was fortunate that Mike had the strength to prevent Aidan from throwing a second punch.

So now Aidan was out of a job, with no hope of ever getting another construction job again. Hard labor was the only thing he knew how to do, and he felt lost. But he was a drifter anyway, so the feeling didn’t affect him much. It hadn’t been the first time that Aidan had nearly killed a man, but the guilt was still there. That pain was still in his heart, the pain of not understanding himself. And those recurring nightmares did nothing to ease that pain and confusion.

He was almost to the laundromat when he heard steps falling on the pavement behind him. Not acknowledging that he had noticed the person stalking him from behind, Aidan kept a steady pace forward while scanning his surroundings for more people. He didn’t see anyone.

“Aidan?” called the voice from behind. Surprised, Aidan turned around slowly, his eyes resting on the tall figure in front of him.

“Mike?” Aidan almost whispered in surprise. Mike grinned slightly, stuck his hands in his pockets, and walked towards Aidan.

“What are you doing out so early in the morning?” Mike asked, slightly amused.

“I could ask you the same question,” Aidan replied, not sure what to think of Mike just then. There had to have been some reason for Mike to come looking for Aidan, for their chance meeting could not have happened simply by coincidence.

Mike shrugged and took a deep breath. “I don’t know. I just felt like I had to go find you and make sure everything was okay.”

“That’s nice,” Aidan replied in a neutral tone. “Well, I’m fine, but I must be going now.”

“I also had to find you because I wanted to let you know that the cops are hot on your heels. There’s only so much I can hide from them for so long. If you don’t want to get thrown in jail, then I suggest you find a place to lay low for a while,” Mike replied quietly.

Aidan relaxed. Finally, the true meaning behind the visit was out. Without saying a word, Aidan turned back around and began to walk towards the laundromat again.

Mike took another deep breath and then jogged to keep up. “Hey, so this is what I get in return for the news? No thank you or anything?” he said, slightly disgruntled.

Aidan muttered a quiet thank you, feeling slightly chagrined. For some reason he felt like he couldn’t trust Mike, and it confused him. He decided that it was best to trust instinct, since he was old enough and had encountered enough people in his life to get a “gut feeling” for certain people, and so he carefully remained detached from any befriending efforts Mike made. Yet, what he felt in his distrust for Mike was more than instinct, it was almost as if he knew he couldn’t trust the man. Silently he pushed the door open to the 24 hour laundromat and threw his clothes inside the closest washing machines he found, separating light from colored almost mechanically. Mike walked in after him, and then leaned against a dryer, waiting for Aidan to say something, anything, of interest. Aidan, however, had different plans, and was determined to not start the conversation. Mike lost his patience first.

“So, do you have anywhere to hide for a while?” Mike asked, staring at the heap of clothes dwindling as Aidan threw them into the machines.

“There is always someplace to hide. I won’t have trouble finding a spot to hang out for a while,” Aidan replied quietly.

“That’s not what I meant. I mean, do you actually have a friend or someone that can put you up for a while? I know you can go find a place under some bridge and live there, but that’s hardly desirable, isn’t it?” Mike answered.

Aidan looked up straight at Mike. Mike knew that Aidan had no real friends, and had no real place to run to, and Aidan found it maddening how Mike seemed to love reminding him of it. “If the homeless can handle it, I can too. We’re all human after all, it’s not like they’d really care if they had an extra neighbor for a while,” Aidan said, his voice reflecting his inner anger at Mike. Although Mike had helped Aidan escape from the cops yesterday, that was one of the few things that Mike had ever done for him out of apparently kindness. And now Aidan was beginning to dismiss the act as a good one, since Mike seemed to have his own intentions for being a “good Samaritan.” What Mike could possible want from him, Aidan didn’t know, but he wasn’t about to accidentally fall victim to Mike’s “good intentions.”

Mike almost laughed, and Aidan narrowed his eyes. Slowly shaking his head, Mike slapped Aidan on the shoulder. “If you ever change your mind, you can always stay with me,” he offered as he slapped Aidan on the shoulder again. Aidan recoiled from the touch. Mike grinned slightly and walked out the door.

Exhaling, Aidan realized that he had been holding his breath the whole time. Why did Mike bother him so much? It was one mystery in a bundle of mysteries, and none of them seemed to have an answer. Walking to the door to make sure that Mike had left, Aidan breathed a sigh of relief when the streets held no evidence that the man was there. He ran his fingers through his hair, and then decided that he should at least finish his laundry before he went looking for a new, temporary home. There was no reason for him to look like a slob, even if he was going to be living in a less than luxurious place for a while.

Writing assignment 1998

Lamaka sat at the table staring at her trembling hands. It had been hours since the strange and terrifying event had occurred, and still she could come up with no rational explanation. She knew that she should get something to eat before the sunset, but couldn’t tear her eyes away from her hands. So she sat… her mind filled with a jumble of horror, wonder and unanswerable questions.

It had been almost a hundred years since the apocalypse that had wiped out over half the life on earth. A giant rogue asteroid from the asteroid belt between Saturn and Mars had been thrown in the direction of earth by a shift in the magnetic field of Saturn. Careening towards earth, the 11 mile long by 7 mile wide hunk of rock was sighted in time to give the earth six months notice. Named Armageddon by the people of earth, every nation worked together building nuclear warheads to try and deflect its movement away from the planet.

It was a feeble attempt at best, succeeding in only breaking the asteroid into thirteen pieces. Of these pieces, there were only four that actually impacted with the earth. As the other nine pierced the atmosphere they exploded and tremendous firestorms erupted, literally flattening every thing in their path. A nuclear winter followed, further decimating the planet and life forms.

Lamaka’s great-grandparents had survived… barely. It had been close to ten years before the sun shown down on a devastated planet with any regularity. Ten long, cold years before the dust and debris was finally washed away by the rain and snow, from the atmosphere. Lamaka had listened with wonder at the stories her grandparents and parents had told of that time.

It was during the few years after the sky was cleansed that the mutants had started appearing. Mindless, cannibalistic beings, in their slimy white skins that lived in the dark. From the time she had been able to crawl, Lamaka had been warned: “Never be caught out after dark ” Her parents should have heeded the warnings too. They had not returned one evening, and Lamaka never saw them again.

Now, Lamaka lived alone in a concrete building her father had built. He had scavenged for supplies for miles around until he had everything necessary, then had built the two-room house by himself before going to look for a bride for himself. It had only two windows and two doors, one window and one door for each room. One room served as the living quarters and the other as the bedroom. Lamaka had been born there.

Very rarely, other humans passed by. Lamaka’s father never invited them in, treating them with distrust. His loaded pistols in his hands and an arsenal of rifles protected his family from the roaming bands of looters and from the mutants.

Lamaka had seen lots of mutants in her short lifetime, from the safety and security of the house, she had watched them mill around outside. They hadn’t the intelligence to turn a doorknob, but her father had insisted on putting dead bolts on the doors anyway…. Just in case they accidentally turned one when they hit against it with their gnarled fingers. She had never been afraid of the mutants, as long as her father was around. Now though, she would cringe when she saw the misshapen footprints around the house every morning.

Living off the land, on the sparse greenery, Lamaka never ate meat. It appalled her to think that anyone would. Her days were spent collecting food, storing some against the winter. From inside the house, she would aim a rifle at any human who came to call…warning them to leave immediately. They always did.

Today, Lamaka had gone further than she had ever gone before. She had found a structure in ruins, made of a strange smooth stone. Exploring, she had found books… lots of them. Though they were brittle and crumpled easily, she managed to pack a few in her backpack to take home. Her parents had insisted on teaching her how to read, and the anticipation of actually having something to read caused her to shake with the excitement.

As she started out of the ruins, a movement in a dark doorway caught her attention. A mutant leaped out at her; it’s jaws gaping wide. She raised her hands to protect herself. The air around her compressed into a solid wall and as the mutant hit it, a horrendous noise…like a miniature sonic boom… filled the air and the mutant turned to ashes. She had turned and run all the way home… locking the doors and pulling the curtains.

Had she caused that? Did it come from her hands? HOW? If not, where did it come from? Could she do it again, if it HAD come from her? As the darkness fell, Lamaka sat, still staring at her hands. Never before had she felt such a profound loneliness.

School writing assignment 1998

Reference Data:

Parallel Universes:
Picture, if you will, a sink full of soap bubbles. Each bubble represents a universe in it’s entirety. Now expand that mass of bubbles into infinity and you will have an idea of how many other universes there are within the roiling maelstrom, kept in eternal motion by the weakest, and least understood of all forces - gravity. The universes that touch the universe you occupy at any given time are called parallel universes... and they change frequently.

When two ‘bubbles’ with thin membranes collide - “POP” - a ‘Big Bang”... their matter is scattered and new universes are created. Through black holes and white holes, matter is continually being exchanged throughout the universes, keeping them in a constant state of change. The laws of physics in one universe do not necessarily follow the same laws in another. Each universe is in it’s own state of development.

In most universes, there are planets, where, conditions permitting, intelligent life forms have evolved. Some of these beings are weird or grotesque by human standards. Some are even unrecognizable as living, thinking entities, but they are there.

Consider just the planet Earth... In some, it is still nothing but space dust... in others, advanced civilizations have created utopias... some have no intelligent life forms... the dinosaurs roam on some... consider every conceivable scenario - the possibilities are limitless.

The Old Ones:
In a time before time, there were the Old Ones. Each of them was a male and female soul/spirit joined together. They occupied the space between universes... garnering information about the development/evolution of each universe... like bits of data on a computer. And, like bits of data, they could do nothing without the others. They had no ability to make independent choices... no emotions... no right/wrong, good/bad... they just ‘were’.

There is no way of telling why or how, but it is known that at some point the Old Ones decided to assist the intelligent life forms that had developed in many of the universes. And so, they split apart into separate genders, assumed the outward appearance of the denizens of a planet in a universe with one exception... they all had rather large ears so that they could recognize one another... and they learned... and passed their knowledge on to the next generation, mother to daughter... father to son... a cumulative knowledge, a form of genetic memory,  from generation to generation, so that they would always remember what they were.

They also learned the ultimate lesson of loneliness... Trapped in a physical body... unable to express themselves adequately with the limited vocabulary that languages possessed... separated from their soul/spirit mates... they learned all the strengths and weaknesses of the humanoids that had taken 4.5 billion years (give or take a billion or so) to evolve into a complex life forms. And they learned the death of those physical bodies they had assumed... and re-birth... always searching for their soul-mate so that they could join together and never have to ‘live’ a humanoid existence again.  

In their search for their soul/spirit mate, the Old Ones became ‘Walkers’ also known as Kabri. A small gland attached behind and to the left of the pituitary gland, created positive energy density, causing a loop to form, this facilitated a tear in the fabric of space-time-dimension. The quantum entity that was about to be involved in an interaction sent out an ‘offer’ wave. The space-time-dimension destination picked  up the offer wave and sent a response echoing back. The advanced and retarded waves combined to create a “handshake” between the two space-time-dimension areas which, in a sense atemporally, determined the outcome of the interact at the instant the entity started to make the offer.

The medial temporal lobes (near the sagittal plane that divides left and right cerebral hemispheres) are thought to be involved in episodic/declarative memory. Used in conjunction with the aforementioned gland, a Windemerian Walker needed only to mentally declare intent to open a “Travel Gate” between space, time or dimensions or all three combined. Unfortunately, the time between the declaration and the actual travel is milliseconds and therefore it is impossible to give exact details of the journey.

“Walkers” were able to breach the barriers of parallel universes, finding the planets in them that could sustain their lives. Many times, they brought with them knowledge and information that would greatly aid in future development, or prevent mistakes that had occurred in another universe.

But, the greatest ability they possessed was that of Sanator or empathic healer. They could absorb into themselves the pain, illness, molecular damage, or correct DNA strand anomalies, of any humanoid... healing them completely. Then, they would fall into a deep sleep while their bodies healed themselves. Depending on the severity of the ‘healing’ this could take as little as a few minutes to several weeks.

During this self-healing, they were exceptionally vulnerable to ~capture~ by beings with ulterior motives. Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, it was impossible for a Sanator to determine who to heal based on whether they were ‘good or bad’. Any in need were treated the same. So warring factions would try to imprison a Sanator on their side.

Totally incapable of aggression... the Old Ones could only defend themselves by slipping into a parallel universe or using cytoplasma. The latter was used only as a last resort... when there were no other means of escape and their life was in peril... for cytoplasma would break down the molecular/atomic structure of the assailant into individual particles... and the assailant would cease to be.


Windemerian Classes:
The Males: Windemerian males are of little or no value, except for the propagation of the species. They have no rights, possessions or voice in anything. They are given to a female, chosen by the High Council, and are the property of that female until they fulfill their obligation or are rejected as unsatisfactory. It is the woman who decides whether she wishes to be benevolent and keep the male or discard him - at which time he becomes a laborer for the good of the people. The only two discipline he can go into are animal husbandry or farming. Male children are removed from the household upon attaining puberty and sent to school to learn how to please a mate and one of the two disciplines. The life expectancy of the average male is 23.35 Windemerian years.
 
The Proletariat: This is the lowest social class on Windemere and the most numerous. Although outward physical appearances are comparable with the human species, there are subtle internal differences. Through years of population controls,  Windemerian females are only capable of producing two children... a girl is always born first, and a male. When the girl has reached maturity - around 14 years of age - she is given a mate. Her mother is then required to serve in the Shield... the equivalent of an army... where they are trained to use all available weapons (including feminine wiles), and especially in single combat. Life expectancy: 50.05 Windemerian years.

The Academican: Those of the Proletariat class who have shown superior intelligence. They spend their entire lives learning, studying, promoting the advancement of the sciences and teaching select females. Life expectancy: 66.73 Windemerian years.

The Council Of Twelve: The elite of Windemerian society, they have the power of life and death over the entire planet. Every facet of Windemere is under their absolute control. They are direct descendants of ‘The Old Ones” and possess Kabri and Sanator powers. They do not have children, but are cloned to assure that these powers are kept intact. Each has one daughter that is allowed to grow to adult, and a cloned embryo in storage should something happen to that daughter. When the daughter has reached maturity and is herself cloned, all previous clones are destroyed. (This is not known to the general public). In addition to the position on the Council, vital memories are passed from mother to daughter. Life expectancy 133.46 Windemerian years.

The Non Classes:
Kabri: Space/Time/Dimensional Walkers. They have some of the genetic makeup, a small organ just behind the pituitary gland in the brain which facilitates Walking, and are the only ones who have the tell-tale ears of The Old Ones. Kabri are able to breach the barriers of space, time and dimensions, but it is a limited ‘Walk’, in that the destination has to be fixed. They visit other Windemerian societies to assist in their development and carry messages between Windemerian cultures.  

The Sanator: Empathic Healers. Sanator are able to absorb into themselves the pain, molecular damage, illness or DNA strand anomalies of any other humanoid being through the use of their aura. Though there are male Sanator, they are very few and therefore are a level above the average male. They are not allowed to have a mate and are kept in strict control, secluded from the general population until it is deemed by the High Council that their ability is needed.

Kabri/Sanator: Walker/Healers. The rarest of the Windemerians, these have a Walking ability that is only limited by one factor. They cannot enter a dimension, time or space where they have already been born and are living. Dimensional identification seals will deflect their attempt to enter off to another dimension where they do not exist on any plane.

The Kabri/Sanator have control over their aural colors... each signifying a different ability. The main colors are: the blue aura is the healing aura... the white aura is mainly used as a toy or to examine another being... and the red aura of destruction which is rarely used and usually only when under extremely stressful situations.

For defense, Kabri/Sanators use cytoplasm, the jelly-like material that fills cells. Cytoplasm in the human species contain three groups of organelles... in a Kabri/Sanator, there are six groups. Under extreme duress, caused by fear for life, this thin, viscous substance collects on the tips of the fingers. Should any of this substance be placed on anything, it has the property of spreading rapidly, breaks down the cellular structure and causes massive, irreparable damage. That which is not used is reabsorbed into the body. Though every Kabri/Sanator possess this weapon, there has never been a recorded instance of it’s use, the Kabri/Sanator preferring to ‘Walk’ instead of using it.

When a Kabri/Sanator uses an amount of energy to ‘Walk’ or for healing, they must absorb energy in an equal amount to replace it. This replacement energy can come from the atmosphere in the form of static electricity or from any power source that is nearby. Sleep facilitates the absorption at an accelerated rate. The time necessary for replenishment depends on the amount of energy used, the location and intensity of the supplanting energy.


Names of The Council of Twelve: When a daughter assumes the position of her mother, she takes her mothers name. Until then, she uses her birth name.

1.) Aello (meaning: Whirlwind)
2.) Bremusa (meaning: Raging Female)
3.) Clyemne (meaning: Famous Might)
4.) Dimala (meaning: Head or Leader)
5.) Eumache (meaning: Good Fighter)
6.) Fala (meaning: A Crow)
7.) Geva (meaning: A Small Mount)
8.) Halona (meaning: One Who Is Fortunate)
9.) Iona (meaning: Purple Jewel)
10.) Jazlyn (meaning: Flower)
11.) Kelsi (meaning: Warrior)
12.) Lina (meaning: Light)

NOTE: Scientific collaboration may be found in my Forum.

The grotesque head stared down from the top of the huge champaign fountain set in the middle of the banquet table. It’s gruesome grin, with huge tusks sparkling, was as austere in death as it had been in life. The tainted liquid, pink with blood, spewed into the air to come cascading down over the scaled features in gurgling streams. Red reptilian eyes, fixed open in death, glared at the door to the room.

* * *

They had encountered no resistance. Bodies littered the landscape surrounding the stronghold. Some were stacked neatly in piles by unseen, unknown hands. Others lay where they had fallen. There was no tell-tale signs of battle, no struggle. Many of the bodies still had their undrawn weapons with them.

Except for the buzzing of insects feasting on decapitated heads, whose bodies were missing, no other sound had come from the fortress. The corpses that had been examined showed no indication as to the cause of their deaths. Foreboding hung in the cooling air like a malevolent spirit.

As the Special Ops Force searched the long stone corridors of the keep, the soft clicking of their rapier like toe-claws and the whisper of scales rubbing, echoed off the walls in a morbid cadence, casting an eerie pall over the soldiers. The dead were everywhere. Again, some were laid out in stacks five and six deep, yards wide and some lay where they had died.

From inside his Has-Mat covering, a young corporal groaned. At the other two bunkers, the bodies had been removed before they had arrived, though by whom was an unknown. Here, the sight of so much death was overwhelming. A one word question repeated itself over and over in his mind ... “Why?”. These frontier garrisons were here to keep the peace between combative neighbors ... nothing more. Peacekeepers and defenders of the law ... under attack ... “Why?”

A huge stone door turned silently on it’s axis with the slight touch of the Captain’s hand. For a second, his head turned to the side, his shoulders slumping, at the sight within the banquet hall. The head glaring down at him from atop the fountain belonged to his nest mate ... his brother ... the Governor General of all the outlaying territories.

Bodies of those who had graced the elegant dining table, along with food preparers and wait staff, were stacked neatly along the side of the room ... all, that is except for the decapitated body of the Captain’s brother. There was no food on the table, no flowers ... though the huge vases that would have held them, were there. Not a scrap ... a crumb ... nothing to stand as evidence that a meal had been in progress.

“Captain,” a voice called from the doorway to the kitchen, “you’re not going to believe this.” Swiftly the Captain crossed the room to peer into the room. It was completely devoid of food stuffs. The trash cans had been up-ended across the floor, picked clean of peels, rinds and any other discarded food. Refrigerator and freezer doors stood gaping open ... completely empty.

A low whistle brought the Captain back to the banquet hall. Two of his soldiers flanked a window, pointing out to the distant field. A huge creature, with a large bulbous head, two spindly legs and four stick-like arms, had just yanked the head off a corpse, tossing it away. Then it turned the body upside down in the air and was drinking the blood that flowed from the severed neck.

“Chindi!” Those demons that looked upon everything as a food source! In fascinated horror, the Captain watched as the devil started eating the body, clothes and all. Grabbing a weapon from one of the soldiers, he raised it to his shoulder, aimed and fired. With a satisfied snarl, he watched the chest of the Chindi explode.

Almost instantly, from every direction, waves of horrifically bright light bombarded the rooms of the fortress. Slowly, all those who had seen the light sank to the floor, their electrical brain circuitry disrupted. They were dead before their bodies had completed their downward fall. Once again, all was silent.

To Be Continued....

Introduction
Jitu’s Shaitani

Close to the border between the United African States of Ethiopia and Kenya, a meteor crashed into the side of an escarpment, two thousand one hundred and ninety-five feet above a valley. The impact occurred shortly after two in the afternoon and was registered on seismographs as far away as northern Sudan and southern Tanzania, as five point five.

Within hours, scientific crews arrived on the scene to survey the damage. Unfortunately, the area the meteor hit was a highly unstable, inhospitable area. The valley below was riddled with fissures, bubbling mudpots and hissing fumaroles... vents or openings in the earth’s crust. It was the fumaroles that were the cause of greatest concern. Issuing great quantities of steam, hydrogen sulfide... a flammable, poisonous gas that smelled like rotten eggs... and other gasses. A cloud of gas blanketed the ground so thickly that only instruments could see through it to take measurements. This caldron prevented access from below.

The fault scarp left after the debris avalanche was a formidable sight. From above, the scientists noted that the detachment plane extended well over a quarter mile into the plateau and several miles in either direction. The meteor was buried under tons of earth, rock and ancient lava. At its base, the talus, or slope made by fallen and disintegrated materials fanned out over a mile into the valley in all directions. Harmonic tremors shook the ground.

Unmanned satellites orbiting above the earth showed that over ninety miles away, in another valley, an identical, sympathetic, landslide had occurred at the same time. The Eastern Rift Valley shuddered along its entire length before settling down. The major consensus was that it would cost billions to excavate and retrieve the remnants, if any, that remained of the meteor. Therefore, it wasn’t worth the money, time or efforts of the country. Technical papers and photographs were placed in a big folder and filed away. Several months later the event had faded from memory.

* * *

Seeping from a pore in the face of the escarpment, a drop of silver-white, mercuric like substance formed. It grew until its own weight caused it to fall to the talus below. Another drop formed, fell and coalesced with the first. Over and over this process continued, ceasing only when the rare breeze brought moisture from steam vents, or blew the heat away, so that dew could form on the surface. Then the gelatinous mass collecting below would harden until all water vapors had dissipated. Two weeks passed before the seepage finally stopped. Below, what appeared to be a giant lava ball shook and rolled down the slope. Over three meters, approximately ten feet, in diameter, it came to rest over a solfatara, a type of fumarole that emitted sulfurous gas.

Several days passed before the ball moved again, looking much like a balloon filled with water rolling along the ground. Down the valley it flowed over the debris of earthquakes and lava flows. A week found it in another valley. This one had a large lake in the middle. The ball stayed well away from the shoreline, preferring the open grassland. It smelled food. Halting its journey, it solidified and waited.

A cooling air fell into the valley as the sun sank behind the western ridges. Hippopotamuses, who had spent the hot daytime hours wallowing in the lake, emerged to feed on the lush vegetation. At first they were a little disturbed by the massive boulder that had suddenly appeared on the edge of their grazing turf, but after a while, they ignored it. By the time the last drops of water had evaporated from their thick skin, they were eating peacefully.

The ball shuddered slightly and from within it, three bluish-white bubbles formed. In quick succession they were expelled at an incredible velocity. Three hippos were hit, surrounded by a blinding flash of light. They fell to the ground in a heap, their flesh desiccated and smoking. The ball rolled over each in turn, leaving only a charred area on the ground to show where the hippos had been. Its appetite sated, the ball once again hardened and rested... until the following night.

* * *

Three months after the meteor impact, Jitu congratulated his ancestors for their foresight in sinking the ground stabilizers. There had been no structural damage to any of the homes built into the face of the escarpment on either side of the valley. The geothermal power plant hadn’t even caused a flicker.

With his son sitting on his shoulders, he had gone to check on the mechanism that created the mirage of a valley, over ninety miles away, over his valley. He could have used the QTM, or Quantum Translocater Module, on his belt, but he wanted to spend time with the boy. “Besides”, he told himself, “I’m happier out here than I am at home.”

It was after sundown when they returned to the village. After a bath in the hot springs and a dinner eaten in silence, Jitu put his son to bed. “I’ll be back in this many days,” he told the lad, holding up seven fingers. “Be good for your mother, practice your lessons and remember that you are the man of the house while I’m gone.”

The trip to Nairobi, the state capitol of Kenya, would only take a couple nanoseconds. The time at the National Assay Office could take days. Gold, taken from the mines across the valley, supplied the small community with enough currency to purchase any and all necessities. But, that meant that someone had to go stand in line, file the necessary documentation and wait for the final tally. That task fell on Jitu as the leader of his people.

He was looking forward to this part of his responsibilities. A whole week soaking in the sights and sounds of the city ... of visiting nightclubs and being fawned over by beautiful women. A week of being away from the valley, his people and most of all... his wife. Too excited to sleep, he had left the house. Going up to the promontory, he had waited, lost in his own thoughts, for the darkest part of the night. He thought about not returning to the valley, though he knew that he couldn’t do that while his son still needed his mother. “Someday”, he whispered to the night breeze.

For five generations now, his people had lived here in isolation. Almost a totally self-sustained community, their needs from the outside world were few. They had lost all hope that someday the technology of this planet would equal that of their planet, allowing them to go home. Though the humans had advanced technologically, their political and social advancement hadn’t kept up. So, the net result was that most of the advancement came in the form of weapons of destruction.

From the earliest days of childhood, the need for absolute secrecy was drilled into every member of the small populace. To be seen outside the valley would attract unwanted attention, so no one ever went beyond the mirage that cloaked the valley, except Jitu when he went to exchange the gold for currency. A couple hours before dawn, he left.

* * *

Depleting one valley of its wildlife, the ball moved on into the next ... and the next. Many of the valleys were barren landscapes of recent volcanic activity. After several futile excursions into these wastelands, the ball learned to wait at the entrance of a valley for a breeze to bring the chemical signature of living creatures. It had been days since its last meal.

At the base of a particularly large gorge, its senses told it what it could not see. The ball rolled into the steep walled canyon, through a shimmering wall and entered a lush valley filled with an abundance of different life forms. An elephant browsing on an acacia tree was struck in the head with a bubble of blue-white light. It fell, totally dehydrated, and the ball rolled over it. It’s appetite sated, exhaustion from its long trip set in. The ball hardened in place.

Three days passed. A leopard, looking for a place to rest, curled up next to the ball. As it lay down, the ball shuddered and the dried remains of the leopard was absorbed into the gelatinous mass before it had a chance to rise to its feet. Stars were sparkling in the clear night sky when the ball started moving again. After feeding several more times on the unwary denizens, the ball solidified and rested.

* * *

To Be Continued....

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