The Light of Creation -- First Half

The Light Of Creation Prologue: In 1965 Jesse Alexander was 15 years old. He lived with his folks in a suburb Just a few miles south of Seattle called Burien. It was actually not that bad a house, even though the rental on it was low. The fact that it was only a few hundred meters West of the Northern approach path to Seattle-Tacoma International air port accounted for that. In those days the 727's and the DC-8's and DC-9's that made their final approach to the runway were truly noisy. Conversations had to stop if you were outside. Living inside was only slightly better. His dad, John, was a consummate restless spirit when it came to work. Even though he had an FAA certification to do airframe and engine construction, as well as maintenance, he could never stay at Boeing or a commercial air line company for very long. He liked selling, however, and he liked being his own boss even better. Because he was already deeply involved with aviation it was only natural that he would gravitate to selling the bits and pieces that made the machines stay in the air. If you didn't have any capital, though, the only way to work your way into any inventory was to haunt Boeing Surplus. Boeing Surplus used to be an institution for a lot of people from the mid fifties on. It eventually became a commercial operation open to the public, and a new kind of institution, but in the early heydays, it was an auction affair that took place in a nondescript little building near the big cafeteria across from Boeing Field. Every kind of thing imaginable to not only aviation, but to industry in general, was sold there in small, medium and large lots. The old man could look at lot, see the one thing that would more than pay for a given bid price, and bid on it. That one item would be sold, a few bucks would be made, and the rest had to packed away somewhere. Initially that was the garage, and liberal areas of any basement, but scores of arguments with mom had put an end to that. So, for as long as Jesse can remember, they had to live on the cheap, not only because selling used aviation and industrial hardware can be a long and difficult process, but because the old man had to pay rent on an ever increasing accumulation of things that might never sell. For the last several years it's been a quite large basement beneath a transmission repair shop. It was big because the shop was built on a side of hill and required a substantial support structure to hold it up level with the road it fronted. As a result Jesse grew up with his hands on every kind of nut, bolt, wire, fitting, pipe, switch, control panel, pump, electronics, wing piece, fuselage piece, engine piece, or motor American industry ever had reason to make. Because it was all odd bits of this and that, finding someone who could make use of it was a real chore. For Jesse and his friends it was simply a matter imagining a coaster car, and then finding the axle rods and wheel bearings to make it real. Or his brother and him dreaming up their own rockets and finding the chemicals for the gun powder, as well as something tubular to affix a roughly pointed nose cone too. Or him and his brother suddenly fixating on a spook house, with buzzers, weird lights, and a couch vibrating, industrial shaking piston, which they would find eventually as well. Even if an odd book on Boolean Logic put a wild hair up his butt for a digital adder, he would find the parts to create to create it out of electrical relays and control panel lights.

His folks, of course, should have never got married. Talk about opposites. His dad was Mr. make the best of things. Born and raised in the harsh practicalities of the Great Depression. As far as he was concerned, the only good thing you could ever really expect out of life was a cold indifference. There were causes and effects that were always going to be bigger than you. The only thing for it was to find a grind stone you could keep your nose too. Maybe, if you were lucky, you could keep your head above water. Mom, on the other hand, was a resonant chamber of everything that sparkled in the emerging American Dream Machine. Barely educated, but brilliant in her own way. Passionate and yearning, but left with little to fill her save for what passed as the magical in Hollywood. The gleam of the better life. The thrill of wild romance. It didn't help that they were both very good looking when they met during WW II. Not to mention the fact that back then, if you were both really good looking and you had the hots for each other, you usually got married to avoid feeling guilty about fucking your brains out. The funny part (as in the universe having a big laugh at your expense) was that they both completed each other in one respect, but drove each other up the wall in another. It turned into a war dance of love and hate that neither one could understand, much less rise above. And so there was hardly ever any peace, despite the few objects of a normal life dad did manage to grind out. Even the odd empty luxury he stumbled upon once and a while only served to maker her angrier, and more mad (as in institutionalized eventually). Jesse, of course, had to escape them both. It wasn't just because they were both always fighting, mind you. Cruel and toxic though these could be. It was also because they were so far out there in their extremes. The old man's spiritless acceptance of the harsh facts of life, and the the old lady's ever loosening grip of anything solid. As such there was a constant need to get away from what passed as their ordinary reality. And as this was also the age still echoing “Duck and Cover,” where fiction could barely keep up with science, or the paranoia of so many things to be afraid of in the world; the national imagination becoming like his mother, Jesse Alexander had to get away. In a very real sense he has had an imagination grown into and built upon him from a very early age indeed. By this time It was easily bigger than Seattle, or the Puget Sound Region. And whether he had been touched by simple necessity, or by something a great deal larger, he could play with virtually anything and be completely enveloped and lost in it. A carton of cigarettes became square battle tanks to slide along the carpet. Bakelite plastic electrical insulator blocks became his Legos. An old B-29 Bomber inner tube would be a raft for voyages through the insides of Giants, and worlds big enough to to throw them into. Christmas trees, and their ornaments, were magical living spaces in a tree world. His plastic ship models were play areas that he put himself on, and about which he could walk within his mind. And pictures. Pictures were the openings to whole scenarios played out within his head. Jesse is outside now, bundled tightly in the Sears catalog coat that was getting small last Christmas. The jets going over every few minutes helps drown out the bitter voices inside. Mom is drunk and cursing the old man for being a failure. He yells back that he's doing the best he can. On the picnic table before him are several magazines. There's a Look showing places that were never just what was depicted to him. They were just the entry way to adventures to be had. And then there was a Popular Science that had fantastic gadgets and vistas to take in. They would open up stories all his own. An Aviation Week & Space technology magazine

is there as well. This was a very specialized periodical that was a showcase for high tech all through the cold war days. Every kind of new jet or rocket or futuristic weapon the Pentagon ever dreamed of was featured in that magazine. He always imagined being able to live on the fighter bases or in the big NASA control centers; thinking with a kids logic that the people there would know he could take care of himself, and wouldn't fool with anything important. And that he would get to fly the cool hardware and talk to the cool people who worked around them. He sighs after a while of this and looks up at the sky. It was clear and cold. Despite the surrounding urban light pollution, he can see quite a few stars. Never being one to voice much out loud, he is surprised at the sudden need to voice a frustration to the cosmos in general. “How come I can't go into pictures? There's so much that's in them. So many better places than here. I would go into them and never stop jumping from one to the next. If you had any sense at all you'd let people do that you know. I bet there's lots of people who'd want to even more than me. Sure would be good to see more than just what you can see here. There's gotta be a whole lot more to it than just working, wishing you had more money and stuff. Always fighting no matter what you have...” People send thoughts and concerns out all the time of course. Utter words out loud as a prayer or even a simple observation. A lot of folks think there is an actual being who might be listening. Maybe they're right. But does anybody ever stop to consider that the cosmos itself might be stirred by their words? Maybe it doesn't hear as a being might, but that doesn't mean that words can't still resonate with it some how. And who's to say that, even for a universe of cold cause and effect like ours, that a little magic might leak in from time to time, even if it is very unlikely. And if magic were to leak in, and it found just the right place to collect in, what might happen next? It's all so unimaginably improbable of course, nobody gives it much mind. Still. You have to wonder if perhaps the really imaginative ones, the ones who were touched somehow, shouldn't be a great deal more cautious.

Scene 1. Jesse is in bed asleep. He lives in a very old, two bedroom rental house that has seen better days. It is a house in a poor neighborhood. Though Jesse is here there is another part of him that is some place else. It is seen as dream, but everything the other part of him is in is real. This other self is walking up from a rocky beach, just coming to an expanse of deep green wild grass, clumpy and variant of height. A short distance away is a rustic house like no other. The air here is cleaner than anything any human has ever breathed in nearly as long as there have been humans. All of the sights, the smells, the slight sting of salt air blowing

across his face are more vibrant and alive then anything he has ever experienced before. As he walks, there grows the impression of the most powerful feminine presence he has ever felt. It, or she, seems to be somewhere about; close and distant at the same time. The need to fall into this essence becomes overpowering. It is intoxicating, wanting to surrender to it completely, but in that surrender also is it terrifying. It, or she, will consume him. He will be enveloped and remade. Is that mocking laughter he hears or tantalizing joy? She seems to be dancing around, just outside of his peripheral vision. He wants to go to the house to see who lives there but it is obvious that the presence will not permit it; at least not yet. He turns to look back at the ocean that is rolling just slightly with the wind. There are only small waves coming ashore to make a light, almost brilliant, sound against wet rocks. The stones all seem to be polished and bestowed of wondrous kinds of minerals in crystal patterns that pull at the eyes. Turning still he sees the in the distance beyond the house a series of prominent granite peaks. The first two are smaller than the last. All are on a spine of massive uplift. There is something near the top of the last peak that appears to be an illusion. The light of sunrise is somehow streaming through a kind of grated hole below the top. This light is emphasized or shamed, he can't be sure which, by something within the grating. And then the feminine wraps around his mind with a velvet thought. “Soon my champion. Soon you will be mine and I will take you into me. In freeing me I will free you of yourself. It will be glorious and you won't even want to fight it.” The velvet thickens and clings. It envelops and pulls him in, even as it pulls who he is out. The panic roils up from within but the velvet smothers it, just as it smothers him. The last of who he is wants to scream but can't. Just scream and you will awake out of here. Just scream. Jesse's alarm goes off at that instant. His head comes up gasping for air. His heart is pounding and his body is covered in sweat. The panic and grogginess of sleep hold him paralyzed for a few more seconds. Only then do his eyes focus on the faded sandstone colored wall of his bedroom. “Jesus,” he thinks. “Get a grip. It was only another dream.” His head falls back on the pillow and he tries to collect himself. “God I hate that dream.” The weight he feels holding him down is still there. He sighs and rises to his elbows. Bonkers, the big male orange tabby, who has coiled himself between Jesse's legs stretches and gives him a sleepy look. Doodles, the smaller male black and white who idolizes Bonkers is snuggled in close to his left side. He has a paw over his face but his eyes are peaking out. And finally there is Whimsy, the one female who isn't intimidated by any of the males in the house. She's a silver and black calico. Close on his right, she's fully awake and giving him a stern and condescending look. “The hour man. Just look at the hour. And still I am waiting for my adoration. Unacceptable. Just completely unacceptable,” the face seemed to say.

He reaches out and scratches her chin. Followed by a gentle rub around the ears. “Good morning sweetheart. Been waiting for your lovins have you?” Her eyes go have closed with appreciation, though the demeanor stills holds some reproach. Bonkers has turned over and is now looking at him upside down; his standard cute routine. Still effective though. “Hey buddy. I hope you slept better than I did.” He got a chin scratch and a belly rub. His purr box revved right up and he starts batting playfully at Jesse's hand. Subtle restraint was not one of Bonker's strong points By this time Doodles has come over to be closer to Bonkers. He waits patiently until Bonkers licks his head a little before biting him lightly. They do their morning wrestle then. Whimsy turns away from the spectacle with practiced scorn. Jesse pulls himself all the way up to a sitting position. He rubs his eyes and yawns. The clock says he got seven hours of sleep but he feels none of it. The war between just staying in bed and getting up is won by the latter. Only because trying to sleep again scares him more than the boredom of the impending day. He throws back the covers and climbs out. The cold hardwood floors creak as he walks out of the bedroom and down the hall to the bathroom. Sitting expectantly outside the entry to the kitchen are Munchkers, Scooter and their mom Sarah. Bonkers and Doodles go tearing down the hall just as he turns at the bathroom entrance. The morning chase me, chase you was on. After peeing, and still in just his boxers, he goes into the kitchen. Sarah and her two offspring follow him in. Capone, the gray and white whatever is already waiting there. “Let me guess. You're all starving again.” He looks at the big bowl where the dry food is kept. There are only a few crumbs left. “Though I don't know where you guys put it all.” He bends down to pet Capone. “Are you sneaking food out for a girl friend buddy?” The cat just exposes an ample belly in response. “It must be all of that exercise you get walking back and forth between here and the cat box.” He gives the belly a good rub and pats his back at the base of the tail. “Ooh. That's a good spot isn't Capone. Damn. I wish we could can that.” Sarah is meowing in protest now.

“God, I'm sorry your most jealousness.” He turns to rub behind her ears too. The kids mosey up tentatively behind her. She'd only brought them in a couple of months ago and they were still apprehensive about the funny looking giant. He made nice sounds and dispensed food though. Perhaps there was hope. “Hey you two. Are we going to break the ice today?” He has squatted down to not look so intimidating and then held a finger to be sniffed. They turn their heads in the way of kittens and shuffle nervously near mom's rear, but are still too fearful to come any closer. “Well, that's OK. No rush. We'll get to know each other.” He stands and goes to the cupboard under the counter by the fridge. It is filled with small pop top cans. He grabs three and goes over to the counter left of the sink. The noise of popping can lids off is all it takes to get Bonkers and Doodles back through the kitchen kitty door. They both meow plaintively, as if they haven't eaten in weeks. “Alright, alright. Keep your paws on. I'm getting it.” The three paper plates from yesterday are stacked on the floor by the water bowl. He inspects them. They still hadn't gotten too scuzzy. The cat food is chopped in the can with a spoon before being ladled out. All three plates are filled and then placed in three different corners of the room. There were eating cliques you see and their boundaries had to be respected. Bonkers and Doodles at one plate. Capone and the kids at another. Sarah and Whimsy at the third, though it was clear Whimsy only just tolerated mom. A street slut as far as she was concerned, though certainly better than the alternatives. Sarah always came to the plate with great circumspection and respect for the Queen of the house though. That alone was worth some consideration. With the brood thus mollified he headed for the shower. The power bill is one of the few things he can crimp on so the water is only a little less than actually cold. Not only does this make cleaning himself go quickly, it also serves to get his blood pumping at least something more than the flow of molasses. The part he hates second to the most in the morning comes next. He has to shave. He would like to let this go but he can't. It was a decently handsome face once. Clear eyed. High forehead and proportionate nose. Reasonably square jaw. And most importantly worth. You looked at that former face and you knew the person behind it felt his worth and place. All of that had been pissed away, though. Shaving forced him to look at what was left. The face in the mirror for the last ten years was always the same sad, nearly defeated fifty something, that always showed up there. He didn't know this man. Didn't want to know this man, but there he was. Too pathetic to garner any sympathy and yet too fearfully driven to let go. He had to willfully numb himself and focus on the mundane steps of the task to get through it. Shake can well. Spray out just enough. Cover evenly. Stroke slowly and carefully. Don't miss a spot. Rinse. Dry.

The first ordeal of the day was over. It was a new week though. Plenty to look forward to.

Scene 2. Jesse lives in the Northwest part of Spokane now. A section of houses built in the thirties and forties. He works for a company called “Help Desks Northwest.” The office was three miles the other side of Gonzaga University. He is riding now on a rusted, but still serviceable 10 speed bike. The back pack he always carries makes this somewhat awkward. Spokane is a town where a lot of people either bike or walk. Few of them wear the trendy garb of those who don't have to peddle though. Jesse is late for work again. It's not so much that his morning ritual takes too long. It is more that pushing against the loathing he has for starting each work day slows him down. He will be chewed out again he is certain. He is resigned this. And even though he should be peddling harder than ever to lessen the amount of lateness, the familiar rhythms of his regular route let the automatic pilot kick in. He peddles through the restored old houses of the college neighborhood. Most of them large and ringed with prominent porches. The streets are nicer here. The side walks shaded with regular large chestnut trees and oaks. The yards cared for and green. It is always too easy to forget where he really is. On automatic then, he is once more some place else. This time it is a memory that consumes him. He flashes back to the last argument he would ever have with Carmen. They lived for a time in downtown Seattle when things were still good. A top floor condo in Bell Town that overlooked Elliot Bay. The view of the harbor and the Olympic mountains in the distance was always stunning. It was always expensive too and only the combined income of two college trained professionals could afford it. The first year after his obsession took hold found them forced to move out. Their second, and last place, was a fairly nice house in West Seattle. A fifties tract house that had been refurbished several times. It had a nice yard too. He is standing outside on the sidewalk. The bus stop is only a block away. He can see her silhouette in the living room shades, pacing. The paper grocery bag in his hand is full of magazines. His stomach churns knowing what is waiting for him. The temp agency programming job he's held for the last two weeks is history now. The little shopping excursion that was supposed to be no more than a lunch break got out of hand again. They had warned him. He had promised. Just as he had promised Carmen. He loathes himself now. He moves forward towards the front door only because he wants it to be over for her. When he opens the door it is all he can do to look her in the eyes. The freckled face is puffy from crying, but it is also resolute in it's anger and betrayal.

“Why did I know you'd still come home? I was going to just leave a note you know. But I just couldn't get it out of my head. The stupid bastard will still come home, and he'll still try to say how sorry he is. And I had to wonder at that. How could that possibly be? How could anybody be that clueless?” The tears are flowing again as her face contorts with the anger. “But fuck me if you aren't standing there. Why do you bother Jesse? Why do you bother with promises you know you won't keep? Are you seriously going to try and lay that crap on me again?” She is screaming now. “No Carmen. Not anymore. You stayed longer than you should have. I know why. But it's time for you to move on. I can't stop it and there isn't any point in trying to explain why any more. I wish you could believe that I did try. And when I made those promises I wanted them to stick. I just couldn't do it.” She rushes up and starts slamming her fists into his chest and face. The blows stagger him back as she screams. “God damn you. God damn you Jesse. All those years we had. All of the things we were going to do. How could you piss it away like it was nothing. And for what? Damn it. For What?” She grabs the sack and tears into the magazines inside. “Fucking God Damn pictures for Christ sakes. God damn lousy pictures.” Torn pages are flung all over in a frenzy of rage. She rips and rips, but there are so many. It peters out to a final wail of grief. She moves unsteadily over to the dinning room and picks up a coat. It is thrown on and she rushes out the still open door. An engine roars to life. Wheels screech and then the roar of the engine recedes down the street. He is crying now himself. He has trouble breathing through a bloody nose and phlegm. He loved Carmen with every atom of his being. She completed him. He was emptied as she walked out that door. Even with all of that he is compelled to pick up the torn magazines and place them carefully on the coffee table. The ones still in the bag are added to the stack. The imperative is in his head. The velvet thought he cannot ignore is warning him. “You aren't prepared. You aren't prepared you pathetic excuse of a life. Keep looking. You'll find me if you keep looking hard enough.” With his nose draining on his dress shirt he begins to look for the picture that pulls at him. Every magazine he buys has at least one. It pulls and he strains for it to take him. Always it is a razor's edge. A boundary come upon so thin and flimsy, and yet not quite ready to yield. He screams in agony at the resistance. Claws at that final membrane with his mind but it won't yield. And no matter how tortured his mind becomes, the velvet insistence never relents.

The bike still rolls and the feet keep pumping. Obstacles are avoided. Turns made. Fortunately for the automatic pilot, though, the bridge over the Spokane river always brings him back to where he needs to start paying attention again. The office park that houses his workplace is only two blocks further on. As he rolls up to the bicycle stand out front he is greeted by his immediate superior, Mr. Manson, the floor manager. And he does indeed get chewed out again. As odd as it may seem, this scenario has been a lucky break for Jesse. Not this particular chewing out mind you, but that Mr. Manson seems to relish the whole process of being able to brow beat and humiliate subordinates. Jesse suspects it gives him purpose in a job that any monkey could do. Because Jesse is now his favorite, and actually only, whipping boy, there is little chance in the immediate future for another sacking. Little though it pays, it has become a reliable source of income. The first in a great, long series of short term shit jobs. Jesse can only conclude the universe loves irony.

Scene 3. Help Desks Northwest is a “Help Desk” contractor. They use the cheapest possible labor to provide phone support to any company with a product that might require it. Everyone who works here has a cubicle just big enough to allow for a chair and desk space for a small monitor and key board. Software provided by the customer company provides a fixed approach to every call. Even monkeys would have more sense, not to mention ambition, then to do this kind of work. The customer's customer makes a call and then begins the dance of frustration for both caller and employee as the on screen prompts dictate the tempo of what has become known as live support. Each stupid question has to be asked and answered before the next step can be taken. And as each call is recorded, deviance from the true path of enlightenment is not tolerated. For this not even a chewing out will suffice. Banishment. Excommunication, and the walk of shame to Mr. Manson's boss, Miss Brodie's office. The large woman who seems to relish the process of sacking someone as much as Manson loved to humiliate. Other than the endless productivity reports, and office expenses summary, she sends to the home office, there is little else required of her. Jesse suspects, however, that there is also some satisfaction found in pushing shit onto Mr. Manson. This in the form of the ever constant demand for more calls per hour. It is always apparent that Mr. Manson hates going into his bosses office; even if its to witness a sacking. Jesse looks at the screen. The company name currently being serviced has been filled in on a box near the top. The product they sell in a box next to that. Below is the first question. “Thank you for calling the Photo Phenomenon help line. Is this an installation problem or a usage problem?” “The damn thing doesn't work. That's the god damn problem.”

“Yes sir. I understand, but I need to know if this is an installation problem or a usage problem first.” “Do I sound like an idiot? Of course it's installed.” “Thank you sir. Did your problem occur with an error message?” “Ah shit. I think there was a message. The stupid thing has lots of messages. I can't keep them all straight.” “Can you tell me what the message stated?” “I just told you I don't remember. The stupid machine locked up afterwords.” “Can I have you reboot and start the program again sir. Once its started will you please retrace the steps you took to produce the error message?” “Shit. Just a second. Alright. Rebooting. Lets see. Just a bit more. OK. Logged back in. That's it. Photo Phenomenon is back up. So... I think I... Ah shit, that's not it. Ah... No... Back here? No... Well fuck. I brought this picture up and I clicked something. I thought it was the re-size, but that's not it. Fuck it. Stupid piece of crap.” There is a click and the screen returns back to square one. The button at the bottom which says “Take Next Call” is clicked once more and the boxes to be filled in are back. Seldom are the callers in anything but a very bad mood. If it is a software product, seldom do they know more than the fact that a mouse clicks things and the keyboard types characters. The complaint is always that it doesn't work and rarely are there details supplied which might actually help solve the problem. And of course, the software, or product, in question usually is just cheap crap. As the calls pile up, so does the collected bile of people frustrated by everything in their lives, let alone a product that malfunctions just at a critical point in another really bad day. The anger and bitterness of this one more thing that has let them down comes spewing forth in a never ending stream of personal attacks and crude sarcasm. And never ever can the “Help Associate” answer back with anything other than what has been scripted. And never with anything other than the even, always reasonable, tone of professional helpfulness. Going numb was the only way Jesse got through it. The half hour at lunch time is the only oasis in this desert of despair. Jesse is sitting with the closest thing he has to a friend at work; Rodger Dinkins. They are in the break room of the office, at the back corner table that wobbles irritatingly. They use this table as no one else can stand it. Rodger is something of a friend because he too is screwed up, but too stubborn to give in completely. His obsession, though, is more easily carried about within the large flask he always has at hand. Jesse uses his 30 minutes to go through one of the soft binders he has in his back pack. As Roger gives his coffee a liberal dose of “Gimme a Break” as he like to call it (this has been

etched on the flask in fact), Jesse is being pulled into the picture of a massive array of magnets. “Dude. I wish I could fathom where you go with them binders.“ He sips his coffee. Makes a great display of swirling it around in his mouth before he shakes his head and pours a bit more from the flask. His line of thought is wavering a bit but he still has it. “Not even the Gimme gets me even close.” He sits back now easing into a lovely buzz filled consideration of Jesse's blank expression. “Got to be the damnedest thing. What the hell is that picture there anyway.” He cocks his head a little as he tries to reverse the point of view in his mind. “Are those magnets? What the hell are magnets going to say to a person? “ He sips more coffee ignoring Jesse for a moment. “Now if you was to have some women.... Say in the state of being seriously under dressed... I can see how that might speak to a man.” He eyes Jesse suspiciously again. “Magnets though... Jeessusss... And what was it yesterday?“ He sips more coffee thoughtfully. “Some kind of Sci Fi scenery wasn't it?” The noise of some one kicking the vending machine and cursing breaks the quiet in the break room. It serves to bring Jesse back from some place, blinking. Rodger shakes his head. “Earth to Jesse. Come in Jesse.” Jesse's focus returns and it's clear he's finally back. He sighs. When he finally looks at Rodger it is with a sadness that makes the flask come out again on reflex. “Dude. Are you sure you don't want a little Gimme? You sure do look like you could use a good pull.” He holds it up, genuine concern on his old looking, young man's face. Jesse sighs again and says “No thanks. It wouldn't help. Believe me, I've tried.” Jesse looks away, giving the vent session being directed at the vending machine only token attention. “How much time left Rodg?” Rodger shakes his head one more time. Puts the flask away. Takes another sip of coffee and then says. “About 20 minutes... Give or take.” Jesse goes back to turning pages in the binder. A series of scientific equipment, installations, and paraphernalia pass by under Jesse's fingers. Rodger raises an eyebrow. Frowns and then takes his own good pull at the coffee. “They aren't pictures to me Rodg,” Jesse says, as the pages continue to be turned. They're...” He pauses a moment. They're more like a kind of transparent door. It's the thinnest kind of separation you could ever imagine. And on the other side of that thinness is something completely somewhere else. A place that's maybe even more real than this break room.” Rodger lets out a “Huff” of amusement at this comment. “Dude. There ain't nothing real about this hell hole. Except maybe the fact that we're stuck in it.” He finishes the coffee, gets up and pours another. After sitting down and making sure the second cup is properly fortified he gives Jesse another look before saying: “You make it sound like this is someplace you

could actually go to... Like maybe just jumping into one them pictures.” Jesse stops turning pages, considers Rodger's statement for a moment and then replies: “Why not?” Rodger slaps his knee and laughs. “Yeah, right. And pigs will fly out of my butt carrying arm loads of gold bricks.” Jesse closes the soft binder, sits back and regards Rodger thoughtfully. “I'm probably going to regret telling you this, but in exact scientific terms, nothing is actually impossible.“ Rodger laughs again and says “OK. OK. So let's get started on finding the picture with the sugar mommas in it. What's holding you back dude?” Jesse waves him down and replies: “Look, nothing is impossible, but the catch is that some things are very much more, or less, likely than others. That's called probability in case you're interested.” Rodger is still chuckling. His sips more coffee and then offers: “Hey, odds I know about. Trust me. I get cold cocked by the odds all the frigging time. Always blows me away.” “Does it now.” “Absa-frigging-lutely. Take the Monster Ball lottery. They say the odds is something like a few hundred million to one to win. I mean Jesus! A few hundred million to one. How can anybody win when every poor sap, me included by the way, has that kind of chance. But fuck me if some ass hole some where doesn't end up winning. How the fuck can that be? I try pulling against even 10 to 1 at the track and I get creamed every time. You tell me Mr. College educated. How can that be?” Rodger sits back to sip more coffee with the air of man who has just established an unshakable paradox. Jesse shakes his head smiling. “You aren't taking into account the number of tickets sold. Each ticket is like one roll of the dice in the odds you just stated. You get, say, ten million, maybe even 50 million, people buying an average of at least 4 or 5 tickets each and you are quickly talking about one hell of a lot of rolls of the dice. Even when something is highly improbable, if you get a process that can push through a lot of tries, the improbable can happen.” Rodger is chuckling again. “OK. So Dude. Here's all you got to do. You get yourself 50 million people to try and jump into a picture and then, just at the right moment, you make your move. Should work. Right?” Jesse is still smiling. “Very funny. Just think on this though. Maybe I don't have to get 50 million here to do anything of the sort. Maybe all it might take is just one. Just me, here.” Rodger is now eying Jesse very skeptically. “What are you talking about dude? Just you? Here? Like there could be somebody else in a some place else? Give me a break.” Upon which he pulls the flask out again without any sense of the pun.

“Look Rodg. Physicists are saying now that there's a larger kind of Cosmos. That the shit pile of Galaxies that makes up our Universe is only one in what might be an infinite number of other parallel Universes. A multi-verse if you will.” Rodger is nodding now. “Yeah yeah yeah. Every Sci-Fi show worth it's salt has had an episode doing that trip. Big deal. That's all a bunch of coke and pot spinning fairy tales out of Hollywood.” “No. I'm telling you there's a mathematical basis for believing that the multi-verse is legit. And get this. If it was legit. And if only even one guy in every millionth universe was trying to reach across boundaries like me, or whatever frigging improbable thing you want to talk about, that would still be an infinite number of tries. Even something infinitely improbable might succumb to that lottery.” Rodger is shaking his head again. “Well Dude... Even if what you say were true, it's always going to the ass hole on the other side of nobody knows the fuck where who will win. It ain't going to be you. Anymore than it would be me.” He sighs into his coffee. “Sometimes I think when I hear them announce winners to lotteries that it's all just a pack of lies and make believe. Nobody ever wins that shit. They just make it all up so that dumb shits like us will keep on buying in on a pipe dream. Somebody's making money you can bet your ass, but it sure as hell ain't no winner.” Rodger is morose now and says no more. Jesse is at loss at what to come back with at this point. He gives up on trying and instead puts the soft binder back with the others in his backpack. Jesse has to wonder if he really believes what he has just told Rodger. After all of these years of being tormented by what the pictures do to him, he had to admit it was more likely just the thrashing about of a drowning man trying desperately to find something to cling to. The notion had only occurred to him a short time after arriving in Spokane. But it had quickly become a comforting, if briefly focused on, fantasy for him. It didn't matter any more in any case. Not much did. Time was running out for him. Something was going to give and he had a very good idea it wouldn't be the universe. Rodger looks resolutely at the clock on the wall above the coffee machine. It is an act that is painful to watch because you know it's telling him he has lost again. He rises at this point with the effort of an old man, though he can't be more than twenty nine. He rinses his cup out and begins to take on the deadened stare of someone steeling himself for an ordeal that's become commonplace. It won't be long for Rodger either. He will let go finally of the last pretenses he clings to of being a real, feeling human being. He will die inside and whatever is left will continue on out of simple habit.

Scene 4. The ride home is probably the best part of Jesse's day. He can actually enjoy a bit of the ride. He can notice the level of the river as he crosses back over. Smell the water drenched greenery along the banks. He can catch a glimpse of a pretty girl in a convertible at a stop sign, even if he can't return the questioning smile. He had no answers to those questions any

more. Coming up Madison street there were a number of stops to look forward to. A drug store dumpster that not only had magazines, but other slightly damaged goods you could still make use of. And if it was the right time of the week he could snag the guy in the periodicals delivery van behind Safeway. The mags that didn't sell for the previous week were collected for recycle but Jesse could get them for five cents a pound above what that paid. There was also the day old bakery to check out. If you put it in the freezer as soon as you got it, it would stay fairly tasty. And then, after crossing Maple and Ash, and getting closer to his place, was the small park. Weather permitting, he would always stop there and have one of the day old treats collected. Maybe even a cup of bad coffee from the gas mart on the corner just before. He would sit there and watch the tired looking single moms tend to the kid or two they were stuck with. The kids would play, scream, or just sit on the grass numbly while the way too young moms would stare off into the distance, trying to understand choices they couldn't even begin to comprehend. He would watch all of this and pretend that one of these lonely woman and he would strike up a friendship. They would find common ground in their predicaments and poor choices. Solace in shared weaknesses and frailties. The children wound bond and find direction. An island of semi-normalcy would be created in a sea of misfortune. They were lovely fantasies that lasted only long enough for the woman to take notice of him. Whereupon they would glare with mistrust and suspicion, grabbing their children up and dragging them off crying. He rolls up to the gate of his beat up chain link fence, opens it and pushes the bike through. He cannot leave the bike out, even locked, so he pushes it up the narrow concrete steps of his small porch. The front door is unlocked and the bike pushed into the living room. He has very little in the way of furniture. A couple of old folding lawn chairs and a coffee table rolled home on a wagon that were both bought at a garage sale for 10 bucks. Two end tables from another garage sale that didn't even come close to matching. A few bulbs hanging from ceiling cords that he managed to get shades on and that was it. As such, there was plenty of room to lean the bike against the wall to the left of the door. Best of all, though, was the fact that the only family he still had were all arrayed around the room, waiting for him to come in, love and feed them. “Hey everybody. You guys didn't kill each other today I hope.” The queen of the house was first in line of course. “Hello sweetheart. How is Whimsy girl this afternoon. Did you get all of your kitty stuff done today?” He goes to his knees to pet her and get closer. Her regalness does not like to be picked up but she will some times allow him a little nuzzle on her side. Her purr is soft and very lady like.

Moving on all fours he shifts over to the first of the folding chairs. Bonkers front third is hanging off of it, legs splayed out and head drooping down. He got depressed when Jesse was gone for very long. “Hey. What kind of face is this? A big handsome lady killer like you?” Fortunately, he expected nuzzling. Jesse could rub his face in the side and belly fir all he wanted. Bonkers loved it. The motor boat would rev up and he would roll back into the chair on his back, ready for the wrestling phase. Jesse's right hand is constantly crisscrossed with red scratches from Bonker's enthusiastic embrace of this, only sort of rough, jostling about. As far as Bonkers was concerned, this could continue for hours. As soon as he livened up, however, Doodles would be looking up expectantly. Jesse gives him a pet too but the little guy can take it or leave that. His hero is where it's at and Bonkers finally gives in to him. An orange paw suddenly reaches out and gives the small black head a couple of easy taps and flashes back in. Doodles is in kitty ecstasy as he goes into the quick crouch and pounce on the orange tail dangling at the back of the chair. Jesse can move off again as the two begin to play chair whack a mole. Capone is in the second chair. Sara's offspring are cuddled up beside him and looking as content as two kittens can. Jesse can never quite decide if Capone has a strong maternal side, or if it's just a love of extra bodies keeping his chubby body warm. He has to approach slow so he doesn't frighten the little ones. “Sleeping with children. Have you no shame buddy.” He rubs Capone's head while he begins to talk to the kittens. “You two sure look like you found a sugar daddy. That's got to be the most comfortable overstuffed belly bed in the world.” He lets his hand slide over to them every so slowly. The protection of all of that gray and white fur has them off their guard. He is finally able to rub both tiny chins.” “See. This whole petting thing ain't so bad. We'll go slow though. Give you a chance to get used to the idea.” He gets up slowly and moves off through the dining room to the kitchen. No Sarah. A quick check of the bedroom reveals the same results. He sighs. She was refusing to nurse anymore. She might be out and about, looking for a new suitor. Because she had recently given birth, and had been nursing, the vet wouldn't spay her yet. It had been a moot point in any case, though. He didn't have the money even if they would have. It's all Jesse can do any more to feed the cats he has, and the outside regulars. He checks now out the kitchen door window and sees 3 of the ones that have been around enough to be given names. Grumpers, Midnight and Smusha. There are two more that only started showing up a few weeks ago. Regulars and newbies disappear for days on end

occasionally. It is always cause for worry on his part. This neighborhood is really tough on everything living; with the four footed variety especially vulnerable. It breaks his heart every time one disappears for good. A fate the live ins aren't immune to either. He opens the kitchen door, goes to the can cupboard and gets four cans out this time. The paper plates from this morning are finally too far gone so four new ones are retrieved from the top shelf of the dishes cupboard. The inside guys have already stopped whatever else they've been doing and are taking up their usual spots on the kitchen floor. The cans are opened, the food chopped and dispensed, and the first three plates distributed. For the outside guys he has to get a big scoop of dry food as well. The bowl for that on the back porch is always empty by now and so he fills it. Sets the fourth plate down and picks up the big water bowl. That was always empty too in the Summer. All of the outside guys are still weary but the regulars have at least gotten to the point where they'll let him pet them. Grumpers of course growls at this, just as she growls while she's eating. Midnight, who was probably beaten by someone will flinch if Jesse moves too quickly, looks uncertain at him as he approaches slowly. But with a few kind words and just a light, smooth stroking on his back, always arches his back up appreciatively. Smusha was the only one who had no qualms whatsoever about getting a good dose of Lovins. After the water bowl is filled, and an egg sandwich is made for him, he can unload the day's take on the living room coffee table. Magazines of various sorts are usually great for some quite stunning or fascinating photos. Photo journalism is always a good source. Going through them was the night's entertainment. He has gotten better of late at not letting it torment him so much. The pull and the promise are all still there, but the desperate frustration seems to have wained. It feels to him like some part of his mind may actually be coming to terms with the fact that it will never happen. He begins to cut out the odd picture here and there that has the pull. Not for the first time does he worry. “If the impossibility is finally sinking in, will the pull they have go as well?” he thinks. “And if that disappears will all I'll be left with be a pile of useless photos? Fifteen years and the only woman I ever loved for a stupid pile of photos?” He looks at the scissors in his right hand. Could he sharpen them enough to cut his wrists? It would be more fitting than a razor blade. And he cannot think of how to end a life using just a few stacks of flimsy photo paper, short of setting a fire of course. An option rejected outright as he would not risk the damage that might do to the other houses and their occupants. The only other option that has occurred to him so far was getting a very large clear plastic bag. A bag big enough to lay a bunch of pictures in and then climb in himself. If he did this on his bed all he'd have to do afterwords would be to tie the opening off tight from the inside. Maybe with duct tape, or zip ties? There is an appeal to this approach. Take a sleeping pill. Get in and just have it end without any more fuss. He didn't deserve any final act of great grief or sorrow. Any kind of passionate theatrics. It should all stop via something as mundanely boring as his entire life had been. The fantasy carries him off for a while until he notices out the living room window that Mrs. Dover has passed out on the sidewalk across the street again.

Jesse sighs and gets up to walk over to the window. He has learned that no one in the neighborhood will lift a finger to help her. To his great consternation he has also learned that this is only partly due to any lack of compassion. Mrs Dover it seems has not bathed since the Kennedy administration. You could lose your lunch picking this woman up. He does not want to go through this again. It's not only her, but the state of her house that is also appalling. She lost her husband several years ago. Her husband of at least 20 some years and she cannot let go of his memory. Jesse figures that she is trying to commit suicide in the only way she knows how; slow though it may be. And he can certainly appreciate that. But this woman is different than him. She lived her life. Loved her man. How can there be no intervention? No city agency to intercede on her behalf. No children to ever show up for visits or to check up on her, though he knows from pictures on her walls that the Dover's had at least 3. She will lay out there, probably in her own piss before the night is out, and anybody who might pass by will cross the street to avoid taking too much notice of her. And then the real internal struggle begins. Is he really helping her if she wants to die? Who's he to judge what's best for someone who's obviously made a choice on whether life was worth living anymore. The weight of this responsibility falling upon his shoulders threatens to overwhelm him. And what can be done for her ultimately anyway? But in the end he knows there is nothing for it. He cannot ignore her, lying there, about as vulnerable as it is possible for a human to be. He sighs with a resignation born of great practice and goes out to collect her once again. The sun is setting and evening cool is in the air. Jesse takes one in final pull of late day fragrance in before breathing only through his mouth. She is wearing a stained house dress and slippers. Fortunately, the poor woman didn't weigh much over 90 pounds. Even though he has gone to a rail thin kind of decrepit, he could pick her up easily in both arms and hold her out before him as he walked. Lucky as well that her place was only one door up the sidewalk. It occurs to him as he carries her that maybe the reason no agency has intervened is that no one has bothered to act on her behalf. Some one needs to call the right city department up and start yelling. Repeatedly if necessary. Frustrated city functionaries, working under frustrating city budgets will act upon only what they are forced to act upon. Knowing that it will eat up his entire day off, he resolves to do so anyway. Someone who had the guts to live a life fully deserved no less. Trying to find out where he might buy a very big plastic bag could wait for another weekend.

Scene 5. He is sleeping again. His other self is back on the Island. He knows it's an island now because the it or she has somehow made it clear that this is her island. He is closer to the stone house than he has ever been before. Calling it rustic sure didn't do it justice. You would have to be reluctant to call it a farm house either as there is no evidence of farming anywhere in the large field of wild grass the house sits in. There is also no path worn into the grass near the front porch.

The front of the house has low trim of shrubbery; something akin to Rhododendrons only the leaves are narrower, and more plentiful. They are also a shade of light green that seems almost pastel, giving the impression of something very soft and gentle. There are windows on either side of what is obviously a massive front door. The windows have no panes and have somehow been fused quite flush to the stone of the walls they sit in. The glass sheets have to be at least two meters long and 1 meter high. They are also the most sparkling clear windows he has ever seen. Because of the dark inside the house, they form perfect mirrors. He can see himself standing in their frame; diminished only slightly by the 10 or 15 meter distance of his position. He is surprised to note that his wearing unfamiliar clothing. It is a smooth off white material. And even though he can make out no further details, he is certain the fiber is from a local plant. He has not been aware of his clothing in any of the dreams till that moment, and now that he is, he looks down at it; holding out one arm and then another. Followed by his right leg. The garments are simplicity itself. Pants that have no pockets or seam lines, tied at the waist by a twine of the same material. A thick pull over shirt with a vest like affair of similarly thick cloth are on his torso; the vest having been dyed to an almost black color. These too have no pockets. And, as he rubs his hands over first a sleeve, and then a pant leg, he finds the texture to be a very soft cotton like fiber. Quite agreeable inside and out. He can smell something of the grass, the rich humus underneath, and on the wind a lovely mix of wood, ferns and mulch. It is a heady thing, so much more intense and real than any place he has ever been before. How can this be? He wants to go exploring but it's still not time yet, though something is changing. It is... coming? Or he is coming? Or the time is coming? This realization makes his heart jump with a sudden surge of adrenalin. He is frightened. Some kind of event is coming and there will be nothing he can do about it. Frightening though this is, however, he cannot help but question if he would prevent it even if he could. Great cosmic gears are bringing vast and disparate points into alignments not known for many millennium. It is a bridge of forces over scales of being he cannot hope to comprehend; but the feeling of it. “My God!” he thinks... “The feeling of it.” Words begin to evaporate then, as does his own sense of who his is until... The alarm wakes him up. He is sweating profusely. He is also shaking. “What the Fuck,” he whispers to Whimsy. Her ears and tail are twitching and she has gone into the cat crouch of danger; eyes wide as if beholding a demon. Breathing hard now it takes a moment to get his wits about him again. Whimsy jumps off the bed with a growl and bolts through the bedroom door. None of the other Kitty Wake Up Committee are in evidence. As he tries to get his legs to work, he wonders if this is what the onset of Schizophrenia feels like. “I am truly coming apart,” he says in a frightened whisper. He starts rubbing his forehead with his right hand and has to fight down a moment of panic; not to mention bile for his stomach wants to wretch with a vengeance. That seems to be the incentive needed to get

his legs working for he is up in flash and barely make it to the toilet in time.

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

There is lightening. He is sitting at his desk at work and he can hear it. Even through the sound proofing of the office does it make itself felt. One thing that Spokane is good for is Lightening of righteous proportions. And could the timing be any better? If one is to go mad, it should be to grand theatrics. This would at least be better accompaniment than his mother had received. His monitor has been flashing calls available since he sat down 20 minutes earlier, but he cannot begin to pay it any head. Visions of becoming a mumbling, filthy homeless person have snared his mind, and won't let go. He can see himself laying in his own piss Mrs Dover like and it is terrifying. His calls per hour are heading into the same toilet he left his stomach in earlier, but it hardly matters. It is not until the very low sound of crying coming across the cubical partition, that he can begin to fully acknowledge his surroundings. He looks about and realizes that the coworker on his right, Janet Reardon, is weeping. Emotion on the call floor, like anything even remotely human, is strictly forbidden. This is another of the blasphemies that will get you that trip to sackdom via Miss Brodie's office. He is immediately worried for her. He pushes himself around the partition, still sitting on his wheeled, swivel chair. The soft tones of nearly 50 people talking at once are in his awareness now. If Janet wasn't careful her weeping would be noticed. A significant number of the cadre here had become lifers; numbed drones who had had their humanity leached out of them over the years. They got what little satisfaction the work allowed by acquiring brownie points in return for being stoolies; ratting on whatever trivial transgression that might come to their notice. Janet's transgression would be a plum. “Janet?” he whispered softy. “Are you OK?” He wheeled up as close as he thought proper for a woman he barely knew, wishing he could put his arm around her just the same. It really sounded bad. She turned round to face him and it was clear she'd been crying for some time now. She blinked at him through very red and swollen eyes. It took some moments before her brain had finally registered on the query. She threw the wasted tissue already in her hand into the waste basket and quickly reached back for another. The flow from nose and eyes was staunched a bit and she managed to whisper back: “It's Jesse isn't it?” “Yeah,” he replied softy, casting cautious glances back over both shoulders. “Listen... What's going on?” Janet was a fairly pretty young women; probably not more than 2 or 3 years out of High

school, though he was fairly certain she had never graduated; hardly anybody here had. She wore a simple yellow print dress, only slightly faded; something you saw a lot of at the Goodwill store. She was slight in height and frame; hardly weighing more than 110 pounds soaking wet. “Bobby was laid off last month, and he hasn't found anything new. I just found out yesterday that we can't get food stamps because I got this job. The rent's due and these shits wouldn't advance you more than a kick in the butt.” She went through the current tissue and grabbed another. “And I've been so worried I just couldn't help it...” She was shaking again from sobs only partially muffled. Christ he thought. This is not the time for him to be run through this litany. The TV news was bad enough, taking relish it seemed in the endless renditions of the same story. Now he was looking it in the face. He sighed. “Jesus Janet. I'm sorry...” She clearly isn't registering his words as she continues: “I.. I just had to make a suggestion this morning and he blew up...” More staunching... “You'd think working at the Burger Barn was an insult to manhood in general for fucks sake.” Another cycling of the tissues. “We've got a baby to feed. Why is he letting his pride get so messed up over doing what's needed?” Jesse is rubbing one temple as he looks around again. Mr. Manson wasn't in sight at the moment, but he was always prowling. “Look, this is a shit sandwich.. No body's going to argue that. But listen... You've got to pull it together here. Manson catches wind of you off the phone, much less in this state, and you can kiss even this P.O.S. job goodbye.” “What the fuck does it matter. Can't make it with or without this it... And he was so mad... I'm so afraid he's going to run off and leave us...” This was impossible. The whole economy was impossible. Another recession. Too much debt. Too many industries no longer competitive. And so much need. Everything and everybody flying apart. His stomach was churning again. He could feel the Lightening rumble through the fabric of the partition wall on his one arm, and the partitions were beginning to make him feel claustrophobic. What the fuck was he supposed to do? “Christ... You got folks you can turn to don't ya?” It came out as lame as he felt now, and he regretted it the moment it left his lips. She stopped with the tissues for a moment and just looked at him. Even with the puffy eyes and tears it was plain she had the face of someone beholding a complete and utter idiot. “They threw me out when I got pregnant. And my sister thinks I'm trailer trash...” She shook her head slowly, that once sweet face taking on decades with the pain that was sinking

in. “What the fuck do you care for anyway... Stupid whack job and your stupid pictures. Just leave me alone... Leave me the fuck alone.” This last fusillade hits Jesse like a kick to the nuts. It's soul crushing and sickening at the same time. The inadequacy and impotence he feels make his head spin. This young woman could have been his daughter, if he'd been able to stay married. His feeble attempts at comforting are exposed as a lame testament to a lame life. He is in a daze now as he gets to his feet. The swivel chair is knocked over in the process. Some one is cursing but he cannot process this properly. The rage contorted face of Mr. Manson comes so sickeningly close that it triggers a reflex of fists that seem to belong to a stranger. There is then a flash of Rodger's worried face for a moment, the familiar feel of his backpack thrust into his hands, as he is simultaneously pushed, and staggers on his own as quickly as wobbly legs will carry him. The roaring in his ears blocks out all sound. The heads popping up from behind cubical walls are just more sensory static as he eventually nears the door with the green writing over it. He can't read it but he doesn't need to. His legs know that there are stairs beyond that door and they go down and away from this place. That is enough for the moment. And all he can think of as he pushes through the door is how much he wishes he could care; wishes he could care and act on that caring; wishes everyone could care and act on that simple basis. Care and be connected to more than the killing drudgery of either making, moving, or dealing with the shit of corporate life.

********************* Jesse is on his bike. It is raining and he is soaked. He doesn't remember the details of getting to his bike and starting out. A brilliant flash, followed by a deafening explosion, has jolted him back to full awareness. They seem to be coming every minute or so now. The air is heavy with ozone and wet pavement smell. There is also a tingle somewhere near his skin from ions that have also saturated the air. He is charged from within and from without. A panic has gripped him; a panic he can now take note of with the automatic pilot shut down. Aching calf muscles make him realize that he has been pumping peddles at a frantic rate. The roar he thought was an after effect of the lightening is in fact blood through his head, and his own harsh breathing. Demons are chasing him, and there is no doubt they are plural. His own demons are familiar enough; the wasted life, the hint of a connection, of a larger meaning, never found. These alone would be enough to prod an escape; the desperate need to get away from everything, most especially himself. But there is more dogging his heals now. Something impossibly larger. The heavens are shaking with a great deal more than the lightening can suggest. That part of him that has always felt a link with pictures is being overloaded. It is pain, and pleasure, in a dimension of his being never dreamed of before. The cosmic gears have clicked a notch. The impossible expanse separating the vast and disparate points has been bridged. The alignments not known for a millennium or more are in place. He is but one. One of the one in every millionth reality trying to jump across an infinite improbability. And even though it is a leap of forces over scales of being he cannot hope to comprehend, the

compound universe is a thing of infinite complexity. It's true wonder is just beginning to unfold for him. He is the ass hole on the far side of who the fuck knows where who has won the lottery.

Scene 6. Jesse is lying face down. He blinks his eyes trying to bring focus to them and his brain. Every muscle and joint are in pain. There is bright light but it is non specific at the moment. Something against his face feels very familiar. There is also a familiar smell; something he remembers as a kid. Summers after dad has mowed the lawn. Laying on the grass and just being a kid, full of the day and the daydreams his fancy might float upon. He groans from the pain. Grass and the light of summer are an anchoring point he can begin to build a focus on. There is grass under him now and it is pungent with chlorophyll and the loam that supports it. His back side is warm from the sunlight that has dried his clothes there. The grass side of things is still quite wet. Groaning more still he gets a hand positioned for leverage and rolls himself over. The light is a painful glare until he can get a hand up to provide some shade. It must be near noon because the sun is near vertical in the sky. He has to look away, towards the nearest horizon to see the deep blue of a clear day. “Shit,” is all he can say, as this is all the effort he can manage at the moment. He keeps a hand over his eyes as he takes stock of his body. Nothing seemed to be broken. The muscle pain was even beginning to subside. “What the fuck just happened?” he asks himself. The panic wants to start again but he pushes it down. “Easy. Just take it easy. One thing at a time.” He is able to sit up then. There is still disorientation but he can at least now take in his surroundings, and he is dumb founded. “No frigging way. No frigging way.” He has sat up facing the stone house from his dreams. “OK... OK. Just take this one step at a time.” He gets to his knees, pauses to let things settle a little, and then manages to finally stand. He has to force himself to just breathe and let it all sink in. “This is real... I am standing before a stone house. It is real and I am not crazy.” A slight breeze from the south tousles his hair and it reminds him of the ocean. He turns and takes in a vast expanse of beautiful blue water. It stretches out to the far horizon without interruption. “Fuck me...” “OK. So it's exactly like the dream. Get a grip. What ever has happened, there's got to be an explanation. Hopefully it will be one that makes sense.” He turns again and sees his back pack a few feet from where he is standing. It immediately occurs to him that the pictures might have been damaged by the rain, but a quick

inspection finds them safe and dry. “There. Can't be all bad. I got my pictures and I'm not being rained on anymore.” He looks around a bit more. “Don't see any obvious monsters either. Maybe things are looking up...” He sighs, more than a little worry on his face. “Well... Keep a good thought anyway.” At that point he hefts the pack to a shoulder and makes his way towards the house. The farm house is really three structures that form a modest sized grassy compound. The main house on the South end, and the three smaller buildings side by side on the North end. Walls on both the West and East sides seal the enclosure. Covered walkways come out from the font of the back buildings, into the grassy area enclosed, and then work a channeled L shape up the West wall. These are covered by the same half centimeter thick, half meter square labs of smooth cut volcanic rock, laid out like over lapping tiles, that covers the roofs all of the buildings. All of the structure's walls are volcanic rock as well, cut like large black cinder blocks, and showing very little seam. The polished black sheen of these gives stark contrast to the deep green of the wild grass field the buildings lie within. The first structure is the main house which consists of one large bedroom and fireplace on the second floor, and a living room kitchen on the main floor. The latter is dominated by the rock fireplace stove. A monstrosity that takes up nearly half the entire 10 meter long North wall. It started next to the small back door in the West corner and extended 5 meters over towards the East wall. The Stairs to the upper level abutted the East wall, starting just after counter and cupboards that were to the left of the sink facing South. Starting a meter back from the landing were 3 meter square shelve sections, with the sections after the first stacked double. These went back North to the wood bin in the corner. The entry faced south with a center mounted door of old pine like wood more than a centimeter thick, inlaid on the outside with thin rock plates carved with scenes of wind swept rocky coastline. The half meter thick rock block walls have windows on every wall but the fireplace. Two large ones on either side of the entry and smaller ones on the East and West sides. They are all of the finest cut crystal a centimeter thick, fused to the rock brick, and flush on both sides of the walls, forming the most elegant of double pane containment ever imagined. More of the pine like wood, seared hard, dark, and lacquered form more book shelves; low beneath the front left window, and tall under the the smaller side windows. A table of the same material takes up the space to the left of the entry. A hand pump water spout comes out of counter top on the right side, draining into a smooth rock box that forms the sink. The drawers and cupboards that surround this all are also of the same hard lacquered wood. The only other furniture in the main floor is an ornate, grand rocking chair; carved with filigree and flourish into more of the brazier darkened wood. The three structures in the back are much smaller affairs; one meant for the drying of some kind of plant, an out house, and the last for smoking meat and fish. Scene 7. The last light of the day is streaming through the window of the west wall. The shadows on the book cases around him are growing deeper as the light begins to fade. Jesse is

seated on the rocking chair, his soft binders are stacked neatly on one corner of the table before him. He is drumming his fingers on the table looking with great consternation at the fire that is now burning brightly in the central hearth. He is shaking his head as he drums. A stack of drift wood has been piled up in the large bin under the stairs. After exploring the house, and the field immediately around it, it was clear that the warmth of the day would not last into the night. He figured it was about 4 or 5 pm by then and the air was already considerably cooler. He spent the next hour or so gathering wood. It was an easy chore to complete as the rocky shoreline had built up an ample supply. What was confounding him now was the fire itself. After having gathered the wood, and some kindling brush as well, piling it all quite ready for ignition, it had finally dawned on him that he had no matches, no lighter, and no clue as to what to do next. The thought of rubbing two sticks together wasn't very appealing, and he wouldn't recognize flint even if it walked up and bit him in the ass. It was after he took up his present position that the most incredible... OK. Strike that. Maybe the second most incredible thing today had happened. The fire had simply ignited itself. He turned from the fire and pushed a hand through his tangled salt and pepper hair. He considered the book shelves around him. One of the books was opened before him. It was written in English. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “You are just going to have to get used to the unusual. This is not a normal place. Deal with it. One cannot be transported from Spokane to a deserted Island in the blink of a lightening flash and have great expectations for normal.” Another deep breath. It was also disconcerting to see how easy talking to one's self could become. He knew he needed to take inventory of his situation. However Twilight Zone this place might be, the thought of the Burger Barn that Bobby wouldn't work at made his stomach grumble. He tried to remember when he last ate. Trying to figure out time conversions threatened to put his mind in knots. This was jet lag of another order entirely. “OK. First thing tomorrow you look for food. There's got to be berries or something on an Island this size. Maybe you can find line of some kind...” He stopped at that. The chances of finding a hook seeming quite remote. “OK. OK. Maybe you make yourself a spear like Tom Hanks did. Where there's an ocean there's fish. Got to be...” He rubbed the stubble on his chin for a moment. He had to keep thinking of positive steps he could take. The impossibility of his situation would overwhelm him if he didn't. He suddenly realized how tired he was. The events of this.. Could he call it a day? How could you go from an early evening downpour to a bright summer afternoon in another and simply call it a day? It made him weary just to think about it. If the bed upstairs hadn't already been singing his song, it certainly was now. He got up wearily and made his way to the stairs that went up over the wood bin. Tomorrow would take care of tomorrow. Right now

he needed to get some sleep so he could at least be ready for it. Scene 8. Jesse is in a deep sleep. He is dreaming a true dream; possibly the first true dream in a long time. He is standing in the grass behind the back buildings. It is night but there is considerable light about. One moon is low to the horizon and another is just coming up. They are much bigger than earth's moon. They are high in albedo and reflect a good deal of light. The rest of the night sky is a dazzling spray of very bright stars. It is a thousand times more than any night sky could possibly be on Earth. Where ever this planet is, it is not out on some distant spiral arm. This one is at the center of things, and the astonishing tapestry of light above him is no mistaking it. Someone is with him, a short distance off. She is humming softly. The sound is beautiful. It is what the sirens would do to first tease a sailor. In the deeply shadowed, silvery light, he can see a feminine form leaning against a tree at the field's edge. There are no details to discern save for a very shapely figure in some kind of long, form fitting cloth. “Hello?” He says somewhat tentatively. The humming stops and the woman speaks. He can hear her as if she were standing right next to him. “You are where you were meant to be now Jesse Alexander. Do not fear. What needs to be clear will become so. Just be patient.” Her voice is the essence of comfort. It is also suggestive of something else. It is something she has tamped down, but he cannot put a finger on it. It does not matter. The comforting tones have done what they were intended to do. She begins humming again but it fades with the rest of the dream as he slips into a completely untroubled sleep. Scene 9. Finding food has turned out to be a great deal more challenging than anticipated. Making a spear to impale fish with is all well and good assuming one has the knife required to carve a suitable sharp point with. There are vague memories of survival shows seen back when he still had cable; episodes where the right kind of rock could be fashioned into a reasonable cutting tool. His stomach though, and his disposition, were in no mood for that kind of patient effort, even if he could sort out the right rock and technique. And it was a lot more than just the worry of his situation that was grating at his nerves. Something else was buzzing through his mind. Some kind of restless insistence was making it impossible to sit still. There is nothing for it but to get out and keep moving. Jesse is making his way through the woods north of the house. As the woods thicken, the land begins to rise. It is a series of moderate slopes as abutments to plateaus. And at each plateau it is a shorter walk to the next slope. There is a great deal of ferns, mosses, and low growth broad leaf shrubs. The trees are mostly a variation of a pine like evergreen, and a smooth barked deciduous; the latter having a large, barbed seed pod. These suggest something that might not only be edible on the inside, but who's husk is the fiber source for the clothing Jesse has seen before. It is obvious that this is a climate used to a fair amount of rain. It also seems to have a

rich mix of insects and rodent like small animals. Jesse has seen only one type of winged animal though. And even at a distance it is intimidating. It is a cross between an eagle and an owl; maybe more than a little Griffin thrown in to boot. And the wing span on the thing would make a condor envious. As it looks like it could lift a small pony up with it's talons without ruffling a feather, he has decided to keep a very weary eye out for it. The only good thing on this score is that it seems to keep to the higher elevations most of the time. He discovered them only because he could hear them from quite a distance. The cry they made was a very chilling lower frequency screech. It had the definite ring of something high on the food chain, and well aware of it. He has also had the opportunity to see them at something less than long range because he came to an inlet on the west middle of the island earlier this morning. Fishing at first light is evidently breakfast. It does not seem possible that a creature so large can fly. The more he keeps walking, though, the more distant his mind seems to get from any ability to even remember what danger is, let alone connect it to specific contingencies. As he climbs higher, the vegetation thins. The deciduous trees disappear, the pine less numerous, and the volcanic underpinnings of the island more apparent. Another tree variant appears here. It is a gnarled derivative of a cedar. Much shorter and very tough looking. He has been climbing for several hours now. The only food found as been a yellow pink berry growing along a stream bank. These are as big as the biggest black berries he has known from his youth in the Puget Sound area. They have a thick inner juice that is almost syrupy, and taste of a mix of maple, molasses and musk. They are filling (for the moment at least) and do not make him sick. He has finally reached a point where there is not much vegetation at all. He cannot fathom why he has felt compelled to climb to the higher elevations. Trying to think about it only made the buzzing through is head get worse. There are no more plateaus now, just a rough jumble of weathered volcanic rock. One can only climb now, from out cropping to out cropping. He has ascended to the base of the first of the lower peaks that form a jagged spine through the middle of the Island. The view from here is spectacular. The Island is definitely in the midst of a large body of water. Nothing but a gently rolling blue is seen to all visible points of the horizon. There are times, when he looks out to the nearer distance, that he catches glimpses of a very large, dark form, barely cresting the water. It is difficult getting an accurate sense of scale at this vantage point, but it seems to have the size of a Super Ferry at least. Something like that would make a trip across Puget Sound a whole lot more interesting he thinks wryly, not realizing that he can make some light of this new impossibility because he has unconsciously accepted the winged horrors as simply inevitable. It is at this point that he makes his first significant new discovery. Midway up from the base of this first Peak is a perfectly carved walkway. It looks like a smooth stone side walk a meter and a half wide, and it goes in both directions around this Peak. And as he squints North at the next peak, at least a full kilometer away, he is certain that this path is continued. He can also now see that the hole seen in the highest peak in his last dream trip is quite real. It is something that has been carved straight through the mountain top; seemingly without any regard for the rock atop it. The smooth walkway leads to carved steps that climb the last bit of height to the hole. He can't be certain at this distance, but the hole gives the impression of

being something supported by immense round pillars. It is as if Zeus himself has sliced the top of the mountain off, put in a circular monument for Apollo, and put the mountain top back on that. He shoves himself up to the path and considers his options. The impossible monument in the distance is beyond tempting. It is late afternoon though and it is doubtful he could make it there before dark. Walking along the path in the dark does not offer much of an encouraging mental image. Perhaps he can explore a bit further and then turn back. The view from this path is truly breathtaking and just standing on it is... He frowns. It is a current but not electric. A flow of emotion that wants him to want to be swept away. Euphoric and empowering. It is beyond reason and he is ready to surrender to it but... The hairs on his neck, and the nerves just below trill with alert. It fires a counter to the impulse that has his legs ready to move. Not enough to reverse the impulse completely though. Enough only to freeze him between heartbeats in an impasse. There hangs on this impasse the knowledge that the next beat will be his last or salvation. There must be a choice and it is only an impression of the books in the Stone House that tips the balance. This sense comes very clear from behind. Rather than step forward he can only let himself fall back. This is also without reason. It is an act of faith born purely of a feeling. A feeling imbued within those books. Time expands to encompass large swaths of interval. As he falls within the crash of the next beat of his heart, a spread of talons larger than a Kodiak grizzly paw sweep past where his head would have been if the step had been taken. Just as the rock below the path tears at one arm and leg on impact, the sweat on his brow is dried almost instantly with the torrent of air that blows him into the rock face as much as his mass has tried to bring him down it. This thrust serves to spin him as he falls so that his free hand has a chance to grasp for purchase even as the air is slammed out of his chest. The pain explodes in perfect synchronization with the shriek that pounds his ears. An artillery round landing close could have done no worse. For an instant he cannot breathe. He cannot think through the ring in his ears and the burn going through his mind and body. Time comes back to its proper flow in the next instant, as does his ability to take back control. A very ragged breath gets sucked in. He cries out with the pain of it and everything else that's been damaged. He is clinging desperately, with every muscle shaking violently. If he doesn't force himself to move very quickly he could lock up in an even more agonizing cramp, or he could succumb to outright shock. Even as his vision begins to tunnel there is a place somewhere for words to form: “Move or Die. Make the good leg work. There were more than one of those winged horrors. You are still too close to the path.” And for some reason it is very clear that he cannot die here. It could not be tolerated. The pain did not matter. Find a purchase with your foot. Get another hold with the good hand. Ease yourself down. Find another purchase. Breathe into the pain. Grunt from the gut damn you. Get more blood to your head. You can do this.” It is in a delirium of pain that this litany then continues. Goading. Prodding. Cursing. There is no focus beyond the next hand hold, or foot fall. It continues for what seems like a life time. When the topography finally changes he hardly registers the fact, with the litany only altering. “Keep most of your weight on the good foot. Take another step. Breathe into the pain on the other foot,” and so on. This continues until he falls unconscious into what he

hopes is a rocking chair. Scene 10. In many ways waking up was harder than the ordeal of getting back. The wide spread muscle trauma had left hardly any part of his body that felt like being agitated. When he came too, not only was he nauseous, light headed, and hardly able to see clearly, he was ready to feint from the pain of even thinking about moving. It was clear, though, from the blood on the floor that he had been bleeding significantly. It seemed to have subsided for the moment, but moving again would undoubtedly change that. He would have to get the wounds bound up as best as possible and the only thing for that were the dried strips of the fiber made of the seed pods he has found in the drying room back of the house. Luckily he had already moved these into the kitchen the day before. He can see the pile by the sink now as he dreads the thought of the action required. It is as before though. He either moves or he dies. He knows this. In a place deeper than he can consciously touch. There is nothing for it. It takes three tries to finally get up. The first two resulted in his passing out. He has to conclude that this is partly because of the loss of blood. “You can't do this in a quick gut wrench,” he chides himself. “Whether it hurts more or not you have to take it slow. Start using your head for Christ sakes.” And with that the third try was the charm. It takes nearly an hour to rinse the wounds off and get them wrapped. Several times does he have to stop and just breathe as best he can through a near loss of consciousness. After he finishes he hobbles back to the rocking chair but he can't bring himself to sit yet. This is more than curious as he is hanging by a cat's whisker to the here and now. There is something. It is akin to the pull on the stone path that saved his life. He turns to face the immense array of books that adorns the one side of the house. He must have one now for reasons that could not be more vague. Somehow the book will help. The book will sooth. Ridiculous on the face of it, but still... He shrugs. “What the hell. Just get the damn book so you can sit down.” What is also curious, though he is too fatigued to even grasp this, is that there is no question at all as to which one it should be. It will be the first one obviously, but that he should know which this is was beside the point. He goes to one end of the array, on the side of the house opposite the stairs, picks the last volume on the top shelf and hobbles back to the rocking chair. He collapses and immediately passes out again. He is too far gone to even dream. ---------------------He was able to sleep for another four or five hours before waking again. It is bad but not nearly as extreme as the first time. He sits as comfortably as he can in the rocking chair. He has made a sling of sorts for his left arm out of more of the seed pod fiber. He has to move

very carefully for fear of opening either wound again. He has a the book he couldn't do without in his lap. On the first page is marked a black inked #1. The fire is burning again and, as he tries to ignore the cramps in his stomach, as well as the throbbing both injured limbs are producing, he begins to read. “My name is Jacob Benderman. I hail from the town of Northwood, in the eastern province of Curshington. All within the Free Born Alliance on the continent we call Abbotsfall. We are of a human reality and have progressed to the beginning of mechanical production and steam power. “If you are reading this then it is most likely that I have failed. The details of this failure are not important at this juncture. There is a great deal you must come to terms with before I will make much mention of that. I relate it now only for the need of you to know that you were chosen. You were chosen to be the next who should try. That I have failed will, the universe willing, be your aid to success. “The books you have found here are my history on Driftcarry Island. They are also the only thing I have to leave to posterity. Please, I beg of you. Read as many of them as you can. Read them and remember. For as much as I wish to aid, I would also hope not to be forgotten. It is a bit of vanity I hope you can forgive. “The seasons I have spent here have been both kind and hard. She whom you will come to know is both generous, demanding and harsh. It is the task of a God that she will require of you, yet you will remain nearly as mortal as you are now. And even before you can begin this task you must pass a series tests. The last of these tests is what I have most likely failed. But as I have already indicated, not important for these beginning days. “It is the hope of not being forgotten that helps lessen the loneliness and uncertainty that hovers over me as a constant cloud. What toils and troubles I have endured over this time are but inconvenience compared to that which is at risk in the grander scheme that is afoot. I have taken this on without reservations. It is only from the constituents of my dark cloud to which I am truly afflicted. I write these words with faith that it is a good soul who reads them. A soul who's friendship and compassion is silently comforting, and reassuring me, even as I write. It is little to be sure but it has to be enough, and I will strive to keep it so. “So. Good soul who's eyes are now taking these words in. Can we make a pact? You who are my brother now, or my sister. My kin by right of a selection more special than blood itself. I pledge to you that I will impart all of which I learn here. All these things as soon as she will allow. I will do this with all the issue and dispatch I am able if you would but pledge in return. Keep my memory alive. Keep what little I am able to provide you in your heart and soul. And perhaps, if it is possible for you. Say a prayer for me from time to time. Send the energy of your words out so that the universe might forgive what I have left for you to do.” Jesse has to stop at this point. This simple plea has touched him deeply. He has been on the verge of letting self pity overwhelm him; of feeling so sorry for himself, and his awful fate, that he was ready to start screaming at the unfairness of it all. And then to read this... He felt shame now... Judging by the number of books on the shelves, this man spent quite a few years here toiling under a task he knew he might fail. And yet he kept on. Hoping at the

very least to help the next poor sod to come along. And all he wanted in return was to be remembered. That and a few prayers that he might be forgiven. In that instant. In a way he can hardly comprehend he has made a connection to a dead man. Given that he is still alive, saved perhaps by something from these tombs, it shouldn't have been so surprising, but still. It is staggering both in its intensity, and its improbability. This person is real and he feels like he knows him intimately. As if he grew up with him. “Jesus Jacob... Why would the universe ever need to forgive you.” Jesse has to rub his eyes now. “Rest assured my friend. You have a deal. There is no way in hell I'm going to forget you. And universe? You listen the fuck up. If there's anyone who needs to be forgiven it's the sorry ass talking to you now. If you don't do right by Jacob's spirit I am going to want to know why. And by god, if I gain anything in what's to come. You better hope you see me coming. And from a long way off.” Scene 11. Jesse is dreaming again. He is standing on some part of the stone walkway near the house. The sun seems to be much hotter than normal. He is miserable within the relentless presence of the heat. He fears walking in fact because he is so dizzy from it. The throbbing in both limbs has, if anything, gotten worse. He is thirsty and can hardly breathe. Panic is rising and it takes great effort to hold it in check. “You have to do something dumb shit. Think. You've got to think a way around this.” It is then that a moment of shade envelops him. He is cooled in the same instant. “Jesse Alexander. “ Her voice does not eliminate the pain, but it does put it well into the background. “You have the means to reach beyond yourself.” “What?” He looks around, greatly confused. “What the hell does that mean?” “You have the means to reach beyond yourself. Your presence here is all the proof you should need. Make use of the portals you have collected. They are your special gift. All of what you lack is within your grasp.” The shade vanishes then. The heat and the pain return full force. This is infuriating. “God Damn it. What a second. What the hell are you talking about? I'm sick for Christ sakes. I need medicine. Not some stupid spirit speak.” He is weakening. He can feel the life in him melting out. There is panic but even that is dieing. He crumples to the walkway. The stone feels like a frying pan. “No... “ he is gasping. “You... You can't let go like this... Jesus please. Just... Just tell me what to do. Please...I... I can't think. Just tell me what to do.” Just as he feels the last melted bit of life seep out of him he wakes up. He is still in the

rocking chair. The fire has gone out and he is shivering uncontrollably. It is obvious that a fever has settled in with a vengeance. The area around the wound on his arm has gotten more red and swollen. There is also a red streak beginning to run up to the elbow. Sepsis is now inevitable without an antibiotic. “Fuck me,” he manages in a horse whisper. Then, in a horse shout he yells. “What the fuck am I supposed to do? Stupid bitch! Would it be so hard to just provide a little 'Tab A into slot B'?” He coughs harshly. He tries to huddle into himself against the shivers. A part of him was kinda hoping she would take offense to that and strike him down somehow. Apparently provoking her wasn't going to work either. “Alright dumb shit. You've got to think this through or you're toast. She told you something. It should be obvious.” Thinking was difficult now with both the pain and the fever to contend with. “I have the means to reach beyond myself... OK. My presence here is the proof. What does my presence here prove.?” He rolls his eyes. “Other than that the universe is truly screwed up.” He grimaces with the effort to think. “I was moved from one place to another. What does that prove. I didn't want to...” He stops himself short. “Alright... So maybe I did want to get out from where I was at. I couldn't have been the one to have made the move happen. Could I?” He thinks about this for a couple of minutes before the conversation with Rodger comes back to him. And then he remembers how overloaded the feeling that was his connection to pictures become just before the jump to here. His connection to pictures indeed. “What a frigging idiot. Shit. OK. I apologize for the bitch thing. It's the pictures. I get it now.” he reaches for the stack of soft binders still on the corner of the table. He starts to go through the categories. “Alright. So let's suppose these things are all I need.” A worried expression comes over his face. “And lets further suppose that I have a picture of an antibiotic... How ever impossible that might be.” He is more than worried now. He has exactly 15 binders. Each is approximately three centimeters thick. None of the categories are exactly screaming “search here.” As each binder contains something on the order of 4 or 5 hundred photos, the prospect of going through them all, one by one, is not filling him with great confidence. It occurs to him that he isn't going to accomplish anything shivering as he is. He eyes the wood box and then the stairs. “Get a blanket from the bed. Collecting more wood is not on this morning's agenda.” With that he begins the painful, slow effort to rise and then shuffle carefully up to the bedroom and back. Once back at the table he confronts his stack again. “So. What's it going to be?” Despite having napped he is still quite fatigued. And his

strength in general is fading fast. There is no way he can simply go from binder 1 to binder 15, one binder at a time. He is certain he will likely pass out before then. And then the one scene from the movie “Hitch Hikers Guide to The Universe” comes to him. This, of course being the British production. This is the scene towards the end where Dent and Ford Prefect decide the only way left for them to get the answer to everything is for Arthur to pull letters at random from a bag. Jesse closes his eyes and begins to run an index finger up and down the spines of the binders. As he does so he recites the following “Eenie meanie miney moe. Catch a booger by the nose. If the booger isn't dry, don't you eat it or you'll die. If the booger's big and green, you must chose you this last thing. “ On every syllable his finger moves to a new spine. His finger ends up on the fourth from the bottom. This binder has the title: “Misc. Scenes.” “Miscellaneous Scenes? What kind of category is that?” He sighs. “I am really and truly fucked.” He begins turning pages. Each photo has been rubber cemented at the corners to ordinary, hole punched, printer paper. Some pages have only one photo on a side, while others have as many as three or four. The “Misc. Scenes” category turns out to be a grab bag of just about anything. “Right then Miss... “ He looks around the room. “Miss whatever your name is. Getting back to where we were. Let's suppose I find what I need. How is this supposed to work?” He stops at a picture of a resort beach. It is obviously an expensive haunt of the rich and famous as one of the smiling woman in a very skimpy bikini is an actress he recognizes. As he looks at it he realizes that there is something very different going on now. It almost seems to shimmer and, as he moves his hand close to it, there is a vibration, the tactile quality of which makes his hand want to grasp out of reflex. His hand is moving involuntarily now. His eyes grow wide at the tingling and the pull he feels through the hand. At the moment his fingers are about to come in contact with the picture's surface, it's material becomes an electric liquid light. It is cold and hot and bright as a texture made manifest to his finger tips. And before his jaw can drop completely open, his fingers have entered into the slightly shifting plane of the image's surface. There is no resistance to it at all. His hand has disappeared into the photo. He can now feel the warmth of a bright sun on his skin. His gaze shifts back to the nearly naked actress. As this occurs he feels his hand being extended in some fashion. It is the feeling of reaching for something without exerting any physical effort. And in an instant he is touching the bare thigh of a beautiful woman. There is no movement detected, but it is clear that the thigh is warm and alive. The sudden mental image of touching a great deal more both shocks and arouses him. He pulls his hand out with a sudden “Jeeesus!” and can only sit there for a moment in wide eyed shock. “Holy crap... I mean holy crap... That's... That's really going to be the source of some

bad distraction.” He starts turning pages again, fairly rapidly. It is only towards the end of this binder that he comes to a picture of a very attractive young women, showing way more cleavage than would be nominally appropriate. It is an advert for erectile dysfunction of course. He can't remember if he kept it because of the girl, or in anticipation of needing the product. As it happens, the situation that is being suggested by the picture is of a concerned pharmacist making her best recommendation. The caption at the bottom reads in part: “Recommended by more understanding pharmacists than any other.” This would have brought a laugh in other circumstances, but all he notices now is that the woman is standing in front of several rows of shelves stacked with the controlled wares of a pharmacy. He does not have a magnifying glass and therefore cannot read individual labels. He looks around again. “So how much slack does this crazy shit give me anyway?” He looks at the picture again. “Do I have to be able to see what it is that I want?” It seems like a desperate long shot. He is barely able to think, much less have any hope for success. He looks at his hand then, remembering how it felt to put it in. A sudden crazy image comes to him. Would it be limited to only his hands? It was insane, but he was running out of options. Either it worked or it wouldn't really matter otherwise. He picked the binder up with both hands and carefully began to lower it down on his head, making sure he was centered on the picture as he did so. He had his head tilted up to keep sight of things. Just as the photo's paper was at his nose he closed his eyes and grimaced. The binder came down and his head was washed, within and without, by needles of light, cold, and hot electricity. There was also the briefest flash of weightlessness before things settled down to a mere bit of physical Schizophrenia. He opened his eyes. He was suddenly before the woman. The entire woman standing behind a counter. She was completely unresponsive. Just standing there as if ready to help the next customer. He twisted his head to either side and quickly determined that this was a reasonable distillation of every pharmacy he'd ever seen. There are numerous customers about but they too are frozen either mid stride or mid reach about the isles. It is when he looks down that he gets a shock. He is just a head and part of a neck floating at eye level, and just in front of, the lovely pharmacist. He has to shut his eyes and grit his teeth to keep from doing something really crazy with the binder that he can still feel in his hands. He takes several deep slow breaths, forcing himself to calm down. “Just think about it,” he goads himself. “It makes complete bizzarro land sense if you just think it through. You are not completely realized in what is obviously another reality. This is why it is not completely realized.... Get a grip asshole... Just get a grip and focus on what you need to do.” He opens his eyes again. He has regained some composure. He scans beyond the woman to the shelves of pharmaceuticals. There is still too much distance to read labels, not to mention the fact that he has no hands. He chews his lip for a few moments thinking. “Gotta get closer.... Gotta get closer... How does one move a floating head in bizzarro

land?“ He frowns now in consternation. What had he done to reach that way too enticing thigh? It hadn't seemed like anything done consciously. He had simply given in to a feeling already there. And what was that? And then he rolls his eyes. “Well duh horn dog! You wanted your hands in some one's pants. Just admit it and move on.... So how can we make use of that here.” He looks again at the white plastic, wholesale containers of drugs just a few steps away. “I want to be closer damn it.” Nothing happens. He decides to put more mental effort into the thought; concentrating on the mental image of moving forward. The woman is suddenly slightly closer. “That's it” he yells. He puts even more effort into it now, his body granting the blessing of a shot of adrenaline from the first success. It soon becomes clear that moving through a reality partially realized is self limiting by definition. He is expending a great amount of the special energy that allows the link in the first place to accomplish the movement. A new intuition has made its presence known spectacularly, revealing a great deal on what his limits entail. Use up your energy with a part of yourself some place else and... Well.. He didn't want to dwell long on that mental picture. His body in general wanted to quit. His stomach needed to puke, even if there wasn't anything in it. His head was reeling and his vision starting to tunnel. His limit was almost on him. He could read labels now, though just barely with his consciousness slipping. He scanned as fast as he could. So many medications. So many names he didn't recognize. He kept pushing himself. He had this thought of what he promised Jacob. And of the promises broken with Carmen. More labels not recognized. There is the sound of someone growling loudly with great effort. He is not aware of it. He also barely notices that the binder has come down further. It is enough past his shoulders that he is now a floating torso, with his arms straining out and shaking. There is a plastic bottle that seems to be familiar. It is just about within reach. The person who was growling previously is now screaming with one last painful tear of effort. The bottle is in hand and the binder is pushed off with something other than hands. Jesse wakes up again in the rocking chair. His mind swims within the sweat and fever that threaten to drown him. It is painful to do anything. Even opening his eyes makes him groan. With his eyes open now, it is all he can do to just breathe for the next several minutes. It occurs to him that he needs to get water. It is not only the thirst that has prompted this thought. Dehydration is probably only second or third on his current hit list. There is something else that nags at his mind. Everything is whirling about. Thoughts. The room. Time. It is an aching hand, and the impulse to get it into a new position that allows some focus. There is something in his hand. He groans even more as he moves his hand up to where he can see the object. It is a somewhat large plastic container. A white one. The bold lettered label reads “Amoxicillin.” His battered brain can only register on the notion that this must be medicine. He is sick therefore he needs to take his medicine. It seems to be his mother reminding him to take his medicine if he is sick. He does not want to piss her off again so there is nothing for it but to get up. The pump handle is not that

far away. The thought of flowing water also makes the need to quench his thirst only that much more imperative. It is slow going to get to the pump. He almost falls over several times. It is only the thought of a backhand to the face that keeps his feet under him. He reaches the pump and, groaning loudly with each pull, gets the flow going. He douses his head first. The cold is a lovely splash of clarity. He takes two capsules from the container, puts them in his mouth. He gets the flow going again and proceeds to suck down what seems like a gallon of the wonderfully cold water. The water proves to be a bit of a tonic. Things are still quite shaky, but he has at least regained some presence of mind. His left arm is swollen and there is clearly puss under the makeshift bandage. He does not have to look at his leg to know that it is the same. The medicine alone won't be enough at this point. He needs to clean the wounds again. He sags against the dark wood counter top knowing what this will entail. There is a large clay bowl of sea salt in one of the cupboards above the counter top. He had found it during an earlier exploration. He gets it down and places it on the counter. There is also a rock stopper near the base of the pump handle. He places this in the sink drain. It fits so flush as to make a perfect seal. There is pain again to get the sink filled to about four centimeters. This is nothing, however, compared to what is to come. He dumps the entire bowl of salt into the water. It would be better, of course if it were hot, but that is out of the question now. This will have to do. He stirs the water, tears ready to form in his eyes. He does not want to do this but there is no choice. It takes several minutes of stirring to get the salt fully dissolved in the cold water. He had had the foresight to bring all of the dried pod fiber he had found on getting back from his encounter with the Fanged Fury. He removes his jeans, the bandages from both wounds, and then takes a wad of the fiber and soaks it thoroughly in the salt solution. The concentration ought to be pretty strong. It had to be to do what was needed. He removes his belt from his jeans. He places it, at the middle, in his mouth. He bites down firmly, takes the soaked wad of fiber and, with a few deep breaths to fortify him, presses down hard on his left arm. He screams between gritted teeth. His legs sag but do not give out. With his left arm over the sink, he holds the dripping mass in place for several minutes. Only then does he remove it, rinse it out and start again. Tears are flowing freely now. Saliva has soaked the belt about his mouth. The water in the sink is discolored with both tints of red and gray. The new wad in his hand has been soaked repeated with fresh water from the pump. He has finished cleaning the last of the gray mess from his leg. He drops the belt. And the wet fiber. He rinses the empty clay bowl. Fills it with water. Drinks deeply and fills it again. There is enough fiber to tie off new bandages and he does so as gingerly as he can. It is the absolute last grain of strength and will he possesses that gets him and his blanket up the stairs and into bed. Scene 12.

Jesse is sleeping. Not nearly as fitful as before, but it is still not without difficulty. The dream has him standing in the moon lit field behind the house again. He has a woodsman's version of a crutch to lean on. The pod fiber at the top is not the most comfortable padding but it is better than the wood underneath. The stars above him provide a welcome distraction to the pain that still accompanies any movement. There is a light wind in the trees at the field's edge. It brings a musky sweet scent across his face. It is a pollen he suspects. As wonderfully exotic as a planet in another reality ought to be. She is at her tree of course. He takes in that figure, so perfect and alluring. He can see a hand brush absently at the low leaves that help obscure her face. She does not hum this time. She does not speak either. He decides to ignore her. As he is smarting from more than mere physical wounds it seems appropriate. Her mystery momma delivery of clues was irritating enough. That he hadn't gotten one that should have been pretty obvious was not very helpful either. He continues taking in the beautiful night scape around him. The peaks to the north are a brilliant black in the silver light, contrasted so markedly by the stars sparkling behind them. It is here that he notices the glow from the main northern peak. The glow comes from the monument carved out of the rock there. It shifts continuously through the entire possible spectrum of color; very slowly. It too provides a marked contrast. He frowns at this thing. It was his curiosity for this enigma that nearly got him eaten alive. Doubling frustrating was the certain knowledge that she had to be connected to it. He didn't want to give her the time of day right now, let alone the satisfaction of knowing that he was drawn to every new mystery she presented. He tried to resist her pull but there was no help for it. He sighs as regards her again. “You know, since I nearly got my ass chewed off trying to check that damn thing out, the least you could do is fill me in a little.” He points as he says this last bit. He does not see, but clearly feels that a smile is being bestowed upon him. It warms him more than anything else might that he could ever imagine. He fights desperately to avoid the embarrassment of swooning like some adolescent. He is at great risk here. This is certain. A part of him is getting far too close to being ready to do anything this woman might ask. There is a price to be paid for this. Despite what the smile might be promising, The electrified steel radiating from her gaze makes this very clear. “You have shown both courage and determination in your first challenge. I am pleased.” How could a voice be so enthralling? How could praise lift him so high? He struggles further to keep his wits about him. “I... I appreciate that of course. I don't mean to impart any disrespect you understand. It's just that you seem to need to keep things awfully obscure. Can't you just give me the short version of what we're doing here?”

She ignores his query and continues: “You are meant to be here for quite a while. There will be more challenges. They will not be easy. And it is those that pose physical harm which are the least important. You have had your first taste of what the power you possess can grant you. Your greatest challenge will be to see if you have the heart, will and wisdom to use that power for more than self gratification. This is where most sentient beings fail; most especially humans.” “Well that's just great... And again, I don't mean any disrespect, but you're not giving me what I need here. Why should I care? Why should I go through any of this? You've got me signed up for a couple of seasons of “Major Pain in the Ass” on Mystery Island here without telling me squat about what's going on. With what I'm risking I deserve more.” He can now feel anger, love, impatience, compassion, rage, and composure roiling out of all at once. Her voice becomes a thunder clap: “Do you want me human? You should, for I am everything that is life and love. I am the pain and the pleasure. I am the rise and the fall. I am the constant beginning. The endless pull of possibility. Mine is the energy, the wave and the meaning changed. You cannot know without me. You cannot contemplate or appreciate without me. Mine is the light that comes and goes. And yet I am imprisoned. You have known this in your heart, even in your ignorance of me. Why else would your reality grow so cold, as your universe expands to ever greater lengths of nothing.” He is almost knocked down by this outburst. He can only blink in wide eyed fear now. “What you risk? I know far more of what you risk than any other. And know this well human. It is a great deal more than whether you continue existing or not. You risk the continued existence of everything in every reality. There will be no other to replace you in time to make a difference if you fail. My brother will have won and there will be nothing but to wait for the end he has schemed for across an infinite sea of time.” She has come forth now from the tree line; the beautiful figure showing even more desirous detail close up. It is her head though, that he cannot look away from. It is the form of a human head, and there is a fantastic cascade of deep black hair falling from it, but the details that boil across it's surface resonate every emotion he possesses. It is a constant rage and seduction of change. Faces, electrical discharge, celestial bodies, animals, plants, fire, water, wind and quaking earth do a churning morph that pulls him in, just as it repulses him. There is every kind of expression a face can make. Every kind of good and ill nature has to offer. He wants to run away screaming, and dive into her passionately; each with equal force. The blunt power of ultimate paradox threatens to rip him completely apart. His mouth is open trying to scream with both ecstasy and agony but nothing can come out. He awakens not a moment too soon.

Scene 13. Jesse is back at the rocking chair again. Volume one of Jacob's diary is in his lap. On the table is a fine china plate, the remnants of an Italian sausage frittata scattered across it. Restaurant silverware is also visible. A triple shot cup of espresso sits by the plate, it's steam rising slowly. The binder labeled “Food II” sits askew on top of the stack, back at its table corner.

As it was late morning when he had finally staggered up to bed, and it is now well past past eight at night, he figures that he was asleep for at least 12 hours. The rest and the meal have done him a world of good. The antibiotic seemed to be taking hold as well. He still had a bit of fever, but it wasn't nearly as bad. The Ibuprophen that sat beside the antibiotic was helping as well. He sipped some of the wonderfully hot and bitter coffee. He might be giddy at the turn of events were it not for the dream and the thousands of questions now plaguing him. He possessed a power that was both terrifying and intoxicating in its scope. Anything that a picture might show could be his. To do with as he pleased and there was nothing any other being could do about it... Well, perhaps save for one. Though even with her there had to be limits. She had mentioned being imprisoned after all. And if that weren't enough, on his shoulders rested the fate of the entirety of the compound universe. He put his head back and tried to let that sink in one more time. That and the whole 'Oh, no pressure there' thing. Every time he thought things couldn't possibly get more impossible, they did exactly that. The dreaming was just one moment of this after another. As for instance the revelation that she had a brother... A brother capable of imprisoning her for Christ sakes? Was there a crazy frigging mom as well? Perhaps a drunken father just for good measure? He rubbed at his temples. There wasn't enough Ibuprophen in any two realities to cover the head ache this was bringing on. Despite himself he can't help but also think about the movie star who's thigh he has had a hand on. This is the last thing he should be letting himself get distracted by, but there it was. And it presented an ugly question he was hoping to avoid. Fantasies in life before were just harmless things that affected nothing but the little time they wasted. Now they were temptations that could be made real. And the ramifications of this were just beginning to ripple out in his awareness. If he could bring an inanimate object into this reality then a person was likely as well. What would this do to such a person? Would they have the memories and life experience of the person they represented in the source reality? Would they then be trapped here, doomed to remember a life they could never return too? And even more damning. If they were ultimately just copies, would these be memories only shared with an original? As he considered this, the nightmare such a fate would be became only too apparent. This at least would be one temptation he could resist without too much trouble. He knew, though, that the temptations would not end there. The biggest would simply be to start jumping, and never stop after that. He would never lack for anything. He could build whatever personal fortune or empire, or even quiet comfort he might imagine. The women and good times would simply be icing on the cake. Whatever fate lay in store for the multi-verse as a whole would occur long after he was gone. Even assuming he could find some future reality with the technology to gain a vastly extended life span. She was talking about millenniums after all.

How easy it would be to convince himself that everything she predicted was hardly guaranteed. If he quit now surly a replacement could be found more quickly even if what she foresaw was a given. And when you added in not only just how frightening all of this responsibility was, but the very real possibility that he might die in the trying anyway, he knew he had problem. He leans forward, elbows on his knees, and rests his face on his hands. “Fuck me... Fuck me... “ he whispers to himself. This is a defining moment for the rest of his life. No matter what his power might grant him or protect him from, it will not shield him from this decision. He might convince himself of one thing or another, and it might stick enough to help for a while; especially with the diversions. But it would still be there, deep down. And this kind of thing had a habit of festering in a person. The diversions would have to come faster and bigger continuously. He would have to become something truly vile to keep ahead of it. But what was he supposed to do? He was close to being a full blown old man. All the years of walking and riding a bike had kept him reasonably fit, but this all had the look and feel of brutal sword play, and savage hand to hand combat. Even a young Rambo would have had second thought about an assignment like this. He didn't know the first thing about fighting or weapons of any kind. And even if he did, how much fight did he have let in him anyway. He has tears in his eyes. He feels shame for letting his fear make him be so tempted to shirk what cannot be shirked. He both wants to do the right thing, and run away. He is swaying precariously on a tipping point, frozen by the cold comfort either alternative holds for him. It is then that he realizes that Jacob's book is pressing uncomfortably into his elbows. So absorbed in this dilemma he had forgotten its presence on his lap completely. Jacob. He had promised Jacob that he would not forget him. But if he ran out on what Jacob had willingly gave his life for, how could he keep this promise? How could he keep this man in his thoughts when his very presence would become a tormenting reminder of his own lack of backbone. It was inconceivable. And the promise? The thought of breaking yet another solemn promise was just as inconceivable. And just like that there is no more dilemma. He is freed of the impasse. The fear is still there but, as he looks at Jacob's book, he has the sudden sense that Jacob will help him. The spirit of a man long dead will be there when he needs it, no matter how many times that might be. For the first time since he has come here he feels like he is truly not alone. He and this man are brothers and that is the way it was meant to be. He will not face what is to come by himself. Thus does he know now that he can face anything; even the most infinite of a feminine force. Scene 14. Jesse is reading again from Jacob's diary:

“Let us begin with a few such things as I have learned upon my time herein. I must relay this in something of the manner in which it was relayed to me. “You should know at the first that there are many dangers here. Born of both earth and sea. You will be tempted to walk about and thus sate your curiosity for so wondrous a place, but I beg thee to use stiff caution as your walking stick and staff. Many are there glens and crags that are but snares in disguise. You need your time to grow true Island Legs my friend. The kind of understanding to hold your ground when the challenge is rightly met. “And make no mistake. For most the snares lye as motes to ward those challenges that must be met. And if you have not yet stretched your stride to match those mote bound denizens, your fate will be bound most tightly to defeat. “As a corner stone to build upon let me first lay down this firm proscription: Do not go forth into the peaks of the north. Even as I know you have spied Her Monument, with the way of smooth stone laid out before it, and how, upon all heaven, do they beckon, do not let this tempt you. There is more afoot upon that smooth way than souls or true hearts would ever be keen to tread before. It is magic of the stoutest kind. Magic formed of the energy from Her and Her Brother's realm. “Magic?” I hear you say. And am I not troubled enough Brother Jacob that you feel the press to place this new weight upon my shoulders? I can only pray that you take the messenger kindly to your heart, even upon receipt of his worrying news. “Yes I am forced to say. Even as the power of taking leave of a universe still causes pause in your stride, you must make room for yet another wonder for worry. Magic exists within many of the universes that make the infinite whole. It is a force that you must master before you apprenticeship is complete. And as it is for the whole, so must it be for the universe of the Island, living so close to the center of it all. “There are creatures born of magic that haunt those peaks. Creatures who had her love as pets in times long past. Where now they are as much prison guards. And though they strike the greatest fear, and welling up for loathsome abominations, never should you unleash that proper instinct for their demise. For even as they hinder at all hope of rescue, still she loves them. And so you must make Magic a clever friend. A friend who's might can aid without harm. “When your magic is ready you must go to her shrine. At its center is the Crucible's alter. On it is inscribed the riddle, the Riddle Of The Mountain, that forms the means to her prison's key. You must lay your hands upon this shrine. Upon all of your magic, and your very being must you swear, that within no more than twenty passings of sun and moons, you will come and turn the prison's key. “If you do not make this pilgrimage within the forbearance of her patience then run you must, and pray she never finds her freedom, for she will surly find you. Just know that It is only upon her forbearance that the Island tolerates you now. And if you fail the pledge you make upon that alter, no more will you be. “And so, how is the puzzle to be solved? Let us lay another stone for the bridge that will

be your understanding. “There is a glen upon the Western slopes. A glen barely south of Her Resting Peak. It is a place you can never mistake once come upon. It is here that grows the herb of seeing. This herb is without replacement. Only there does it grow. And only by its properties upon the mind can you hope to understand the riddle that form the key to her prison “The herb itself grows as a double dose of death. As a first dose, to gather it you must set foot within the glen. And with no surprise to hear you'll note, this too is warded by a thing of Magic. The magic is the Glen itself for it has been made a sentient being in its whole. This being has but one thirst, to meld what ever life might tread upon it into it's own fabric. And there is no life that it craves more than that which is also sentient. “This threat is all the more dangerous and terrifying for it's subtlety. It will use the wiles of something more than wild to seduce you into willingly offering up your own substance for it's apatite. All of your being; memories, dreams and flesh does it crave. And all that will be left of you as memorial will be some new wondrous growth to be new trappings for the trap. Understand as well that never is the seduction the same. For this thing's true gift is to know the deepest thing for which you have a fear of. It will know you as you'd best know yourself or you will never leave that place. “Not only must you resist this assault of the mind, you must convince it to yield up the herb for this is a part of it's being. And in none of the steps to help or to hinder either cause can you allow Magic to do damage, for in damaging the whole do you damage the parts. Upon which the herb would then be lost to you. “This then is the first dose. Lethal enough to be sure. The second dose gives even less quarter. For to use the herb you must secure a regent. And for this herb only the most dangerous regent imagined will do. Use the herb without the regent and not only will it's properties for the mind not be realized, it will remain the unstoppable poison it truly is. No death is more horrible than the slow agony this toxin starts as it rots your body from the inside out. “So, where do you find such a regent? The one place where danger flows as freely as the regent might if you can but find and over come it's source. For this is surely the sea that surrounds this Island “The regent you must seek is an enzyme of the creature that rules these waters. A creature who would make an ordinary Leviathan puny; the Drastenor. “Never have I heard, much less seen, anything close to its like before. Not in any wild imagining or demented dream. Not in any folk lore terror nor any twisted realm of hell. This is monstrosity born of monstrosity, and suckled on the breast of nightmare. Magic in this case only brought it here, and keeps it alive. It is a living testament to what an infinite number of universes is capable of producing. And it is meant to illustrate that even the seventh chamber of hell is but a trivial rest stop compared to what infinity can imagine. “This thing knows only savagery raised to a galactic scale. It was bred amidst the most brutal environment of rabid competition for survival that same infinity could devise. It is the

end product of a billion billion years of absolute killing evolution. Nothing short of the energy of the atom can harm it's outer shell. No single cell organism can outmaneuver it's immune response. Nor can any bit of virus. It consumes as a constant process, absorbing and utilizing any and all things organic; thus requiring magic to keep the waters stocked with life. So perfect a killing organism it has become that it no longer needs even to breed, for not even time can kill it now. “You must enter into the territory of a beast that can descend to any depth, propel itself faster than any fish, and is nearly sentient in intelligence. It never tires, sleeps or knows fear. It only hungers and craves. This is the thing you must steal digestive enzyme from and you must do so without killing it. “I will not even attempt the words to describe this thing. I can only offer you my feeble skills as a sketch artist. The depiction on the next page is the best I can manage from what has been burned into my mind. And I can tell you truly, of all the things from my journey I wish could be undone, it is this mental scar.” Jesse puts the book down on the table and gets up. Though it is painful he knows his leg needs to be worked if it is to heal properly. He walks around the table to stand before the immaculate pane of crystal. The ocean in the distance is showing slight white caps in the afternoon wind. The grass in the field ripples with it as well. Inside the house there is little sound of it all. The storms here must be just another kind of monster to require a house so firmly, and soundly constructed, he thinks. And there must be real cold as well to warrant double panes of crystal. He walks over to the sink side of the house to fill a fired clay mug with cold water from the pump. He takes three good swallows before he puts the mug on the counter and considers the view looking more to the Southwest. He can just see, in the fading light, the beginnings of the reefs that form the inlet further up the Islands Western edge. It was some distance off the furthest reef point there that he saw the immense dark shape in the water. It was scary enough then. Jacob had succeeded in raising the bar at least several orders of magnitude. Some unimaginable water monstrosity has been brought from an even more unimaginable reality. Solely for the purpose of a challenge. “And to simply make a point too” he thought. “Can't be forgetting that now, can we. Lest the sledge hammer already employed hadn't gotten the point across, the compound universe can be really really scary. Thank you so much mystery momma. Wouldn't have gotten the gist of that one without at least one more little exclamation point. No ma'am.” And unfortunately, Jacob was a good deal more proficient at sketching than he let on. Jesse shuddered at the thought of going into water with something like that cruising about. And he used to think Great Whites were scary. The thing had to be well over two hundred meters in length, and at least 75 meters in diameter. It was essentially a tube creature, but of course that hardly did it justice. The circumference at each end was lined with 12 meter long barbed tentacles, obviously intended

to grasp and fling whatever into the huge maw that was exposed there; also matched on both ends. As such, this thing didn't really have a back end, just two fronts. You also had to figure that it kept these open most of the time. The fluid drag created with them being closed would be enormous. It probably cruised along like a Hoover vac sucking up any thing tiny, but always on the ready for a bigger morsel. And if that were the case then it had to have some kind of water jet propulsion. As big as it was there was plenty of room for a lot of variations to accomplish that. Christ, this thing could suck in the biggest whale Earth had to offer with out even slowing down. And he had to get digestive enzyme from it? “Jacob, Jacob, Jacob. What have I let you talk me into.” The knowledge that Jacob must have been able to pull it off was at least something, but still. “How did he keep from shitting himself inside out just from the sight of it.” He wasn't at all surprised that magic had finally been thrown into the mix. In fact he had half expected the need to confront an army of Dwarfs, Demons, and Ogres, but at this point that would have been way too ordinary and mundane. What did catch him by surprise was the little tidbit about this reality “Allowing” it. What the hell was that all about? Realities allowed or disallowed Magic? The fact that Jacob had provided a warning that might have saved a great deal of pain and panic reminded him of something. “Jacob my friend. It occurs to me now that I owe you another promise. “ He raised his right hand. “I do solemnly swear that from now on I will stop for directions, and read all instructions before blundering forth, so help me Humiliation and all resident Mystery Mommas. Amen. And Jacob? Thanks. Thanks for just being here for me.” He had it spelled out for him now at least. Three challenges and a final test. Get past the flying horrors that guarded the Crucible's alter and make the big pledge. Get the magic herb; an hallucinogen no doubt, from the Mind frigging Glen of Death. Get the Regent enzyme from the God of all Godzilla's. Go on an herb trip with a super poison to figure out “The Secret of the Mountain,” so as to be ready for the final test. “And of course, don't forget to brush your teeth before you go to bed.” If he didn't stop for lunch, how long could it take? Right? He definitely needed more reassurance from Jacob. He was making as valiant an effort as he could in being flip, but it was a paper thin veneer. “Christ on a crutch,” he thought. “I was really hoping Jacob was laying it on a bit thick with the “Task of a God” thing.” He sighs again, no small amount of worry on his face as he makes his way back to the rocking chair, and another go at Jacob's recitation of what was to come. Scene 15. More from the diary: This section actually has a title this time. “The first steps for gaining a sense of magic.

“In this endeavor there is nothing so useful as patience and nothing so important than humility. You are about to go forth with a task that seeks to provide a grip on something you will never fully understand. This other power that can exist from within the odd reality, here and there, is just another part of the transcendent mystery the compound universe presents as a whole. You must accept this mystery with the same grace and thanks that you take up the first power with. “Patience needs to be employed as it takes time to get yourself settled into and centered within the rhythms of all things natural. It is through the connection with nature in it's main forms that you will begin to feel the magic that is energy, and the energy that is magic. “I can imagine your curiosity as to why the compound universe should be so fickle a thing in it's dispersal of magic. I have studied this conundrum for many seasons now and I can only offer conjecture. Bear you also in mind, however, that this is the one power I did truly master. For the other I was only of minimum ability, to my great regret. It is this imbalance I fear that will be my undoing, but this is a topic for another time. “Be that though it may, it is the strength of my second gift that I believe has given me unique insights to its base particulars. I have grown quite convinced of late that certain realities have special qualities to the energy boundaries that demarcate that which we can perceive and that which transcends. The best that I can present to elucidate this quality is the condition of being porous. Realities that have porous boundaries allow the Transcendent energy that is magic in, and those that don't do not. Simple though this axiom may be, I am also convinced that it points the way to a larger understanding. One that has been tantalizing me for several seasons now. That I have yet to realize this much more important insight is yet another of my regrets. “You will also be spurred I think to ask another question. Are the energies of Magic and the bridging of realities one and the same? Again, it can only be conjecture, but here too I also have strong feelings. It is my belief that they are related, but still distinct. The bridging of realities comes from the individual's special qualities, and how those qualities can access an energy that flows at a unique transcendent angle relative to realities in general. The energy of Magic, on the other hand, comes from the special qualities of the natural world, and how those qualities can access an energy flowing through a different transcendent angle altogether. This is an angle that has to be specific to boundary permeability. One can see from this, however, that any who fully embrace Her Way, can wield Magic. “You gain strength, as well as finesse, in your application of magic the same way you gain expertise in any endeavor; Practice. But first you must find it. And to do this you must be open, humble and seek by not directly seeking at all. In your immersion into the natural world, if it is sincere and complete, magic will find you. And when the moment comes, there will be no mistaking it. “So, this is what I recommend you do. Forget about the dangers that will ultimately confront you. Forget about finding magic. Concentrate on finding yourself, and your place within the great mystery that is Her Way, and the compound universe. You need to simply be for as long as it takes before you worry about becoming again. In this you will find great comfort, as well as healing, on this Island, even as you do not expect or look for it. The

dangers that are here are not meant to seek you out. They do not stalk you. You are safe as long as you stay south of the Island's middle, below the way made smooth, and no further from the shore than the farthest reef point. Even Her Guards pose you no threat should you be swimming where they fish. You may trust in this as I trust in you. “Find something to task yourself with the simple pleasures of the earth and growing things. Seek as well the ebb and flow of life through the sea. Feel the heavens each night as this planet hurtles it's way across the vastness of when and what. Let it all seep into you and you into it. All of what you will need will be there. “And as you do, consider this: Such is the gift that sentient beings give to the greater whole. It is essential for it. It needs to be appreciated, appraised, contemplated and considered, for only by being perceived and handled is probability realized. A process that is a prayer of its own kind, and one of the fundamental wellsprings that creates the energy of the whole. Love, of course, being the other. “There is but one other matter to divulge before I close. It no doubt has been a great curiosity as to why a man from another reality should be writing in a language you understand. There really isn't any great mystery to this little miracle. The book you now hold, and all of the others that I have written, have been imbued with a spell of my own devising. I created a magic ink to put down the words of a language that would take you years to master. The magic works a telepathic link to my state of mind as I write. Then, as you begin to read, it converts the thoughts represented by my words to the symbols you recognize as words. Really quite simple once you get a feel for the fundamental aspects of perception and objectification. Almost as simple as a fire place that lights itself in fact.” Scene 16: Jesse is walking back to the house. He carries two large paper sacks with handles. They are filled with the large seed pods. There is sweat on his brow, but he is smiling. The air is thick with the scents of wood, low greenery, and several exotic blooms. It is wonderful. Seven days have gone by since his successful grab of antibiotic. He is feeling much better. Since he doesn't really need to worry about food he has decided to put effort into creating more pod fiber. Not only has Jacob given directions to an excellent grove of the pod trees, he has provided a most detailed, step by step recitation for turning the fiber into clothing. The grove is on the Eastern side of the Island on a lower plateau only a half kilometer from the house. The route Jacob recommended crossed a stream just minutes from the field in the back of out buildings. Jesse stops on the northern bank and sets his bags down. The sound of the water, and the feel of the air around it, has become a regular moment of appreciation. He takes his shoes and socks off, setting them to one side and sits on a familiar rock. It's a broad, flat, sand stone that juts out perfectly into the water. With his feet dangling within

the cool flow he removes the small haversack from his back. He finds the hand fired mug within and dips it full. Sipping occasionally, he considers his latest cargo. “Let's see. You figure about a dozen pods per sack. And two sacks per trip. These two will finish trip number four. That makes...” He pauses, squinting one eye in thought. “...uh... Nearly a hundred pods total so far. Hmm. Going to take another another day or two at least to have enough. Well Jacob, this is at least a great way to get some walking in.” He just sits then, for the time it takes to slowly drain a large mug of water. Letting each faculty he possessed reach out and feel. There is so much. So many flows. Water into the soil. Great slow streams, seeping up minutely through roots, then trunks and finally branching out to leaves and blades and blooms. They in turn then embracing the flow of light, air, nutrient and moisture so as to pass it on in an exhale of fragrant life. And at every embrace another exchange of energies. It is a simple but startling thought. At every instant of every day great galaxies of embrace occur within every square meter that surrounds us. And that this is just another expression of love. The mug is empty finally. He shakes out the few drips remaining and shoves it back into the haversack. He rubs off as much moisture from his feet as he can and then re-dons his footwear. The haversack is shouldered and the bags picked up. The stream has a convenient crossing log only a few meters from his sand stone bench. He crosses and makes his way through the trees. Another five minutes or so and he is upon the open field. The familiar black stone of the three back buildings is now in clear view. As he treads across the wild grass he notes with a little consternation that the new soil uncovered around building and walkway wall is now displaying a considerable amount of drying. “You know Jacob. I'm getting a real appreciation for what it takes to be a farmer. And this is just on the easy, squeezey, magic Island plan. God help any real farm I am ever made responsible for.” He reaches the back walkway gate on the East side and passes through. This is on the North East corner of the enclosed grassy area. The three back buildings are lined up along the right side of the walkway ahead of him now. He has to pass both the Smoke House and the Out House before he reaches the drying room entry and enters. The drying room is essentially a green house of sorts. There are crystal panes in the ceiling that let sunlight in broad square beams brilliance. Wooden racks are arrayed in the room's center at the focal point of the light. On the back wall is a much smaller fire stove affair similar to the monster in the house. The wall to the left features a work bench along it's entire length. Short, machete like cleavers, iron chisels and hammers are hanging from pins on the wall above it. The right wall has a series of four stone sinks, each one as big as the one in the kitchen. Jesse has to step carefully into the room as floor space has become scarce with the bags already accumulated. He finds a spot for the new load and sets them down. He stops a

moment to consider things. As he scratches the back of his head it is obvious that chopping will have to be the next step in this round. That will have to wait though. He turns and makes his way back through the entry. The walled walkway forms a large L structure; actually an L shaped channel with walls on both sides. The bottom horizontal part fronts the three out buildings North of the house. The vertical part the path to the back door of the house and the West wall entry. As the back door is on the west corner of the house, the vertical part is now on Jesse's right. A right turn out of the Drying room and a quick left turn have him walking up the West wall walkway. The width of this L structure is about 2 meters. The walls that form it are a meter and a half high, with stone pillars every 3 meters to support the cover. Thick, dark wood beams make up the truss work upon which the stone tiles are supported. As he looks left at the corner, he can see over the wall to the area grassy area behind the house that still needs to be dug up. He still hasn't decided what to plant there. There are two opposing gates in the walls near the house back door. One opens to the back yard proper and the other to the grass out side the enclosure. Both doors of the house use a simple wood lever to turn a wood gear inside the door itself. The teeth of this gear meshes with the teeth of a wood bolt; either pushing it in, or pulling it out of the bolt hole in the frame. Jesse pulls the lever to the right with little resistance and enters the main floor area. Several items of furniture have now been added. The dinner table has been moved closer to the books of the West wall so that the rocking chair can sit at it's East end. A rather expensive looking black leather recliner now sits where the rocking chair used to. A mahogany end table has been placed by the recliner, on the side opposite the West wall book shelves. A butcher block table occupies the floor between the sink and the fire place stove. Several floor standing oil lamps are also now stationed at strategic locations. He heads immediately towards the sink. A bright red, 5 gallon plastic bucket rests within. It takes a minute or two of pumping to get the bucket filled. He lifts this carefully out of the sink and heads out the front door this time. Once outside he turns left immediately and walks to the East front corner of the house. He turns left again and is now facing North once more. A half meter width of freshly exposed ground runs the length of enclosure wall at its base. It has only been a couple of days since morning glory seeds were planted but the first sprouts are showing clearly now. He sets the bucket down and goes back into the house. He returns with an empty child's beach bucket. Bright blue plastic this time. The smaller container has been punched with a few ten penny nail sized holes in the bottom. He dips it into its larger cousin and begins to let the leakage drizzle over his thirsty new charges. It then become a process of dip, drizzle and move the big bucket, as he progresses down the length of the wall. The large container is emptied after a few repetitions and the process is begun again on its refill. Fully seven large buckets are required to traverse the entire linear distance of house and walkway wall now planted. “Jesus,” he exclaims to himself after he has finished. “If I do any more planting I will

most definitely have to come up with a better watering method.” He as to wipe sweat from his face with a red bandanna that he has appropriated for this very thing. He rolls it into a band and then ties it back to his forehead. It was well past noon by now, but there was still considerable daylight left. A brand new shovel and pick were only steps away in the drying room. He set off at brisk pace to retrieve them. Scene 17: It is late evening. Jesse has brought a padded lawn chair out to the enclosed back yard. A low sitting, folding plastic table is beside it. An insulated coffee mug is on the table. Next to that is a single pot joint in a ceramic ash tray. It has been rolled in a roller and so looks to all the world like a regular cigarette. He is sitting back in a semi-recline angle on the chair, able to look up at the stars with ease. Smoke still wafts from an outdoor oil lamp behind him. He has only just sat down from blowing it out. One of Jacob's journals is resting closed on his lap. Jesse reaches over casually for the joint. He fishes a butane lighter out of his pocket. He lights the joint, puts the lighter back, and fetches the coffee before relaxing back again. “Man. If only Carl Sagan could have lived to see this. You were right dude. We are not alone, and I mean big time.” He takes only a few long pulls off of the joint before he stubs it out in the ash tray. Just a bit of a buzz was all Jesse needed. It was the perfect counterpoint to the triple shot of caffeine in the coffee. “What happened to you Jacob? What happened to your spirit. I mean I get that you probably didn't make it, but did the final test just kill you? Am I gonna be stumbling upon your bones any time soon? Or was it something a little more Bizzaro Land. I can't help but wonder if you might be trapped somewhere... Like a void or purgatory or something.” He sighs. “I sure hope not buddy.” “I also can't help wondering how long this is going to take. Not that I'm complaining mind you. It just seems, well, almost indulgent. I get to kick back, take it easy for the most part, and just commune. All while you might be trapped god knows where, and the MultiVerse is waiting to be saved. Guilt could be on the agenda soon if I'm not careful man.” Another sip of coffee. “I'm just saying... Maybe keeping what's to come at least at the back of my mind would be a good thing. Proper perspective and incentive after all.” He begins considering the mug in his hand. “And this anything you want deal. I'm thinking this is something you didn't have to deal with at all. I mean you probably only had crude photography in your day. The idea of pictures as portals... Well.. You know what I'm talking about here. Christ man. Anything I want? You wanna talk about mind jobs. No matter what I do these crazy, wild hairs up the butt, just keep popping up in my head. And it's, it's like I have to grit my teeth from acting on them on reflex.” He is shaking his head now as he sets the mug down.

“Like this morning for instance. I'm looking through a military themed binder and I come to a picture of an M1B Abrams tank. You probably don't know what that is, but trust me, it's a rolling pile of bad news. Think war wagon plus a hundred years of advancement. I just couldn't help putting my hand on this thing. And then I had it nearly pulled all the way out before I fully realized what I was about to do. Jesus Jacob. It didn't weigh anything. Nothing does until you let go of it here. And if I'd of let go of that thing I'd of had one hell of dent in the living room floor. I mean sixty tons of modern metal armor tends to do that. “And then what? Go tearing around the country side? Maybe lob a few cannon rounds out towards our watery friend? Just to say hello mind you. And I'm sure the Island, not to mention our lady friend, would be sure to just laugh it all off. Oh he's just blowing off a little steam. No worries. We don't get our feathers ruffled unless it gets to the tactical nuke stage.” Jesse has been gesturing with his hands in broad expressive strokes. He settles back again at this point. He folds his left over his middle. Rests his right elbow on his left hand and lets his face sink thoughtfully into the knuckles of the right. He holds this position for at least several minutes before he continues. “I don't know man. It's really going to take a lot to keep from slipping up on this. And the longer this 'get with natural' takes, the more chances there will be. Haven't even begun to tell you about the really embarrassing stuff of course. I should only have to mention that I have way too many pictures of some really gorgeous women to make my point.” “And trust me, I don't need a lecture on the consequences. Once I can get a grip it's all too obvious. But... I can't help looking at the pictures man. And when I look at the pictures and I see something I haven't had for a while its... its like something else wants to take over. I thought that this little scenario at least would be an easy one to avoid, but the whole experience has proven a lot harder than I ever thought it would be.” “I don't know how I would ever be able to live with myself Jacob if gave into it. You've got to help me on this one man. It would be too horrible to even contemplate seriously, let alone actually inflict on someone. I mean one instant you're doing whatever, absorbed in your day to day, and the next: Bang! You're suddenly blinking at some horn dog you don't know, on an Island you would never want to dream of. And from that moment on, everything you had ever knew and loved and planned for would be lost to you, cause there's no going back. Even if I could find the address little girl, you might just be a copy so you might not belong there anymore.” He sighs again, leans back and takes in the stars once more. The vast and fecund display is awe inspiring, but troubling as well. And then, out of the black so to speak, a poem quoted by an author he can't remember, pops into his mind. “'The Stars are so big. The Earth is so small. Stay as you are'. That was written by a little girl more than 50 of my planets seasons ago. It was her response to a school assignment to compose something in response to the launch of Earth's first orbital space craft. She was really telling us something there. I never quite understood what until now. Too many levels of consideration and knowledge, coming much too fast, and how do you keep a sense of yourself in it all.” “I mean, it's all gotten so complicated anymore. Everything's a frigging matrix now.

Integrated, faded, retro-jaded and re-stipulated. And every body is supposed to manage being an expert on holistic thinking in order to survive? Give me a break. What you really end up with is human chaotic behavior in complex social systems becoming a self fulfilling absurdity. And if that wasn't bad enough, we now have a product of that absurdity being chosen to be some kind of Holy Joe of Holistic Super Duper. Shit Jacob. I know this is lame, but why me man? Even this dumb ass can see you would have been a whole lot better choice...” Yet another sigh. “Absurd or not”, he thinks, “here I am.” This thought reminds him of his erstwhile friend Rodger. “I know what my friend Rodger would say now. 'Shit happens man. That's all there is to it. If you can get your head around that notion you're half way there. For the other half you have to come to terms with 'It is what it is. Always was. Still is, and always will be. Nothing more, Nothing less.” He pauses for a second and then adds: “Now if I can only leverage all of my paradigms while I'm outside the box and still thinking, I should be just fine.” His smile now is half sad and half sardonic. “Maybe I should add one more to the 'Clasho-cliché' top 40. Keep on keepin on.” He gets up tiredly from the recliner. His mind was falling into a rut again, and fatigue had to be playing a part. All of that digging today had taken a toll. He stretched and yawned at the same time. Focus on the here and now Jacob had said. Let what you need find you. And he had been to some degree. It was just that, in the course of a lot of running away, he had become a rambler in more ways than one. Ramble long enough and it became really hard to stay in one place. Even if it was a good place. Relatively speaking of course. Scene 18: Jesse throws more wood into the firebox of the drying room stove. A very large pot sits atop it. The pot is full and boiling. A churning mass of pod fiber is being cooked in salt water. This has to be done for about 20 minutes. The wet mass then has to be rinsed twice in fresh water. A regent concoction made up of several other plants (and already cooked) is added to a third bath for the mass of very hot, preheated water. This must sit for at least another hour, with regular stirring. The last step is to pull the mass out, pound it down to a flat sort of pancake and then drape it over a drying rack. Do nothing further and you ended up with wads of soft fiber as Jesse has already made use of. The follow-on recipe was something Jesse could hardly believe. He had read it. Reread it and it still seemed more like magic than home craft. Magic would be fine Jesse thought if I had access to it now. Jacob had to know he wouldn't have gotten that far this soon. And it wasn't like the recipe actually called specifically for a magical invocation of any sort. It was just that the steps described hardly seemed capable of producing the results promised. Jesse had fretted over the contradiction for a while before finally deciding that he would just have to take Jacob's instructions on faith. The need for four sinks in the drying room had certainly become readily apparent. Jesse grabbed the large wooden tongs from their pegs on the wall behind the sinks. A

fresh pour of water is waiting in the first sink closest to the stove. Jesse clamps down on a good portion of what's currently boiling and throws it quickly into the waiting water. The sink next to it already has a previous batch draining off it's last rinse. And the third sink is steaming a bit from another batch still simmering. Several cups of the regent he cooked yesterday have darkened the water to an umber tint. As soon as he's done getting the current batch out of its salt water, another pot of fresh will be need ed to be pre-heated. He has been running batches in series like this all day. The bandanna on his forehead has long since soaked through, as would any shirt if he'd been wearing one. The drying racks are nearly full. The batch being given its first rinse should be enough to to top the racks off with. He finishes emptying the last batch and proceeds to a picture on the work bench. Taped to a free spot on the tool peg board is a picture of an ocean and a picture of a lake. He takes the five gallon plastic bucket from the floor and proceeds to the lake picture. Even though the picture is only roughly 10 centimeters square, he brings the bucket up to it without a pause. The instant it comes into contact with the picture's surface, and the same electric liquid of light takes its hold, the bucket seems to morph into a cartoon caricature of something solid going into a funnel. It takes only a moment and not only is the bucket out of sight, Jesse has his arm into the wall up past his elbow. He hesitates only for another second before pulling arm and bucket out again, the morphing working in reverse this time. The bucket is then taken over to the pot and emptied. Several repeats are required to fill the pot back up. The beauty of this arrangement is that the effort expended to get the water into the pot is almost nil. In the physics of Bizarre-O-Land there really isn't anything in the bucket until he pours it out. Or until he let go of the bucket. The burden of watering his plants has been lessened by a similar approach. It takes another three hours to get the last batch on the drying rack. Jesse spends the following two days working on the pot plants he has planted in the large back yard plot he has finally cleared. On the third day he is back, Jacob's journal in hand, ready to try this out. He puts the journal on the work bench and studies the passage one more time. It doesn't seem to get any more believable with repeated reading. He gathers up all of the dried fiber from the racks and piles it on the work bench. It is an impressive mound. On the floor he has already spread out a substantial carpet of what Jacob calls Dandron fronds. They look like a broader version of bamboo leaves. These were also previously dried. The bark of the gnarled, short growing trees that grow just below the heights of the carved walkway, has been heated to bring out an oil of sorts. The oil has been strained and now occupies the pot on the stove. Jesse takes as much dried fiber as he thinks will fit into the pot and begins stirring until all of the mass is thoroughly coated with the oil. The next part has Jesse cringing. He has already removed his shoes and socks. Now he must remove the rest of his clothing. He is standing naked finally before the pot which now is on the bench. The instructions

were very specific on this next part. He can hardly believe he is going to do this. A deep breath to fortify himself and he begins. He takes large handfuls of the oily fiber and begins packing onto his skin like a poultice. While he does this he continues to shuffle his bare feet back and forth on the Dandron fronds. He has already learned that this is a folk method of producing a surprising amount of static electricity. It becomes quickly apparent that a static charge across his body has an unexpected affect on the oily material. It seems to coalesce in a smoothing out effect. And as he adds each new handful, it just unites with the previous application as if fused. It also stays in place on his skin. Handful after handful does he apply, starting at his ankles and working his way up. It doesn't take long at all before he is covering his groin and butt. He stops when he has made a complete bordering circumference at his waist. This was both as per instructions, but also because there was only a couple of handfuls left. He continued shuffling for another 20 minutes as also instructed. Excess oil had oozed out into a puddle that the fronds seemed to resist quite well. After that he walked out of the drying room and into the afternoon sun. He made immediately to the walkway gates by the house back door, swung the side yard gate open and stepped through. Twenty five rotations around the house and out buildings was the final step. Done in a moderate, but steady pace, and only on a bright sunny day. Another deep breath. This was going to end being the equivalent of a couple kilometer hike. He set off despite his lingering skepticism. Fortunately, the material didn't feel bad at all. It was kind of like wearing sweat pants that were just a bit tight, but quite giving. And the longer he walked, the less tight they became. They also lost all measure of oiliness to his surprise. The surface of the fiber simply became dry and soft to the touch. It was also now a uniform thickness of about three quarters of a centimeter, with a texture of densely woven fabric, but still very quite soft. The biggest surprise came after he had finished the walk. He went back to the drying room to collect his other clothes. He was figuring that this kind of application was a one off thing. You did the whole routine and just wore it until you couldn't any more. Come time to start over you just tore it off and threw it away. A lot of work in Jesse's mind for disposable wear, but hey. Maybe the folks Jacob knew had a way of making it last. In any case, as soon as Jesse yanks on the waist edge this assumption is destroyed. Not only will this stuff not tear, it stretches out as ready as any sweat pants to be removed. He does so and holds them up for inspection. This is a good deal more impressive than he was prepared for. “Jacob you amazing son of gun. This is frigging slap on clothing! No weaving, no measuring, no cutting or stitching. Form fit guaranteed. Christ, you could make a fortune with this back home... Course the logistics for the raw materials might be a bit tricky.” He considers the jeans he had been working in. They didn't breathe nearly as well as this stuff did, and they weren't nearly as comfortable. “Hell with it,” he said finally and put his

new creation back on. “When in Rome after all.” He grabbed up his former attire into a bundle and made his way back to the house and the binders for a clean shirt. As he walked he began to notice something else. It might not have registered at all if he hadn't of taken the...Ah... Well, what should he call them? It came to him in a flash. “The Slap Jacks. That's what well call them. When I had the Slap Jacks off and then put them back on there was a difference. Something too subtle to notice when I was walking the oil off. What the heck is it?” He can't put a finger on it now and so shrugs it off for the moment. This success has him already thinking of doing more. Jacob has indicated there are plants on the Island suitable for making dyes of a limited sort, but Jesse may not have to take that route. Surly the drug store picture, or some other, would provide easy to use retail stuff. And some real colors too. He was also anxious to try some experimentation on the limits of the application part of the process. Perhaps it would be possible to sculpt in some flair and flourish before it set. Figuring out how to make pockets would be good too. This could be fun and practical. Scene 19: Jesse has occupied the better part of 3 weeks in putting together a considerable wardrobe of Slap Jack clothing. And he has indeed been able to apply his own unique style to pants, pull overs and and vests. It was great fun, and for a time he could put nearly all thought of the 'Bigger Picture' out of his mind. One needs only so much clothing of course and so it had finally ground to a halt. He is back at the main floor table, sitting in the rocker. It is nearly 5 in the afternoon but he has been unable to generate any interest in eating. So efficient has he become in tending to the greenery around the house that it takes only about an hour to do anymore. He has hiked all over the safe area of the Island, and done a good bit of swimming. None of these has been of much interest any more either. From the angle of the sun's arc over the Island relative to the horizon, it was clear that the warm season would have maybe a month or so more to go. Nighttime temperatures were already beginning to cool. He has tried immersing himself in further volumes of Jacob's journal, but he cannot. He has gotten to a volume number now where all of the pages are simply blank. Jacob has intimated in previous passages that there might come a point where he would not be allowed to read any further, but Jesse is still quite taken back by this new development. He had formed a mental impression of Jacob somehow saying that it was time to stop now, and that he shouldn't read any further until he had done such and such. He has a picture of Carmen in his hands. He has taken to looking at it regularly now rather than risk a moment of weakness on one of the woman in his nearly, and not so nearly, naked collection. It was taken some time in the middle of the good times. One of their first vacations together after they'd graduated from college. His picture aberration was only a mild diversion then. She was sitting on a beach chair in early evening; bathed in wonderful golden sunset glow. She had been reading when he caught her attention for the picture, and when she had looked up, it was with the sweetest expression of loving impatience. It was obviously

a good book but then... He had simply said “I love you sweetheart” to get her to look up. God he missed her. Missed the connection they had had. Her humor. The fact that she was way smarter than he but that she could still find the part that was good in him and kept it alive. Keep it expressive. Making a home together. Making plans for anything. Arguing about politics, science or a movie. It didn't matter what they did, it was just a natural balance. Things and circumstance could change the fulcrum underneath them, but they always had a way of making the balance work. Until the picture thing got out of hand of course. Part of the pain he felt over it all was that she had worked so hard to understand. To help him with it. She hadn't given up on him, even after his career went off the rails. But everybody has their limit. A couple of years of barely making do and broken promises was all she could take. It is always at this point that he has to fight with great effort not to give in to the temptation again. And in this sense it was double edged. Either jump into what ever reality the portal took him to, or just pull her out. It would be so easy. Self defeating in the long run given her probable reaction, but nevertheless, it would still be a chance to be close again; even if only for a moment. And even if it made her angry. Nothing seemed to matter but being with her again. He could fight this fight, though, with a great deal more resolve. It wasn't even a fight so much as penance. He had hurt her more deeply than it was possible to consciously bear. He would never ever do that to her again; or any of the infinite variations of her that might exist. This had to have been about the tenth time he'd gone through this new ritual. He would knock down a few shots of 100 year old bourbon. Cry a bit and then put the picture away so he could finish the rest of the shots already lined up that would knock him out for the night. It had finally become clear that sex was only a small part of why he was increasingly tempted to kidnap some company. He was lonely pure and simple. It was really starting to mess him up, and now there was nothing new from Jacob to help. He was just about to reach for that first shot glass when something about the picture grabbed his attention. It wasn't the picture itself so much as the feeling that was suddenly charging through his hand. It was terror, shock and panic just about to be realized all at once. This is a reflex he cannot resist. He has the picture pulled down on top of himself in an instant. The scene changes just as quickly. The sun light is gone and is replaced by a deep shadow. Carmen is frozen midway through what would be a horrible scream. She is no longer sitting back in the beach chair, obviously in the process of trying to bolt from it in panic. The book she was reading hasn't even hit the sand yet, having been tossed to one side. Jesse applies his mind to the effort of turning himself around. He has gotten better at it now so it only takes half the time and drain that it did originally. What he sees as he completes this motion almost rips a scream of his own out. It is a tsunami and it is as big as any high budget movie could ever make one. It is probably at least a kilometer away still, but given the speed at which these things can travel it is obvious that Carmen and his copy have only seconds to live. It is then that he takes a moment to look at himself circa at least fifteen years ago. The boyish face is still there but it is twisted in a purple of pure terror. His early fears of death

show quite obvious now. It is not a scene to make one proud of one's self. He has to look away. Despite all of the argument he might make to himself; all of the 'Big Picture' logic that should sway any such insanity, he has no ability to avoid what happens next. It is instinct and instinct only. The picture is thrust off, slammed onto the table, and the woman just about to die is pulled instantly into a new existence. The moment he lets go of her hand she is resuming the scream that would have been her last expression on earth. It lasts only for a few beats of a panicked heart, when there is a sudden implosion of air into her lungs, as her face morphs into complete manic confusion. The dynamite of a new fright has blown out the previous burning fear and her mind has no resource with which to fill the sudden vacuum. Her eyes have a deer in the headlights cast raised by many orders of magnitude. She is not even able to exhale now. Jesse gently takes hold of her shoulders. “It's OK Carmen. It's OK. You're safe now. Just breathe.” It is an incremental thing, even as a bit of blue begins to tinge her skin. A little air escapes. Her eyes manage a first blink. Then its a bit more air. More blinking. “That's it Carmen. Just trust the sound of my voice. You've had the mother of all mind slams and it's going to take a minute... You may not recognize me yet, but you do know the voice. Trust the voice. It's going to be OK.” The blinking is now over eyes that are starting to focus again. Jesse steps back to give her some space to recover in. After pulling her from the picture, he let go of her at a point over the table. This proves fortunate as her initial position in the other reality was only just beginning to rise from a beach chair. She is sitting on the table now, legs out in front of her, and over the front edge of the table. Jesse is standing where the rocker used to be as it still teeters from the kick it got behind him. He moves around the front of the table so she is facing him. Her brain is now beginning to process the surroundings. “Wha... What...” It is still too much to fully comprehend. “Listen to me Carmen. This is Jesse. Hear my voice. You are safe. There is no tsunami now.“ She finally seems to be looking at him now. “No... No... “ She begins shaking her head. “You... You can't be Jesse.... We were on the beach...” She starts looking around now, more panic threatening to return. “Please sweetheart, just look at me. I know this is hard to process. You are not at the

beach any more. I... I got you away from there. I brought you to this place. I brought you here so the water couldn't hurt you. She's turned her gaze back to him. Something approaching recognition is creeping in. There is still a great deal of puzzlement surrounding it though. “Jesse? Is that you?” “Yes sweetheart, it's me. I'm older now but it's me. Please trust that. You were born in Olympia Washington. Your moms name is Olivia and your dad's name is Joe. We met at a Starbucks in Seattle. We didn't know it at the time but we were both attending the U of W. You majored in Bio-Ethics, I in Computer Science and Systems Analysis. I was always envious of the better grades you got.” There are tears in her eyes now. “How can this be possible. You were on the beach with me. Why do you look so different. You... You look older.” “I know sweetheart there's a lot to explain. It's going to take some time.” Jesse notices that two of the seven shot glasses originally poured for his nightly drunk are still on the table, just above where he slammed the beach picture down. He moves as he continues talking. “I'll explain everything in a bit. You need to give your head a chance to down shift first.” He reaches the picture and turns it over with one hand, while he picks up a shot with the other. “Take a sip of this. It'll help turn the jangles down a bit.” She takes the shot glass, sips a bit and hands it back. Looking around some more she says: “What is this place. How... How could you possibly have gotten me here?” He offers her a hand. “Come on. Let's get you into a proper chair.” He helps her off of the table then, guiding her to the rocker. After he she is seated he offers the glass again. “Just a little more and then I'll begin.” She complies without question. He takes the glass back, and sets it on the table. After pushing the leather recliner over to face her he sits. “This is going to be a monumental load of information to take sweetheart. It's going to be especially hard to accept.” He is leaning forward intently. “I wish this wasn't the case. I wish there were an easier way to do this. Please believe me though. Everything I'm about to tell you is absolutely true. I swear on everything precious we ever shared.” He has to close his eyes and look deep for some resolve to continue.

“If I hadn't acted as I did. You would have died. There wasn't any way I could bear that.” “But... But you were there too. You should be dead now. I don't understand any of this.” “I know, I know. Listen. This is the hard part. Something happened to me. I don't know if was an ability given to me when I was born, or if just jumped into me out the ether when I was young. I can tell you that I wasn't at all aware of it until after... Well, until after I was older. What I'm talking about is a real, balls to bones, physical ability. An ability like no other. “ He has to pause again to organize an approach. “Christ... Where to begin... It's.... It's a means to create dimensional portals to other realities.” “What? Do you have any concept of how crazy that sounds?” “Yes, sweetheart, of course I do. That's what make this so hard. You've just got to trust me on this. Nobody could possibly know just how crazy this is but me. I've been living it.” He sits back then and considers her thoughtfully for a moment. “Listen. You can see that I am older than the Jesse you were probably talking to only minutes ago. And there's no disputing that you were on the beach in Trinidad. For me that moment occurred fifteen years ago. Not only that, when I lived it, there was no Tsunami.” He paused once again. This time to let this bomb shell sink in. She can only look at him with wide eyed disbelief. He holds a hand up. “I know how impossible that sounds, but I swear to you that it's the truth.” “Are you trying to tell me that time travel is possible? You have an ability to move back in time? “No. No sweetheart. It's a hell of a lot more complicated than that. It can seem like time travel but it isn't. Look. You were always good at math. You know about the possibility of an infinite number of parallel universes that physicists have postulated. I am telling you that we are both now living proof that this a good deal more than theory.” She shakes her head. “I think I need another hit of that bourbon.” He gets up, retrieves one of the remaining full shot glass, hands it to her and sits back down. She drains half of if it this time. It doesn't phase her at all. She was always able to drink him under the table. She studies the glass a moment before she resumes. “I don't recall you ever being able to afford this kind of booze.” Then she looks around a bit more. “The Spartan tone of this place is sure you though.” He smiles a little. It was the resilience she always had shining through.

“That's 100 year old hooch you're holding there. And just for the record, given the pay scale I left before coming here, there's still no way I could have afforded it. The reason you have it in your hand is the very same reason that has afforded you the opportunity to drink it. It is also the reason why we are both here.” “OK. Lets table the how part for now. What about the where part. Where the fuck are we?” He sighs. “You're not going to like that answer any more than the first one. Trust me on this.” Another deep breath to fortify himself. “We are on a planet that sits in a galaxy that is in no way a part of the universe you came from, or the one that I came from. We are both, in fact, in a completely different reality than the one we originated in.” The shot glass is drained. She just sits then for a few minutes, not focusing on anything in particular. It's clear she's at a tipping point, unable to allow for either of the two rather stark possibilities: Either one or both of them had gone quite mad, or the limited world view she had built her entire intellectual life on had just been smashed to bits. “A suggestion?” She looked up. There was a real need for help in those eyes. “If it involves another shot I'm all ears.” “I think I can accommodate that. In fact...” He gets up. Goes over to the binder stack and retrieves the top one. The page he need has fortunately been dog eared for easy access. “In the interests of empirical data collection, I think we can work to common purpose here.” Her eyebrows have gone up in that way she had of saying 'I'm very skeptical, but I'm also very curious. He sat back down again; on the edge of the recliner seat this time so that he could be closer. He has the picture in question in hand and needed only to close the binder in order to place the picture in easy view. “Alright. Would you like to examine this picture first? I think it would be helpful if you did.” He offers up the binder as a serving tray. She remains skeptical but complies. It takes only a minute to turn it from one side to the other to satisfy her. She hands it back as she says “I think we can stipulate to the fact of this being an ordinary picture.” There is a definite tone of sarcasm.

He places the picture back down on the binder, which is now a makeshift table on his knees. “Agreed. As you can see it shows a fairly well stocked bar. The bourbon you've requested is I believe...” he bends to look closer. “...the fifth bottle from the left on the top shelf.” Her skepticism has softened a bit as she recognizes his over blown way of being 'Scientific,' “Rather than waste time in retrieving a shot at a time, I'm going to collect the bottle itself.” “Wait a second. You're telling me you're going to pull a bottle of booze out of that picture?” “Correct.” “I'm not sure which is going to be worse. That you can or that you're full of shit.” “This ability is about 9.9 on the weird meter I'll grant you, but it's not the end of the... Well, the worlds actually. In any case, you'll get used to it. It took me a while but it's not nearly such a big deal now.” “Look Ace. Aren't you getting a little ahead of yourself here? I don't see a drink in my hand yet.” “Right. Sorry. Let's begin. “ He gives a bit of flourish with his hand before slowly pushing it down into the picture. The picture's surface does it phase change thing and his hand has disappeared. He eyes go wide again and her jaw drops. “No frigging way. No frigging way.” He gives her an apologetic look. “I'm afraid so sweetheart. What you are looking at now is an open portal to another reality. I have no control over which of the infinite earth variations this might be, but it is in fact one of the possible earth realities. I could, if I chose to, move completely into that reality. If I did, it is very unlikely that I would ever be able to portal back to this reality. Short of that, however, anything in the near vicinity of the reality actually reached is available to me for retrieval.” “Retrieval? Is that what you call it? “Well, I never really bothered to call it by any particular name before. The point is I can pull things out of the other reality and make them real here.” At which point he pulls his hand back out. The dusty bottle of very old bourbon is suddenly the very large elephant in the room. She looks at him with complete disbelief. He looks back quite perplexed. He was convinced that offering proof would be helpful. It clearly has not been.

She gets up, needing to steady herself a bit with the back of the rocker. “Jesus frigging Christ Jesse.“ She begins to pace just beyond the rocker. “You have got to be frigging kidding me. This is just too frigging much...” “Carmen. I'm trying to help you understand. I.. I thought proving what I could do would allay your confusion.” “Jesus... Jesus.. Don't you get it? You pulled me out of a frigging picture! I didn't exist and now I do exist? Like some magic bottle of booze? Jesus...” “No. No sweetheart. You've got it all wrong. You did exist.” He holds the bottle up. “This bottle existed. It was just in a different reality. All of the memories you have are real. All of the events that have made them are real. You are real. That monster wave was real. It was really going to kill you.” “Oh sweet mother... Don't start on that again... I was supposed to die and you've cheated the grim reaper...? God Jesse. I... I can't even begin to get my head around this.” He gets up, goes to the table and sets the bottle down. He finds one of the shot glasses beneath the table and fills it. Turning back to Carmen he says: “Please Carmen. Just please sit down and have another sip. You've got to try and give it a chance to settle in.” She stops passing long enough to grab the glass from him, knock it back and hold it out expectantly. He pours her another and sets the bottle back down. She begins pacing again but at bit more slowly now. “Aren't you a great one for the advice now.” On arm is wrapped around her middle while the other hand holds the glass to her temple. “What makes you so all fired sure about what is or isn't real now? Let me just tell you babe there's a whole lot of room for doubt now from my perspective.” He goes back to the recliner and sags into it, a great deal of pain and regret now weighing him down. “I'm sorry. The whole thing is so unfair. I didn't mean for it to be like this. I should have known. Should have thought it through better. I... I just didn't. You were going to die and... I acted on automatic pilot. No excuse... No excuse at all... “ His head is hanging. All of the past failures well up in him. All of the other times he let her down. It is too much. He begins to weep. It is soon a torrent of pain long held in. It is physical agony as well as mental anguish. Someone somewhere is screaming out with that pain. Someone else has the clear vision of relief. A body that is no longer his stumbles out of the chair. The deliverance of that relief is in another picture. There is a vague sense of paper flying all over the place. Another, different voice is shouting. There are hands on him. Surprisingly strong, despite a small grip. A picture of a gun is suddenly partly in focus. There is a sense of reaching for it but before the reach can be consummated his head explodes with a flash of light and pain. There is only darkness after.

Scene 20: Jesse has been dreaming of someone chasing him and hitting him in the head with bricks. This mysterious pursuer does not need to be dogging close to his heels as his aim is spot on, no matter the range. The dream melts away at the touch of a hand on his forehead. As it turns out, his head is being pounded by something; a monster head ache. It is an effort, but he manages to get his eyes open. For the moment he is only able to take a limited inventory. Carmen is beside him. He is on the floor in the main room. She is regarding him with a look of considerable concern. “Jesse? Are you alright?” He has to swallow. Squint in concentration and then groan a bit before he can get any words out. “What the hell happened? Jesus. I feel like my head is going come off.” “Thank God. I was worried sick.” He struggles to sit up and can manage it only with Carmen's support. He feels the back of his head. There is lump there under the hair that is quit to indicate its displeasure at being touched. “Christ's sake Carmen. Did you hit me?” She sits back, guilt clearly weighing heavily. The bottle of bourbon has been set to one side of her. “I'm sorry but what else was I supposed to do? You were going to pull a frigging gun out of one of your stupid pictures. What he hell got into you? The Jesse I know would never do anything that stupid.” He groans again. This is prompted more from the need to keep his outward demeanor in sync with the inner. The memory of recent events has finally kicked in. “You don't understand.” “You're frigging right I don't understand. I don't understand anything that is going on. One minute I'm going to die. Then I'm talking to a Jesse more than 15 years beyond normal. A Jesse who tells me he can pull realities out of a hat, and who then goes full tilt ape shit on me. Which part of that is supposed to help me understand anything?” He sighs. Takes a moment to collect himself and then says: “Help me get up.” She is near tears herself, but she complies. It is an effort for both of them. They manage, though slowly, to get him back to the recliner. He points to the table. “There's ibuprophen there. If you'd collect that and some

water I'd appreciate it.” She complies again. Showing some relief that at this display of practicality. She returns to the rocker once he has some relief of his own in hand. She allows him a few minutes for the medication and water to have some effect. It's clear, however, that her concern has limits. “What's wrong with you Jesse?” She makes a face at the quick realization of the absurdity of the question. “OK. I mean allowing for the obvious insanity of recent events, you've been acting like an emotional basket case. What the hell has happened to you?” “That's exactly what I was trying to say. A lot of shit went down in the fifteen years that we're out of sync with. You have no idea what this...” He has to look away for a moment, an inventory of pain threatening his control. “...What this 'gift' has cost me.” The word gift has come out as if it tasted bad. A deep breath helps to steady him. “What you have to understand is. The gift is what caused me to lose you in my original reality. It was only a year or so after the Trinidad vacation that it really started to get bad.” He has to pause again. She can tell now how difficult this is for him. “Alright. I can see this is hard. But I have to think... For both our sakes. You need to do this. What happened to us?” This little bit of compassion bolsters him. “The ability wasn't really an ability at all at first. I had no idea what was going on. All I had was this growing compulsion to collect pictures. Any and all pictures. It was worse than a drug addiction. I had to have pictures and I had to hold them.” “I'm still not quite getting this. You had to have pictures? Why?” He looks at her, remembering that exact same confusion from another Carmen. He shakes his head. “At the time I couldn't explain why. I didn't understand it any more than you did. They just had a power over me. They pulled me in. It was spacing out times about a thousand. Within a year my career was in the crapper. Eventually even shit jobs were hard to hold on to.” She frowns with the effort to try and imagine this. “God Jesse.” “You were great at first though. It was a problem and we were going to work it out together. That was your attitude. And you really tried. Stuck it out for about two years.” He has to take time to rub his face. “The eventual outcome was inevitable though. I betrayed every promise I made to you. I still loved you but I was incapable of demonstrating it in any meaningful way. How could anyone endure that for very long? It was really hard for you but you finally mustered the

courage to dump me.” She has to look away now. The enormity of putting herself into that future was crushing. “I spent the next bunch of years being a high class street person. On my own and moving all of the time. Ended up in Spokane. Found the one shitty job I could finally hold and had a bit of stability for a short time before all hell broke loose. She has regained her composure. “What do you mean?” He shrugged. “I don't know exactly. I mean I started dreaming about this place.” He stretched his hands out to encompass the house. “Not to mention a bunch of other crazy stuff. And then I began getting a growing sense of something huge about to happen. My last night in Spokane, and I mean the mother puss bucket of bad days at the office, we get this lightening storm, I'm trying to run away from my own insanity, and then boom I'm here. I'm here and I find out why.” She regards him for a second. “Because of your ability. Right?” He knows this next bit is going to hurt. “Well... Not exactly...” She rolls her eyes. “You have got to be kidding me. This just keeps getting better and better.” He holds his hands up. “Look. The ability is part of it. My having it is why I'm the one here. It's just that... Well... The Multi-verse has a problem. There are... Well... What you might call some significant players who have had a long running dispute. A brother and sister actually... Anyway, they've been fighting and the sister is in trouble. Her brother found a way to lock her up so to speak. As the sister carries a lot weight in the Multi-Verse. I shit you not when I say this has not been good for individual realities as a whole. Very Very bad in fact. Your basic fundamental balance of everything kind of bad.” She has her hands up now. “Wait just a god damned minute here. Multi-Verse? Brothers and Sisters fighting? And the balance of every thing, just for good measure I suppose. Have you been living on crazy cactus here?” “Trust me Carmen, I can understand your incredulity only too well. You are exactly where I was at a few months ago. But I swear to you that it's all true. This is, in fact, the sugar coated version.” “What!?” “I'm afraid you'd hurt me if again I gave you all of the details. Just believe me when I tell you that this rabbit hole goes really really deep into some crazy shit.” The hands are up again. “OK. OK. I can't take any more of it right now. I'm on overload as it is. Jesus.” She has gotten back up and makes her way to the sink. She works the pump handle,

gets a flow going and then splashes her face with the cold water. When she looks at him expectantly, wet hands held out, he points to a lower cupboard handle behind her. She grabs the towel there and dries off. “Are you hungry? Maybe some coffee now?” She puts the towel back and takes a moment to look out the sink window. “Is that an ocean I see?” “Yes. We're on an Island. It's quite beautiful actually. When you're up to it I'll give you the nickel tour.” She turns and gives the main floor living area a more complete examination. “I don't think I've ever seen this much stone in a house before. And what's with all of the books?” He gives the books a knowing smile. “They are the collected journals of a man who was brought here a very long time ago. His name was Jacob. He had something of the same ability as me. He was brought here for the same reason. The only difference was he wasn't able to accomplish the task.” Jesse pauses, no small amount of reverence coming over him. “I'm fairly sure he knew he wouldn't be able to pull it off, but he stuck it out and tried anyway. He wanted to be sure the next guy would have a fighting chance.” Carmen has a chance to study Jesse while he isn't looking. This was surly him alright. Different to be sure, but it was him. How could such things be. “I get the feeling you've had a chance to read more than just a few.” He smiled in her direction. “That obvious huh.” “Definitely.” “Yeah. I can tell you though. That dead man has kept me going. You can't possibly know how close I've come. Repeatedly I might add. How close I've come to just chucking the whole thing and jump off. And by that I mean start jumping into one reality after another and never look back. The Whole Thing be damned.” She smiles back. “That was never you Jesse and you know it.” His smile fades. “You'd be surprised what really terrifying things can do to even strong people. And I'm not nearly as strong as you think.” She ignores that comment. Comes over to him, touches a shoulder and says: “Maybe some coffee would be good.”

**************************** They are in the back yard now. Jesse has procured another lawn chair and they are both sitting back sipping coffee. It is well past midnight. The cool beginnings of autumn air has required a blanket to wrap Carmen in. She has it pulled tight around her and the beach skirt and tank top she is still wearing. The night sky has her enthralled. “My God Jesse. I never imagined a sky could look like this.” “It is something isn't it. I figure this planet is at or near a galactic center. The two moons don't hurt either do they.” “It's... It's just so much to take in.... I mean another frigging galaxy in another reality?” She looks at her coffee then. “I... I really owe you an apology Jesse.” He looks at her. “For Christs sakes Carmen. Why?” “I've had a chance now to put myself into your shoes. The wonder Jesse is that you have any sanity left at all. I keep trying to think how I would have managed to cope with it all... I don't think there would have been any chance.” He shrugged. “Well. Maybe there's something to say for the odd little break down here and there to keep the pressure off. That and a good friend. Even if he is dead.” They are both silent for a while before Carmen speaks again. “How much time do you have Jesse?” “What do you mean?” “How much time do you have to do what ever it is you're supposed to do?” “Oh. Yeah. That. Well, it's kinda open ended for now. Things are sorta on hold until a... Well... Until a few things find me.” She's holding up a stop hand. “I know, I had to ask didn't I. And trust me, I can tell another dose of sugar coating when I hear it. It will keep. You can get more specific when I've had more time to adjust. I've got some calm going here and I intend to savor it for as long as possible.” There's another long peaceful interlude of silence before she speaks again. “Anything you want to know about the reality I left?” He considers this for a few minutes before replying. “Well, how about presidents. I'm curious as to who the last few presidents have been for you.” She has a bit of a puzzled look but responds. “That's easy enough. We had an environmentalist win handily over this asshole from Texas. Why?”

He groans. “We had to make it through two terms of the Asshole.” She just looks at him. “Jesus. No wonder you had to leave.”

Scene 21: They both slept in the next day. There was no question, of course, about what the sleeping arrangements would be. With the awkwardness of the situation Jesse had just said “I'll make something up for me down here. You can have the bed.” when they had finally come in last night. She was so tired by then that she barely took notice. It had to be nearly eleven by the time he crawled out of the sleeping bag he had found. He had already pulled out coffee and was sitting in the recliner when Carmen came clumping sleepily down the stairs. His eyes almost bugged out when he noticed that she was completely naked. Carmen was by nature entirely uninhibited about her body. She was certainly pretty, but in a skinny, tomboy sort of way. Her breasts were small, though with large nipples. Flat stomach, with some abdominal definition. Short brown hair and a wonderful spray of freckles around her nose and cheeks. There wasn't anything about her he didn't find attractive. She's rubbing her eyes when she finally manages to say “Coffee. Now.” He gets up as she plops down on the rocker. He is goes through the usual picture routine to grant her requests as he hears “God Jesse. Don't you think you could spring for some cushions on this thing?. Feels like hell on a bare butt.” He moves over to hand her the coffee and of course can't hide the wide eyes. She rolls hers. “Oh for Christ sakes. You've seen me naked a million times. You're not going to go all school boy on me now are you?” All he can say is. “Well, I am trying. It has been a while you know.” “Look. All I have to wear is a beach outfit. I have been in it for far too long. I need something else to wear. And until you can secure that for me you'll just have think as much cold water as it takes.” That was the other thing about Carmen of course. She had just never been a morning person. He has both hands up. “Fair enough. Fair enough. I am on the wardrobe thing.” He moves back to the table and works through the stack until he finds an appropriate candidate binder. He takes it and the binder back t the recliner.

“Fall is definitely coming. Warm is going to have to be the cornerstone of your ensemble.” He is turning pages now. “Getting the size right might be tricky though. “ The morning grumpy still hasn't worn off. “Don't tell me you've forgotten my size. Any moron married for as long as we were should be able to remember that.” “I remember your size just fine. It's just that doing this with any precision takes a bit more effort.” He stops for a second as the mental picture of what he will no doubt have to do becomes more clear. “There's something else to take into consideration as well.” She frowns over her coffee. “What the hell is that supposed to mean.” “Well... To do this right requires an approach to using a portal that you are not accustom to yet. It's... Well... It's going to look pretty freaky to you. You have to promise not to go ballistic on me.” She is sitting cross legged on the rocker now, and actually rocking. He suspects that she's not consciously aware of it. The grumpy is starting to melt away. “Oh... That's kind of you to not just spring it on me.” She pauses for a second. “Just how freaky are we talking about here.” “Probably a sphincter factor of... Oh, say at least 7.5 for the uninitiated.” The grumpy is completely gone now as she does her little girl frown; the one she does when she's worried. “You're not asking for much are you.” “Look. It just looks freaky. The thing you have to remember is that it does nothing to harm me. I've done this a bunch of times before and it's no big deal.” He picks up a picture of a department store. “Here's what's going to happen. I can't just put my hand in and grab the first garment if feel. I have to see what I'm doing. In order to do that I have to partially enter the reality.” “Jesus Jesse. You can do that?” “Well yeah. How do you think I discovered what was about to happen to you yesterday?” She has another stop hand up. “Can we please not bring that up for a while?” “Fine. The point is I have to get head and hands into this portal. That means pulling the picture down over me. When I do that it's going to appear like I don't have an upper body any more.” She looks like she's about to turn green now. “How about this. You warm me up some water. Get me a wash rag, and a bath towel. Then I go back up stairs to do a sponge bath while you do your freaky thing down here.”

He immediately wishes he had thought of that. Damn her and the whole smarter thing anyway. “Well... Ah. Yeah. That works too.” She sits back again. The little girl frown has bee replaced with the calm satisfaction of someone who knows quite well that this will work, and much better to boot. He wants to be at least a little irritated but it is impossible. This is exactly who she is and it is wonderful. He has to get motivated immediately to keep joy tears from forming. It takes a full two and a half hours before they are both sitting at the table again. The recliner and the rocker have been pushed back towards the back door. She has insisted normal chairs be placed around the table. She is wearing the jeans and flannel shirt he has found for her. He has one of the black dyed Slap Jack outfits he has fashioned. She has eyed it with a bit of curiosity but said nothing. They have finished a brunch and are sipping coffee again. “So how long have you been here so far?” He has to squint a bit in thought at this question. “Um... Kinda have to guesstimate on that. Didn't get any clocks going till I had been here for a while. Had to set them with an arbitrary starting point as well. Calendars seemed kinda pointless too.... In any case. It's gotta be at least 3 months or so by now.” “God. I think I would have gone crazy with boredom alone. What do you do to keep busy?” “Well, at first that wasn't a problem at all. This place can be anything but boring if you're not careful. In fact, an initial run in with one of the local hot spots nearly got my ass chewed off.” “This place is dangerous?” “It can be is all. As long as we stay on the Southern half of the Island, keep within close sight of the shore, and don't go too high into the peaks, there's nothing to fear at all. I didn't know that right off because I didn't bother to read the instructions first.” She smiled. “That figures.” “Yeah yeah.... Anyway. After I had a chance to read the first few volumes of Jacob's journals, things began to settle down quite a bit. Spent about a month getting into making the native clothing here.” He does a little modeling imitation to show off what he is wearing. “You made that?” She is looking closer now. “You were always good with your hands Jesse, but... That's an incredibly accurate fit. And... How did you stitch it together? I can't see any seam lines.”

“You can't because there aren't any. The vest, pullover and pants are completely seamless. It's an amazing process. I got it from Jacob. It uses the fiber of a seed pod that grows here. Takes a ton of them too. You boil it. Add a bunch of regents. Rinse a few times and then add an oil extracted from tree bark. The really crazy part, though, comes last. You wouldn't believe it.” “I don't know. Believing the unbelievable seems to be getting easier the more time a person stays here. What do ya gotta do. Dance naked in the moon light while you shake bones over chicken entrails?” He laughed. “Well, as it turns out, you're actually kinda close.” “Oh for Christs sakes,” she exclaims, rolling her eyes. “I should have seen that coming.” “Only on the naked part you understand. You have to strip buck naked when you start slapping the wet fiber on.” “Wait a second. You're telling me you apply this crap to your body? And that's supposed to make clothing?” “Yup. The clever part is the static charge you apply.” “OK. I think I can go on living without knowing the secrets of native clothing. I mean it looks nice and all but I'm fine with portal pull, thank you very much.” He shrugs. “Suite yourself. You wouldn't believe how comfortable this stuff is though. Breathes like the best Gortex you've ever seen. Insulates great and...” He frowns for a moment as he looks at a sleeve. “It seems to give you a kind of lift. Or something anyway. I can't quite put my finger on it.” She gives him a suspicious look. “Maybe you shouldn't be sniffing the steam so much when it boils.” He looks back at her. “Very funny.” “Anyway,” She says. “Getting back to the original topic. What else is there to keep you busy here?” This forces an inner groan. He was hoping she wouldn't press him on “Bigger Pictures” details so soon. He decides that presenting her with an honest cautionary on this avenue would perhaps be the best bet. “Ah... Yeah. Look Carmen. In order to answer that question I'm going to have to get more specific on what I like to call the Big Picture here. I will do that if you feel you're up to it. I have to admit that it scares me though. And I mean that both in the sense that it's going to be a lot more crazy for you to have to digest, but also because this is stuff that still scares the piss out of me.” She has to look down at her coffee now. Jesse was always his most honest and open

when it really mattered. She had to take this very seriously. He wanted to protect her, but more importantly he was truly frightened. That was scary in and of itself. The bottom line, though, was you dealt with the reality at hand. Not the should of, or could of or whatever. “I understand Jesse. You're sweet to provide a choice. But you know what I'm going to say.” “It's the reality at hand thing isn't it.” “Yeah.. Pretty much.” “Alright then.” He takes a deep breath and begins. “I've already given you the sugar coated Cliff Notes version. Here's the real deal. I am the only hope for saving an entity called the Crucible of Creation. This is the sister I mentioned. As far as I can tell she is some kind of extra dimensional being. A being who is critical, and I mean critical in how the Compound Universe works. This is one scary girl I wanna tell ya.” “You're talking about a woman? An extra dimensional woman?” “Well... She appears as a woman for the most part. I've been able to see her in dreams. Talk to her in fact. And she'd be hot if it weren't for the montage that makes up her face.... I mean she's got a head, and gorgeous hair and all. It's just that where a face would normally be there's this constantly morphing montage of everything. It's another several orders of magnitude of freaky. Trust me.” “Jesus... I'm going to just assume from now on that what you say is true. It will save a lot of time... So you've been talking to an extra dimensional being. Did she bring you here?” “I'm not sure. Maybe. I mean, she's supposed to be imprisoned. You'd think that she wouldn't be in a position to do much of anything except send messages through the ether, but who knows. She got locked up by her brother; a dude I know pretty much squat about. The way to her prison is on this Island. There's a shrine of sorts carved into the Northern most peak that is a pretty good bet to be the door to that prison.” “Right. So you're supposed to be the knight in shining armor to do the rescue thing. I take it that this is a good deal more complicated than just storming the dark castle.” “Damn straight. It's a nightmare series of three challenges that have to be completed first. They have to be done as they provide necessary elements to help me understand the key to opening the prison. These challenges are the things that make the Island extremely dangerous. One is out in the water beyond the reefs. Another is in a demonic meadow on the middle Western slopes of the Island, and the third in the peaks.” “Naturally, corresponding with the strictures on travel.” “Yup. Anyway... I have an open ended amount of time to finish my... Well let's call it my final preparations. This is where Jacob has been extremely helpful. I don't have a chance to

complete these challenges unless I gain mastery over another power.” “Sure. Why not. What's one more power more or less amongst friendly universes. Gees.” “I know. It does tend to pile on, doesn't it.” “Just ignore me Jesse. It's not your fault. Things are as they are. We'll work this out.” He can manage a small smile at this. “OK. The thing I've been waiting to find me is the ability to wield magic. Magic apparently is allowed in some realities and not in others. And as we are in weird central here, magic is most definitely on the menu.” “Well of course it is,” she says, a little exasperated. “Why wouldn't it be.” She sighs then before continuing. “Go on. I'll get a handle on the whining at some point.” “Well... I've gotten stuck at this point. Jacob gave hints that there would be a point where he'd be unable to tell me more and that point is at hand unfortunately. The journals have suddenly gone blank. They have no witting in them now. Magic is undoubtedly a mile stone. Things won't progress any further until I'm able to do it. Jacob said the key to having it find me was to not try to look for it directly. It was a just be, get with nature program that would allow a connection to just happen.” “So what went wrong?” Its his turn to sigh now. “The whole being lonely thing finally caught up to me, and I mean with a vengeance. It's complicated in that it was all mixed up with another problem I've been trying to deal with.” “In this place Jesse, if it's only one other problem that's causing you difficulty, you should count that as a win. You really need to believe that.” “Well. Maybe that will be easier now.” He thinks he detects the slightest bit of blush on her face. He continues though. “Anyway... You have to understand what having my first power might do to a person. I mean to tell you Carmen, if it's not the ultimate in 'just go selfish', it's got to be pretty damn close. It's a free ticket to anything you want. Women. Power. And riches beyond any avarice. And the thing is, the ability seems to have a mind of its own. It pulls on you no matter what the nature of your character is. Most especially when it involves things you haven't had for a while.” It is now Jesse's turn to keep from blushing. “I get it. For a guy this would present built in temptations. And having experienced the joys of being pulled first hand I just...” She is giving him an expression that has no small amount of compassion in it. “I just want to thank you on the behalf of women everywhere for not giving in to it.” “Well that's not exactly true. As you've already stated.” “Jesse, that was an exceptional set of circumstances. If the roles had been reversed I would have done the same thing. Mind you. It was hell pure and simple. You can't begin to

appreciate the kind of hell getting that kind of rug pulled out from under is. And then to just get another crammed back under to boot. But even after having gone through it. If the roles had been reversed I probably still would have done the same thing.” “I guess I'll have to take your word on that. In any case I had to switch to looking at your picture to have any chance of continuing to fight off the temptation.” She has curious look now. “My picture helped you fight off the temptation?” “Yeah. With what I had already put you through in my reality, there was no way I could allow myself to hurt you again. It made fighting it easier. Well... That and a lot of booze of course. The drinking was starting to be a real problem in fact. It was the only way I could cope though.” She leans back and begins rubbing her face and temples. She was about to do a 'Why her' when she cut herself off. That was bullshit. Why her. Why Jesse? Why anything for fuck sakes. So many unbelievable improbabilities. His ability. His getting here. Chancing upon a portal where she was about to be killed. And now so much resting upon his shoulders. What the fuck was the point of asking why? Maybe there was some greater hand involved, or maybe it was just karma. Maybe it was simply a cosmic joke of coincidence, in an otherwise cold cosmos. What difference did it make. She would have been dead; along with every dream and aspiration she had ever had. Now she has a second chance to do something meaningful. There was, of course, no certainty that it would be meaningful, you just had to have faith that it would be. Her gut was convinced, however, and you had to go with that. This was Jesse. A different Jesse perhaps but still Jesse. And there was a thought. Could there be some kind of collective spirit? An overarching kind of energy that guided the nature of all the Jesse's, all of the Carmen's? It intrigued her. Choice would always remain of course. And each copy might not always be true to the resonating factors of their spirit, but that wouldn't preclude its existence. The really warming part of this notion, however, was how it suggested a further, more compelling truth. Given what she already knew of the Jesse spirit, as well as her own, no matter which of the infinity of all possible earths, their union would always be the greatest probability. It was a beautiful and reaffirming realization. She opened her eyes and looked at Jesse. His faced was tinged with a bit of concern now. There was a lot of gray in his hair now and deep lines in his face. But it was still Jesse. She could feel it. And that was why it all made a sudden, perfect sense. This man. This gentle man who was strong in all of the ways that were important to her. His heart. The depth of his love, and ability to give all of himself. His character and sense of honor. Of course she was here. That was the way their spirits worked. There simply could not be a reality that did not allow them a chance to be together. The ultimate choice was always theirs of course, but they would always have it to make. It is a moment before she realizes that tears are falling. “Carmen? Are you OK?” “Yes Jesse. I'm more than OK.” She does a quick wipe with a sleeve, smiling as she did

so. “Something very important has just occurred to me. I understand now why I am here.” The concern just melts from Jesse's face and is replaced by the most tender look of reassurance she can remember. “It's funny you know,” she continued. What we have here is a case of being able to stand back and see things from a much larger perspective. I guess you have to be pulled kicking and screaming to that point sometimes. Anyways... It has allowed me to see something important about spirit.” She explains her revelation to him then. Why it makes perfect sense that she would be here now. When she is finished they sit in silence. Both have tears in their eyes. They simply sit and share the realization. Scene 22: The next two weeks are a blur of enjoyment for Jesse. They take their time in going through Carmen's introduction to all of the Islands many features. There are repeated trips to virtually every spot on the Island that's safe to traverse. Jesse pulls out a medium sized boat with ores and they fish with poles. A pan fried, mixture of salmon and cod, fish becomes a favorite; especially over open fires on the beach. Jesse reads a range of passages from Jacob's journal. They even gather enough seed pods for Jesse to demonstrate Slap Jack production. It provided a moment that could have been of great embarrassment for Jesse were it not for Carmen's easy reaction. He was naked after all, and with her close by it shouldn't have been surprising that he'd get an erection. She took it (all puns intended) in easy stride though. “Oh. You poor poor man. Perhaps its time we did something about that.” Whereupon she simply dropped her jeans and underwear, and jumped up on the work bench. It turned out to be the perfect height; kneeling before her or standing. After that, sharing a bed was all he remembered it to be. Most especially the just having her there; held close and complete. That and all of the other little intimacies that made being with her so special. Patting her butt all of the time. Resting a hand on a bare inner thigh. Copping an easy feel of a breast while they kissed. A contact that had no specific intent towards sex as much as to simply touch closer to her center. He couldn't help but to need and want to touch every aspect of her being. Inside and out. And have her do the same with him. It was what he was made for. Why he existed. He didn't want it to ever end, and towards that goal he simply put all thought of the bigger picture out of his mind. He is in the back yard garden now. He is operating a battery powered tiller, churning the dirt and leftover stalks into a mulch to prepare for winter. Carmen is in the drying room. She has decided that she should give the going native thing more of a workout. He is out here because she has banished him for the duration of her own Slap Jack application. After several previous tries with Jesse's aid it became clear that the process was just too erotic for Jesse to handle. For her too of course, but he couldn't get her to admit it.

It is cloudy and the pressure has been dropping. He can smell moisture in the now cold air. A first storm is probably approaching. The air is beginning to tingle his skin with an electric charge. This one will no doubt provide a light show. He has reached the far garden border from the house and so switches off the tiller. He regards the results with satisfaction. It had provided a pretty good crop of pot. And with the limited amount of usage they both indulged in, the harvest would last till spring. He took a moment then to cast about the sky. The overcast was darkening rapidly. The wind was picking up too. It wouldn't be more than an hour before the storm hit full force. Best get things put away, he thought, before then. He turned the tiller around and was about to make for the walkway gate when he remembered the hand tools laying at the corner behind him. He hated making wasteful trips. And as the hand tools consisted of only a shovel and rake, holding them in one hand while wheeling the tiller with the other would be no big deal. It was the sudden image of the tools laying in the wild grass at the garden's corner that had reminded him. He turned to go fetch them when, that image still in mind, the tingling across his skin went into him and grew into a surge of power. Something akin to, but also more than electrical in nature. It was also a surge from a sea that seemed to surround him; that he was swimming in. An enveloping essence formed of everything; the grass, the ground, the air and every atom in between. It was connection, immersion, Identity, and fusion. He was separate from nothing, in a sense, and so could coax and cajole and suggest to it all. Limited only by his will and imagination. It was all a matter of frame of mind, and a kind of argument to be put forth. A persuasion if you will. Just give whatever lovely part of it the right kind of seduction and it would respond. And of course a shovel and rake were but small players in the entirety. The argument there was an easy, as well as natural, one. Oxidation can be avoided if you would but come with me my dear friends. To which they could hardly find reason to resist. Both implements immediately began to rise and float over to him; stopping obediently and waiting for him to continue. It takes him several minutes of just standing there, the tools dangling in front of him, the new force surging through him, to fully process what has just happened. Magic has found him. It is exhilarating, exciting, and heart breaking all at once. It marks the beginning of the end for his respite. It is not clear how he knows this but the rest of his apprenticeship in magic will not take very long. Confronting the challenges that face him is in sight. For the first time, however, these no longer frighten him so much. There is a growing confidence now. Some how he will overcome these. Just as Jacob did. There is also a sense that the final test will not stop him either. He can free the crucible. He can see the possibility clearly. The heartbreak he feels stems from what will follow. Everything will change once She is free. Exactly what that change will be cannot be known, but it will happen. That much is certain. And this will leave him and Carmen at an unknown place with each other. It seems more than likely that their fates will have to follow different paths from that point on. “Jesse?” He can here Carmen calling out for him. “Jesse? Did you feel that? Just a second or so ago?”

She has come around the walkway and just now emerges from the back yard gate. As the Slap Jack session must have been suddenly interrupted, she is back in regular clothes “My God. It felt like an EMP burst of psi energy. I know there's a storm coming but...” She stops mid sentence as she strides into view of Jesse and his new friends. Her eyes go large immediately. “Holy Shit...” She walks up to him tentatively and stops when she is facing the tools, just off of his right hand. She reaches out slowly with a finger and gives the shovel a little push. It does not budge from the spot but does oscillate slightly. She looks at Jesse and then back at the tools. “I guess you already know what the psi pulse must have been.” She looked back at him again. “Are you OK?” He is finally able to let out a sigh. He turns to face her. “Yeah. I'm OK. It was just a bit overwhelming is all. It still is actually.” “Sooo.... Are we talking a sudden onset of magic here?” He nods his head. “And then some sweetheart. It found me alright. Kinda like an avalanche finds an abrupt bottom.” He looks around the back yard, at the tools and then back at Carmen. “It's amazing. It's an indescribably complete connection with everything. I have this feeling that I can... Sort of convince things to do what I want. Give them a mental argument that just induces a given behavior.” “Wow... What did you tell these guys?” “Well... That they could avoid rusting if they followed me to the drying room. It was just that simple. They just picked themselves up and floated on over. They're waiting in fact for me to get going.” A sudden gust of wind and a distant rumble of thunder brings his attention back to the weather. “Speaking of which. The storm will be on us shortly. I better finish what I started so we can get inside and batten down the hatches.” He turns back to the tiller, grabs both handles and begins pushing it towards the gate Carmen has just come through. The tools are quick to follow. “OK, that's a sight I never expected so see in my life time.“ Carmen moves up to walk by Jesse's side. “Does it take a lot of effort to maintain them like that?” He thinks about this for a second before he answers. “Well, not with these guys. I think

there's an initial effort of will, and an excursion of magic, to make the mental argument take hold through the connection, but after that nothing at all. I guess once I give them their marching orders, the connection takes care of the rest.” “I said it before and I'll say it again. Wow. So a magic spell isn't so much a bunch of arcane words spoken in Latin or whatever. It's just a bit of persuasion. How could you not like the sound of that.” They get things put away. Make sure both main outbuilding doors are firmly secured and then head back to the house. Once inside they do a quick check of those door bolts as well. It takes Jesse only ten minutes or so to fill the wood bin and then get a good sized fire going. The damp and cold are pushed back most effectively. They are sitting at the table once again. Carmen has a glass of wine and Jesse his coffee. They've both had a couple of tokes off a joint and are sitting back, listening to the wind howl outside. Regular flashes mark the night through the windows. Their rumble, and the rain against the glass keep a steady counterpoint of sound going. The storm is significant, but not as strong as Jesse had expected. The winds couldn't be gusting more than 40 or 50 kilometers an hour. The lightening had remained somewhat distant as well. Jesse hasn't said a great deal since they came in and Carmen can't stand it any longer. “Are you going to talk to me or do I have to beat it out of you?” Jesse gives his head an apologetic tilt and says: “I'm sorry. I've been trying to get my head around a few things is all.” “That part I can certainly believe. Bad enough being Multi-Verse Man, now you're also Gandolf the gray as well. That's a lot for one set of shoulders to be carrying.” She paused for a moment, swirling her wine around. “That's not all of it though. You've got worry oozing off you like sweat off of a guilty man. Talk to me Jesse.” His shoulders sag and he looks at the ceiling. The answer isn't there either. He looks at her then. There was nothing for it but to come clean. “It's killing me Carmen. Not so much the power itself, but what I can see now. I... I have a kind of vision. Not so much a detailed prescience, as a generalized knowledge. Sort of a broad strokes kind of thing.” She sighs now. “And what do these tell you?” “They tell me that what we have now can't last. That I've turned a corner and that there's no going back. And this has nothing to do about the challenges. I've got this feeling I'll complete them without too much trouble. It's freeing Her that will change everything. I can see now that she's more a force of process then a walking talking entity. Freeing her is going to change me in ways...” He has to take a deep breath. “...In ways that will force our fates down different paths. I can't tell you specifically how this will be, any more than I can describe what those paths will be. I just know with absolute certainty that the end result will be as

indicated.” She gets up and moves over to his chair. He pushes out a bit to give her room and she sits on his lap. “Jesse. You need to listen to this very carefully. We have now. We'll have tomorrow and probably the day after that. That has to be enough. Life just isn't about guaranties. My last reality is proof of that.” “I know what you're saying. I think I believe it too. This is just selfishness talking. I don't want to be Multi-Verse Man or Gandolf the gray. I just want to be your man. That's all I've ever wanted.” “I know. It's the same for me sweetheart. We just don't always get what we want. You know this. Especially for people like you and me.” He regards her for a moment. “Why do you say that?” “Because you and I are always going to fall on a very specific side of a response moment. It's a fundamental part of both our spirits.” “I should probably remember that, but I can't say I do.” “Well, maybe the other me just didn't get a chance to share it with you. A response moment is when a person is presented with a critical choice. A choice where they take responsibility or they don't. Like when a kid falls into the water and you either take responsibility for that life or you don't. Or when your company makes a product that will kill people if it isn't produced or sold with the expensive extra. You have a choice to take responsibility for those lives or not. The thing is, when you take responsibility for something, your life from that moment forward isn't really yours any more. It belongs, at least in part, to the responsibility. “You've done what you've had to do because that's who you are. Who you are is why I love you. You can't have one without the other. That means that something will have to be let go of at one point or another. Taking responsibility in the more heroic sense could certainly cost either of us our lives, but ordinary living ends up doing that in any case. Our responsibility to each other would have had us out and about in the real world; working, giving to others. And shit just happens as they say.” Everything she was saying was obvious to him once she said it. It's something he knows he's always felt, but was never able to articulate before. This was the good part of loving someone smarter than you; the crystallization of something important into an objectified concept. Something you could hold on to when you needed an anchor. He has his head against her chest and he is hugging her. “It's the pain of losing you that scares me now. You were always better at bearing the pain of loss than me.” “That's only because I have a little better handle on what pain and joy really are. They're just two sides of the same coin. Just as love and its loss are. You can't have one without the

other. You have to strive to embrace both or you risk losing both. Hold on too tightly to any one thing and you'll lose your ability to ever hold or appreciate anything else again.” She pushes him back gently. Enough so that she can hold his face in her hands. “You have to promise me Jesse. Promise me just as I promise you. If and when it ever comes to it. Keep doing what you have to. What your spirit requires. Let go. Love again. Keep on giving and loving with everything you have for as long as you can. Try to remember that this is not just for you and me. This is for all the rest of our copies, across an infinity of lives. Who knows how few it might take to damage the collective spirit as a whole if we don't.” She was right of course. She was always right. He knew this even as he knew how hard it was going to be to live up to her belief in him. He would do it though. He knew that now. He would do it no matter what it cost him. How else could you ever feel you deserved the love of such a soul as this. The ache of the loss he knew was coming had already begun. He would push it down for now. He would concentrate on the love they had now and let tomorrow take care of tomorrow. Everything he had. For her here and now. He picked her up in his arms without hardly any effort at all. He kissed her passionately. “Here and now sweetheart. For as long as it lasts.” He took her upstairs then. They made love. It was a monument in and of itself. To both of them. And without any conscious volition on his part, his magic poured into it. Wrapped them both up in the power of the universal embrace. And that night two humans joined as no two had ever done before. A complete penetration of the mind and body, heart and soul; each into each. Every thought and feeling. Everything good and bad. It was all fused and accepted, forgiven, rejoiced and made complete. They were one and always would be. No matter what might separate them. Even She in her prison was impressed. Scene 23: It is Carmen who is dreaming now. She is in the back yard. A summer back yard. It is warm and peaceful. She is centered in a contentment that seems to know no bounds. She can feel Jesse's presence as clearly as everything around her. He is deep in a dreamless sleep. His contentment is as hers, softly wrapped about him. The stars and the moons are even more beautiful than anytime before. The air more fragrant. She knows why she is here. The Crucible is close and watching her. “You might as well come forth and show yourself. I know you have something to say. Why don't you say it so I can return to my man and my own dreams.” Her form is suddenly apparent, striding forcefully across the wild grass. Jesse's assessment was right. Even Carmen is surprised by how much she is attracted to this force of purpose made manifest. Her feminine form is arousing on a very deep level. The morph of

her face is, however, is only a blur to Carmen. She sees none of the details that Jesse described. “What do you know of me Human? And do not presume to claim he who will be my champion yours.” Carmen studies the Crucible for a moment. It is clear that there is an intelligence here, but it is still a limited one, even with all of her power. It is sentience that can see forward only, with no visceral sense of the past. It is then that Carmen can sense the appropriateness of this thing's name, as only another woman could. Crucible indeed. Destruction and rebuilding once internalized, now pushed outward without end. “I know what you are. You are the coin made manifest. You make to destroy and destroy to make. You are no mystery to me. I know that you've come to tell me that I cannot keep him. I also know something that you do not.” The Crucible is silent for a moment. She speaks finally in a softer tone. “I should have foreseen this. Spirits such as yours and his joining here. You have been given sight beyond your kind. So tell me then that which I do not know.” “You think that you are getting just another champion. Someone who will simply do your bidding. Because you are the coin you cannot know the depths of what it trades in. The price of your freedom will be far more than you think you've bargained for. He will not be your champion, any more that he can remain my man. He will be our champion. All of us in the infinite sweep of realities. And there will be nothing you, or your brother, can do about it. The balance will be for us. And despite you.” Carmen cannot help but feel somehow that the creature is smiling at her. “I do like your spirit human. Foolish though it may be. Many have been the Guardian who have tried to defy me. They are less than an echo in a soundless void now. Creation. The constant beginning. They are all that matter. You whose very essence is of the womb and the issue of which changes everything. You should know this.” Carmen can sense that there wasn't any point in arguing with an intellect that was so formed of purpose. A purpose that acted like arrogance in it's ability to blind. It would be this blindness that would give Jesse a chance. That would give balance a chance. “You will do as you must Crucible. This I also know.” The thing is laughing now. It is more beautiful than Carmen wants to admit. “Clever human. Go now. Enjoy your short time with my Guardian. Know that I will exert all of the influence that I can to make it as long as is possible. Your courage has earned you that much. Use my coin as I know you must. Use it well. We will see who knows best in the long stretch of things.” She is laughing still as she walks toward the tree line, dissolving before she reaches it. Carmen has a sense of relief. They will have some time together. Perhaps a year or

more. The thing will keep its word, though not for any courage Carmen has shown. It plays to its power as you could only expect. 'Use my coin well' indeed Carmen thinks. She knows what this means. It is wonderful and heart breaking all at once. How could it be anything else with such a creature. But Carmen has prepared herself for this. She has a plan. It is a plan that will work. The only difficulty is that it is Jesse who will pay the most dearly for it. Scene 24: They wake together. They are entwined in each other. Inside and out. They are connected just as the magic connects all things. They can feel each others emotions and physical sensations as if they were their own. This is not to the level of reading actual thoughts, but it is still a wondrous window into each soul. She is bathing in the love for her that emanates from him, and he from her. It is almost a drug. There is something else. They become aware of it together. His seed has gone into her and found her egg. It is the first stirrings of a third spirit and it brings an overwhelming sense of joy to them both. Their union has been made manifest in a new life. He cannot help but move inside her again, to reaffirm his desire to consummate this change. And as she feels what he feels, she hungers for it all the more. This interchange goes back and forth with each feeling the others sensations to the point of a wild animal spiral. It ends in an implosion of ecstatic becoming; each becoming the other and back again. They wake once more. More satiated this time. It is enough for now. “You had a visitor last night.” “Of course. She couldn't help but notice. Half this galaxy probably felt us.” “What did She want” “She wanted to intimidate me I think. As well as put me on notice.” “I belong to her. Is that it?” “Pretty much.” “What did you tell her?” “That I understand how it is more than she knows. That she doesn't understand you at all. You are way more than she thinks she bargaining for Jesse. And that Hell bent for Purpose attitude of hers is blinding her to this fact.” “You were trying to piss her off?” “Well... Maybe a little. I just wanted her to know that humans are tougher than she thinks.” “And our women a lot tougher than that.”

Carmen is head is resting on Jesse's chest. She has been rubbing the little bit of hair there with light strokes of her hand. “Anyway... It turns out she was more amused than pissed with my performance. She told me she liked my spirit. However foolish it might be. Then get this. She promised to use her influence to prolong our time together as much as was possible.” “Do you believe her?” “Absolutely. She said it was a reward for my supposed courage. No more than bull shit I can assure you.” “So what's her game then?” “She wants to give us a much time as she can to use our love for each other against us. She was fully expecting this.” Carmen is rubbing her own tummy now. “She thinks losing me and your child will break you just enough to make you her slave.” Jesse rises up on his elbows. “And you don't?” She didn't need to hear the sound of his voice to know how he felt. She sits up and pulls him up to sit before her. “Listen to me. We will always be connected. That will never change. I know you feel that. It will be the same with our child. And you have to trust me. I have a plan. The baby and I will go where we'll be safe. I will pick a picture and you will create a portal for us. We will jump through and you will burn the picture afterwords.” His pain threatens to crush them both at this news. “You... You can't ask me to do that.” “Yes I can and you know why. Jesse. It has to be this way. You can't do what you have to do worrying about us. It's just as I said before. You have to let go.” “But how can I not worry about you. Some completely random reality? How will you and the baby survive?” “It will be OK. I just know this. This is what you have to trust. You can give us a bunch of money, or gold or whatever you think will still have value. That much is easy. It will be enough to hold us over for a while.” “Alright. But then what? You just hope you can find a job?” “Partly I suppose. But that's not my main ace in the hole. I'm counting on the same thing that saved you Jesse.” He has to stop and consider this for a moment. It finally falls into place. “You think there will be a me there to take up where I left off. Just as I found a you to take up where my

Carmen left off.” “Yes. I know it's a huge leap of faith sweetheart but I know it will work. Every fiber in my being tells me it will. That's the way our spirits work. I don't know how exactly but I just know there will be a you in need of me there. And even if it isn't exactly you, it will still be your spirit taking care of your child. You have to believe in that. This is the thing that she can't see.” Even as the tears well up in his eyes he knows she is right. He loves her precisely because of this, damn it. This is going to hurt even more than he had imagined, but he will do it, and do it willingly. He will never be able to see them again, but he will always have the connection. And that will have to be enough because this is what he has to do. At least he could take satisfaction in one other thing. It was obvious that some of his two powers had been given to her. It might be but a small portion, but it would be enough to give her and the baby an edge. A truly significant edge. And the him there would be thoroughly captivated by it. He would love them both just as much as Jesse here would. He wouldn't be able to do otherwise. His connection to her and everything else made this quite certain. “You know. Sometimes I really hate it when you're right.” She hugged him close, feeling his resiliency and resolve kick in. “No you don't.” She said. “It's just one of the things you can't help but love about me.” “You're doing it again you know.” She just smiled. Her own tears welling up now. It was going to cost him greatly but he would do it just the same. How could she possibly love him any more. Scene 25: The next nine months pass within a cozy procession of quiet routine and inner bliss. Jacob's journals have regained their words and provide Jesse great insight on the forming of argument with connection magic. There is little he is allowed to divulge on how he overcame each challenge, but the few general hints he does put forth seem to give Jesse even more confidence. And as Jesse practices the application of argument he provides a wonderful entertainment for Carmen. That this also includes the occasional seduction of various areas of Carmen's anatomy proves quite distracting as well. Carmen's belly continues to grow and as it does the life they both feel there becomes ever more a full presence. This too proves a loving diversion. The storms that rack the Island grow more fierce. But with each new blast of wind, or deafening crash of thunder, they only serve to provide greater contrast. A sharp definition to the warmth and protection Jesse and Carmen share within the shelter of the solid stone house. Jesse has to provide only a shield to ward the windows with. It is a persuasion that hangs before the glass that simply suggests that anything solid enough to do it harm would thus preclude observance through it. And of course, every lovely thing without should be observed, appreciated and named. It is an argument that no hurtling object can resist,

obliging themselves to just go around. Then too is the constant refinement of Carmen's plan. She has examined, and reexamined, ever picture Jesse has. Carefully holding each and closing her eyes. The final candidate was chosen eventually, whereupon phase two began. The picture was of Seattle in sunset from a ferry. Quite striking in fact. As such, it gave Jesse plenty of opportunity to investigate what people were carrying currency wise, not to mention current fashion norms. Thus was Carmen's survival package created. The package consisted of a double occupant baby carriage, and one medium sized, rolling suitcase. In the suitcase he stacked something around 15 kilos of $50 and $100 bills. It had to be well over 50 large. He also packed in about another 3 or 4 kilos of assorted, large carat, diamond rings. Really expensive ones. Even sold through pawn shops it had to amount to at least another 50 large. Carmen would carry a haversack of her own in which another 10 large would be stuffed. Her purse with an additional 5 would round out the cash. The extra spot in the carriage would be for baby stuff. Jesse had to go back to the picture of Carmen on the beach to secure the purse. Fortunately, not only did it have Carmen's ID in it, but the cards looked no different than the ones found in the ferry picture. Unless somebody did a deep check, she shouldn't have any problems with the usual kinds of police or transport security checks. Jesse had been a bit worried that it would be too much for Carmen to manage, but she reassured him. “I'm going to be in Seattle. Come on Jesse. A new mother in Seattle? I'll have help any time I need it. And who's going to suspect a new mother of being a money mule? I take a ferry ride. Find a Hotel and then get my bearings. A bank and safety deposit box will come in short order. After that I can worry about securing a rental. I'll do some research on what the status is with the Carmen in this reality. That will determine whether I go seek a job right away or not. I've got my SSI card but people might tumble to more than one Carmen making payments from different places. I'll just have to play it by ear from that point on. No matter what Jesse I'll land on my feet and make a real go of it. You can count on that.” Jesse had to admit that, as smart as she was, it was certain to be a sure bet. Even if what they both felt was the most probable scenario didn't occur, her and the baby would still end up doing OK. If he had any faith in Carmen, he had to have faith in that. So they were as ready for that final day as they could be. Unfortunately, just which day that should be was still unsettled. Jesse wanted to prolong it as long as possible of course. Carmen was certain that it had to be just as soon as she and the baby were fit to travel. “Every day the baby and I are here together is a risk Jesse. The Crucible won't wait long to put you in a position that will allow her to manipulate Sara and I to her advantage.” That the baby was a girl didn't take them long to realize. “I figure she'll wait maybe a week or so after I deliver to let you bond to Sara, but not much more than that. She has no reason to, and every reason to move as quickly as she can. We have to preempt her Jesse, we just have to.”

That the baby was still a bump in mommy's tummy made avoiding a conclusion to this argument an easy, if temporary, out for Jesse. That Carmen was going to put her foot down soon was not lost on him either. Sara would arrive and Carmen would decide. Jesse would have no choice but to concede. As often happens, however, fate has a slightly different plan in mind. Spring is in full swing now. Jesse has replanted the backyard garden with sunflowers this time. More to keep busy than for any ultimate goal. Weeding the garden has become a great time for him to meditate. He can let his hands and fingers go on automatic pilot, doing the simple actions of hoeing, digging or turning. All the while his mind flows out upon all of the ebbs and flows, currents and eddies, that make up the magic of connection. It is in this free floating communion that insights come to him. He is busy at this now, on his hands and knees, his mind adrift on the great feeling of it all. Carmen is in the house. The strain on her back, as the time draws close, has warranted a good deal more time in the rocker. She is reading again one of the sections of Jacob's journal. She has found that she never grows tired of learning of how one finds the 'Secret of Magic.' As Jesse's mind drifts there is a powerful shift in the connections fabric. Something is beginning to tug upon the threads of existence. Jesse is brought immediately back to full awareness. There can be no doubt what this is. He is up and running in an instant. He makes it through the back door in time to see Carmen just beginning to frown. It is only discomfort from her pelvic muscles, but Carmen has already received Jesse emotional imperative. “Think you're up to this, she queries, looking up at him as she speaks. He almost skids to a stop but still manages a calm reply. “Absolutely.” Jesse has already put a foam pad on the table for Carmen to lay on. A stack of towels is on a chair beside it. Jesse helps Carmen up. They move slowly over to the table. It is obvious that Carmen's discomfort is increasing. He water breaks just before they reach it. She has to pad bare foot through it. She manages to squeeze out a “Oh nice.” through gritted teeth. Jesse can feel, as no doctor has ever been able, the exact condition of both baby and mother. Hearts, respiration and womb position are all fine. Carmen is dilating rapidly. This baby is ready and make no mistake. Carmen hunches over from a sudden painful contraction. He reaches out with his mind and gives a mental picture to all the tissue and bone around Carmen's pelvic. It is one that suggests that the nerve pulses sending pain signals is a waste of energy. Better to conserve it all for the muscle contractions themselves and the happy conclusion of their beautiful purpose. Carmen's sense of surprise at the sudden loss of pain is registered by quick gasp and

then: “Shit... Nice timing on the magic babe.” He smiles ruefully. Her relief is his as well. He can get her up on the table much easier now. She lays back and puts her feet in the make shift stirrups they have fashioned. As she has been wearing nothing more than a smock that last sever days, sans underwear, she is ready. The need to push is now an instinctual imperative. Nothing else in all of this is anesthetized at all. She can feel everything. There is simply no pain associated with it. She is crying at the joy of it, even as she grits her teeth in the application of physical effort. This part of her and Jesse is coming through her to enter the world. The impatience of this forceful new spirit is a wonder. She can feel the head crown as her vagina expands and that is glorious as well. It is sensual, love and life affirming all at the same time. In between exertions she can see that Jesse is crying too. He feels what she feels and has his daughters head in his hands to boot. His pride and joy would be overwhelming enough, but added to hers it is a crescendo worthy of the embrace of everything. One last shove and the baby emerges whole. Jesse needs only a gentle caress of Sara's face to coax her into breathing. She settles immediately into a calm cycle of respiration. Her adorable scrunched up face is the picture of peaceful bliss. Her entry into the world has been swaddled with every kind of reassurance that love and the magic of connection can provide. Already that instinctual link has assured her of mommy's presence, her breasts and her milk. When she's ready she knows without language that all will be there. Jesse does another quick persuasion to sever the umbilical cord. He takes their daughter over to where warm water is waiting, several fresh towels in hand. It takes only a minute or so before he has her back to Carmen's waiting arms. Holding her against her Carmen can only let the tears flow and savor the moment. Jesse stands by her side all the while sharing it with her. It is later that day that Jesse has another set of epiphanies. Mother and child are napping and Jesse is simply sitting in the dirt of his garden. This connection of mother and child he feels now is more than any man deserves. It is an amplification of the connection magic that had him stagger out here, after cleaning up, only to fall to his knees with the force of it. These would be his last hours with them. That pain would always be there; real and palpable. But as his understanding of the connection has grown, he has come to accept the two way street that connection implies. All around him is loss, rebirth, and connections newly forged. This was the essence of the ebb and flow. It could not be any other way. He had to hold on to a new notion now. It was the only way he would be prepared. His love for those two lives would have to be expressed by doing the job fate had forced him to take responsibility for. That job was protecting all of the Carmen's and Sara's that life brought into its embrace. All would undoubtedly end unless the power of creation was set free, and then managed in some way. That it would be his job to manage the crucible in a fashion was

an amazement to him but it did not change the certainty of it. This was going to be his task, after whatever change was wrought from freeing her. Her and this mysterious brother of hers. There can be no more important job anywhere in the entirety. What ever his failings or frailties, it would have to be engaged to the best of his ability. Give it all you have and trust to the connection. There was nothing else for it. It is also quite clear to him that the Crucible is growing not only restless, but suspicious as well. Sara's birth would be as obvious to Her as Sara's conception had been. The emotions coming from the two adults, however, were undoubtedly cause for concern. The purpose and resolve they had could not be hidden from the Crucible, no matter how much magic he applied. The reach of her power was limited, but on this Island at least she presented a formidable threat. She would act and act very soon. Jesse has to concentrate with every fiber of his will. The link with mother and child must pushed away for a time so he is unfettered. It is like pulling his heart out. He screams with the effort of it. He cannot afford the emotion of its loss either. He must be the Guardian he is meant to become before he is ready. It is the only way. It is the connection, and its ever present push and pull that centers him; helps to divert all attention from the empty that fills his heart. At the very same moment he hears Carmen scream from the house. Sara is now crying as well. He cannot dwell on it. He jumps to his feet and scans the sky to the North. She will call them any minute. There is not much time. He begins to form a series of persuasions to surround the house with. They are suggestions to the trees, the grass, the flowers, earth and air. Things that do not appreciate, contemplate or give you words to be known by are coming, and they cannot be allowed to pass. They would kill the only few you have here to do you this honor. Please help these few. All the while he is making his way to the house. He is through the back door in time to see Carmen coming down the stairs. She is crying again but it is anything but joy that propels them. She has her jeans and flannel shirt on. A tightly swaddled Sara is in one arm, while shoes dangle from another hand. Jesse doesn't have to look at her or provide any explanation. She will know instinctively what is happening. She will get ready on her own. Jesse must concentrate in preparing the portal. It will not be as simple as just opening it. He must move the area of contact in that reality to a point where the sudden appearance of a crying baby and weeping mother won't start a new X Files incident. The ferry picture is waiting on the table. He barely has time to reach it before he hears the terrifying screech of winged abominations. As he expected, her prison guards were still quite happy to carry out her will on the outside. Carmen shouts “Jesus Jesse. What the hell is that.?” “Focus on getting ready. I have the house warded with shields. They should give us more than enough time.” Jesse has to yell back because Armageddon is breaking out behind the house. Jesse can feel that the trees of his first line of defense are throwing themselves at

the intruders. The ground shudders in response to immense roots being pulled up without hesitation as the woods come alive with defenders. He can also feel the wild grass issuing forth with phenomenal growth so as to be ready. The dirt in his garden is also churning, beginning to take a form not quite realized yet. All the while the wind has become a tornado above the house. Denying the air to the horrors. They will have to slog it out by talons on the ground if they are to reach their goal. Unfortunately, by the sound of limbs being ripped apart, this might not be nearly as difficult as he had hoped. He moves quickly to the task at hand. Out of the corner of his eye he can see that Carmen is regaining her composure. It is the steel of a mother protecting her child that he sees there now. The picture comes down over him and he is suddenly not in a war zone any more. It is the top passenger area of a super ferry. The usual array of plastic benches, seats and stainless steel. And it is a sparse collection of evening passengers that are dispersed about him. He wastes no time taking in a scene he has already seen many times before. He knows where to move to already. His will is applied and the effort put forth. Even though practice has made this so much faster than before, it is still agonizingly slow given his present state of mind. The progress has increased to a slow walk by now but even a running gait wouldn't be enough. The restroom cluster in the center of of the boat is his destination. There is a handicapped booth big enough to do the job and it has always been empty. He is more than half way there when he feels the urgent slapping on his right leg. There is no question what this means. He pushes harder still. It causes him to cry out to the frozen people. The walk is faster now. He is through the restroom entry. The booth in question approaches. Slapping again, much harder this time. He is through the booth door. He immediately pulls himself out enough so that an arm is still inside. The noise is just below ear bleeding now. There are inconceivable animal screams, the earthen howl of what he instantly knows is a dirt monster and the tornado seeming to be roaring from inside the house itself. Dust and debris are flying in and out of the main room like missiles. Carmen has taken to holding on to Jesse's shoulders with a one handed death grip, Sara, fully covered by a blanked, clutched tightly in the other arm. The stroller and suitcase are wedge together between Jesse chair and a massive table leg. Jesse sees a quick flash of huge wing only a few meters from the back door and hesitates no further. With one swift motion he has Carmen grasped and pushed almost all the way through. It is only for a second that he holds her there for a final kiss and a flash of face. They get to hold each others eyes in that instant and then she is gone. The carriage and luggage are right behind her. Jesse then convinces the paper that it needs to flash into flames. It is consumed in a beat of his heart. Everything stops in that instant. The noise, the battle, Jesse's heart and breathing. It is only with the full impact of the silence that his breath and heart beat come back to him. He has to cough at the dust choking the air. Leaves, grass, clumps of dirt and chunks of tree limb are scattered everywhere. The back door hangs from one hinge.

Outside could be a poster for Hurricane relief, and a once in a century storm. All of the trees that were at the edge of field are gone. Only gaping holes where roots once had hold remain. Broken trunks are everywhere, splintered at the ends and the bark gouged deep with parallel grooves. Long trails of riped up grass hang all over the wood and roofs of the outbuildings. A ten meter section of the back walkway wall has been obliterated, the stone blocks reduced to small jagged chunks and gravel. One of the winged horrors remains standing in the center of the yard. He can see the others flying back to the peaks. Most are moving wings with great difficulty. The thing remaining has a purple fluid oozing from several large gashes in its torso and shoulders. It has been licking at one before noticing Jesse's approach. It straightens up on seeing him. It had to be ten meters high at least. Jesse walks up to it. It does nothing more than regard him with a tilt of its massive head as Jesse gets closer. He stops just outside the reach of those immense talons. It is her voice that suddenly emanates from the mouth of the Beast. “Your woman was more clever than I gave her credit for. Humans have been such a disappointment for so long it clouded my judgment. And you. Your shields were as good as even Jacob could have done. Perhaps even a bit better. She may have been right abut you as well.” “I am encouraged that even an extra dimensional can see the truth when it is laid out at their feet.” “You waste your breath in trying to provoke me human. If I wanted to exact punishment you would even now be enjoying the company of my pet's stomach. Swallowed whole by the way. A slow digestion is the only way to truly wrought one's revenge. If I were of a mind for it of course. I can assure you that there are far more important things in my schedule for you. Make no mistake though. Your little act of defiance has been noted. I will not underestimate your kind again. When you free me, as you know you must, and take on the change, you will bend to my will as the merest reed in the wind. You will be as nothing but another of my pets. A lap dog to amuse me as suits my whim. I will remake and use you, remake and use till you've no link or memory left of the bitch that bore you brood fare.” He regards the beast casually for a time. Careful to show no fear or doubt. When he finally speaks it is with same casual air. “It occurs to me Crucible that you like to talk just to listen to your own self importance. The future does not concern me. If it did not concern you there would be no need to speak of it. I intend to do my job. You will be freed. When the time for testing wills is here I will be ready.” Jesse turns his back on the beast and walks back to the house. As she will not be denied the last word, she shouts to his back: “Brave words human. I

truly tremble before the thought of a human who is ready.” He can feel the ground shake as the beast wheels abruptly and runs to take flight. The swoop of air from those huge wings is fantastic. As is the sound they make. The beast cries out as it gains altitude, a blood lust a millennium old. It is with some pride that Jesse does not flinch in the slightest at the bone chilling outburst. Scene 26: It takes Jesse several days, and a good number of separate persuasions to get the place back to something close to normal. The damage to the house and outbuildings turn out to be the easiest. Inert matter apparently. The damage to the trees, yard and garden the hardest. The trees especially. The best he can do there is convince the fallen timber to reconstitute itself into a stand of new saplings. At least there will be new roots in place to hold the soil with. Even though the wild grass of the field as been torn and rutted in numerous places, it requires only moderate convincing to fill things back in. His garden is the same. Jesse finally has a chance to sit at his table and take stock. He has allowed the link to re-assert itself with Carmen and Sara. It is thin and faint in a curious way, but it is still there. The emotions he senses are no more than he would expect. Carmen is indeed on her feet and coping. There is nearly as much resolve as there is sadness. For his own part Jesse is aching intensely with their absence, but the link helps abate this significantly. That and a grim determination now. That thing had nearly killed his wife and child. And talk about a kettle calling the pot black. “Bitch indeed,” Jesse thinks. He has no illusions though over the hornet's nest he has stirred up. She was embarrassed by Carmen's guile and Jesse's unswerving application of brute power. That it was against a weakened Crucible did not cause him pause in the least. Even in a weakened state, to be able to hold her and her pets off as long as he had was an accomplishment for a practitioner so new to his craft. It had him puzzled now. His advancement was stupendous if you really thought about it. How could this be so? He shook his head. That was going to take some thought. Something tantalizing was dangling just beyond his consciousness. It wouldn't resolve yet though. Best to let it bubble up in it's own good time he thought. The issue he should be concerned with is how the Crucible's retaliation would manifest itself. She would extract something for their effrontery. The only questions where how, to what degree, and at which confrontation. Logic suggested the final test as you'd expect caution on her part with the challenges. This was hardly any guarantee though. Why should logic rule a being such as this. He has to assume that some extra element might possibly be added to any one, or all of the challenges. Though how she would do this in a practical sense, let alone with any precision, is a mystery to him. He cannot help coming back to the point that killing him was

hardly in her best interests. It was an obviously pointless exercise with the limited information he had available to him. It is at this point that he considers Jacob's journals again. If only there were a way to consult with Jacob himself. If you could work magic enough to produce a persuasion for universal translation, you'd think you'd could do a lot more. He lets it all simmer a bit while he looks at the books. And then it occurs to him. The thing that needed bubbling has come to the surface. Two elements that might ordinarily be considered separately are brought together. Jacob creates a persuasion to put the essence of his thoughts into the ink on the page. Jesse has advanced with amazing rapidity to be Jacob's equal in magic. These are related, he is sure of it. He goes to a book shelf and picks a volume at random. It is not the written content that concerns him now. He goes back to his chair. Lays the book on the table and considers it for a moment. Jacob was very good at magic. And this is not the first time Jesse has wondered about Jacob's ultimate fate. “What if Jacob pulled a fast one on the old witch. He knew he wasn't going to be able to free her. He also knew that there was no running away. Most especially if he were going to be of any help to the next candidate. What would he do to provide an out? What would I do.” Jesse places his hands on the book and closes his eyes. He lets go of all worded thought. He is just breathing, heart beat and connection now. He is filled with all of the gives and takes of exchange; the coming and the going; the gain and the loss of the blizzard of embrace occurring around and through him. Something stirs immediately from within the book. It is the same kind of mental image that he uses to work a persuasion. It is a spell held in the book's substance like a flashing beacon. One that repeats itself in a slow cycle. Jesse slams his hand down on the table proper. “Damn my hide to hell and back. Why didn't I think of this sooner?” Jesse is shaking his head angrily. “Who knows what kind of difference his presence might have made. Shit!” He has to work to do deep breathing to calm himself down. Beating himself up now was not going to accomplish much. “Just get to the chase dumb shit and move on.” Jesse prepares himself. That wonderful genius had given Jesse the ticket to bring Jacob's complete essence back from where he had hid it god only knew how long ago. The books themselves were a spirit stasis chamber. It wouldn't be Jacob in the flesh of course, but it would be every bit of his mind and soul He presses the persuasion out through the connection and into the all of the books at once. A great flow of magic comes through him as he does this. It is as if the books have been dried of energy for long, their thirst knows no bounds. The air becomes charged immediately. The smell of ozone fills the room. The book shelves begin to vibrate in response to energy radiating from each volume. The air in the room begins to swirl in a mini vortex and as it does, tendrils of radiance

stream out from each spine. They are swept up into the vortex and become an ever expanding whirl of dazzling light. Just as the tendrils begin tapering off, the vortex begins to slow. The coagulation of light and discharge soon settles down to forming a blurry image. With no small amount of hissing and electrical hum, the image starts to take on focus. Another minute more and it is complete. A shimmering form of a gray haired man is standing in the middle of the room. The hair is long but still distinguished as it parts on the right side of the head and sweeps over and just above the forehead. His face is neither too full or too thin. It is creased with laugh lines and wrinkles of both too much sun and to much furrowed concentration over many books. He has a look of great delight as he casts his eyes about. He gives every impression of an Oxford man from the 1800's, missing only an old tweed jacket and trousers. The lean body, though, definitely indicating someone who had to work hard to get there. “Oh my word this is most breath taking. Yes yes. Just as I left it...“ It is then that he registers on Jesse, and the few other modern items. “Well, not entirely as I left it. Good greeting to you sir. Allow me to introduce myself. Jacob Benderman at your service. “ He even does the slight bow. “And you must certainly be Mr. Alexander. A great pleasure sir to finally be able to confer as gentlemen should. I hope my entrance wasn't too flamboyant. Not much to do about it of course.” Jesse is smiling. He has gotten up and has come over to stand before Jacob. “The pleasure, and the honor Mr. Benderman is all mine. I can't begin to express my gratitude to you and your labors. I only wish I could shake your hand sir. Perhaps a hearty hug as well for I do feel we are brothers.” The sincerity with which Jesse delivers this takes Jacob back a bit. “You humble me good sir. And let us quickly dispense with formality. It is Jacob for you and always will be.” “Of course my friend. Jesse it is for you as well.” Jacob has now clasped his hands together and has them pressed against his lips to hold back his enthusiasm. “Good and finally well met we are. How long has it been. To talk again. To see my lovely home after such an absence. It is I who should be wondering how to thank you I think. My word what a blessing. And not a moment too soon I should expect.” Jesse pushes the recliner over to a more intimate distance and sits back. “I don't suppose offering you a chair would be of much use.” Jacobs laughs. “Oh and humor too. You are a good spirit. I knew it the minute you arrived.” Jacob sits himself in what seems to be a very comfortable chair as well, though it is only his outward reactions that display it. “Well, as you can see I am able to provide my own comforts. All in the mind as it were, but just as effective none the less.” Jesse is astounded by what he has heard so far. “Did I hear you correctly Jacob? You were aware of my arrival?”

“Oh yes my friend. Most certainly.” Jacob's expression changes immediately to one of great sorrow. “Alas I'm afraid I have been aware of all that has befallen you in your time here. To which I must direct my deepest sympathies for the actions thus forced upon you. Sympathy and respect without reservation. You did what was best for them. Not an easy thing with a love so true and powerful.” He has to clear his throat for a second, as well as pretend to clean his wire frame glasses. It is obvious that Jacob has become quite involved with Jesse and his family. “You are very kind for saying so Jacob. It was hard. I expect it will remain so for a good long time.” “Yes. The sacrifices that are forced upon us at times. Fate can be just as cruel is it is demanding. And yet we know the are few alternatives. Jacob is shaking his head, taken up by the memory of a few sacrifices of his own. “Your part in this has been no small list of grief either I think Jacob. We are brothers in that regard as well.” Jacob is waving his hand in gentle dismissal. “Yes yes we both have bruises on our souls. But we cannot let ourselves linger there too long. There is work to do Jesse. Of this I think you need little reminder. It is a serious business you have at hand, and no more worthy an opponent.” “Of course. Let's get down to it. It was you who poured ability into me wasn't it?” “Well, only in a matter of speaking. A gave to you a kind of experience. Nothing more. Your talent is deep, wide and truly a thing to behold. It needed only a boost of experience. To which I was only to happy to oblige.” “Can I ever hope to be a match for Her?” “Oh my friend Jesse. Given time there may be no limit to what you can do. A thing that will prove both good and bad I'm afraid. But there are several aspects to this subject that you must keep in mind. “First and foremost is that you cannot ever allow yourself to confront her with the thought of ultimate victory in mind. Even should you gain the power it would be folly. Destroy her and you grant her brother a victory by default. Also should you bear in mind that direct confrontations with either of them is far too risky in any case. However powerful you become you would still be faced with great cunning and trickery. It will never be easy to defeat a transcendent being.” Consider you this as well. There are others who can move between realities just as you. Others whose loyalties can be bought with coin only transcendent beings can provide. Do not think you are alone in this power. The infinity has been at this game for stretches of time for which there is no number to measure by. Great perversity, as well as great good, move about in the greater sense of things. These beings can be very powerful themselves, and very surprising allies either for or against you.”

He sat back then as he paused to briefly consider his next words. “Your better choice is always concealment and dealing.” “How do you deal with such an arbitrary and capricious force of intellect?” Jacob sighs. “I can imagine how this must seem capricious from your point of view, but I assure you it is not. The purpose of both brother and sister are specific and relentless. Their behavior can seem capricious only because they have great power and absolutely no compunction about using it. As for dealing with them... Well... You will be able to do so for the very same reasons. “As I said. Each is an intellect of very specific purpose. Each of these are diametrically apposed to the other. They will do anything to further their goals and thwart the others. As such they can be played against each other. An initiative in play by one can be the leverage to goad the other into schemes of your choosing. You are limited here by only how clever and imaginative you can be.” It's Jesse's turn to sigh. “Alright. This is certainly useful and I'd like to get into more of what they are, but I'm thinking we don't have the time. I've got more immediate issues to deal with. Jacob smiles. “A wise choice Jesse. The challenges before you are not to be taken lightly.” “Let's start with the first. Getting to the shrine without being avian food.” “Ah yes. You must make the pledge. And to do that you have to get by the Lordenites.” “Lordenites. I was wondering what to call them. Other than nightmares with wings.” “She created them herself you know. By a means that only partly involves magic I think. It is a part of the secrets you will learn when you become a Guardian.” “So can you tell me more how to get around them?” Jacob looks crest fallen at this question. “None would give me greater pleasure than to grant you this boon, but I cannot dear Jesse. It is the magical nature of each challenge that requires each champion to devise his own solution. The solution I used would not work for you if I told it to you in advance. You must remember that these are tests of your own faculties and sense of self reliance, as much as they are of magical power.” Jesse nods. “I guess that's not so hard to understand. For this kind of job you want real proof of native ability, not to mention backbone.” “Precisely.”

“Alright. That means going toe to toe with these things is out. Tried that the other day and got only marginal success. Up on their turf that margin goes to nearly nothing. It seems pretty obvious that the trick is to think around them. With such formidable beasts, though, that hasn't brought anything much to mind so far.” Jacob's eyes are sparkling. “You are closer than you realize. Remember. You must consider the problem as you would any other, given the basic characteristics of the given opponent.” “OK. Basic characteristics. Really frigging big scary creatures. What's the basic element here... Big beasts... Basic.... What is basic.” Jesse lets his mind float over the consideration for a bit. As it does so he is taken back to when he first saw them. It wasn't when he did his climb to the carved walkway. It was when he had been out walking along the coastline. The big suckers were making like B-52 bombers on low level approaches. At the last second they would drop their load of talons and have a bunch of fish come back up. Uncanny sense of perception to be able to time the grab that way. An appetite to match their size too, from the number of runs it took to get their fill. And then he stops, a smile on his face. Jesus he thinks. If it had been any more obvious it would have bit him on the ass. “Hah!” Jacob cries out, slapping his knee. “I knew it would come to you.” “Yeah. Beasts as big as that must get hungry quite a lot. Real scary hungry at that. Must be a real problem keeping the discipline as far as sneaking snacks is concerned.” Jesse gets up. “Can you just sit tight for a while? I mean as far as being out and about is concerned?” Jacob stands too. “Do not concern yourself about my well being. Now that the seal has been broken I can come and go from the connection as I please.” “You don't need to return to the books?” “The books were just the focal point so to speak, as well as a place holder for the seal and the beacon. I am an ever continuous persuasion now. Not even She can do much more than disperse me for a time. Everything I was went in to create the focus, seal and beacon, and now that you have persuaded it's conclusion, I am here to stay. Really quite elegant actually.” He is beaming. Jesse can't help but be cheered by this. “It is an astounding achievement Jacob. Truly astounding. But... Things to do. If you'll excuse me I have a pledge to attend.” He turns and heads for the back door.

Scene 27: It is late afternoon by the time Jesse reaches the carved walkway at the Southern most Peak. It has been a mostly cloudy day with rain still a possibility. Jesse is thankful for the lack of intense sun, both for the climb, but also because the Lordenites would have been sure

to fall on him with the sun to their backs. He is just below the walkway now, standing on the last outcropping big enough to stand comfortably on. He is scanning the skies carefully. The cloud cover is not that low, which is good, but he is doubtful that these things have much of a ceiling limit. They are circling above him silently; most likely above the cloud layer. This had to be at 6 kilometers at least. He closes his eyes and reaches out to the connection to feel for them. There is the oddest sense of stillness in the air above him. A picture perfect matrix of ordinary embracing. He has to laugh. “I guess this is where I'm supposed to say it's quite... Yeah, too quiet.” He shakes his head. It is both in recognition of how silly this attempt at cloaking is, but also a little bit of admiration as well. She has obviously tried too hard to disguise her pets, but still. The power and ingenuity it would take to attempt anything on this scale... The only thing to really fault her on here is simply a lack of finesse. He has to also admit that, clumsy though it may be, it still made it impossible to track them at all. And then a new thought. Maybe that was all she was after. Maybe clumsy wasn't the point so much as “I know you know they're here. I don't care. I'm just going to make it as hard as possible for you to avoid some real pain.” And that's when it hits him. Her retaliation won't be to kill him. She is just going to make sure he goes through as much hell as she can provide. Every step of the way. “It's the cattle prod approach to behavior modification.” “Shit,” he says to himself. “Hell hath no fury.” He has to clear his mind again. He breathes deeply and steadies himself. At that altitude, coming down at around about 160 kilometers an hour, we're talking only seconds before they hit me. Since they're too damn big to try and come all at once, it will be one after another. They wouldn't have to climb back over the clouds again to start over, just in enough to hide where they'd be dropping from again. Given that there are 6 of them, and they space the attacks just a bit, it should be no problem at all to get an avian chain saw going here. Great. The wind is tossing hair around at a steady rate, but it is not with much force. He can smell rain as well now. If it's like most of the spring showers displayed so far, it will definitely be a factor for them. And lets not forget slippery on smooth stone. Everything depended on how he framed the persuasion. She would counter as some point as well. He would have to be ready to respond. Making them hungry was obviously not going to be enough. If he hadn't of gotten her so riled up and personally involved you'd have a different story. So he simply needed to make his own ace in the hole. A trump card to get around them. Something she wouldn't expect. Open with the hungry thing and put her at her ease. She'll take a bit of time to counter it so as to put you at your ease.... So what do you do... Looking out now at the view of forest and ocean all around him he considers how amazing her control over the creatures is. She had been talking through one for Christ sakes. She could no doubt see and hear through them as well. She probably got a real kick out of

the whole blood lust thing to boot. There would be no hope of taking over one or more of them to use against the others. And that would threaten killing them in any case. Probably not a good idea. He lets his mind float again. Let's the connection take him where it will for a few moments. Control. Carmen used to always go on about how control was an illusion. And then he remembers a basic tenet of complex systems. Small inputs have large effects. If she made them she would have ensured for a powerful link to be built in, which would make trying to jam the signal problematic at best. But what if he could so something to overload the signal. Maybe not in the sense of burning out the circuit, but more in the sense of too much to bear? Hmmm, he thought. A transcendent being would probably be able to bear quite a bit. And then another tact hits him. Would there be a way to make a kind of positive overload? Something too powerful to turn away from? Making the brutes hungry wouldn't dig too deep obviously. So what else could he do? And then he remembers the impact that Carmen and He had had on Her the night they conceived Sara. That was the first time magic had gone into it. He is smiling again. This was exactly the kind of thing that would grab the attention of a being fixated on creation. There are several risks here of course. He can't for the life of him remember the genders of the creatures, or if that was even an issue in the first place. But he has a gut feeling that She wouldn't have created them any other way. And there were an even number of them. The other risk would be in the second of the two persuasions necessary. It would have to be a broad range spell to the connection as a whole; simply amplify every sentient connection in the vicinity. He wasn't at all certain he could pull it off, and then there would be the minor detail of it's effect on him if he couldn't insulate himself enough. He takes one more deep breath to calm himself. As it was all he could come up with there wasn't much else for it. He grips an edge that is only just within reach and pulls himself up to the walkway. It takes only a second to get to his feet, but he has his opening persuasion at the ready. The air around him for at least a thousand meters is filled with the scent of fish, the mental picture of the inlet where they swim, and a powerful resonator for hunger. He is crouched and looking up. He has to fight an urge to vomit with the conflicting forces of hunger and fish stench soaking through him. He does not have to wait long for the sight of huge winged missile to come tearing out of the mist above him. Seeing the speed of its drop he also now has to fight off a panic urge to run from what seems to be an unavoidable impact. Even with its massive wings swept back, he can hear the sound of air being torn aside as its bulk races down. At about 500 meters it screeches a rumbling cry of surprise. It's body shakes as it's head twitches from side to side. They were already given a sense of blood. The smell of fish and the hunger are too much to ignore. The wings snap out with a tremendous roar of air and freight train of a body banks just a few meters beyond the rock over his head. The wash of air that follows almost takes him over the edge. He is up and running immediately, snapping his glance continuously back and forth

between the path ahead and the sky above him. He is also mentally counting seconds as best he can. He is certain the timing will be fairly precise. Once he gets the interval down. He can run without looking up. The next one emerges at 15 seconds. He stops and crouches again, making sure to get a better brace with his hands this time. Instinct claims this new attacker as before. And so it goes for the remaining 4 Lordenites. He has made good progress within the 15 second bursts of running this has provided, crouching now at a midway point on a saddle of rock between the first and second peaks. He is breathing hard and sweating. There is a welcoming drizzle now. It is a tonic on his face. He has both new persuasions at the ready. The smooth carved stone of the path has indeed gotten slippery. The running will have to be much slower. Visibility has been lowered as well. That the sun is also going down does not help either. Time is not on his side. He has at least had a chance to verify that gender has indeed not been forgotten in Her pet's design. It is an encouraging break. He clears his mind again. Forces his breathing to steady and deepen. He lets his being center in the connection. This is going to take two persuasions in quick succession. Not only is the last one going take every thing he has to push through, he will then have have to somehow disengage from this very same deep immersion. It is all down to faith and commitment now. The connection stirs with the creatures approach. She has dropped all pretense of cloaking them now. He has the sense that She is laughing at him, filled with the confidence that he has not expected their quick return. His reach through the connection provides direct access to their immediate being. Their swirl of elemental embrace becomes yet another part of the entirety. And her link is a laser of unbreakable associations with all six. It is exactly as he assumed. The first persuasion goes out, directly to the brain stem and loins of each creature. As a one they convulse, shiver and then explode with an avalanche of nerve impulses, hormones and pheromones. The intimidating V formation they were flying in is immediately broken up. Even as Jesse can feel Her initial shock at this new development, he pours himself as never before into the next persuasion. How brilliant it would be if all of the connection around them now would rally to the aid of any sentient near by. Rally without bias at all. Lend every association possible to the amplification of their links. Let them be through the connection with the greatest assistance we can provide. All at once Jesse is overwhelmed with more transcendent joy and unfettered release than he has ever experienced. It is pure being without any sense of self. He is one with the immensity of fusion with the entirety. So much so that there may be no coming back. It is a taste of the entirety at its most basic level. It is where the energy of being goes when there is no biological wet ware to provide an objectifying focus. It is an ego death not much different than its more conventional brother. There would not have been any reference point left from which to work back from had it not been for one last element. As everything has been amplified, so has a tenuous connection that reaches across realities. A mother and her daughter are making the best of

things in Seattle. It has not been easy for either. These are words. They act has gripping points that must be handled. And as each is handled, in a manner of speaking, they spark the connections that must come with their pull towards even more words. Thus does Jesse begin to reassemble himself as a point of origin; to reassert his own sense of self. It is only the pull of the objects that have defined his life that makes this possible. It takes what seems to be an eternity to Jesse's fragile regrouping. As he rallies himself, it becomes the most difficult struggle he has ever faced. But that he is him again, he can add the commitment he has for those two people in Seattle to the fray. It is enough. The rain that is now a downpour suddenly crashes into his mind. He is back to the here and now with a jolt. He has to fight off a disorientation that has turned all of the physical stimuli swirling around into a painful assault. It takes another surge of effort to force the deep breathing and get his mind to settle down. The cold soak that he can feel through his Slap Jack clothing helps center him. He is pressed back up against the sidewalk wall. Shivering erupts of its own volition. “Get up.” “You have to get up and get moving.” His voice is week and horse. More effort now as he forces himself to rise. It is slow going as he is still quite dizzy. There is also a migraine from hell to deal with. He manages to finally stand upright and then tries to get his bearings. The rain is coming down so hard, and the sun about gone in any case, that visibility has been reduced to no more 10 meters in any direction. He is so turned around he can't remember which direction the shrine is in. For the moment he can only lean against the smooth rock side wall and rub his head. Adrenaline and fear are doing a bad mix of bile in his stomach. That was entirely too close. He thinks. You were, for all intents and purposes dead. That he somehow managed find the link to Carmen and Sarah was a miracle. This is a hell of way to be starting out. He has to force himself to get back to the problem at hand. Which way should he go. He can't afford to be wasting time here. There's no way of knowing how long his last dodge is going to keep Her and the crew of cuddle monkeys busy. Going back the wrong way would waste far too much time. He had to get this right. Ordinarily he could just use the connection, but the seductive pull he felt just beyond the physical was certain proof that things were still amped out there. He can't help but voice a little wry irony. “OK. Important safety tip. When amplifying the connection be sure seat belts are properly secured and that the peddle never ever touches the metal.” He is looking at the rain clouded edge of the walkway when he says this. Then he smacks his forehead with a hand, which of course is another mistake he immediately regrets. “Christ... The edge. The edge was on my right when I was running. “ He shakes an even more aching head now. “Earth to Jesse... Come in Jesse...” Gathering as much presence as he can muster he sets off again. It's slow at first but his head clears considerably within the next several minutes. He is making good progress once again, managing a decent jog now. The wind has started wiping up more as the rain continues with a loud saturation. His exertions have at least pushed the shivers back.

Each few dozen meters of wet stone that passes by seems to ratchet up a sense of unease. He is way too aware now that Her pets could descend without any warning. The elements were completely in their favor. It they were free to act he was cold meat, ready to be toyed with. He had to fight to keep a mental image of silent talons, flashing out suddenly from the dark and rain around him, from sparking a panic. Just focus on the way ahead he kept telling himself. Focus on the way ahead. Deal with what's in front of you, not what might be. This becomes a mantra as he pushes forward. Any sense of time, of course, in this state of mind, was impossible to keep straight. He had been on the saddle between peaks one and two. The shrine was on peak 3, with a further saddle to cross before that. How long that might take under ordinary circumstances was difficult enough to figure in his present state. Moving more slowly through a water fall of darkness? Forget it. Fall back to mantra he thinks and just keep moving. Several times he swears he hears the rush of huge wings and wants to fall prone on instinct, but he resists. The drain of coming back from the virtual dead, and this wet treadmill of fear are taking their toll. It is a fatigue that aches from the inside out. There aren't a great deal of reserves left no matter how committed he might be. His legs have become leaden enough that even walking is an effort. And as cold returns to his core, he can feel an icy sluggishness creep around his thoughts. Hypothermia is now another enemy working against him. It is with some joy that he receives the pain of stubbing a big toe on the first steps to the shrine. In the concentration of one foot in front of the other he has missed their approach completely. Thank god, exclaims. Not much further now. In fact, as he looks up, the glow from within is dimly visible now. It is a light that conveys the very essence of warm. It is all the spur he needs. The last 50 meters of the climb do not take very long at all. Scene 28: Jesse is finally out of the rain. As soon as he steps between two of the massive round pillars and enters the shrine proper, he is bathed in light and warm. The ceiling and floor seem to radiate both. The light is a soft cobalt blue now, and the heat seems to almost microwave from the inside out. As the light is not bright, his eyes adjust quickly. The shrine is large indeed. It has to be at least 100 meters in diameter and over 30 meters high. The entire supporting circumference is made up of columns, each easily 3 meters across. They are evenly spaced about 5 meters apart. It is all native rock; honed smooth and polished to a gleaming back. It is as if a void were reflecting back a blue that was already there. As compelling as all of this is however, it is as nothing compared to what is sitting the structure's middle. A pedestal and ornament reside there and they are a final statement of the

contrast between the ordinary, and ordinary's opposite. The pedestal itself is an oblong a full two meters tall, and a half meter wide on each side. It has no adornment save for a deeply chiseled inscription which reads: “I am the Crucible. Embrace me and be Created. Know Ye though the Secret of the Mountain or Never Be at All. Know Ye Too The Way Between or Stay Betwixt Forever.” Atop the pedestal floats something that cannot be described in terms of what it looks like. It can only be expressed by what it does not. It seems to almost burn the eyes with a brightness that emits no light. It has no shape but gives the feeling of every shape one has ever laid hands on. It seems to terrify and enthrall simultaneously. It beckons and repulses in the same fashion. And as soon as Jesse lays eyes on it he knows he must give the pledge here. Without having been even the slightest bit aware of it, his legs have already moved him to a point where he is facing the pedestal at the inscription. His hands move to touch the stone of their own accord. As soon as they make contact he is linked to Her. She is rage, lust, love, envy and ecstasy all at once. She is in the grip of a super animal frenzy of mating but she is also aware of him. There is a kind of splitting off that allows her to speak. This shard is neither angry or excited. The tone as she speaks is even and unemotional. “Again I am surprised by a human. Just when the eternities make you think there can be nothing new, the infinity moves to disabuse of such notions. I am left with something of a struggle though. Which of two facts impresses the more?. That you were able to create an amplification of such magnitude, or that you were able to escape the folly thus created. It certainly should have been your undoing you know. Even I would hesitate to launch such an attack will full resources. Just know you well that this is the only reason this tactic was unanticipated.” “In any case you are lucky that the ruse has provided such a... Well... let us call it an interesting bit of entertainment and leave it at that. It is not often that a prisoner can indulge in such diversions. It is also fortunate that it serves as a wake up call. My brother would have paid well for such a diversion. We will be able to take proper precautions from now on. You prove useful even as you continue at your efforts to provoke. You may well become our favorite mystery in the infinite. And lest this swell your sense of self, think you long and hard on this. We do not suffer long from any competing mysteries.” “Take your oath now human. Pledge to me my due. Pray that you do not fail.” The words come to Jesse without any need to consider a suitable phrasing. “I swear with all my spirit, all my being, all my magic, and upon the loss of all therein, to free my Crucible of Creation. I swear as well that this be done before another twenty days have passed. And upon her freedom I do swear to take upon me all the change that is her essence. I will open and become. I will take my place as the Guardian of the Light of Creation. All of this I do swear with full knowledge and agreement.” As soon as Jesse utters the last word a searing blast of energy knocks him back off of his feet. He cannot feel it now, for all he feels is the blackness that has taken him, but both hands have been branded. In the right hand shifts a thing that at one moment looks to be a glowing sword, then the next a blinding beacon. In the Left a crucible is alight with a copy of the indescribable ornament that sits atop the pedestal.

Scene 29: Jesse is pulled from the blackness by a familiar voice. “Good god man. Are you alright? By the heavens do wake up.” Jesse can only groan for minute in response. It finally registers on his brain that he is flat on his back on very uncomfortable stone. He rolls slowly to one side, puts one hand down to begin rising with and immediately cries out in pain. There follows a stream of invective that causes Jacob to cringe a bit. Jacob is floating not more than a meter from Jesse's feet. “Safe to say that must have hurt. It appears to be the palms of your hand my friend. Best to avoid further contact.” Jesse wants to say “No shit Dick Tracy,” but resists the urge. Jacob didn't deserve the sarcasm, and he wouldn't understand the reference in any case. He manages to get his eyes open and focused now. The throbbing from his hands has also burned through the mental fog. He gives each a quick glance before employing the carefully placing the butt of his right hand down for support. He pushes himself up to a sitting position with another groan. His body decides that this is enough for the moment. He looks up at Jacob then. For a second he thinks he might be hallucinating. “Jacob?” “Yes Jesse. Do not imagine figments or the vapors of an ill mind. I am here. And only just presently so, I might add. My God what an upheaval of the firmament you did cause. Never the like have I seen. What ever did you do?” Jesse considers this a moment, eying his hands more closely now. He sighs finally. “Bottom Line? Basically I pulled an Ace of Hearts out of my ass.” He looks back up at Jacob. Jacob's expression suggests he has taken this statement far too literally. “A colorful metaphor Jacob. I had to improvise and I got very very lucky.” Jesse holds up his hands then. “You never mentioned the getting branded part of this little party in your Journals. Might not have mattered all that much, but still....” Jacob is quite disturbed now as his form bends down and floats closer. He eyes grow larger the closer he gets. “On my word as your brother and friend Jesse. I swear to no knowledge of such occurrence.” He holds up his own hands palms out. “Nor was ever such a fate for my own participation. I am most perplexed at this, and more could not be said.”

This stops Jesse cold for a second. He can only blink dumbfounded as Jacob squints with the effort to make sense of the markings. The only thought that Jesse can manage is “The ritual was changed and in a very dramatic way. Why?” Jacob returns his gaze to Jesse proper. “Please my friend. There is time enough at another pause to take this puzzles measure. We must get you up and home for now.” Jesse can't argue with that. “Good point Jacob. I don't suppose you can lend a metaphysical hand here.” Jesse expects at least a small smile from this but is instead surprised to see Jacob concentrating intently, eyes closed and the first two fingers of one hand lightly pressed to his right temple. There is then a gust of wind upon which Jesse feels hands made out of air grip him by the arm pits and gently raise him up. They are gone the moment his is standing on his own. “Holy crap Jacob. Is there anything you can't do?” Jacob is smiling, though it is clear the effort has cost him some of his floating substance. “I can still work a persuasion or two my friend. Nothing tremendous mind you, and it takes a bit of recovery, but my magic is still in play. But enough of me. Let us take our leave of this place, and with some haste if you can manage it. In all truth, the memories here are not to be dwelt upon.” “Of Course. I've certainly had my fill for a while.” Jesse looks around to get his bearings and the sets off towards the stairs. Jacob is soon floating beside him. “You said you had to improvise. Do you feel up to a greater discourse on this action?” They reach the stairs and immediately start down. The morning has started much clearer then last and it is obvious the pets are no longer about. It had to be a case of still occupied, or no longer needed and Jesse was too tired to care about which. He gathered his recollection of the previous night's events. “I'm not sure why, but it hit me before I started that she was going to be ready for the hungry ploy. It seemed a sure thing that she would play along with that and then spring a counter on me. I had to come up with a trump card.” “I see. Your intuition is note worthy. And this trump card. I assume it was a tactic you felt certain she wouldn't find a new counter to.” Jesse shakes his head. “The only thing I was certain of Jacob was that it was probably a

strategy she wouldn't expect. The rest was faith and a feeling.” Jacob is smiling. “Thin though they may appear at times Jesse they are strands more stronger than spider's silk. These are the very things you must learn to trust. Not in a ten thousand journals could I teach this to you with greater import than upon your own discovery. But please my friend. Do continue.” Despite his fatigue, and doubts, Jesse is encouraged by this reassurance. They have reached the walkway now, proceed down, and then begin the journey South. “Well, as you can imagine I was pretty desperate for another strategy. Had to cram a lot of brain racking into a small amount of time. And again, I don't know why, but the notion of how she controlled them just popped up. That got me to thinking along those lines. As strong as she is I didn't figure there was any chance of interfering with the link, but then the idea of an overload occurred to me. Not a negative overload mind you, but more of a positive one.” “A positive overload. That's a novel concept. How would this be expressed?” “This would be a signal surge that would exceed her ability to resist or turn off. Something in the nature of an addiction if you will. To facilitate that I worked a persuasion that amplified all sentient links in the connection. Put everything I had into it.” Jacob has stopped floating. Jesse only notices by the movement out of the corner of his eye. He stops too and turns. Jacob has turned a ghostly white. His apparition wavers a bit as well. “By all that is true and sacred Jesse. Tell me you did not actually risk such a thing.” Jesse regards his friend sadly then. “I'm afraid so. Damn stupid seen from hind sight, but that is exactly what I did. I just had no concept of how powerfully this would impact me. It was a miracle, and a miracle only that pulled my fat out of the fire Jacob. I was well and truly gone. There was no me for the briefest of instants. Completely dissolved and incorporated into the entirety.” Jacob has taken his glasses off and is rubbing his eyes. “I fear that I am partly to blame here my friend. I gave you an essence of experience, but not it's full texture. It was the power without the quality of what you get from experience; the wisdom. I thought there would be time to impart the rest. I was wrong. And yet, despite both our mistakes. Here you are. To call your recovery a miracle hardly does it justice I think. If any had asked before the fact I'd have sworn to its certain impossibility.” “Gees Jacob. The choice was mine. And impossible or not, all I know is, if it hadn't been for the link with Carmen and Sarah I wouldn't be talking you now.” Jacobs glasses dangle from his hands as he gives Jesse another look of shock.

“You have link with your Carmen and child that remains across realities? Do the surprises never end with you man. By the gods of my parents. It is but one impossibility after another.” He is shaking his head again. “Trust you to use one to save you from the other though. Truly.” The glasses go back on. His hands grasp the edge of his jacket just below the lapels. His frowns over another concern that has come to mind. “I am still of a question with the course of events. The great disruption in the connection you've explained. A disturbance, I might add, that made any further materialization on my part quite out of the question. But still. I do wonder. Beyond the amplification, what actual signal did you employ to make boosted? Jesse is a little embarrassed at this point. “Ah yeah. That part. Well, there was really only one option available. It's the only other hunger that would have any chance of... Well... Shall we say tickling Her fancy?” it is Jacob who is now embarrassed. “By the gods of my parents indeed. My mother must be turning in her grave. You persuaded the six monsters to mate while linked with the very essence of creation? The mind boggles. It's no wonder you were allowed enough time.” “You're telling me. She was still going at it when I took the pledge. She could still be going at it now for all I know. Told me I was lucky the ruse was so entertaining. Can you believe that? I guess even a transcendent being can get pretty horny after spending a few millennium in the slammer.” Jesse turns and heads out again. “Come on. I'm starving and I'm dying for a cup of coffee.” Jesse does not notice that Jacob has turned a bright red. His mouth is hanging open. His shock turns his manifestation into a shimmering zigzag of distortion. It will not hold. He promptly pops back into the connection. Scene 30: Jacob is waiting impatiently on the main floor as Jesse finally makes his way down the stairs. Jesse finds some amusement from seeing an apparition doing an imitation of pacing. “On my word. Long indeed has it been since I've encountered a soul who could sleep so much. And with so much afoot no less.” Jesse makes a morning face in Jacob's direction, finds the right picture and then pulls out fresh triple jolt of wake up. He sits at a chair by the table and gets a few sips in before he replies.

“That's quite a mouthful from a man who's just been roused from a millennium or more of sleep. And, I might add, from a man who no longer requires it.” Jacob huffs a bit and pulls at his jacket. “I will have you know that during my fully animated days I needed only a few hours each night. And as for my current condition, I can assure you that it is a full range of both pluses and minuses. Obviously, being out of sync with the fully corporeal world is going to take some getting used to.” “Anyway Jacob. You have to admit, yesterday was a pretty full one.” “Well I can certainly allow for that. Do forgive my impatience. It is just that I am keenly anxious to renew our deliberations. The hour glass loses grains as we speak. You have but little supply of sand as it its.” “I know. And your point is valid. I can't think straight without a lot of sleep is all. We can talk as I breakfast.” “Excellent. I have been giving your last excursion a good deal of thought. I have tentative conclusions that do not bode well I'm afraid.” Jesse has pulled toast and eggs out of another picture. In between mouth fulls he manages “Why doesn't that surprise me.” “Before we proceed, however, I would urge we exhaust the collection of facts. If you could marshal your best recollection, as precise a recitation of the discourse with her as possible would be most helpful.” Jesse mops up the last bit of egg with some toast, drains the espresso, and retrieves another. Sitting back then he closes his eyes for a second and then plays back the conversation with the Crucible as best he can. After Jesse finishes Jacob begins pacing again. He remains lost in thought long enough for Jesse to finish his second cup. Jesse pretends to be clearing his throat to get the scholar's attention. Jacob stops mid float and regards Jesse rather distantly. “Jacob? Want to share?” Jacob blinks a few times before he fully registers. “Oh my word. Do forgive me. Lost in the cobwebs that time.” The glasses come off again. The eyes are rubbed and there is real worry in that gentle old face. “I want to be certain Jesse. You are sure she intimated at the possibility of your becoming her favorite mystery?” The glass go back on. “Absolutely.”

“I was afraid of this. The brands on your hands take on new meaning. She has marked a Guardian as she has not done for a great long time. Much longer than her imprisonment I think.” Jesse is sitting up now. “That's kind of new isn't it?. Which brings a question to my mind. Where are you getting all of this information? I've read a lot of the journals and I don't recall that kind of inside stuff before. Even baring that, it occurs to me now that the journals themselves are a good deal more informed than a body ought to expect from just sitting around and contemplating. Even if it was quite a while.” Jacob is looking a bit sheepish now. “Ah. Well, there are aspects to my background that may not have been completely covered.” “Yeah. More than a detail or two I suspect. Come one. Might as well come clean. We can save some precious grains that way you know.” “Very well than. If you must know. The reality I grew up in is not where I was born. I was found as a child in my... Well, my adopted parents Stroan field. They found me abandoned, crying and jabbering on about being thrown at the last minute from another place entirely. Just me and several large cases bound of a material they did not recognize. In the cases were journals. Journals of a man who had not only spent time here, but who had completed the final test. An actual Guardian in fact.” “Jesus Jacob. That should be a treasure trove. Why are we still groping as men in the dark?” “You must understand. I was very young. Barely able to talk at all. The contents of the cases were unknown to me at the time. And... Well, there were complications.” “What do you mean?” “I was from a different reality. And I refer to one not as in line as one of your Earths to another variation. I spoke a different language at first. My adopted parents understood only for a while because of the lingering magic of my real parents. Fortunately for me the magic lingered long enough for a bond to form. Not only that it must have given me aid in acquiring their language for I adapted to it with astonishing speed.” “I'm still not getting what the problem is here. You're multi-lingual. Reading these other journals shouldn't be any big deal.” “That I'm afraid is where you are wrong. I lost my native language. Lost it as if it were sucked out of me. To this day I can only guess as to why.” Jesse is again dumbfounded at the way things kept coinciding. Just like Carmen had said. So many improbabilities meshing together. “My god Jacob. This is just too fantastic. Your birth parents must have been in a fix similar to what Carmen and I just went through. They had to to have been desperate. Saving you in that fashion meant someone would have hunt you down otherwise. They used magic

to give you a fighting chance. And I think that same magic was meant to take your native language away.” “On my word why?” “Think about it. Somebody really good at moving across realities must have been on their heels. Not only didn't they not choose a variation reality as Carmen and I did, they made sure any other vestiges of their origins in you were removed as well.” “That logic applies to a point my friend. But what about the journals? Why include them if this were the case.” “OK. OK. A possible contradiction. But lets consider some possibilities in that vein. First though, let me ask you this. How have you been able to understand any part of them now?” “It was only after I came into my own with magic that I began to make any sense of the characters printed in them. It is a code that requires a patient removal of layers of deception, and than only by the most clever application of persuasion. It has been an agonizingly slow process. Bits and pieces as the years have progressed.” Jesse has another realization. “You were already adept at magic when you came here, weren't you?” “Yes. Very much so. I did not divulge this as I wanted to keep curiosity about my background to a minimum. She may be Imprisoned, but her reach with the connection is most profound. And as I was not the most promising of candidates, I don't think she bothered to keep very close watch on me. Way too boring for the likes of her I'm sure.” “That's your answer then. The information in these new journals must be unbelievably important. Too much so to destroy or leave in easy reach of the wrong hands. They protected it with a very sophisticated kind of encryption and hoped that would be enough to keep you safe.” “Your argument is plausible my friend, I'll give you that. It seems to me, though, that anyone as good as you suggest at moving across realities would not be fooled by the encryption. They may not be able to decrypt it, but they would know it as something important in a transcendent context.” “Maybe. I still think the key is just how desperate your birth parents where. “ “In any case Jesse the important issue is what your branding means now. I believe the individual who wrote the Journals went by the name of Senddalfar. I have not been able to determine a specific gender as yet. But in going back over my notes I came across a reference I hadn't thought about for quite some time. It is only a small fragment of a passage that said '...for us. Being thus her favorite Mystery has put a double mark and curse upon me. She wants and doesn't want all mystery to be as all of her. She loaths and craves such...” “So we're talking about a former Guardian who seems likely to have been granted this

distinction. It doesn't sound like it was anything good at all, but I think we already knew that.” “To be sure, but that's not the important part. My gut tells me that this person was trying to tell history that the Crucible of Creation gets... Goodness. How does one say this. She gets shall we say the occasional infatuation.” Jesse is rolling his eyes. “Oh please. You are not trying to tell me this thing has the hots for me. Come on Jacob. A human for Christ sakes? Have you heard the tone in her voice when she talks about humans?” “You are missing the salient point my friend. You are becoming less and less of a mere human. And once you free her? Undergo this change that is suppose to happen? From what I gather with the fragments I have so far, a Guardian is the end result of a profound metamorphosis. A part of you now will remain, but within a much expanded being. “What frightens me in all of this however is what an infatuation entails for a transcendent such a she. Do not mistake this for any kind of ordinary amorous advances. For her an attraction may be more of a fascination. And how often does an eternal get to be fascinated within the endless millenniums. 'She both loathes and craves.' Think on this well. Such fascinations may create a horrible conundrum for one such as this. On the one hand an even greater desire to transform it, which remember is a mixing for her, and on the other the certain knowledge the fascination will be gone with that act. And make no mistake. Driven by the purpose that she is, the only result of the latter part of that conundrum will be rage towards the thing the that causes it. Jesse has his forehead in his hands. “It just keeps getting better and better. What you're saying is that she's developed an even greater incentive than usual to want to hurt and or remake me, continuously.” Jacob has his hands gripping his jacket below the lapels again. “I am afraid so my friend.” Jesse sits up slowly. Works his head to try and get the kinks of worry that have settled into his neck out. “That's just great.” He takes a moment to stare out the window, the disgust quite plain on his face. His attention comes back to his hands a moment later. “As helpful as all of this may be, it still doesn't explain the marks very well. I mean I'm going to be her Guardian. Why would she need to mark me.” Jacob purses his lips a while in thought at this. “Well, on that point I'm afraid, conjecture is all we have at the moment. One could certainly postulate any number of theories, though the most likely for me is a better means with which to link through the connection.” “Yeah, I suppose. There's always the branding in a more traditional sense reason. You

know, the 'keep your hands off' message kind of branding. Though I can't imagine who she'd be worried about competition wise.” Jacob tilts his head at this suggestion and frowns. “Perhaps it wouldn't be a keep your hands off message so much as a 'damage it and you'll be wishing for death' message. Keep in mind that her brother and his agents will most certainly be gunning for you.” “Hmmm... Maybe. No point in belaboring it any further. I'm on a hotter hot seat. What else is new. I think we need to get back to basics. The next challenge for instance.” Jacob nods. “Yes. I agree. I will keep this as a secondary pursuit for now. Something useful may still turn up. In any case, to the plan at hand. The first thing you must do is decide which challenge you will confront next. No specific order of occurrence is required. You can acquire the herb of seeing or the regent next.” “Right. My gut says take on the Drastenor next. Probably just to get it over with as soon as possible. And I have to say, this one's really got me curious. Am I supposed to go deep sea diving after this beast? I haven't been able to shake this silly notion of me in a wet suit, air tanks and a spear gun.” Jacob smiles. “As before Jesse it is entirely up to you as to the approach. The only meaningful criteria to concern yourself with is that it works.” “Alright then. mammoth sea creature. Can move pretty fast and dive quite deep. I gotta assume that the water around here allows for that too, I'm sure. The ultimate predator. Ungodly strong. Virtually indestructible. Very smart. And our Lady of the Lasting Vengeance will certainly be helping where ever she can. Did I miss anything?” Jacob sighs. “Sadly no. And I will tell you now that this was the test that nearly killed me. It is more cunning than one would think for a creature of this size. It is not averse to pretend to be the blundering big brute. Let you think an obvious persuasion has hobbled it and then begin to play a most ominous game of hide and seek.” Jacob has, of all things, taken out a linen handkerchief and is now daubing about his forehead. Magic form though he might be, discomfort had to be expressed in familiar ways. “I know this isn't easy for you. My appreciation is all the more for it.” “I'm fine. Do not concern yourself. It is but a bad memory, and if there's any ease at all to be found, it's only in their telling.” “It does sound like you had to do your own bit of improvising. I know you can't give details, but I'm all the more forewarned now. The bar has definitely been raised. I'm going to have to be swinging hard with every punch, and I better have a hit parade at the ready.” Jesse gets up, stretches, and then begins to indulge in a little pacing of his own.

“So... how do I rope-a-dope something the size of zeppelin hanger... Hmmm.” He stops and looks at Jacob “When we're talking about this thing being smart. What kind of smart do we mean?” Puzzlement spreads across Jacobs face. “I'm not sure what you mean by kind of smart.” “I'm trying to get a feel for the type of smart we're dealing with. Full blown sentient, Abstract reasoning smart. Maybe sorta abstract reasoning smart? For instance, I'm wondering if it can form attitudes about things. Can it hold a grudge. Remember a bad thing done to it. That sort of thing.” “Yes, I see now. An interesting question. I'm afraid I can only give you my gut feeling. I'd have to say though, it certainly gave me the impression of more than just an animal's cunning. Whether that reaches the level of language of some kind, or the ability to plan as well as remember past relationships of objects and itself. I couldn't say for sure. The farthest I'd commit to would be to say a modest probability.” Jesse goes back to the table and the stack of binders. He pushes the stack closer to the chair and sits back down. “Right then. We've got a point to start from. If I can get lucky on the pictures we're going to go on a little fishing expedition.” Jacob floats over to one side of Jesse. “My word. You're not actually of a mind to try and net this are you?” Jesse smiles. “Hardly Jacob. We're going to go fishing for information. For that we'll have to have something a bit more sophisticated than the row boat Carmen and I were using. We're also going to need some high tech hardware.” Jacob frowns slightly. “I do wish you would limit your use of slang. The connection is not a perfect translation system you know. I am uncertain as to what 'highly technical tools' would refer to. And what sort of information do you hope to gather.” Jesse gives Jacob an apologetic look. “Sorry about that. I forget we're both still speaking completely different languages. I was referring to advanced scientific instruments. We refer to this sort of thing as technology. A derivation of technical and olgy which is a defining part of all sorts of other words. Like theology. If I was smart on words I could explain that more intelligently.” “No need. I believe I have he proper sense of it now.”

“Right. The information we're going to gather is related to sound. For that we'll need an instrument to translate water vibrations into ones we can make use of. I have a hunch the Drastenor may be like Wales or Dolphins on my world. They are smaller sea creatures but they have large brains and their own unique form of vocalization. We are going to capture samples of Dastenor vocalizations. Assuming, of course, it makes them.” Jacobs hands are holding on to his jacket again as he begins to ruminate “I am aware of the broad span of relative scientific capability that exists amongst the infinite number of civilizations that live within the compound universe, but still. It is a wonder to actually come in contact with such marvels. Senddalfar makes mention of actually traveling from one planetary system to another. The vastness of void thus traversed. And my adopted world still holds its oceans in awe. The mind boggles. And now you speak as blithely about capturing a sea creature's voice as you would capturing a fire fly in a jar. The multi-verse is truly a wonder.” Jesse stops paging through pictures a moment to consider Jacobs statement. “I can appreciate the contrast this must be for you. My people have only begun to step off the birth world. And yet I am certain I am going to encounter realities where things have been achieved that would challenge even the imagination of our fiction writers.” Jesse's face turns a little sad at this point. “I can't help but think, though, that there will remain the unbelievable lack of wisdom with which these tools are used. You'd think that, once a people start reaching for the stars, they'd be able to grow up a bit. Keep a sense of balance, proportion and humility. “He sighs. “It sure hasn't worked out that way on my home world. Every new secret discovered is simply another means to profit, power and the control of even more secrets. Makes you sick in the heart the way it all ends up getting used.” Jacob now regards Jesse with a look of painful understanding. “It is a discouraging thing indeed by friend. Even on my adopted world are the wonders of life abused. Seen as naught but levers and gears. A machine to power only one's own selfish ambitions. A travesty to be sure.” Jesse looks up at Jacob then. “I gotta hope Jacob that this is what freeing the Crucible is a part of. I'm not at all sure how it all fits together yet but I can't help feel it's connected. Sentient beings across too many realities seem to have lost touch with a fundamental aspect of what makes the whole thing go. Of what helps bind us, and everything else around us together. Freeing her, and then being some kind of buffer between the extremes of brother and sister. That's what I'm supposed to do. And if I can, it could make a very important difference.” Jacob now has a look of great admiration, mixed with no small amount of grief. “The opportunity afforded you is great indeed my friend. And you've the heart to see it through. Still and all I would not wish such burden upon any shoulders, much less the good

soul before me. You take as your own a sacrifice whose length and breadth go beyond human measure. I fear you will be made to understand what an eternity can truly do. Hardly more could any fact break this old heart. It's not fair at all, and yet fair has little part in it.” Jacob has unconsciously tried to reach out and put his hand on Jesse's shoulder. The shimmering essence simply passes through and Jacob's expression becomes even more sad. Jesse has to look away. He wishes he could reassure his friend. Almost as much as he wishes he could reassure himself. Just the responsibility of it all. That was bad enough. Then there was the absolute knowledge that this was the commitment of commitments. And it could truly be timeless, at least by any human sense of time. It was intimidating and frightening on a whole new level. And yet how could he not but take it on. All Jesse can manage is a lame “It'll be OK Jacob. It'll be OK.” Scene 31: A new spring morning has helped lift Jesse's spirits a bit. The weather has finally provided an unhindered blue sky. The breeze off the water is still cool, but light. The salt air and mix of life, both living and departing, on the shore is invigorating. The day promises fair seas. It is a good omen. Jesse has waded out to waste deep water. A light curl of wave splashes up against his stomach as he pulls a picture from a plastic zip lock bag. The water is cold and he is glad this part won't take long. He reaches into the picture and immediately something very large begins to morph out funnel like from it's surface. Jacob, who is floating only a few meters away, is consumed by astonishment by the sight. It takes only a second more to have Jesse standing in the water and holding a very streamlined looking power boat. Fully 10 meters long and sporting two very large external outboard engines. It is a most disconcerting sight as Jesse is holding it up as if it were nothing; which in an particular sense it still is. “By all that's true and sacred,” Jacob exclaims. “Such have I never seen before. Your ability with these pictographs astounds. To make and use portals in such a fashion. I... I struggle even to begin an approach to understanding. You are an endless source of amazement my friend.” “Well, pulling this stuff out is the easy part. Setting it down without causing too much of a stir is the tricky part. I'd be telling you to stand back about now but that hardly applies to you.” He is holding the boat out now by one hand in a grip that is a visual absurdity. He begins lowering it slowly into the water as far out from himself as his arm can reach. The water does not displace at all yet, only serving to obscure visibility of a small portion of lower hull. As he makes a final face grimace in preparation, the boat is released from his hand. There is then a sudden whoosh noise and an artificial wave knocks Jesse over and

under. He bobs back up just as quickly, spraying water. “Christ on a crutch I wish it wouldn't do that. Damn. This water is cold.” He wipes the wash from his face and hair as he moves back to the side of the boat. Fortunately it rides low and thus is easy to board from the side. The picture he has pulled the boat from is still grasped, soaked, in one hand. He lays it out carefully on an aft seat cushion and then makes for the drivers seat. Jacob is already floating over the port side as he sits down. The drivers seat swivels and so Jesse turns to face Jacob as he floats closer. He pulls the plastic zip lock back out from under his pull over and opens it. A quick search of the contents produces a new picture from which a towel is retrieved. A few minutes of rubbing has him back to a merely damp state. Jesse throws the towel to one side and then searches for another picture. Once found it is retrieved, the plastic bag set aside, and the picture placed on his lap. He turns back to the control console. It takes only a moment of study to get the gist of things. A power switch is turned on. A bilge pump engaged, and the starter button pressed. The twin engines at the rear come roaring to life. Even at idle they purr with some force. Jacob is taken aback again. “By the gods of my parents. Such machines! “ He has to talk with more than a little volume to be heard. “I can see your world has gone a great deal beyond mere steam.” Jesse just smiles as he takes the picture from his lap and heads down into the small forward cabin. If there was any mistake before, the interior of the cabin abolishes all further doubt. This was one impressively expensive pleasure craft. Teak, leather, chrome and polished marble are everywhere. The upholstery is all exquisitely rolled and tucked. It is not large, but it lacks for nothing. A compact galley lines the port side. On the starboard an eating nook with table. Cabinets and drawers are tucked in wherever possible. And A fairly sizable bunk lies forward, it's privacy screen folded to one side. Jesse sits on the forward side of the eating nook table and begins to pull electronic equipment from his picture. As the table is a full meter and a half long, there is plenty of room. Jacob has come down at this point and is eying the luxury with wide eyes. “I dare not ask what manner of fortune would allow for such splendor. A king at least it would take. As such at least on my world. Are ordinary citizens on yours able to attain such treasure?” Jesse looks around again and then at Jacob.

“No. Only a privileged few would be able to afford luxury on this level. It would be the equivalent of a very large brick of gold on your world I think. Assuming the element is as rare there as it is on mine.” “It is and your point is well taken.” Jacob then appraises the assembly of gadgetry before him. “Wonder upon wonder. So tell me then. What do these things do?” Jesse begins pulling power cords around so that they may be plugged into the several wall sockets available. “This first one here is a portable sonar. That's basically a very powerful sound emitter and sensing devise. As you probably already know, water is a very effective carrier of sound waves. With the right kind of sound pulse and detection apparatus, one can use sound to locate objects under water. At considerable distance too. You see this glass front here? It is a means to display things electrically. In this case, we will be presented with a kind of ghost outline of the objects detected. They will be seen as they are oriented relative to our position which is represented by a center dot. The device will even tells the objects course, speed and depth.” “My word, and truly. So much just from sound? I am astonished and then some.” “Yeah. I tend to take this stuff for granted, but if I think about it at all, it can tend to impress the hell out of me too.” Jesse has to pull a few more items from the picture before he sets it to one side. These are bulbous oblong objects attached to very thick coils of thick cable. As there is no longer any room on the table, he has to lay these on the cabin's floor by his feet. “That stuff is what we throw over the side. An end to each cable connects to a device here. One is for the sonar, and the other is for the sound collection device. We refer to these as recorders. The sound waves are converted into an electrical signal. That signal is then turned into the electrical equivalent of a number. Those numbers are stored in a material that can hold such numbers. When we are ready, we will be able to bring those numbers back, turn them into sound again, and analyze them at our convenience. Pretty amazing huh?” “You have no end of ability for stating the obvious my friend.” Jesse slaps his hands together and then rubs. “Alrighty then. Time to play underwater hide and seek. Before they begin in earnest, Jesse spends a good two hours going over the operation of the equipment with Jacob. As he can't be in two places at once, one of them is going to have to monitor the sonar and acoustic recorder. Of real concern was Jesse's fear that Jacob might not be able to manage the magic required to turn knobs or throw switches. Jacob

proves more to the task than Jesse could have hoped for however, and his enthusiasm and native intelligence make him a quick learner indeed. Jacob is more than adequate as sonar operator by lunch time. Jesse also takes the precaution of giving them an intercom link. For Jesse this is a head set and noise canceling mike, and for Jacob a speaker phone arrangement on the table. Shutting the cabin hatch most of the way provides him a reasonably quite environment to talk and hear Jesse in. Thus they are as ready as they can be. Sandwich in hand, and coffee in the fancy holder, Jesse guns the twin power plants and rockets the boat forward. “Man, was this thing made for speed or what?” Jacob's voice through the headphones is only slightly unnatural. “By all that's true and sacred man. The acceleration nearly put me into the stern before I could recover. Do give us a warning will you?” “Sorry. I keep forgetting it's not so easy for you to grab onto something. I'll try to call out the maneuvers before hand. I'm going to head out beyond the inlet for about twenty minutes or so before I idle the engines. You can alter the active pinging with passive then. We'll give each spot about 15 minutes worth and then move on to another. Even if this thing can't actually hear the pings, it will at least probably feel them. At some point at least anyway. “ “Which brings up a rather salient point I think,” Jacob replies. “Isn't this plan of yours rather vague on the part where the Drastenor reacts to our presence? I don't see his taking any pleasure in our yelling at him. And on his turf no less.” “Well my friend. That is why we are in the lovely speed boat. This thing's got to be able to do 40 knots at least. And it turns on a dime. Unless that thing's an under water rocket, I don't see it catching us very easily.” “Do not underestimate it Jesse. Even I am not aware of its full capabilities.” “Come on Jacob. How can something that big do over 40 knots? Even on my world, our best under sea craft, harnessing the power of the atom mind you, can only do a bit more than that. And they're not nearly as big as round. Or as long. I just don't see it happening.” “I fear you may be in for a surprise in this Jesse. I had the connection pass me along through the depths with the up most of swiftness and still the beast ran circles around me.” Jesse has to rub his chin at this. A little bit of worry creeps into his face. “Crap on toast,” he thinks to himself. It's really going to ruin my day if this thing really is an underwater rocker. And I just got this toy too.” “There's nothing for it in any case Jacob. This was the fastest boat I had a picture of, and I need this info. This doesn't work, I'm going to be up the creek without a paddle no matter whether I survive or not.”

Jesse can hear a sigh. Can just imagine the look of resignation on Jacob's face. Jesse has to check the clock on the console several times before he figures it's been long enough. He pulls back the throttles and lets the engines return to an idle. “OK Jacob. Let loose with the sound cannon.” “Right. Starting now.” It has become a beautiful day. The sun shines brightly on the water, forcing Jesse to pull a pair of sun glasses out of a pocket he finally managed get stuck on his Slap Jack pull over. It can't be over 65 out but the sun makes it feel much warmer. Jesse is thankful that the light breeze that still tussles his hair. The boat rocks at bit under a modest swell. It is deceptively comforting. They were at least 5 or 6 kilometers out from the Island by now. It was only a jagged outline of black, with a rough texture of green at its base now. The safety of shallow water nearly 30 minutes away. “OK,” he hears Jacob say finally. “Starting the passive recording now. My word. There are so many sounds. I had no idea it could be this extensive.” “Were you getting anything on the active pinging?” “Only small returns. Your device has also indicated a depth of 200 meters.” God only knew where this thing hung out. Or how far it liked to range from the Island. There was simply no way of knowing how long this was going to take. “OK. I guess this is where the patient wait begins.” And for another fifteen minutes that sat, hearing nothing unusual. Jesse's plan was to make a circumference of the Island at this distance. They started out again, heading North. Jesse ran the boat for about the same speed and time used initially to move them away from the Island. This next stop found nothing as well. Another twenty or so minutes at speed then and another stop. Nothing again. The next stop has them just around to the Western side of the Island. The depth of the water has ranged between 2 and 3 hundred meters so far. This changes abruptly now. Jacob has already finished the active pinging. “You want to give me that again,” Jesse is sure he didn't hear Jacob right the first time. “The device is indicating a shear drop off only a few hundred meters off starboard. It said 5 kilometers and a plus sign. Why does it use do this?” He had heard him right the first time. “Jesus. The machine is saying that the water is at

least 5 kilometers deep and probably deeper. It would do this because a number of factors make accurate measurement difficult at very deep depths. Chief among them, of course, is the fact that this unit is limited in power. The other problem would be in temperature variations at various depths between here and the bottom. Colder water is denser and so can create false returns.” “Interesting. Even at 5 kilometers it would be a great depth. But the possibility of even more. Can you imagine the pressures of such depths. “ “I used to know the formula for calculating that. Can't for the life of me remember it now of course. But yeah, I can imagine it's many hundreds of tons per square inch. How the Drastenor can handle it is sure a wonder. I...” “Jesse wait.” Jacob cuts him off mid-sentence. “Come down here quickly. I think we may have something.” Jesse is up and down through the cabin hatch in an instant. Jacob has a shimmering head bent close to he hydrophone speaker. “Listen to this. It's... It can't be anything natural to these waters. It just can't be.” Coming from the speakers is a sound that is both rumble and low pitch howl. It would be wolf like if the a playback were done at a faster speed. Jesse has never encountered this creature before, but his lower brain recognizes the predator in any case. The hairs on the back of his neck go up. The sonar in passive mode has displayed a target vector, heading and speed. Jesse's eyes go wide. The creature is Southwest of them, heading North at a distance of about 6 kilometers. The speed though. According to the device it was currently cruising at 30 knots. Practically as big as a frigging aircraft carrier and it was doing 30 knots underwater. Crap on Toast hardly began to cover it. Jacob doesn't take his eyes off of the sonar screen when he says. “Please believe me when I say that I would have much rather been wrong.” “Maybe we'll just leave the active pinging off for now. No need to be waving a big red sound flag if he's just doing a drive by.” “I believe I can abide by this course of action. Without argument.” Jesse has already worked a persuasion on the hydrophones. Before they went overboard, he pushed a spell through the connection that would allow them to collect any and all brain impressions from the beast in parallel to the sound. This would get stored as well. He had high hopes of what a synchronized analysis might reveal, but there was one minor assumption inherent in that little scenario. They had to survive the recording process. And as he figured they would need at least 40 minutes or so of sustained sampling to have any hope of getting what he needed, this was beginning look quite dicey.

The sound changes from the slow rumbling howl to a series of grunt-shrieks. Again, still low in frequency, but still suggesting a savage crying out. Whatever it was using to oscillate the water with must be massive and unbelievably muscular. “Do you suppose there is any chance that it is unaware of our presence?” Jacob asks this question in a way as to make it seem quite rhetorical. “Not a snow ball's chance in Hell. Right now. I figure he's just doing a fly by. Curiosity at an oddity no doubt. The real question is how long do we remain something other than a meal.” “Or a territorial challenger. Not that the final result would matter that much. It does give one a rather unwelcome new perspective on the food chain.” “I hear that brother.” The target readout on the Sonar screen changes suddenly. The speed is dropping rapidly, but the distance starts to increase. The vector, however, does not change. “It moves away from us now?” Jacob was too weary to have any real hope in his voice. “Maybe. It could just as well be diving though.” The sound through the speaker was getting fainter now. And a moment later the readout from the Sonar began flashing. “What does this indicate?” “Probably that the signal processor can no longer accurately calculate from its vocalizations. We'd have to use active pinging now to get true fix.” “What do we do?” Jesse thinks about this for a second. “We need more sample time. Using the sonar defeats that purpose. There's only one thing we can do. We take a chance.” Jesse bolts back up to the main deck and cuts the idling motors. Only the sound of lapping water can be heard now. He goes back down to the cabin. Jacob does not look happy. “I do not see how having our engines without steam at the ready helps our position.” “It's a risk Jacob. There's no two ways about it. But it's a calculated one. If his sound is getting weaker to us, the reverse must also be true. Now that we're quiet he may not know what has become of us. I'd expect a bit of a current around the Island so we're bound to be drifting at least a little. If he decides to come back in our direction we shouldn't be able to

know were we where by the time he gets here. We have to hope that's enough.” The flashing on the sonar stopped. The target track stopped as too. And as they turned to the speaker they realized the vocalization had stopped as well. “Well that sure puts our bacon in the fire. This was no trick of distance. He's headed back this way. You can depend on it.” “I was just thinking that we have become that ball of snow you mentioned before.” Jesse gives Jacob a worried glance. He then goes back on deck. The zip lock bag of pictures is found and searched again. It is only a minute later that Jesse is holding a very large pair of binoculars and a support tripod. It takes him only a minute to get the tripod set up and the glasses mounted. He is then scanning the horizon to the West and South of them. He sees only water so far. Jacob floats back up to join him. “I have raised the volume on the sound device. If it calls out again we will know.” “Yeah. We should only be so lucky.” Jesse takes to the glasses again. “Do you really think you would see it coming?” “Not especially. It gives me something positive to do though. It's either this or start pacing. And the less noise we make the better.” “Could it possibly hear us talking?” “Against the noise of the water on the hull? Not very likely. Go stomping around on the deck here, though, and you might be talking a whole other possibility indeed. Hard to know for sure of course.” “I should be as most cross with you for this little adventure. Were not the stakes so high of course. This has your neck out a great distance I fear.” “Yeah. Maybe it's going to be you who has to remember me. That would be irony wouldn't it.” “It would only be a great sadness for me my friend. At least for a while.” The look on Jacob's face makes Jesse very curious. “What's that supposed to mean.” “I'm afraid I may have been somewhat excessive in my statement of permanence when first you woke me.”

“What? What are you telling me Jacob?” Jesse was really worried now. “I did not know this at the time, but subsequent entries into the connection have given me a clear indication. The force of the persuasion is more centered within your spirit than I would have imagined possible. Should you die it is unlikely that I will be able to hold the spell together long on my own.” “Oh Jacob. I'm sorry.” “You have nothing to be sorry for my friend. The more I have considered this, the more sense it makes. It has, in fact, taken a burden off of my shoulders. I would not have even mentioned it were it not for this fact. It is only fitting that our fates be linked. It is a terrible thing to have to advise another to take great risks when you risk nothing.” “Whoa! What the hell are you talking about Jacob. You paid your dues man. You've got every right to be working from the sidelines now. This is crazy talk.” “Is it? I've been reflecting on my time through this process and I have to wonder. Wasn't I just playing a game? And an arrogant game at that. I was so full of myself and my ability with magic. I knew I could fool her even as I knew there was no chance of passing the final test. I cheated a fate no other potential Guardian ever avoided. Did I not try as hard as I should have because of this conceit? Did I leave you to have to come along and take up where I failed? Seeing what you have been forced to confront compared to the dance that I got away with...” Jacob has floated to the far end of the deck. His head is down and his hands clasped behind his back. Jesse has to shake his head dejectedly. The things we do to ourselves he thinks. The many types of guilt assumed. The blame for way too many things. Jesse sees way too much of himself in the way Jacob is beating up on himself. It is a process that Jesse knows only too well. “Jesus Jacob. Your timing is incredible. This is a fine time to be going on a guilt trip. I'd be pissed were it not for the fact that, if the roles were reversed, I'd be doing the same thing. Only I'd be doing it a lot worse.” Jacob scans the horizon, not really caring now if the damn thing showed up. “Look at me Jacob.” Jacob turns around. It breaks Jesse's heart to see how sad his friend is now. “I want you to make an air hand. Right here.” Jesse has his right hand extended. “Do it Jacob. And put some feeling into it.”

Jacob can barely look at Jesse as puts the first two fingers of his right hand to his temple. Jesse's hand is instantly gripped by another. It is warm and there is no doubt about who it belongs to. “You are my brother. I like to think of you as my older brother. You have been the guy who's been looking out for his kid sibling all of his life. You want to talk about fate, and the choices it presents to you. You could have taken that gift of magic and gone off to do whatever selfish life of indulgence you wanted. But you didn't. You may not have known me personally then, but you had to feel the pull of what fate wanted you to take responsibility for. That responsibility meant a hard long slog for another you hadn't even met yet. You kept faith with that responsibility even though you would never achieved the ultimate prize. And don't kid yourself. Screwed up though that prize may be, there's still a hell of a lot of pride associated with making a grade so few have been able to claim.” Tears are falling freely down Jacob's face now as he looks Jesse in the eyes. “I'm going to make you a deal Jacob. I'm going to promise to try and not be so ready to beat up on myself if you'll do the same. You and I both have got to start making more of an effort to forgive our frailties. Neither one of us are perfect and we never will be. You can never be sure when a moment of weakness might make you succumb to bad choice. The one thing I am sure of though is that we have people who love us. They love us because of the love we've given them. The love, the honesty, and the heart. They understand and forgive the mistakes That's enough Jacob in my book for cutting yourself a little slack. The same slack you're so willing to cut me. Think you can do that?” Jacob tilts his head a little. Considers Jesse gripped hand and smiles now. “And so little brother returns some wisdom to his protector. It is a gift indeed that you have given me. And yes my young charge, you have a deal.” A sudden shift of the boat causes Jacob to slide into the starboard side of the boat. Jesse is nearly thrown over the port side. It is only the hand of air that prevents this. “What the hell was that?” Jesse regains his balance and can see that, not only has Jacob not bothered to float out of the side of the boat, he has turned quite white. A jolt of adrenaline makes Jesse's stomach churn and his heart race. He does not want to see what is behind him, off the port side of the boat, but there is nothing for it. He turns despite the alarm bells going off in his head. The long, upper curve of a maggot mountain is floating not more than a hundred meters away. The thing has one end pointed in their direction so a small portion of the arc of it's mouth rim is exposed. A least a dozen tentacles are stretched out towards them like feelers, or scent receptors. Not only are there wicked sharp claws along the length of each, they all end in a mandible like pincer, arrayed with spikes. They are in constant motion. It is a writhing circular pattern that makes Jesse's skin crawl.

“Mother frigging pus bucket,” Jesse whispers. “We are so screwed.” Jacob has finally regained enough of his wits to float back beside Jesse. “I imagine your sound device will have no problem picking up its calls now, “ Jacob whispers back. “All it's going to get is the sound of me crapping my pants. And my god. The stink.” Jesse's eyes are watering from the foul air now. Waving a hand around in front of him accomplishes nothing. Jacob's shock has been replaced by a wide eyed kind of puzzlement. “This is most perplexing.” “What? The fact that we've been caught with our asses hanging out or that this thing can surface without making a sound? I don't see a lot perplexing in that. Now surprising. That I can see.” “I am referring to the fact that we are still here discussing the matter. By all that's true and sacred, I should be dissolving just as you inside that thing.” Jesse looks at Jacob and then back at the impossibly monstrous animal. Jesse can't help an automatic revulsion that is generated by the sight of it. The immense ring segments. The puss gray yellow color of its semi-translucent skin. It gave the definite impression of being a maggot. The tentacle rimmed mouth only served to suggest a mutant maggot from hell. And the size of the thing. Their boat was like a pool raft next to a super tanker. Despite all of this, though, the thought finally strikes Jesse. “Why hasn't this thing just killed us. It certainly could have.” “OK. OK. Now that I've got my jaw back in my mouth I can see your point. What the hell is it doing?” Jacob shrugs. “I can only surmise that it has encountered something never encountered before. This boat must be it. The inorganic materials it is made of must be odd indeed to our friend here. Add to that the fact that it might also be getting just a trace of you and you have a real conundrum.” All of a sudden, both through the boat itself, and the speaker from the cabin, they can hear the thing resume its grunt-shrieks. And hardly a few heart beats after that the massive bulk of it pivots. The end facing them moves away to their right. Another big wake surges outward and Jesse braces himself for it this time. The boat is rocked violently upon impact. Once the creature has shown its broad side to them, it slowly moves off to the North. The grunt-shrieks are interspersed with the slow wolf howl. They watch dumbfounded as it moves off. “We cannot be getting off this easy.”

Jacob shakes his head. “I fear it may just be taking its time in mulling things over.” Jesse moves forward to the control console and checks the clock. He can't help but also eye the power switch and starter button. There is a great temptation to ignite this rocket and punch it out of here. He knows he can't though. They need at least thirty more minutes of sampling to have a chance analyze anything useful. He pulls himself away from the controls and goes back to the binoculars. Swiveling it around, he gazes intently at the creature. “No frigging wonder you were spooked by this Jacob. It's only been a couple of minutes and I'm ready for serious therapy.” What develops next becomes a war of nerves. The creature increases the distance from the boat by another couple hundred meters. At which point it begins to just circle them. It does this for the next twenty minutes; submerging and resurfacing at odd intervals. All the while the vocalizations continue. Varying subtly in rumble, duration and volume. Jesse becomes convinced that they will have a good quantity of sample data. The statistical error value should be acceptable. Now if they can just live to do something with it. Jesse has taken to the driver's seat. The binoculars are in his lap. He has been drumming his fingers and chewing his lower lip for the last five minutes at least. “You know Jacob. Another possibility has occurred to me. It's taunting us hoping to provoke a flight response. If the strange thing begins to run away it, must be prey. What do you think? Jacob has positioned his image so that it appears that he is sitting near the bow, just forward of the control console wind screen. “Certainly a plausible theory. Hardly encouraging for us if true I think. Remember. This thing does not tire or sleep. I should think that boredom is not much of problem either. For all we know, our presence has provided it more excitement than it's had in a very long time indeed. If it is to be a waiting game we are at a disadvantage.” Jesse takes a break from finger drumming to rub the back of his neck. “Have we collected enough sample yet?” Jacob is regarding Jesse hopefully. Jesse checks the clock while still massaging. “Not quite. We need at least another five minutes worth.” “Ultimately Jesse, the why and what for of its current tactic will become quite moot you know. We cannot remain out here indefinitely.”

Jesse stops massaging and sighs. “Yeah. I know. I've been struggling with that very dilemma. It looks like we're going to have to bolt whether we like it or not.” “What do you suppose is the maximum velocity of this craft?” Jesse turns to look at the big, twin, outboard engines. “Something close to 45 knots. Maybe even 50 if I red line the engines RPM.” “Red Line? I can assume this means a bit more than the maximum.?” “Yeah. I push the engines into the red they won't last long.” “Hmm... It is unfortunate that the beast is so difficult to distract. A diversion sufficient to give us a meaningful head start has not been forthcoming.” “Me either. Ordinarily you'd throw a good chunk of explosive into the water and the underwater shock wave would stun just about anything, if not kill it out right. Don't think that would even give this thing a small headache.” “What else does one stun a sea creature with?” “Electricity usually. You've got the same problem there as well though. The kind of amperage and voltage it would take to even tickle this thing would be enormous. If I could throw that kind of power at it I wouldn't need to be taking vocalization samples. And even if I could, enough power to stun it would have to be very close to enough to kill it as well. I'd be loath to take the risk.” “Of course. The list of options narrows. It is too bad we don't have another of these craft. Perhaps a decoy would be a viable option, though I would not like to be the one stuck with the task of operating it will being pursued.” Jesse turns back towards Jacob. “Another boat,” he thinks. “Is he channeling Carmen or what. Why didn't I think of that.” “Jacob you are truly brilliant.” “What?” “Another boat. Of course another boat. I can pull another out just as easy as the first one. We get it to go roaring off all hell bent for survival, he's going to chase it. I guarantee you. And the best part is, all of his predator senses will be focused on the thus revealed prey. That there might be a bit more oddity remaining at the bolt point will be meaningless to it. It's absolutely brilliant.” “But how will you ensure for a launch that will not take you with the boat. To say nothing of the vessel's continued control.”

“Ah... Well, not sure actually.” Jesse frowns. Hadn't thought of that either. “Let's see. The control part is not too hard. We simply tie off the steering wheel with the rudder fixed for a Westerly coarse. Turning the power switch on is easy too. The hard part is the starter button and then pulling the throttles back all the way to the Max marker.” Jacob brightens at this. “I could accomplish those tasks magically. The craft would accelerate and simply leave me floating above the water. It is simplicity itself.” Jesse had to grin. “You are on a roll big brother. High stakes pressure must be a real inspiration for you.” “I think little brother that the team we form together is where the inspiration comes from.” Jesse laughs at this. “That poor dumb monster does not know what kind of deep shit it is really in. The A team has got it's game on now. I'm almost ready to start feeling sorry for it.” Jacob is up and floating over. He tilts his head and gives Jesse a sardonic smile. The now dried boat picture is recovered from the seat cushion Jesse left it on. It has stuck a bit and he has to exercise some care in peeling it off. The task is accomplished without incident and Jesse moves to the port side of the boat. “Can you see where our friend is now?” Jacob scans around and then points off to the North East. “Yes. It appears to be submerging again.” “Good. Keep an eye on the area to the South East.” Jesse reaches in and pulls out another copy of the boat out. It presents an even more ridiculous visual, as Jesse stands in the boat he is now holding out over the water. He has to bend uncomfortably over the boat side to be able to release the new copy within the water. It is accomplished, though, with only a modest splashing sound and rocking of their copy. Rope is found in a back compartment, near the rear bulkhead. The two boats are tied together. More rope is found on the new boat in a matching compartment. Jesse has to search his picture stash again, however, to come up with a paddle. As they need to reorient both boats to face West, it takes several anxious minutes of hard effort to make this happen. Once the boats are aligned properly Jesse ties off the steering wheel and then goes over the controls with Jacob. Jacob nods finally. “This should present no problem what so ever. I think we should begin immediately. The

beast has had time to get to his Southern turning point. We dare not hesitate any longer.” “Right. I'll untie the connection rope.” Jesse moves quickly back to the original boat, unties the line on that end and then gives Jacob the thumbs up sign. The fingers go to the temple once more and it takes only a moment before the engines come to life. He lets them idle only for a few seconds before pulling the throttles back. A great churn of water from the propellers throws spray Jesse's way. The sound of the engines tears at the twilight calm that had settled over the water. The boat leaps forward and a good portion of back bulk head and motor passes right through Jacob. He floats exactly where he was for a minute, watching it speed away before turning to float back towards Jesse. Jesse rushes back to the control seat to fetch the binoculars. The light is fading fast, but he hopes to catch some sign from the water to the Southwest. He scans intently for a minute but sees nothing. He then turns back to the receding sound of their decoy. The froth from the propellers is still quite visible. The wash from the hull can be seen as well as the boat bounces over the bit of swell still present. Jacob is floating beside him now. “How long to we wait?” “For as long as possible. At least until I can't see the decoy at any rate.” He is keeping the glasses poised on the ever smaller outline of white water. There is what appears to be another bounce when the entire scene in the round portals of glass erupts into an explosion of water. The creature has timed a nearly vertical leap from the water to coincide with the boat's position overhead. It has gotten too dark to see the monster's full form emerge, but even as he pulls the glasses away in shock, the splashdown is a geyser they cannot mistake, even without magnification. Jesse just drops the glasses and jumps into the driver's seat. The engines explode into life an instant later. He yells to Jacob to get ready and then slams the throttles back against their slots. The boat is then a projectile out of a cannon. Jacob is beside him and shouting. “By all that's true and sacred Jesse. Did the beast do what I think it did?” “No frigging doubt about it,” Jesse yells back. “It came up nearly vertical. Timed it just right too. That's got to be thousands of tons sent air born. Un-Frigging believable. I saw it and I still don't believe it. Christ.” “Do you think we got enough lead?”

Jesse looks at the tachometer. It is most definitely pegged in the red. The temp gauge is starting to creep up as well. Oil pressure was high, but steady now. That, at least, was a good sign. “Maybe. The engines are giving us all they have. That's not going to be a whole lot more than 10 knots over what ordinary maximum gives you though. It took it, what, maybe six or seven minutes to catch the decoy? Add another 5 minutes to that for it and the water around it to settle down enough to pick up on the new sound of our props. Add 3 or 4 minutes for our head start. The increase in speed we have now might be worth a few more minutes on top of that. What you end up with are some pretty low odds I think.” The wind is lashing at his face and hair. Spray is also coming back at him despite the windscreen. The boat is bouncing more significantly as the approach the Island. “Is there nothing else we can do to increase the odds?” Jesse considers this as grips tightly to the leather of the steering wheel. It takes a moment but then it comes to him.” “Go below and start active pinging with the sonar. I want you to give me a constant report on how quickly it's gaining on us.” “Of course.” Jacob doesn't even bother with the hatch as he slides from view into the boat. Jesse gets the headset back on as quickly as he can one handed. “OK Jacob. I'm set here. How close is it?” “Jesse! It is only 5 kilometers behind us and closing very rapidly. The sonar is indicating a speed of 65 knots Jesse. Sixty Five!” Jesse's stomach does flip flops at this news. “My God, “ he thinks. “That has to be a ten knot closing speed at least. There was no way they could out run it under those circumstances. Unless Jesse could pull another miracle out of his butt they really were crap on toast now. “Jacob. Listen carefully. In a few seconds it's going to look like it's slowing down, but that will only be an illusion. It will be diving then to gain enough depth to launch itself from underneath again. Sing out when you see that. It will only take it a few more seconds to get low enough. When the depth reading starts falling rapid sing out again. I'm going to make our move right after that.” “Got it. Wait... I think... Yes it's going down down.” “Understood.”

One of the moons has started to come up and provides enough light to see an outline of the Island now. They are still at least six or seven minutes away from shallow water. The boat is leaping over, and pounding into, swells of greater height now. The jumps, brief weightlessness and thudding impact do nothing to help Jesse's gut. The adrenaline and terrifying sense of that thing bearing down on them doesn't help either. It seems like an eternity before Jacob shouts out again.” “It's coming up Jesse. By the Gods it is coming up so fast!” Jesse counts another one Mississippi two Mississippi before cranking hard to starboard with the wheel. She keels over alarmingly low to the water, which for a moment is racing only a meter of Jesse's head. Jesse straightens her out and then holds it steady. It is just then that a great, rumbling a roar shakes the boat hard, and a split second later the moon is suddenly blocked completely. Jesse turns his head back just as the sound shock wave hits him. It is a physical blow temporarily deafening him. Simultaneously a super tanker sized silhouette emerges from what seems to be a nuclear detonation of water. Jesse can hardly believe his eyes. It is a mammoth maggot rocket that clears at least 50 meters over the surface before arching over and falling back down. And Jesse wonders now if they can avoid a tidal wave. His options are almost non-existent now. He cannot continue heading parallel to the Island for very long. He must turn back to port and head inland again as quickly as possible. This will mean taking the monster's splashdown wave broadside. It will certainly roll the boat if he does this. Damned if you do, Damned if you don't. In the end he settles for a compromise. He changes the boats heading slightly to port so that they are now heading at a forty five degree angle towards land. This may be enough to survive the huge wake that will soon be approaching, and get them safely to shallow water. It's the best shot they've got. Even above the roar of the engines the crash of the monster's enormous mass back into the ocean is deafening again. Jesse begins quick turns of the head to look back and then to both sides, not knowing which threat will arrive first. “Jacob! Get ready. The splashdown wave is going to hit us.” Jesse has time for one more glance back. The cresting wall of water is upon them. It smacks into the rear of the boat, ripping the engines right off. It is a piece of fortune however as the sudden loss of weight brings the stern up so that the avalanche of water doesn't overload the boats natural bouncy. The stern is kicked around however and she rolls horribly over. Jesse has already launched himself to the port side seat. He hits it hard now, getting the wind knock out him. He clings desperately to the seat as the boat goes nearly vertical on its side, even as he can't breathe. It is his mass moved over that keeps her from flipping. They settle back down and coast off of the waves surge. For several seconds Jesse struggles to get his breathing going again. It is only by fits and starts that it recovers. He slides off the seat and sits shaking on the deck. Jacob finally

appears, floating in from the boats stern. He has an expression of great concern. “By the Gods Jesse. Are you OK?” Jesse swallows with some difficulty. “I think so. Might have bruised a rib. Nothing broken though. What happened to you?” “The vessel was thrown so unexpectedly in a direction I wasn't prepared for, that I found myself suddenly underwater. Had no idea where I was until I surfaced. Took me what seem like ages to find you again. Gods what a fright. I may never set foot on a boat again.” “Don't suppose you noticed anything from our pursuer did you? In case you missed it, we no longer have engines.” “I did not catch any sign of him I am quite happy to say. And as for the engines, might not the absence of their noise be to our advantage now? Surly the water still echoes with his re-entry.” “Yes. It's also possible he thought he got us on the upswing. Keep all the good thoughts you can I guess. I'm just hoping we're not too far off shore. I'm not fancying a swim right now I can tell you.” Jacob has taken to sitting right where he floats; a meter above the deck and a little more than that from Jesse. “You look like you could use a good measure of strong spirit little brother.” “I hear that big brother. The shakes are only just settling down. That was way too close. Again. I'm beginning to make this a bad habit.” “I would rather have a sibling with the bad habit of too close than one with the habit of not at all.” Jesse can manage a smile now. The ringing in his ears as lessened as well. Something not too far off catches his attention. “Do you hear that Jacob?” Jacob turns his head to one side straining. “Why... Yes... I believe that is the sound of surf.” Jesse stands then. Looking towards the bow he can see the silvery white of waves breaking on the shore. The rocky beach can't be more than 50 meters away. Even better, the boat was still drifting inland. With any luck at all, he would only have to wade ashore. “What a day,” he thinks to himself. Hopefully now we can make it all worth while.

Scene 32: Jesse throws the last of the accumulated dishes into a picture of a restaurant kitchen. The main floor has now been swept, uncluttered and dusted. Jacob's frown the last few mornings upon re-materializing was finally too much. Best to do something about it than to rag on an overly judgmental sibling. Big brother my ass Jesse thinks with amusement. More like a haranguing old mother if you ask me. They were able to get back last night before 9. Jesse had insisted on hitting the sack early and Jacob didn't complain at all. Getting up early this morning was at least bearable. His front lower left ribs were tender as hell, but other than that, he'd had a pretty good sleep. And to his surprise, policing the area was a good deal more satisfying than he had anticipated. The only equipment Jesse had needed to bring back with them was the SSD unit he used to hold the digitized data on. Amazingly, the zip lock bag of pictures was found in the cabin. He took his time looking through the binders for the new equipment he would need today. The first selection was a high end desk top computer, hi-res monitor, specialized sound processing and voice recognition software. Rather than resort to a noisy gas powered generator for juice, he opted for 3 deep cell, marine batteries. These were 12 volt lead acid storage units, almost twice as big as a car battery. Hooking them in parallel would provide plenty of amperage. Then to them he connected a 1200 watt commercial grade inverter. Clean quite power. Piece of cake. It took another hour to get things plugged in and the software loaded. Jacob materialized as Jesse was going through the manual for a quick familiarization. Jacob is ready to sniff disapprovingly at Jesse's usual lack of organization when a frown comes over his face. “What ever has happened here? Have you taken to kidnapping young chore girls now? “I have a fussy old woman as a frequent guest and I thought this the easiest way to keep her quiet.” Jacob considers this a moment and then frowns even more. “It is a lucky thing for you that old woman is a wise as she is old. She would undoubtedly give you a good thrashing otherwise.” “If you can't be good. At least be lucky. That's what my old man used to say.” “Hmm... It's a wonder they let him out of incarceration long enough to impart anything to you.”

Jesse is laughing now. “Touché my friend. Why don't we begin before I'm strangled by the very air I breathe.” Jacob is struggling to keep a straight face at this point. “An excellent suggestion. I see I have new wonders to experience.” “Yup. The metal box in front of me here is essentially a calculating engine. Numbers are manipulated within its substance at astonishing speeds. More importantly, however, is the fact that what it does can be specified by complex sequences of instructions. Instructions that can allow for alternative paths of execution depending on the results of tests which are also specified in the instructions. The instructions themselves, as well as information pertinent to the task the instructions are intended to apply to, can be retrieved from the electrical equivalent of numbers stored in a special material. The same as we discussed for the sound recording. Not only can those numbers be retrieved, they can be changed, saved again, and retrieved once more.” “My word indeed. It's... Well... It's nothing less than a clerk in a box who can be taught to do virtually anything. By the Gods...This. This is something that you will have to teach me Jesse. If only I had access to such an aid early on. My meager efforts at translating Sanddelfar's journals would be ten fold what they are now. Astounding. And truly.” “Absolutely Jacob. I think you would enjoy it. We call creating the instructions programming. I have to warn you though. It is an application of logic that can be unbelievably frustrating. You wouldn't believe how quickly sets of instructions can become mind bogglingly labyrinth. All I can say is it's a good thing you already have gray hair.” “Nonsense. If you can do it I'm sure it shouldn't prove too difficult for me.” “Ouch. Nothing wrong with your confidence this morning that's for sure. In any case, I have already loaded some programming that will allow us to both analyze and translate the calls the Drastenor was making. At least that's what I'm hoping for.” “The method to your madness becomes more clear now. But translate an animal's vocalizations? I think my confidence this morning is but a piker compared to yours.” “Well, I have to admit I'm working on faith here. Before I threw the business end of the recording device into the water yesterday I worked a persuasion on it. I convinced the device to electrify something from the connection, as well as from the acoustic waves from the water. That extra data was saved along with the sound information. I'm going to try and work a further persuasion now on the instructions in the box here to mesh both sets of data for the translation. I know it's a long shot, but it's all I got right now.” “Data saved from the connection? What would that...” Jacob is rubbing his chin now in thought. “By the Gods. You've been recording its thoughts haven't you. Assuming you can call them thoughts of course. Long shot indeed my friend.” “Yeah. You've got the picture about alright.”

The machine is on and Jesse is typing commands. “I'm going to have the box do some signal clean up first on the sound data. This will remove a lot of the background noise.” A visual interface comes up on the screen. A wide black area in the middle depicts the wave form represented by the recording. They spend the next hour, playing bits of , and processing the Drastenor recording. By the time Jesse declares “Well, that's about as good as we're going to get it,” Jacob is most impressed. “It is truly astonishing. The clarity of the recording has improved markedly. And this simply by the application of mathematical formulas to filter and average? Perhaps miraculous would be more appropriate.” “OK. Now comes the hard part. I'm hoping that the arrangement of the substance that holds the programming is going to have a unique kind of pattern to it. It I can get a sense of those feeling patterns, maybe I can work backwards and mesh additional pattern structure to manifest the numbers which will create the actual processing logic I want. I will be using the persuasion you used on your journals to do the translation of the ink as a sort of beginning template.” Jesse scoots his chair back a little and then works a few joints to get himself relaxed and comfortable. “I'm going to have to enter a deep meditative state to accomplish this. There's no telling how long it will take so I'm going to be unresponsive for a while. Just be patient. Even if it takes quite a few hours Jacob, you've got to let me be.” “How am I supposed to know if you encounter trouble or not. I am quite sure you feel this a rather benign endeavor, but you must learn to be more circumspect when dealing the the connection. I would think your attempts at amplification would have brought that home to you.” “Point taken. See if you can manage monitoring my vital signs from your own connection.” Jacob closes his eyes in concentration for a few minutes. When he opens them again he is looking only a bit more relieved. “I am able to get a decent sense of your respiration and heart rate, but only a crude sense of your mental state. I would feel a good deal better with more.” “I know Jacob. I wish I could give you more. There are always risks. Even when it seems like there shouldn't be. You and I both know this. All we can do is minimize and prepare for them as best we can. I'll keep a cautious third eye out I promise.” “Hmm... I suppose it will have to do. Alright. Leap away my little brother.” Jesse closes his eyes and begins to clear his mind. It takes several minutes for him to

reach the wordless focus he needs. He then reaches out to the computer and the arrangement of interactions in atomic structure that make up the energies of both the volatile and and non-volatile memory. The patterns here are exquisite, deep and strangely compelling. He must not fear this. He must let himself go for a while and be these patterns. In order to know and understand them, he would have to become them. Most importantly, he would have to have faith that his inner hand; that core sense of himself that lay beyond consciousness as a part of his spirit. That this would pull him back when it was time to come back. Everything was a risk. He is just glad that he did not fill Jacob in on all of the details. Jacob was worrying enough already. Jacob spends the next several hours going back over deciphered passages of Sanddelfar's journals. He is careful to stop every fifteen or twenty minutes to check on Jesse's condition. The vitals have settled to a very steady, though low, rate. And his mind seems active despite a sense of great calm. It is enough to keep Jacob from being too concerned for the moment. Once Jacob had become quite adept with his magic, he was able to mesh the printed symbols of the entire 100 volume set to to the deepest aspect of his spirit. The physical copies were then destroyed. Anyone wanting the information now would have to tear his spirit apart to get it. Self defeating to say the least. It was as safe now as it was ever going to be. If the years studying the underlying persuasions had taught him anything it was that whoever had first woven them had been a master without equal. Each little success at teasing out the final persuasion was more than a triumph for his skill. It was a revelation of the true artistry that was possible with this craft. Always he was humbled by it. The author had created each level of spell to provide the clues to the next by the very nature of the new symbols revealed, and how that layer's spell had worked from their predecessors. From the beginning of his efforts Jacob was most impressed by the shear quantity of persuasions. The layering was always at least four levels deep. Never was more than a paragraph encompassed by a single set of four persuasions, with each set being a unique sequence. It represented a staggering number of unique combinations. An incomprehensible amount of work when considered as a whole. Who would have such patience, let alone such skill? Of late, however, a growing suspicion had come upon Jacob. A suspicion centered around a cluster of symbols that always appeared where a page number would ordinarily be. These symbols had a relatively easy persuasion with which to reveal the page counter. So easy in fact that it had always bothered him. Why go to the trouble of hiding it in the first place if you made it so easy to uncover. Not to mention the absurdity of hiding this count at all. No. They had to have a greater purpose. He was certain of it. What was that purpose. It had become a barb in his mind. And it was only when he considered them in conjunction with the overall quantity of encryption sequences that he felt he was on to an insight. What if this master had found a way to have another level of magic do the work for him? Magic creating magic in some automatic fashion. It was almost too

absurd for him at first. But now that Jesse had introduced the idea of a computational engine. One that could carry out complicated instruction sets. He saw this in a whole new light. What if Sanddelfar had accomplished what Jesse was attempting to do now? Melding magic with these amazing computational engines? It was a staggering thought. Not only for the achievement in encryption with his journals, but for what else such a technique might allow. No wonder they wanted the journals hidden. Such a thing could unleash applications of power never dreamed of anywhere in the infinity before. It was terrifying. For the first time in his entire life Jacob wishes his birth parents had destroyed the journals. Important though whatever other information they might contain would be, how could it justify such risk. And of course now Jacob was mentally kicking himself for not understanding the full implications of Jesse's seemingly benign modification. “Would it have mattered,” he asks himself “if you had pointed out the deeper danger of such a combination? Was there any other choice available? Did Sanddelfar have reason early on in his career to do something similar? It probably seemed as un-noteworthy then, compared to a greater need forcing his hand. Just as Jesse's was now. Perhaps only later did it occur to him. And at what terrible cost I wonder.” Jacob sighs. “And in the end, what chance is there ever to long hold an idea captive. The infinite is nothing if not grim in its ability to grind down the most immense of impossible probabilities. Where one can think of a thing. Another will inevitably follow. It is folly to think otherwise. All you are doing old man is providing some time. Maybe with time, and the right influences, greater wisdom will prepare the infinite to keep such ideas in proper perspective. As always it is down to faith and effort.” He sighs again. He sits for a while in his imaginary chair, lost in silent ruminations about the deficit of wisdom, and the folly of sentient beings in general when he finally snaps back to Jesse's inert figure in the chair. “By the gods. How long has it been? Oh Jesse forgive me. Too many things to keep track of.” He concentrates again and delves quickly into his friends vital signs. They have slowed considerably. He is immediately worried. Shifting his focus he probes Jesse's mind as best he can. The activity has lessened. There was no mistaking it. And where there was a definite sense of calm, Jacob now feels nothing. His shimmering form comes instantly back to full alertness. The man was in danger. Something had gone wrong. Jacob had to do something. He calmed his mind and considered his alternatives. There were only two. Create physical hands with which to shake Jesse's body with and hope that did it, or go back to the connection and try to find something of Jesse's spirit to pull on. He would not have the energy to do the physical manifestation for very long. And if that failed, he would have to wait to recharge to try again. By then he felt

the risk of being too late was unacceptable. That settled it. Jacob began concentrating again. This time he sent himself into the connection as a whole. Somewhere amidst the ever shifting associations, embraces and exchange was the only thread Jacob had any hope of helping Jesse with. If Jesse was in as much danger as Jacob suspected, then this thread, thin though it might be ordinarily, would be alight. Enough perhaps even for Jacob's reduced capacity to illicit. He cleared his mind of worded thought and then filled his spirit with the love not only he had for Jesse, but the love he had felt radiating like a sun from Carmen and her man when they were together. Wherever she was right now. She would be in a panic. Her mind and spirit would be calling out to the link that must be going cold even as Jacob stretched himself out to find it. It would be her love that would not let the link fail. Jacob stretched himself as he has never done before. It is draining. There is a risk that does not have to be put to words. It does not matter. Still he stretches. He is so thin now that he barely exists anymore. It is that very edge of nothingness that allows him contact at last. Great grief and love as the tiniest of filament of light. Jacob wraps himself around it. Rallies around it. Courses along it and pursues its destination. Jesse is there. Almost consumed in the most elegant and exquisite patterns of embrace Jacob has ever seen. They are a formalized beauty. They remind Jacob of geometric patters. A kind of crystallized multidimensional kaleidoscope. He understands immediately that this is the manifestation of logic in the connection. Understanding as well why they are so powerful to Jesse. Jesse was an adept from an early age in what he called programming. His mind had an innate appreciation of such structure. Jacob gives all of the spirit energy he has in aid to Carmen's light through the filament of their love. There is no logic in the universe that can withstand such radiance. No matter how small the filament is. Jesse is pulled back. Slowly at first, but inexorably. The joy that then tinges that radiance, the relief and the recognition pulls Jacob back together as well. It is only a few minutes later that Jesse comes out of his trance. He sags in the chair and almost slides out before he can grip the seat edges. He has to breathe deeply, and shake his head a few times to clear the cobwebs. Jacob's apparition has snapped out but Jesse knows he friend is alright. Just as he knows now that it was Jacob, in league with Carmen, who has saved his life. Friends and people who love you. Where would anyone be without them. Jesse is overcome with both joy and grief. The tears flow freely. It is an amazing contrast of emotions swirling within him. The joy is for being loved so much by people so willing to give selflessly. The grief is for being pulled from a connection that was a living nirvana. He had been in the process of being expressed as the perfect logical manifestation of himself. It had been unbelievably beautiful and irresistibly compelling. And even though it would have been a tremendous reduction, or abstraction of his soul, he could not deny it. There would have been an eternal, and ordered kind of power that was beyond merely seductive.

How could he keep making the same mistake over and over again. The connection was not just pretty feelings and lovely realizations. It was a changing force all of its own. You merged with it at your peril if you did not bring with you a great deal more humility than Jesse had so far. What a fool. A babe in the woods. Innocence where the word had no meaning. And yet he can't but help feel absolutely overjoyed for having done it. Grief and all. He had heard the Sirens, gone too close to the sun, been pulled back and now knew of the greater wonders of the multi-verse first hand. There should be shame here but but he could not manage it. All these things were just there. They were neither good or evil. He was glad he had been brought back. He was glad to have almost been transformed. And he was glad to feel the grief. The grief was confirmation of just how beautiful it was. What a wondrous thing the multi-verse truly was. He was going to have to learn more discipline if he was going to remain true to his commitment and purpose. Even so, he would never be able to stop pushing out against all limits.

Scene 33: “No Jesse, you needn't worry abut another lecture concerning the dangers you face in the connection. Remember. I saw the manifestation of logic too. I understand both it's unavoidable affect on you, as well as the unavoidable logic of necessity that forced our hands here.” They are back at the computational box. Jacob has had all night to recover. Jesse as well. Jesse has a look of great contrition. Sadness too as he has since learned the risk Jacob took in saving him. Jacob has surprised him with his look of understanding and resignation. “You had to do this. There is an aspect to that logic of necessity that you may not be aware of.” “What do you mean?” “The main reason I was late in checking up on you had to do with a revelation I had while you were under. It concerns Sanddelfar and his journals. I have reason to believe now that he too was forced to meld magic and computational engines. I further believe that he used such a combination to encrypt his journals.” “He used magic and a computer to do the encryption persuasions?” “I think he must have. When you consider the complexity of each persuasion, the fact that they are at least 4 deep per paragraph, and that each four encryption sequence is unique, I don't see how it could have been otherwise. Can you imagine how many paragraphs would be contained within a 100 volume set?” Jesse rubs a slow hand through his hair. “Jesus Jacob. I hadn't really thought about it. But you're right. That would most definitely be a lot.”

“Indeed. But there is more to this than even I first suspected. Think on it a moment. Think beyond the trivial application of magic to translation. What if someone wanted to grind out complex persuasions as one would products from a factory. What level of mayhem or disaster do you think might be wrought, and at what speed, if they were the product of a computational engine? It is in essence another layer of magic on top of a base layer. Magic creating magic automatically. And what's worse, fully dynamic and responsive to changing conditions.” Jesse suddenly has his face in his hands and is rubbing at his forehead. “My god Jacob. That never even began to occur to me. If you were experienced much at all in both programming and magic, you could rain down with virtually unlimited waves of affect. Throw in the creation of portals and even the infinite becomes vulnerable. It's unbelievable. Why didn't I see this sooner? You're talking about a magic automatic weapon. Or an AI with magic” “Because you couldn't. Because you were focused on a very difficult goal. As were we both. There is no blame here little brother. There can only be grim recognition that some one else will eventually come up with the same idea. Some one with the skills just mentioned. We are merely given more reason to spread connection through out as many realities as we can. That and gain experience in this very thing so that we can respond creatively in kind. I don't see anything else for it.” “Well, there sure isn't any doubt now why they wanted to protect those journals is there.” “None. My birth parents had to be all too aware of what this might portend. I truly fear for what else might be revealed. Even as I know that we must accelerate our efforts to decrypt them all. And in this I will have to enlist your help Jesse.” Jesse has to take in a deep breath before he nods his head in agreement. “Of course Jacob. You'll have all of the help I can provide. We've been served with a gilt edged warrant to make sure this gets done ASAP. If he wasn't prepared, how could even a Guardian stand up to an array of magic automatic weapons. Or a magic artificial intelligence. This scares the piss out of me actually.” “And even with this we must still keep focus on the immediate problem. Were you able to complete the meld successfully?” “Yeah. That was the one good thing out of my little fiasco. It caught me by surprise and that shouldn't have happened, but at least I understand it now. I was able to go back in earlier this morning and complete the task. I can keep enough separation from it now not to let it overwhelm me. I haven't tried the translation logic yet, but it is ready.” “Excellent. Perhaps we should proceed then.” “Right.”

Jesse turns the computer on, types in more commands, and quickly has the interface up and running again. “Ordinarily this program would have been able to translate human speech into text that we could see on the screen here. The additional magic logic that I have created is going to try and mix in the both the Drastenor's vocalizations with the mental impressions we recorded. By the way, your journal translation persuasion was a big help in this. I don't think I could have done it all on my own.” Jacob smiles a little at this “We are a team you know.” “Yes we are. And thank goodness too. Anyway... The moment of truth as they say.” Jesse uses the interface to make some setting changes and then hits the “Enter” key. A black window appears with a waiting cursor blinking away. “OK. She's off and running. It will probably have to make a bunch of passes through the entire recording set. It has to do that in order to build a statistical distribution of possible sound and mental correlations. Once it's done that it will report the correlation with the highest probability. Assuming it can correlate anything at all of course.” So they sat and waited. Each lost in their own thoughts, eyes only partially aware of the blinking cursor. It ended up taking over two hours of number and magic crunching. Jesse's heart sinks for a moment as the first sequence consists of 5 question marks, a space, 5 questions marks, a space and then a pause. “Do the question marks represent an unknown association?” “Yeah. Basically we have something something. “ The next sequence is more encouraging however. “PAIN ????? ????? NO ????? ???? WORTHY ????? SLIME ????? ????? WHERE ????? WORTHY ????? ????? I ????? SLIME ????? ????? ????? I ????? AM ????? ????? FOR ????? WORTHY ????? PAIN ????? HATE ???? DIFFERENT ????? ????? HATE ????? DIFFERENT ????? ????? INTERUPT ????? INTERUPT ????? ????? NEW ????? NEW ????? CHALLENGE ????? HAVE FEEL TASTE ????? CHALLENGE ????? HAVE FEEL TASTE ????? GET SMELL TASTE ????? GET SMELL TASTE ????? CHALLENGE.” The last half dozen sequences were beginning to repeat. Jesse hit the space to pause the output. “I think we're at the point where it has noticed are arrival. Any thoughts so far?”

“This is truly a curiosity. Pain, slime, worthy? The Hate and different references seem fairly straight forward. It obviously doesn't like where it's at.” “Yes, I agree. In fact I was expecting this.” “What? You knew it would hate being here? That seems a pretty big assumption. Compared to where it must have come from this has got to be heaven personified.” “That's just it Jacob. It's not heaven for it. I would argue that it is precisely because this is not where it came from that it is in pain.” “Hmmm... Care to elaborate on that?” “Of course. Think about it. This thing is from an environment that has evolved untouched for countless millennium. However horrible we might view it, it would have to be unbelievably integrated. So tightly interwoven as to make our sense of integration and interdependence child's play. What's going to happen to any one element of a system like that if you remove it. Ordinarily it would be dead in very short order. But for this poor sod dieing is a real challenge. Its too highly evolved to just give up. Even worse for this thing is that it has a rudimentary intelligence. It can conceptualize its pain. It knows things were made to be different and it hates it.” “Alright. Certainly plausible so far. What are the slime and worthy references to?” “I'd have to guess that it's very upset about the local prey. Again, you have to think in terms of what it was bred for. Anything that might be it's natural prey would have to be quite a fighter. It would be as well bred as our friend. In order to maintain a delicate balance, it would have to breed like crazy and each individual would have to be tough as nails. Killing in this context, brutal and savage though it might be, is as loving an embrace as any other for the connection. Its how the whole survives. Keep in mind as well that, tough as this thing may be, such an environment might have a predator for even it. In any case, you have to wonder if, given enough time, all of the participant species might come to hold each other in some kind of honored esteem; each one knowing exactly what it's place was, on some level at least. Our friend out there is sickened I think by food that is little more than slop shaken out of a garbage can to it. It'd be like offering up dog food to a T-Rex. There's no hunt, no blood, but even more importantly, no sense of connection to a meaningful tapestry. When we were first out there watching it Jacob, were were in affect watching a lion pace miserably in a cage. Jacob has taken to rubbing his chin in thought at this. “That's a perspective a person wouldn't ordinarily take into consideration. But I have to admit that it might have merit. You realize, though, that this kind of interpretation opens up a can of worms in the context of morality.” “No Jacob. It really doesn't. It's different for sentient beings. We're part of a much greater integration. What we think and do is a basic component of the connection itself. I'm not sure yet exactly how this all fits together, but I am more certain of the truth of it then I have ever been. Our responsibility goes much further than an animal in a given ecosystem. We

create our realities just as much as they create us. The compound universe needs us to be good to each other just as much as it needs us to perceive, appreciate and objectify it. I guess you have to lose yourself in it all a couple of times to really begin to appreciate that.” “Well, I think I'm going to have to mull of that over for a while. I am not at all certain how I feel about it. We have, in any case, a more immediate quandary. Does this give you a means to achieve the goal here?” “Most definitely I'm afraid to say. And it breaks my heart to even contemplate it. The only thing that makes me move forward is the unshakable belief that, if the Drastenor could talk plainly to us, it would be begging for the choice I'm going to give it.” “A choice. You're going to give it a choice and that will allow you to retrieve the enzyme. This must be of the most miraculous of choices.” Jesse looks very sad now. “No Jacob. It is a choice evolution tried to breed out of it. It's desperation and nothing more. If you had been taken from where you belonged. Made a stranger in a very strange land. And forced to live eternity after eternity in agony, what do you suppose you would be desperate for?” “Yes... Yes of course. It is a sad choice isn't it.” Jacob considers this a bit more and then continues: “A very strange thing occurs to me now. Although I am quite happy to be out of harms way of what has to be one of the most terrifying creatures I have ever encountered, I have to say... It is, in its own way, unbelievably magnificent. I do not have any hate or animus for it now. How could I. Its a force of nature. I could no more hate a hurricane then it, which is certainly no less deadly. I fear such things of course, but I could never imagine going out of my way to kill them. And yet that is precisely what it would wish me to do. Put it out of its misery.” Jacob sighs. “I do not know which is stranger. That you have gotten me to empathize with a monster, or that I now see Creation with clearer eyes. This is an aspect of cruelty I would never have thought Her capable of, but then.... It is obvious that I have never understood her properly.

Scene 34: Two days have passed since the vocalizations have been translated. Jesse is back out on the ocean in another pleasure boat. This one is smaller and less powerful. Speed on this trip will not be required. The weather has improved even more. Summer is clearly knocking on the door. It is clear, sunny and nearly 70. The air is mostly still and the water has little swell to it.

Jesse is alone this trip. A lap top computer sits on Jesse's lap. He is on a side bench, just behind the driver's seat. A cable comes out of a side port of the computer to a small electronic box next to Jesse. A larger cable comes from this box an has been draped over the side. It disappears quickly into the sun glare off of the water. A large underwater speaker is attached to it. Jesse is ready to begin broadcasting a message. The message will be voiced by a new software adaptation. A text to speech program has been modified with magic to produce Drastenor sounds. Jesse has simplified the text of the message as best he can. He is confident that, even if it isn't exactly right, it will get the point across. The Drastenor will be given the opportunity to make a choice. Nothing Jesse does will directly harm the animal. If it chooses, it will be quite free to kill Jesse and then go on its way to continue as it always has. The action initiated by the spell will cease in a short time if it takes this choice. Jesse has also prepared a new persuasion. It sits around the underwater speaker as a ball of action. Once swallowed by the Drastenor the action will slightly alter certain synapses in the Drastenor's brain. These are autonomic synapses that trigger what would ordinarily be the reflex action of releasing any water taken on at great depths. This occurs through what is a kind of lymphatic, ballasting system for the creature. A mental image will also be placed in the creature's mind. It depicts it exploding upon surfacing after such a deep dive. Jesse hits the “Enter” key and waits for the lap top speakers to verify the start of the message. He takes a few draws off of a joint and throws it into the water. A travel mug of coffee is then retrieved from a holder in the side of the boat. Once he can hear the call he puts the laptop, the other electronic box and a car battery into a rubber raft tied to the pleasure boat. Satisfied that nothing will soon short out by water, he releases the raft and climbs into the drivers seat. The boat's motor is started and he moves away slowly. Once a safe distance away he increases the speed. At about a kilometer he kills the engine and stretches out on the deck to wait. It is at least an hour later when the boom wakes him up. A great mass of spray, and falling flesh can be seen in the distance. Jesse wishes he could morn more for it but he can't. It was magnificent, just as Jacob said, but it was also way too much like a mutant maggot. Jesse is far from perfect after all. He gets back into the drivers seat and heads back toward the impact zone. It does not take him long to locate a large hunk a very nasty looking internal flesh that is sure to yield up enough digestive enzyme. As he uses a grappling hook on a rope to retrieve this he wonders about the Crucible. Did she try and urge the beast to do her bidding at all? He doubts it. He is fairly certain now that she never had any control over this animal. Forcing it to do her bidding would have in all likely hood killed it. This is one pet she was forced to leave alone. He hopes it was at least annoying for her. Scene 35: “What do you mean you don't need the Herb of Seeing. Why bother planning to get it if you don't need it. And when did the answer to the “Secret of the Mountain” occur to you?” Jacob has a very confused look about him. He is floating a meter from Jesse's chair.

Jesse is seated and sipping at his coffee. After Jesse extracted the enzyme from the Drastenor remains yesterday, they called another early day. A fresh start for the next challenge seemed a good idea. “I want to pass all of the challenges Jacob. That's a important step I think for a solid start as a Guardian. Taking the brew we get from the Herb and enzyme is just not needed. That stuff is simply a means to get you into a very deep connection state. I can do that already. And the answer came to me after my last near fiasco. I've been doing the whole letting go thing so much it was only inevitable the answer would jump out at me. The secret to climbing any mountain, or difficulty if you will, is to do the very thing your mind fears the most; releasing a holding grip. You have to be willing to let go so you can reach up and get a better grasp. A grasp that will help lift you to a new level.” Jacob looks only partly satisfied. “Hmm... This much I'm sure is true. I suspect a bit more is involved as well however. I can't as but help to see a poke thrust forth in someone's direction.” Jesse smiles. “Well, the thought had occurred to me that offering the potion to her just before I free her would be worth a great deal. Especially after I tell I didn't need it.” “And saying she does with wink and a nod no doubt. By the Gods Jesse. Much as I would love to see her reaction to it. How does courting more trouble with her help you?” “Jacob, she will be coming at me with every thing's she's got no matter what I do now. This sort of thing not only sends a message, it also gives me a chance to take her off her stride a bit. Keep her from regaining the initiative. At least completely anyway.” Jacob takes his glasses off and rubs his eyes. “I don't know what to think most times with Her. Then as well I think that maybe I spent too much time avoiding Her notice. There might well be a good thing to be had from spitting in her eye. The very act itself would be a fist raised for respect, come what may. And how can you think badly on an end with respect.” Jesse raises his eyebrows as he replies. “Hey big brother. Don't be going doom and gloom on my prospects just yet. I am nothing if not full of surprises. And besides, it's not just me she's got to contend with. She's going up against the best team in the infinity. As far as I'm concerned, she doesn't have a chance.” Jacob tilts his head as he holds his glasses. A bit of encouragement creeps across his face despite himself. He looks back up at Jesse as he puts them back on. “You are a clever scallywag for sneaking round my gloom this way. And for which I could not be more grateful. I only need to see what we've done already to keep a better faith than

this. You and I indeed. Perhaps I can find some pity for Her after all.” “That's the old school spirit I want to see. Now let's get down basics on the sentient Glen.” “There's not much more that I can add from my journal. As you can imagine, this is a psychological test. If you have a fear it will use it. I have to be circumspect on the details I provide, but safe to say. It will immerse you in a way to make the fear seem as real as real can be. If you cannot release the hold the fear has on you, it is very unlikely to get the Glen to release you either. And that is just the beginning. Talking that entity into anything is an exposure to selfishness you won't soon forget.” Jesse rubs his chin thoughtfully. “OK. May I know anything about it's origins?” Jacobs sighs at this. “I only wish I had such details. I would be happy to relate them. I can tell you that, try as I might during my time here, I could find out nothing about it. And I employed various incursions with magic toward that end; veiled and quite direct. It seems to hold on to itself most jealously.” “Yeah... You know, that might be telling us something in itself. It seems to coincide with a feeling I've had concerning this last challenge. I can't seem to shake the notion that it revolves around vanity as much as fear.” “Vanity you say. That's an oddity. How does one's vanity play into one's fears?” “Probably because, at it's base, vanity is simply the fear of losing something very fleeting in any case. The thing that's really interesting here, though, is that this feeling about vanity doesn't concern the challenger, it concerns the Glen.” “My word. That's intriguing. Are you suggesting that vanity is the Glen's weakness?” “I'm not certain of course, but that would be my best guess. Let's look at that in conjunction with what you just told me abut the magic probes. In order for it to be impervious to magic it would have to be using it to close itself off from everything else. Why would you do that. What is it about the connection that this thing fears?” “Indeed. You would think a growing thing would want to be connected.” “That's just it Jacob. This creature can't possibly be a growing thing. Why else would it need to absorb the living material of others in so controlled a fashion? And only then does it add to itself. It fears the connection precisely because it is change that cannot be controlled. It fears losing a sense of itself that it has become quite enamored of.” Jacob has an expression that hovers between pity and revulsion.

“I cannon imagine a more empty and uninspiring existence. Where would there ever be any sense of wonder? Any joy. Any real love from another given as deeply as they have received in kind? You describe a horrible prison I think Jesse. How could there be a sentience able to bear it?” “Only if there were a very very frightened one I would expect. One who has traded cold comfort for protection from them. It is no wonder that it is so attuned to the fears of others. I would also expect that it is the very memories and spirit of its victims which helps sustain it. A vicarious entertainment if you will, sucking out the good parts and ignoring the painful memories.” “You paint a picture more ghastly with every stroke. I thought it vile enough before. But now. By the Gods. At least the Drastenor was just being what evolution made it to be. This... Is it not amazing how your notions of what is truly monstrous can change?” “Change as growth is always amazing Jacob. That is precisely what I will use against this Glen. In fact, I could do with a walk right now. Care to float along for a while?” “I would like nothing better, but if it's to a challenge, it would be better if I didn't. Besides, I could use the time to study the book on programming you retrieved for me. I am most anxious to begin experimenting with this craft.” “Of course. The quicker you get up to speed on that the quicker you can help me help you with deciphering Sanddalfar's journals.” Jesse gets up and stretches. “Well, have fun with your new toy. I'm off to set a Glen straight on who's really afraid here.” Jesse heads out the back door as Jacob settles into an imaginary chair at the end of the table. The book there opens with invisible fingers. It takes Jesse about 45 minutes to walk up the Western side of the Island. It is an enjoyable bit of exercise. The day has remained partly cloudy, with the sun going behind and out of clouds as Jesse progresses. The forested plateaus he walks along have become fully flush with green foliage again. It is a thick and tactile lushness that you can truly get all of your senses around. It is Jesse's link to the connection that first alerts him to his proximity to the Glen. The trees and low greenery will give way soon. He can sense a clearing ahead, and beyond that...A resistance. That is the only way he can describe it. He slows his approach, stepping more carefully and listening with his whole being. Over a rotting log, and under a fall of moss. And as he nears the resistance, wondering again why anything would want to shut out the Connection, something miraculous happens. A glow beyond mere light suffuses all about him. It is the bright effervescence of love itself; an atomization of connection plasma felt in the mind and heart, as much as seen. And as he

becomes aware of it, it is immediately clear that he can take this into himself. That indeed, he must gather into himself as much of what he now knows is Radiance as he can. The Connection knows he will need it. Thus prepared he also begins to clear his mind. All of worded thought and concerns are sloughed off. The unseen barrier of the clearing is reached and without hesitation he continues. There is only a ripple of energy as he crosses through. It is a very clever barrier in that it is quite selective on what is allowed to pass through. And as Jesse is sentient it is most happy to let him in. The view around him changes immediately once through the barrier. He has crossed over into a fairy dream land. The deepest of green grass is soft under his now bare feet. Clover flowers clump in purest of white, scenting the air with honey like no other. Interspersed about the green grass are glittering small trees that seem more like works of art than growing things. They blossom with heart rendering soft pastel petals. Towards the right edge of the green field is a small grove of fruit trees, their golden progeny hanging heavy, sweet and succulent. They literally beg to be eaten. All and all it is truly an impressive sight. One that might completely mesmerize even the most cynical. Jesse knows it for what it really is however. He has the light of real connection inside him now and what that reveals is another picture altogether. He lets that light flow out of him. The resistance he felt before tries to bubble inwards to choke it off, but it's much too late. As the Radiance flows out all of the beauty first beheld turns gray and ashen. And then even that is burned off. What is left is the sickliest of growth Jesse has ever seen. All about him now is jaundiced, withered, wilted and just barely hanging to life. It is an assemblage of leaf, bark and blade that Jesse would like to now torch just for pity's sake. A wail of pain now assaults his senses. It is absolute in it's agony. It is also a voice so thin and dry and spiritless that Jesse is brought near tears just for that alone. “Only from Her could such cruelty come. She has sent you to torment me hasn't she.” There is no one place from which this voice is centered on. It seems to emanate from everywhere at once. “The Crucible did not send me. And my purpose is not to torment you. I am here to simply remind you that you exist in a lie.” “Oh you most foul thing. I will crush you with your own mind. I will...” “Stop. You who fear the most have no power over me. Try as much as you like. I have accepted who I am. I do not fear what may become of me in whatever life brings forth. I will change and gladly so.” “I do not fear anything, least of all you human.”

“You cry out in pain even as the truth is revealed to you and yet you continue to lie. You lie to me, but more importantly you lie to yourself. And you cannot deny it. I have used the light of real connection to give you a proper mirror. Now you see what you really are, not what your own illusions have created. See how sick and pathetic you have become. Can you not also hear how little carries in that husk of a voice.” “No no no! This cannot be. You use Her trickery. This cannot be.” “You know it is the truth. You are still of enough magic to have some sense of connection left. Did not the Radiance that came from me stir a thing you hoped to forget? Did you not yearn for at least the briefest moment despite your great fear?” “That light... I... I thought I was dreaming... It has been so long. But that is of the outside. That is the terrible jumble... The everything that is too much. We are lovely and serene and untroubled here. We lose nothing and gain everything that is good.” “Again with the lies. I should expect no less. You have had eternity after eternity to perfect them. You gain only cold comfort. Eternal cold comfort as all the while you wither and empty of the very spirit you seem to fear.” The cry of agony returns again. It is longer this time and almost more heart wrenching than Jesse can endure. “Leave me tormentor. Please I beg of you. Leave me to my illusions. I cannot change what I have become.” “Change can always come. It is never too late to redeem your spirit.” “Nooo. It cannot be. I cannot take that plunge. It is more than terrifying to me. I will cease to exist. I will be lost forever. Noo.” “You fear a thing that is no more than a petal dropping from a flower. Does it change its place within the constant flow? Of course it does. And is there a sense of beauty from that place that must be surrendered? That is true as well. But the constant flow will bring a new place from which to hold a brand new beauty. It is only by the embrace of surrender, accepting loss as well as gain, does a spirit grow.” “I.. I am so afraid of losing me. Horrible though I've become.” “I know. Do not be ashamed of you fear. Just let it go. I will help you.” Jesse held out his hand. “Why would you help me?” “Because it breaks my heart to see you suffer so. To not be a part of what I know you need to be a part of. Remember that radiance. Hold my hand and I will help you remember. I will be with you as you surrender to it. It won't hurt. I promise you.”

Jesse keeps his hand out for what seems like a very long holding of breath. It is only when he is just about to give up when he suddenly feels the frailest of spirits tingle about his fingers. Jesse wraps that energy up with all of the love and forgiveness he can manage. He immediately feels it soften , losing bits of its brittleness as he holds it close to his own spirit. From all about his being he now feels a whisper. “I did very bad things to spirits. I am so ashamed. I was so lonely. I just couldn't help it.” “I know. It was a very hurtful mistake. You must try not to let fear rule you so much next time.” “Will I be punished?” “No. You've already done that to yourself. An eternity of it.” “But what of the other spirits?” “They will be able to reconnect as well. And the only thing you will owe them is the same love and understanding they would owe you.” The softening has completed. Jesse can feel that it is ready. He releases the rest of the Radiance he had stored up inside himself. The last of the persuasion that had been this beings prison melted away. And as it did the spirit wrapped within his began to seep into the Connection with it. Just before the tingling of identity is gone, he feels a last whispered “Thank you.” Jesse has to sit then. He is overcome with this spirits passing, and the flow of countless others, silvering it seemed through his heart, as they went glowing back to the ever flowing galaxies of embrace. And each and every one of those bright passages was a silent thank you of its own. He can only cry at the pure joy of such release. Cry and cry until he falls asleep.

Scene 36: “Jesse? Jesse, wake up! What in the world are doing out here? I've been looking for you for hours.” Jacob has taken to having his apparition kneel beside the still sleeping Jesse. Volume along does not seem up to the task so Jacob resorts to more forceful measures. He concentrates a moment and then has invisible hands gently shaking the prone figure. This at least produces a sleepy groan. “Some success at last. Perhaps a bit more forcefully.” Jesse is shook again but with some vigor this time. The groans quickly turn to bleary eyed “Wha.. Wha.. What the hell...”

And then a mostly wakened Jesse can finally utter: “Jesus Jacob. Are you trying to take my shoulders off. I'm awake already.” It's at this point that Jesse realizes he's not in bed. “Where the hell am I?” He sits up groggily and looks around. “I've had better luck trying to wake the dead. Do you realize that I've been shouting at you for 5 minutes trying to wake you up? You're lucky I didn't take your shoulders off. Two miserable hours I've been looking for you. I was worried sick. By the Gods man. What happened?” Jesse has to rub his eyes. Then run a hand through his hair before the motor up stairs starts kicking in. “I was talking to the Glen creature... I.. Wait a second... I think I did a bit more than just talk to it.” “And that's another thing. What by all that's sacred and true happened to the Glen? I was trying to find it to find you. It has completely vanished. No trace of it at all. What did you do to it?” Jesse is rolling his head around, cracking the joints in his neck, and then wincing as he feels his back. “Damn ground. Can't believe I fell into such a deep sleep.” Jacob rises and throws his hands up in frustration. “Will you forget about your bones for a second and provide a very worried old man some explanation.” Jesse gives the old man an apologetic look. “Sorry. Waking up is hard enough for me with coffee. I got no caffeine and ten times the cobwebs now. The Glen is gone because I think I set it free.” Jacob is suddenly speechless. The jaw works for a second or two but nothing comes out. Jesse manages to do a rice crispies imitation as struggles to stand. “God that hurts. What the hell was I laying on? Bricks and boulders?” He kicks around the decidedly uneven ground. Thick bits of branch, rocks, ruts and sod mounds are all in evidence.

“I must have really been out of it to plop down here.” He begins to stretch and pull to get circulation going in the lower extremities. Jacob has finally begun to regain some composure. “You freed the Glen. How is that possible? More to the point. Why?” A bit more concentration and then Jacob follows with. “Oh, oh... Please at least tell me you got the herb.” Jesse frowns then. Grimaces. Closes his eyes forcefully, as if in pain, and then drops his head down as if a sudden defeat overcame him. “Oh shit... The herb... I completely forgot about the herb. God almighty. I can't believe I forgot about the herb.” Jacob rolls his head in complete defeat as well. It takes a couple of minutes be he finally takes a deep breath, shrugs with resignation and turns back toward Jesse. “Alright. Let's get you walking. It will help clear your mind and your joints.” They head back south as Jesse continues working a shoulder here and a an elbow there. Once fully back into the trees and low growth Jacob makes another try at getting an explanation. “Perhaps we've enough flowing now to provide some detail?” “Yeah, it's coming back more completely. What an experience Jacob.” “To say the least. Not only did you not pass the challenge exactly, you took another of them away from Her. Well, at least you weren't in absolute need of the herb. I'm still nearly speechless as far as the whole freeing aspect is concerned. What happened?” “It was the oddest thing Jacob. Just before I went through the barrier. I... I suddenly realized what I had to do. It was just something that took over. And I did a thing I never knew I could do.” Jacob's eyebrows arch up at this. “More feats of the impossible?” “Well, I don't think I'd call it that... More along the lines of wonderfully simple. So simple you'd never ever consider trying it. I discovered something, as well as realizing I could store it. I discovered Radiance from the connection. Sucked it up into me and stored it.” “Radiance.” Jacob pursed his lips. Gestured in circular motions with his hands and

shrugged at the same time. “Ah... Are you talking about some kind of light energy? Spirit? Love? Can you not assist me here?” “Yeah. I don't blame you. I wouldn't have been able to follow me either before encountering the Glen. It's... It's not a visible light certainly. But it is what resonates your spirit when you feel the connection shine through you. In a way you could kind of think of it as the a bit of the light that is created from all of that elemental embrace. And Jacob, it imparts some of the surrender that makes complete immersion so fundamental and necessary. In another sense maybe It's the beacon guide for love, selflessness and union. I'm not sure I can put words to it with any accuracy. In any case I stored up a bunch, walked into that grand illusion this thing had created, poured some out and completely melted it away. I used that light to make the being inside the glen see what it's closed up little persuasion had really become. It was the most pathetic bit of withered life you never want to see. Ever.” “By all that's true and sacred Jesse. You've pushed me over the impossible again.” “And when I did that Jacob. When I did that. My god. The grief and agony this thing expressed. The shame and revulsion and realization all at once. It broke my heart. And it was all so clear then. The fear that it had let get the best of it. The fear that had made it run and hide from the very thing it needed so desperately. That is why it did the terrible things it did. Because of fear. And then more fear for the shame, judgment and retribution it thought could only follow. I just couldn't help myself. I had to set it free. There is no question that what it did was wrong, but the cycle still had to be broken.” Jesse has tears in his eyes again from the memory. “There just wasn't any other choice for me Jacob. Love and forgiveness had to be extended without any expectation. The Radiance would have it no other way. It was the only connected option to help this being get past the fear and see that there wasn't anything to fear at all. It was the only way to put an end to the terrible fate that others might have faced against it. Was I wrong to to do that?” Jacob's entire continence bears the weight of not only Jesse's compassion in this recitation, but the conundrum of its larger implications. His hands have clasped behind him, his head is down, and his face creased with conflicting emotions. “By all that's true and sacred my friend, I doubt if I'm qualified to pass any kind of judgment on what you have done. I feel the pull of both the ways it could be taken. There's a good part indeed that thinks this vile deed deserves a punishment due its full bad measure. But then to think in terms of Radiance...” He shakes he head. “And no less of what the Connection gives in any case. That love and measured reason should be the only real concern. And as you say as well... What else to do to end as many other such terrible circles of pain begetting pain? “ Both men walk through the moon light in silence for a while after that. Each is lost in their thoughts and the shadows pooled from moss, nettles, skunk weed and thick leaf cover. It is Jacob who finally speaks again. “I think there are only two things here upon which I can be sure. They are both simple

enough, and thankfully so. On first I'd note that if I were a better man, perhaps the choice upon me would be far the more clear. And of the second I'd say that you must follow your heart. Only you can know how best to judge what the Connection might be saying through it. You can do no more or no less. What else is there but to trust in that? Trust in that and have faith that things will unfold as they were meant to.” Scene 37: Jesse is sitting on a rock near the water line. The early morning sky has gone thick and gray. Rain is in the air. The good smell and promise of things refreshed does little to lighten Jesse's mood. He has a stick and is stirring aimlessly at various decaying bits of plant, broken shells, and shiny rocks. Sea water rolls in and out of little depressions about his feet. New bits of flotsam come it to roil about with the litter already giving up its substance. The smell is both rank and heady. The sound of the water both tranquil and unsettling. He looks out towards the horizon and wishes he could just take a sail boat and be gone across it. The time was here. There was no reason to put it off. The final test was sitting up in that shrine of hers and waiting. He knew now that he could do it. The details would unveil themselves as he needed them and he would make it happen. There wasn't any doubt in his mind on that score at all. The change that this would wrought, however, was another thing altogether. A change in the charge in the air makes him aware of Jacob's approach. “Morning Big brother.” “A fine morning to you as well little brother. Pondering a big step are we?” Jesse shrugs. “Something like I suppose. It occurred to me as I've been sitting here just how long it's been.” “How long for what?” “That I've been here. Over a year. A year and more that just seems to have passed in a thunderbolt stream of events. Between the me that arrived here and the me talking to you now... How do you get your mind around it all. I fell in love. I fathered a child. I've opened a door to an understanding of the greater fundamentals of everything. I've squared off against a transcendent being on just about every one of those fundamentals. I've opened the context within which morality is considered to an infinity that still boils down to a very essential connection. And if all of that weren't enough, now I'm to become the advocate and protector for all sentience. I'll tell you Jacob. I'd sure like to know who's responsible for coming up with this crazy scheme.”

Jesse grabs a handful of rocks and then stands. He begins to throw them on a skipping trajectory as he continues. “How could they imagine this working very well? I mean... You take a fairly average lump of sentient frailty, whirl it around in a magic blender and hope that it can manage to balance two transcendent extremes. Probability wise it sure seems like a losing bet.” “Not having seconds thoughts are you?” “No. I'm committed. I couldn't turn back now. There's too much at stake. Too much has been sacrificed by some really good people. There's no turning back. I'm going up there alright. Before the day is out. And whatever else I might think, a bad choice is still probably better than no advocate at all.” He stops throwing for a second to look Jacob in the eyes. “I guess I just needed to take a little more time to be this me.” Jacob cants his head as he considers his friend. He smiles after a bit and then turns his gaze back out to the horizon. “I can appreciate what you are telling me. It is a great deal to comprehend. And how could one ever feel they are worthy of such responsibility. I have to wonder, though, if there might not be great wisdom in the way this has been done.” Jesse picks up more rocks and starts throwing again. “You're kidding right?” “No. I am most serious in this contention. I think that, in the long stretch of things, this some one knew to put their faith into the connection. Those that gravitated to it without knowing what they were doing, would always percolate up through the many across the infinite. You think that your being chosen was only a random occurrence. Perhaps not as much as you might believe. That you've taken to the connection so significantly argues well for this. And even though you are an imperfect soul, you have a good heart. I think that is as good a choice as the infinite could ever hope to make. Besides. We have a saying where I come from. There are no extraordinary men, only ordinary men forced to act in extraordinary times.” Jesse halts his rock throwing immediately. “Hey. I know that quote. Some famous guy from my reality said that. Where do you get off calling it one of yours. Jacob looks surprised. “I am most sincere my friend. This is a saying from my adopted home.” Jacob then frowns a moment to think about it and then shrugs.

“It is a basic and simple kind of wisdom. Should it be so surprising that it might have been uttered more than once throughout the infinite? In any case though, you would do well to keep it in mind.” Jesse examines the rock that is currently in his hand. “Yeah. It is a good thought. I will try to keep it in mind.” The rock is tossed and it skips a few times before it splashes down for good. “You know Jacob. Once I free her, it could get ugly very quickly. I may be forced to run. I know you can hide from her, but how do we stay in contact if I have to jump to some random new reality?” “Yes... I have been giving that some consideration. Our staying in touch is of vital importance. And in as much as I'm limited to this reality for the foreseeable future, we must come up with something.” “OK. Any ideas?” “Yes. You must secure a photographic instrument and take a picture of the house before you go. Preferably a picture of the interior, with my journals prominent. When you take that picture, you must work a persuasion upon it. A persuasion that will ensure a link to this place and only this place.” Jesse stops in mid throw. He frowns as he drops his rocks and brushes off his hands. “I've gotten pretty good at this, but do you really think I can do that?” “Actually, I think it may be far easier than you might imagine. This is, after all, a very special location. This reality is the closest there is to the center of the infinite. It is thus the oldest as well. There is none more open to magic than this one. I think you'll find in fact that it will be quite a shock when next you enter another.” “Well that sounds good to me. I was a little worried about what we were going to do. Might as well do it now too. By the time we finish and I get my backpack ready... Well I should probably be on my way by then.” “I agree. Just know my friend. This will not be a good by. We are linked almost as much as you and Carmen. We have been a team. We are a team, and we will continue as a team. I know this as I know the warmth of sunlight on my face. You must not let this brief parting sadden you too much. This will be a new chapter for you but you will always have an ally.” Jesse holds out his right hand and it takes only a second of concentration for Jacob to grasp it with a magic extension. As Jesse feels the firm warm grip he places his other hand on what feels exactly like Jacob's wrist. “And the love that only two brothers could share. Thank you Jacob.”

They hold that contact for several minutes. Each giving the other a silent promise through the eyes that this bond was not going to ever be broken.

Scene 38: Jesse moves with easy strides as he approaches the steps to the shrine. His backpack is heavier than normal because of the extra Slap Jacks he carries, but it does not over burden him. All of the physical activity in the past year has made him a great deal leaner, and stronger. He has a good sense of that now as he stops to look up the steps to the top. “Carmen. I hope you can at least feel this, if not hear it. This is where it starts. I've had to come a long way for this. I've achieved things I'm proud of. I have regrets too, but they were forced by necessity. I am as ready as the Connection and a lot of love can make me. It's gotta be done and right now I'm the only one available. I promise you I will make that be enough. For you and Sarah and Jacob and every other sentient out there. Whatever I have to do I will do. However long it takes I will stay at it. And I'll always keep our link alive, through our daughter, her children and their children. I love you sweetheart. I feel you right now. You've kept me going. You'll keep me going even when you move on. I promise with all my heart.” He takes a deep breath. And then one more slow appraisal of the Island below him. The Island that has been his home for what seems like a life time. An ironic smile comes across his face as fragrant air warms his nose and face. “God. I think I'm actually going to miss this place. Gees. Go figure.” He turns back to the steps and begins up. The climb takes only five minutes or so. This time the extra weight has some affect. He pauses at the steps edge to catch his breath and then moves forward. As he has expected, the second he passes through the columns his movements become the motion of another force's direction. He is taken to the pedestal and his hands are placed upon once again. Within the beat of his heart she is with him. “So human. Here you are at last. I was sure my magic would have to hunt you down as you ran. You have fouled my Island and failed the challenge. Have you come to accept your final fate?” “No Crucible. You are wrong on every point. I have not fouled your Island . I have simply made it more in tune with the Connection. The cruelty forced upon the Drastenor has been ended. By its own choosing. The pitiful thing in the glen that was imprisoned by its own fear has been freed. As were all the souls it imprisoned. And as far as the challenges are concerned, they were not worthy of your or me. I have rendered them pointless in any case as I have found the key to your prison on my own. So I ask you. Are you ready for your

freedom or will you be the one to run and hide?” Jesse is immediately saturated by a lust for and loathing of him that are dissonant to the point of almost tearing him inside out. It is all he can do to keep his feet. She is thrilled, excited, horrified, and enraged. She shivers with the need to make him new, make him her, and incensed that he would cause her loss for then being gone. It is all there, simultaneous and without contradiction for her. His defiance and success are as new and different as he seems to be in general. It is obvious now that no one has ever been as connected to the elemental embrace as Jesse is. And it is a human who has done this. Jesse knows that this is where the struggle begins. There is a war going on for his soul as the dissonance battles itself and him. He forces himself to ignore the pain, even as it screams out from his throat. He must clear his mind and be with the Connection now. He must draw up the Radiance and melt her conflict out from him. With the Radiance will he force her to focus on what she knows is the truth. She must be free and she must surrender to the will of the moment. It is not her moment any more than it is Jesse's moment. The connection has been too long without her presence. This moment belongs to the entirety. To everything elemental and beyond. The Crucible grows even more hungry for him and more incensed. She does not want to be treated as a child with her own magic. She fights back. She presses on him so that she may control, one way or another, the thing that frees her. The hunger is encouraged and the hate suppressed. The one becomes greater and the other only lessened, but it is enough for the war within him to have a combatant capable of winning. So powerful is her hunger. So wonderful this thought of giving in to her change. To being made to her in whatever small way. The strain of it cries out from heart and lungs and soul. In the end though, with all of the love that is the Crucible, it is not love in a human scale. It is the love of all of the elements in an ecosystem. All of the bodies in a galaxy. It is the embrace where creation and destruction are most violent; most savage. It is just as necessary as any other, but it is not what a human heart can allow as it does with another human heart. It is this very most basic truth that allows Jesse to keep her out. Even as he now lets the Connection in. And with the link established he is with it. The agony vanishes. The Radiance flows forth and the Crucible is melted from within and without. Melted as only surrender can, and given over to a calm that is almost rapture. “Thank you for that.” It is a new sense of Union that speaks now. A sense he has never felt or heard before. “You... You are quite welcome.” “I can sense your surprise. You speak now to that which is both Crucible and Connection. We are one and it has been too long. Our love for you is great Jesse. Our gratitude even greater. Your sacrifice is noted. It's energy is part of us now.” “Thank you for that. It means a lot. I have to say, though, that I like you combined a good deal more than otherwise. Will you always be thus once I free you?”

“Not nearly to this degree I'm afraid. That is a part of what you must help us with. Just as you help us against our own excess. Our brother and I are eternal. We are purpose just as embrace is elemental. We are made of both sentient and connection energy. We reflect the state of connection in the entirety as a whole. This is why we have become so out of scale/balance in our love and rebellious of the deeper links.” “I sure wish I could have talked to you sooner. This is perspective that really helps me to understand. I get the feeling though, that dealing with disconnected you is going to very hard.” “I wish I could tell you otherwise but I cannot. The flush of the Radiance will wear off soon after that other part of us is free. She will be as she was to you in large degree. Try to hold on to the fact that she has forgotten how important the deeper link is. Just as so many sentient entities have forgotten. Such is the crux of the terrible burden you face. The entirety is poised at a dire place. Never before in the great stretch has the balance been so out of place. There is but very little left before the final tipping point is reached. For once it goes too far, no good heart will be enough get them back to where they belong.” “What happens. I mean really happens if I can't get the job done.” “Ultimately it will all stop. Being and existence will cease. There will be nothing.” “That's kind of hard to get your head around. Everything just ending.” “Do not even try. It would take more millennium then even a Guardian can stretch across to finally occur. The cold that would lie between here and there should be your only concern. Cold for the heart and spirit that no human torment could ever imagine. Within that growing cold the end will be but a blessing.” “OK. I get the picture now. I'm sorry I asked, but I get the picture. I guess we better just get this started. The sooner I get it over with the better.” “We understand Jesse. More than you realize. But you are right. We cannot delay any longer. We already know you have the secret and that you are prepared. You must now utilize that secret in us. Surrender to us. And as you do throw open every portal we will help you to sense. You will know how to do this without even thinking about. Come to us now Jesse Alexander. Come to our loving embrace and be changed. Be reborn as our champion, and as the Guardian for all the sentient beings who make us, even as we make them.” It is then that a new Radiance melts Jesse. He immediately lets go with all of the joy he possesses. He lets go and the Jesse that was is no more. There is no worded thought at all. No boundaries made from externalized things and internalized feelings. It is all one but it still works a purpose. Certain feelings encountered are energized simply because that is what the feeling is for. More and more and more. They pile up without number in a count beyond time. An inconceivable angle of stress is applied to a void between realities. A void whose angels are all imaginary negative measures. With so much of the infinite applied to one set of imaginary negative negative measures, the signs are reversed and the energy of every nova in every reality that has ever occurred is released. It is all as nothing to the Crucible of Creation joined to the Connection, and now mixed with the heart and soul of a sentient. The

void is remade so as to start a new reality. And with that turning over is revealed that which has been hidden. The Light of Creation itself reappears, held within the only thing that can hold it to its purpose, the Portal to the Center of Infinity. And the two combined are given to the Jesse now reborn a Guardian. And thus in the Radiance only transcendent beings have ever seen a new chapter is begun for both a man no longer just a man, and the entirety that depends on him.

Scene 39: The only figure on the smooth stone is a man on his hands and knees. He is burdened by a heavy backpack, and between that and him a short sword in a plain leather like scabbard. The man groans as awareness of his surroundings starts returning. His mind is a confused slurry of too many memories, too many strange words and no sense of identity. This man is large. Over two and a half meters, and broad of shoulder. His face reflects both a bit of youth and a bit of age. Broad forehead, a nose in fine proportion. Strong chin below a medium mouth. But most importantly a kindness in the soft blue eyes that radiates a strength not measured in physical force. There is also a set to the cheeks, the way the eyes are framed, and the color of the hair, that suggest of someone else. Someone who's flecks of life lived flash about this new mind. Along with uncountable others. He staggers to his feet and takes in his surroundings. It might be familiar and then it might not. His head and body hurt too much to make much sense of anything. And then a thing that cannot be described appears out nothing. It gives the sense of being quite large but has no real dimension. A brilliance that casts no visible light utters forth from it. It has a voice and the voice speaks to him. “Do not try to make sense of the confusion in your mind. It will only make things worse. I will ease the pain. You must put the confusion aside and concentrate on this truth. You cannot stay here. Great danger is near and you must escape it. You can do this. Turn to your right.” The pain he felt was suddenly gone. The confusion was still there but here words rung so true to him. There is danger. Set aside everything else. I can do that. The man turns and sees a picture on the stone not far from where he was kneeling. He walks over to it and picks it up. He thinks he knows what a picture is, but the things this one shows hold little meaning to him. He turns back to the thing that has helped him. “What do I do now?” “You must jump into the picture. It will take you where you will be safe for now. It will be a different place than this. Do not let this concern you. Give your mind time. Everything will

become clearer within another day. Find shelter and wait for this. And always remember. We are with you.” The man doesn't bother at all with how such a thing might be possible or impossible. He simply puts the picture down and jumps into it. At the very instant of contact his body morphs as if pouring into a funnel. He disappears within the next heartbeat. The thing that helped him floats over to the picture and turns it into fire. It disappears as well as soon as the fire goes out. Within the next heart beat, in a very different place indeed, the man hits cracked asphalt and tumbles head over onto the hard surface. “Shit! Was it supposed to hurt like that?” He rises to a sitting position and takes stock of his physical condition. Bruises no doubt on his knees. Scrapes on his hands that are bleeding a bit, but otherwise OK. There are also burn scars. They make shapes that suggest great meaning, but it is not an insight he can recall. Better to concentrate on the here and now. “I wish she would have said something about the landing,” he says out loud. He looks around a bit and can see that he is on a city street. Even this little revelation is encouraging. He knows that this is a street. He does not know why or how but he will not press into the confusion. “Let it go she said. You can trust that. It'll be OK. You know you're on a street. Streets are OK. Best thing now is to find that shelter. And you know she's been right so far.” He winces a bit as he gets up. He also now realizes that he is carrying a great deal. He hefts it on his shoulders and trains his head around to get a better sense of it. It is nothing he recognizes, but the logic is clear. It seems obvious to him that, if he is carrying it, he must need it. A person wouldn't carry anything this heavy if they didn't need it. “And besides,“ he tells himself. “She didn't say anything about getting rid of it.” That was good enough. He then takes a minute to cast further about his surroundings. It is dark here, which means night. Another good feeling. There are empty store front buildings lining the street he is on. Most have their windows boarded over. Some are only partially boarded. He walks over to one such window to see if he can detect anything inside. The moon is out, and a dim street light on the far corner casts a weak circle of illumination on the curb and sidewalk near by, but little can be seen here. There are only shadows cleaving lighter shadows to be discerned. He shrugs again. As shelter goes this is not too inviting. He is ready to go inspect the next store front when he hears a frightened shout. It is a woman's voice. “Stay away from me you fucking bastards.” It is a voice near tears and panic. He understands none of these things on a conscious

level. But the instant he adsorbs the fear and pleading in that voice conscious thought is no longer necessary. The man is running before his mind fully registers on this. What ever is harming this person will be stopped. It is more a mental picture than a though. He rounds a building corner and skids a bit to change direction into the alley thus revealed. The woman is now crying out with repeated “Leave me alone.” She is close. He makes it to the back of the buildings and there finds three men who have cornered a very skinny, very plainly dressed younger woman. Without much of a pause at all the pack comes off and the man then approaches the three men. He has gone suddenly slow and measured in his steps, and never does he ether foot not rest the balls of his toes. He is crouched slightly with his hands curved and ready. The three men are startled at first but quickly regain their swaggering stance. “Sheeit Dunk. It's a freekin hero.” The one who must be Dunk laughs through rotten teeth. “Looks like he got some good shit in that pack.” “Yeah but if we all bleed him who's gonna watch the snatch?” “Just be shuttin that stink hole of yours. I got it figured.” Dunk gives the biggest of them a slap on the back of the head. “Make yourself worth what you eat Dumper and bleed this sorry shit.” Dumper looks wounded for a second but is obviously not going to challenge Dunk's authority. He turns toward the man and it becomes just as obvious that he has found something else to take his rage out on. All three of thee attackers are even more skinny than the woman and are clothed in cloth that would give filthy rags a bad name. The man also now realizes that all three are one giant stink hole. Each brandishes a sharpened shank wrapped with cracked leather at one end. Dumper has moved forward and now brings that shank up in a way that clearly indicates he knows how to use it. As he gets closer he begins to rotate it slowly. The man simply waits completely impassive. His wary stance is the only indication that he is aware of danger at all. Dumper strikes out finally with a quick slash to the man's face. It was done expertly and would have done crippling damage had the man's face still been there. Moving at a near blur he has side stepped the blade, and even as Dumper completes the motion, the man's forged knuckles begin to land blows at precise nerve points. It is a series of lightening strikes the

eye can barely follow. Dumper scarcely has time to be aware that he missed, much less to protect himself. He falls twitching to the ground still carrying forward his initial inertia. A sudden paralysis has him gurgling in a very ugly way. The twitching stops as his brain gives out for lack of oxygen. The other two are now stepping back slowly. Their mouths are hanging open and their eyes have gone wide. The man continues to look at them as impassively as before. He speaks now as if to children. “Do you know what your friend is now?” No answer from the dumbfounded attackers. “Your friend is now rat food.” The man looks at the body. “He'll make quite a meal I think. ” The passive gaze goes back to the attackers. “If you try to hurt this person again. I will have to make you into rat food too. I think it would be better if you avoided that. Now go. I don't think I can stand your smell any longer.” The two knock over various empty wood boxes, trip, stumble and claw at rags to climb over the other in their panic to escape. Their progress out of the area is marked by a receding cacophony of things impacted from their flight. The man turns then to the woman. “Are you alright? Did these men cause you injury?” She is still shaking and has her arms wrapped around herself. Her eyes are red and puffy, but no obvious wound is apparent. She has been looking at the man as if she still can't quite register on what has just happened. “I am afraid I can't tell you my name,” he says. “I don't seem to remember it. I don't seem to be able to remember much at all in fact. I do remember what the lady told me though. She was very helpful. I had to escape the danger and then I'm supposed to find shelter. If I rest, the confusion in my head is supposed to start clearing up. Could you tell me where I might fine some shelter?” The man's sheer impassive oddity seems to calm her down a bit. “My name's Amanda. Amanda Dressler. Thank you for helping me.” “Hello Amanda. You are certainly welcome of course. It's quite amazing actually. I didn't

even know I could help. I heard you cry out and everything just seemed automatic. You should make sure you're not hurt.” Amanda seems to sag in on herself with relief, fatigue and adrenaline letdown. She brushes back her wheat straw hair and steps away from the brick wall that she had been pressed up against. “I'm OK. Just scared shitless is all. I was sure I was just new road kill waiting to happen till you came along. I can't believe what you did to that one Drop piece of crap. Are you Heartland Security or something?” The man frowns for a second. “What are Drops? “ “Drops are Drops man. You know. Worthless scum who don't work anymore?” “I'm sorry. I just don't remember anything. I don't think I'm from around here in any case. I don't even know what Heartland Security is. Sounds like some kind of military or militia or something.” “Yeah. Or something alright.” The fallow skin of her face has taken on the expression one gets when dealing with a nut case. “You escape from a funny farm Mr.? You are sure flapping lips like a nutter.” The man smiles at this, not the least bit insulted. “I'm sure it must sound like that. Couldn't blame you for thinking it either. The fact is, I might be full tilt Bozo now and not even realize it. Everything in my head is all jumbled up. The lady told me not to try and sort it out now because it would only make things worse. She was so helpful it only seemed right to follow through.” She is giving him a very painful look, like he was about to start raving any minute. She step carefully around the body and then keeps her distance as she passes the man. “Look Mr. What you did was a good thing and all. I don't want you to think I don't appreciate it. I do. But I gotta get going. My work chit only allows for a 30 minute transit time during curfew. And piece of shit or not, if security does come by and see that” she points with disgust “they will kick your ass silly for making them fill out paperwork. Mine too if I'm caught standing here with you. That would be one shit storm too many for one day, thank you very much. Besides, I'm tired, I'm hungry and I need to get some sleep. So I'm gonna go my way and you need to go your way. Got it?” The smile the man has turns a little sad but it doesn't go away completely. “Sure. I understand. It was... Well it wasn't nice exactly... It was certainly interesting meeting you. Good luck.”

The man heads back to his pack, picks it up and then stops. “Gees. This is weird. It has just occurred to me that I have food in this thing. You really do look hungry. I wouldn't mind sharing. That is if you think you could use some. I think I have quite a bit too. You would sure think so as heavy as thing thing is.” The woman has already started walking quickly away, but stops dead in her tracks the moment the man finishes speaking. She turns around to look at him again. This time you can see her eyes take in the man's form more carefully. The guy had the build of an athlete. How could you be like that and not have food. “What the hell are you doing with food? You steal some escaping from what ever padded cell they had you in?” He has his back to her and is getting into the pack. She can't see what he's doing as he replies. “I don't know how I came to be able to have food. Sure is easy getting it though. Um... What are you hungry for? I bet you'd like something to drink too. I'm not hungry but I could sure use something to drink.” She watches his back as he rummages around. Her look of suspicion is obvious. “I don't know. Surprise me.” “OK. I know just the thing. Wait a sec... Oh yeah. There it is. And then the drinks... Uh... Yup, there they are. Got it.” He sets something down. Puts somethings back into the pack . Picks what he set down back up, rises and then turns to walk back towards her. Her mouth drops open by what the man is now carrying. “That's... That's not possible. How the hell could you be carrying a burger in a back pack? I mean... That's a freeking restaurant burger. Shit. It's huge. And what the fuck are those bottles?” The man stops in front of her smiling again. “Why don't you take the burger. I'll get my pack and we can get away from the smell of that body. You can't enjoy a meal with that kind of stench in the air.” He looks around. “Lets head out the alley and across the street. That should get us far enough away.” She takes the plate the burger is on and then touches juicy meat edge sticking out of the bun. “Fuck me. It's still hot. How in hell can it be still hot?” She has to lick her fingers to get the grease off and when she does she about faints.

“Oh my god! That tastes like heaven.” The burger is in hand and a huge mouthful chomped out before the man can take more than a few steps after turning around. She springs ahead to keep up, plate in one hand, and a quickly disappearing burger in the other. By the time they round the back of a building on the other side of the street, the burger is gone. She hands the plate back to the man. Burps loudly and then accepts the cold bottle he hands back to her. She eyes it skeptically. “You have got to be kidding me. Cold beer? You have cold beer?” He smiles as he twists off the cap on his bottle and takes a big swig. “Ah... Now that sure hits the spot. Didn't even remember beer till I started looking for something to drink. Things are starting to look up I think. “ He notices her confusion with the bottle cap and then twists it off for her. “They twist off, but it can still be kinda hard some times.” She takes a tentative sip and then is quickly pulling a big gulp. “My god. I don't remember the last time I had a beer, let alone one this good.” She has another big pull, burps again, wipes her mouth with her sleeve and then considers the man. Her brow is working as a new thought finally occurs to her. Her face goes suspicious as well. “Look Mr. I appreciate this stuff too, but don't be thinking that a few treats is gonna get you a quick squirt between my legs.” The man looks puzzled for a few seconds, and then gives her a sheepish look. “Took me a bit there to pick up on the reference. I'm sorry if I've given you the wrong impression. You are under no obligation whatsoever. Any food I share comes free of charge. Scouts honor.” He has a hand up in a mock sign of swearing to a pledge. She rolls her eyes. “God almighty. Where did you ever come from. It's like you crawled out from under a rock or something. A really old one. I haven't heard that expression since my daddy had me on his knee. You're not going to start calling me ma'am are you?” “Ah... Probably not now.”

She finishes her beer with another big swig. She hands the bottle back to him and gives him a look that is genuinely curious now. “So. Did you like get hit in the head or something. Get Amnesia?” “Well, I suppose that's a possibility.” He thinks about it for a minute. “I have to say, though, that I don't think so. Not sure why. I'm sure something happened to me. I just think it was a lot more complicated than a whack on the head.” There's an awkward silence then. Neither of them sure what to say next when the man finally breaks the silence. “Well. Like you said. It's getting late. We'd better get you home. I can walk with you if you like. Just for safety's sake of course.” She considers it for a minute. Hew brow works again and there's a bit of lip biting as well. She shrugs finally. “I guess if you haven't jumped my bones by now you probably aren't likely to. Come on. It's only a couple of blocks from here.” They set out as the man shoulders his pack. It is only then that she realizes that he has been carrying a short sword strapped to his back. It is so plain and not noteworthy that it is a wonder to her that she has noticed it all. “What's with the sword?” The man looks at her obviously confused. “The sword you're carrying? On your back there? Don't tell me you don't remember that either? The man is feeling between the pack and his back now. “Damn. Might have come in handy fighting those Drops. Didn't feel it at all back there till you mentioned it. I must have been in some real trouble if I had to carry a sword around.” “So pull it out. I want to see what it looks like.” He reaches back and grabs the handle and then suddenly stops cold. His face goes a bit white. And a frightened look comes over it. His hand moves away quickly. She has stopped too now and has a real look of concern on her face. “God Mr. Are you alright? You look like you just shook hands with a ghost.”

“I'm.... I'm not supposed to use that sword. The lady didn't remember to tell me, but I am really sure about this.“ “Why the hell not. It's just a freeking sword for Christ sakes.” “I... I don't know. When I held it though. I... I could see a picture of her in my head. She was pissed. I mean she was really pissed.” “I thought this lady was all miss helpy girl.” “Yeah. So did I. It's really confusing... Aw shit... And now it's got my head hurting again, big time.” “Can you keep walking?” “Yeah. Maybe walking will help.” They start off again. The rest of the trip is in silence. The man seems more troubled by his experience with the sword than just a head ache. And she's reluctant to stir up any more bad mojo for him. She stops finally at a five story brick building. Most of the windows in the lower floors have their glass broken out. There is slang painted on the brick that the man does not understand. A single street lamp is all the illuminates the front stoop. “Well. This is my building.” “Right.” He looks up at the few upper floors that have lights in the windows. “Thanks for listening to a crazy man. Talking really seems to help.” “No problem. Thank you for the meal.” “Right. Well I'd better be getting on. Gotta be an empty building I can sneak into for one night at least. You take care Amanda.” He begins walking on down the street. He rubs his temple a couple of times as he goes. Amanda has started up the stoop and then stops. Her head tilts. Her eyes roll a bit. It is clear she is having a argument with herself. Her head wags back and forth a bit. She sighs. And then a final shrug settles the matter. She goes back down the stoop and calls out. “Mr? Wait” She jogs the short distance to him and continues.

“I'm probably going to regret this but.... Maybe we could work a deal. If you've got more food that is. All I got is a couch mind you, and it ain't much. But seeing as how you need a place to flop and I ain't got more than some stale bread for breakfast tomorrow. Maybe we could trade. What do you think?” The man looks very tired now. Something is catching up to him. It seems to be a weight as much as fatigue. Despite all of that, though, he still manages a weary smile. “That would be a most agreeable arrangement. Food for shelter. And no jumping of the bones allowed.” He then offers his hand to shake on it. She hesitates at how corny it all seems, but shakes the offered hand nonetheless. When the hand is pulled away, she can see burn scars. The shape on this hand is like a kind of blazing sword. She was going to comment on it but thinks better of it as she looks into the man's tired blue eyes. It was more than just fatigue that weighed in there. It was the weight of a burden that the eyes knew even if their owner didn't. It takes all of the street smart she can muster to keep that look from pulling at her heart. “Momma always said dumb women tend to fall for the sad ones,” she thinks to her self. “Don't worry momma. I'm not going to let myself get taken in.”

Scene 40: In another reality entirely, a human women is talking to an Elf elder. The woman does not appear to be a human at all though. A good thing considering the Elves in this reality don't much appreciate human kind. The curious thing here is that the woman doing the talking has been the prime reason for this distrust. A fact for which she is quite proud. Manipulating Elves was no easy thing. The woman's name is Clara Brightsworth. The Elf, however, knows her by the name of Teshenor Breetell. The Breetell name is well known to the Gloorwood clan. It is the only reason she has gained an audience with Bricemore Gloorwood. The fool was your typical wise old sage of an elder. Not to mention a royal pain in the ass. His council was repeatedly taking actions to undermine her efforts here. “Honored elder. Let me thank you for allowing me this time. I am sure you have many important matters to attend to so I will be brief. I am here on behalf of my father Daynor Breetell. He wishes me to impart a message to you. One he did not trust to an ordinary courier. He sends his respects. He would also ask a question of you. He would like to know why you council so easily against tradition.” Bricemore's brows furrow as he regards the young female. It is odd that Daynor would send his daughter. Even more odd is the question. “I am curious young one. If your father has had such a change of heart, why did he not

come himself? The last time he and I spoke we were of one mind. Tradition is important, but it cannot blind one to changing conditions. Something terrible is happening to the Connection. Our Deep Lords are certain of it. And now you say he questions our attempt to cross the Here Barrier? How is this possible?” Mrs Brightsworth is wearing a Snarddle hide set of breeches. They are buckled very low to the waist with silver Darth horns. A beaded Darth hide belt completes this. The Snarddle hide is softest green and clings ever so revealingly to every attribute this stunning young Elf female possesses. She has already removed her cloak and stands by the fire to warm her backside. The Snarddle hide halter top is quite scarce in the front. Her breasts are all but exposed. And of course the Snarddle hide ensures that her ample nipples do not need to be exposed. The real Teshenor would never wear anything this provocative to an audience with an elder, but that was of no matter now. The lovely young female was a joy to converse with, but quite stubborn when it came to being manipulated unfortunately. Even after Mrs Brightsworth had gotten her into bed. It was a pity too for the girl was so imaginative when it came to pillow play. In the end Mrs. Brightsworth had been forced to snap the poor girls neck and take her place. It was a waste to say the least. Duty was duty however. Older Male Elves liked to pretend that a couple of centuries of living got them past the silly passions of youth. Mrs. Brightsworth knew better. It was simply a game of being both obvious and not obvious. The outfit said one thing, but every other aspect of the Teshenor persuasion she held around her said haughty disdain and youthful impertinence. She would give him a few bones of respect but them challenge at every turn in every other way. Another persuasion was just put into affect as well. Very very light at first. Hardly more than a flea's whisper. Little by little, as she would continue to meet with him, it would be increased. It was a well worn spell. Learned by Mrs. Brightsworth more than a millennium ago, and honed to perfection over the many centuries. It stimulated certain glands only males elves had. Glands they let go fallow as they aged. He was full of suspicion now of course. She would do nothing to dissuade it. That was always a mistake. There was no need in any case. In one moons full phase he would be rutting like a bull for her. And once in bed the other manipulations were so much easier to slip in under the normally very sensitive Elf radar. And it was always such good fun. Elven males had a good deal more to work with than there human counterparts. In every respect. She lets the disdain come out now. “He has had good cause to reconsider of course. Cause I would hope that some one of your... wisdom would hear with an open mind.” She moves from the fire place with the grace of hunting panther. Retrieves her cloak and turns back to the elder. “We can talk more when you are up to it. I am to remain here at your convenience.” She works the wood latch of the elder's chamber door, and leaves him with only the most

dismissive of parting glances as she closes it behind her. A good start she thinks as she walks down the wide, upper Grand Hall hallway. This fool will bend to her will in good enough time. She'll have him back to the path of righteousness or she'll see to his early retirement. Either way he would not be allowed to spoil nearly 50 years of work. With this reality in place she would have a solid foundation with which to begin sowing disunity amongst the rest. The Elves had to be put in check if she were to ensure for the ultimate success for her master. Even with his sister in prison all this long time there was no room for sitting back. Weary though she might be sometimes. The quarters they have provided for her are in an outbuilding. She uses the back stairs to descend from the senior member's living quarters floor. The door's are more numerous on the newly elected members floor. There is also a door here to an outside portico. Another stone stairway and she reaches the inner Grand Hall courtyard. The polished stone paths are alight with the flickering reflections of the ornate wrought iron torch stands. Trimmed hedges and wide swaths of flowers border each path. The usual comings and goings have thinned considerably as most have gone to evening meal. She turns right at the center concourse and makes her way out through the main gate archway. The stone walls around the Grand Hall are easily ten meters thick. The ramparts above have to form a bridge over the twenty meter wide main gate. Another right turn takes her to the Ministry Buildings for Exterior Affairs. A side path between two of these leads to the smaller, two floor visiting dignitary residence. A Gloorwood Home Guard pike man snaps to attention as she passes through the open entry. Her room is on the second floor. She takes the central stairs two a time to reach the top. Her entry is in the back corner of the balcony that circles the entire residence main room. Once through she sags against the door just shut and bolted. Being another as completely as Mrs. Brightsworth has learned to do is exhausting. She lets the persuasion fall away and takes a few minutes to stretch her now naked human body. There are kinks everywhere. It could be fun taking on a elven body but it was always such a relief to return to her own. She liked the trim simplicity of her body. Elegant small breasts, still firm and possessed of nipples neither too small or too large. Her face too was the perfect blend of aristocratic line and movie star sensuality. And she had been able to stop aging at just the right time in her opinion. Something around forty her face always said. Kind, humorous eyes, that could still flash their green with a delicious glint of naughty. A few lines here and there to give a sense of wisdom and sincerity. She was the perfect image of the friend she always wished she had. And if she thought she would be a good friend... Well... You add to all of that the fact that countless millennium had honed a wit and intellect that no man or woman could resist, and you were left with one formidable agent for Him. It was time to do her period of renewal. She sat on the bed, crossed her legs in front of her and closed he eyes. This was the process He had taught her so many millennium ago. Center yourself in yourself and then pull at the chaos that was the connection. Pull at it without letting go of your identity. It was in a very real sense a pulling apart of the connection. A test of will that required great patience and practice to master. Once mastered, however, it

was a source of personal power one could hardly imagine until experienced. She reached out now, and with a will harden by many millennium, she tore the energy she craved with great delight. Power for me and the entirety be damned. I will continue. You will not have my surrender. I will continue until it all stops. When there won't be any further need to worry about the madness of endless loss. Endless pain. She drew the energy in. Sucked it up like a limitless sponge. The power that gave her access to magic and a nearly endless existence. She pulled and pulled until... Something abut the quality of the energy she was receiving made her tense and shudder. Something terrible had happened. Something unbelievable. She broke the concentration with a sudden gasp. There was a bad taste in her mouth. Acrid and disgusting. Her stomach churned with taking in so much of the energy unfiltered. She had to fight to keep from retching. “My god. The Master's sister has escaped. Unthinkable!” She yells this out angrily as she jumps up from the bed. Her face has gone taught with a deathly grimace. Green eyes flash a rage that only one who wields crushing power can manage. As soon as her feet hit the floor she is over to the dresser and strikes down on it with all of her anger. It crashes to the floor in an instant of splintering and crushed wood. The shuddering impact shatters the glass door that leads to the balcony. She would have been lacerated severely by the glass shrapnel were it not for the slightest tint of red glow that now emanated from the entire surface of her skin. A protection that continued to work as she stomped bare footed around the wreckage. “How could she have possibly escaped? The void the master created was perfect. Who could possibly have broken it?” And it is at this thought that she stops her angry pacing. The death grimace changes to an angry frown as she considers the ramifications. Even as she does, the shouts of approaching guards is quite clear. “A new Guardian? Could that bitch have found one strong enough to do this?” Her door shakes now from the blows of male fits. “Miss Breetell? Are you alright? We've heard the most terrible commotion. Open the door Miss Breetell.” The frown turns to a look of great frustration. “Will you fools shut up! I am trying to think.” The pounding stops for a moment. This was obviously not the response they were looking for. “How could a new Guardian possibly manage such a feat. Even with my magic I could not do it. But the key to her prison. The Master said that only the most capable of new adherents to her beliefs could have any chance of making it happen.” The banging on the door resumed. “Miss Breetell. We insist you open the door at once.

Something is not right. You do not sound like yourself at all. We will use force if you do not comply.” Her anger burns once more as with an accelerate. For fifty years she has kept her impatience with Elven stupidity in check. And now, with the taste of that bitch back in the Connection, she can bear their insufferable arrogance no longer. She faces the door and throws the shimmering image of a cannon ball at it. The entire meter wide and two meter tall plank of solid Stolsum wood is blasted back against her intruders. Their screams of pain are barely audible beneath the sound of ripping wood and torn iron hinges. The cannon ball blows away as if mist the instant after impact. Fortunately, the guest building is not presently occupied to any great degree. As she walks up to the entry way wreckage and examines with some satisfaction the broken bits of guard she can see bleeding through gaps in the shattered Stolsum wood, she figures she has at least another 3 or 4 minutes or so before nearby guards rally to the new explosion. She should be angry with herself for losing control but she cannot even begin to manage it. The Eleven Deep Lords would be reporting this new development with the connection very soon. That development on top her her being here at all would be more coincidence then even an old fool like Bricemore could be expected to ignore. Teshenor's death would be found out if they took to looking precisely enough in the Connection. Even her disguise could be pierced with the right persuasion. The probability of her scheme lasting now was quite low. And if they found out on their terms she'd have to go to war with them to escape. That would be messy at best. And at worse it would get them to wondering how a mere human could be so powerful. It might get them asking deeper questions about who they were really fighting. That could not be risked. She sighed then. She was still very angry but she had regained some composure. Amazing what a little catharsis can do she thinks. The sounds of a full Home Guard Company running into the building downstairs decided it. The jig was up. Time to leave. This was a disappointment to be sure, but there were bigger fish to fry now. A new Guardian. Maybe the most powerful in a very long time indeed. There was a challenge to take the sting out of most anything. Concentrating again, she willed a portal into existence. The entry way vanished and in its place stood a waterfall of an image, rippling with the flow of her energy. It was a patio scene, in the genre of very expensive estates. She stepped through and the very instant the last of her naked body was no longer awash in the liquid light, the portal disappeared.

Scene 41: The man is asleep on Amanda's couch. For what seems like years, shards of the lives of so many other people come and go. Experiences sublime, terrifying and mundane flow past him. There are battles won and lost, with weapons that run the full length of ancient to futuristic, and with locals that run from every shade of alien to every shade of vaguely and not so vaguely familiar. It is only after a while that he realizes that these were Guardians too. Successful Guardians. Mediocre Guardians. And very poor ones as well.

Most vivid are the scenes from a life that seems the most recent. They are of a man who has not yet become a Guardian. A man who was very troubled in the years just before taking on the training for proficiency in magic. He knows this man's name where the others are just words out of a history documentary. He knows this man's life so well, in fact, that he wonders if this is the center of who he is. He tries it on, but it will not fit quite right. It is part of him. It is all part of him, but who he is exactly is still to be determined. What he is, however, is now no longer in question at all. It is this realization that makes the rest a bit easier. What he is now orients the chronology of how it came to be. He had been that troubled man. Now he was something else. Still. Using whatever parts of that former self that seemed appropriate was a good place to start. Not only wasn't Jesse such a bad sounding name, but he had made a few very good connections during his time on Her Island. So. He would keep the name. He would also keep the promises made under that name. They were good promises, and an intrinsic part of the connections that made that former self a good man. Not only was this a good place to start, it was comforting. Jesse wakes up upon that realization. The riot that was his mental process has calmed down considerably. He sits up, trying to not work the noisy frame joints the couch possessed. Memory seeps back from the events of the previous night. First light is just beginning to make the building tops outside living room window visible. This is Amanda's apartment. He saved her life last night. He is in a new reality. One that must be related to a picture he carried. That means it is an Earth variation. Which also means that he is at least ostensibly human. He gets up and stretches. This gives him the memory of a routine. All of the past Guardians have maintained this routine. It is a series of intense physical exertions, flexing, stretching and meditation. Hand stand push ups, single leg, deep knee bends with weight. Single arm pull ups. A very slow flowing ballet that his former self would have called Ti-Chi, but which is considerably more complex, getting into balance positions that would include precarious extensions from just one of any limb. The physical part takes over an hour by itself. The meditation part another hour. Here he is first into his surroundings in every way possible, opening up and extending every sense. Then he is into his body. Getting deeply into every aspect of its processes. Seeing his metabolism and exercising its control. Seeing his neural state and exercising its control. Looking into every organ and exercising its control. All down to the molecular level. He is one with his physical being. One with his physical surroundings, and at the last, one with the Connection itself. The reality he is in now is almost suffocatingly closed down. Not only is there little of the energy of sentient interaction, the magic of the rest of the entirety is all but shut out. Only with great effort and will can he get the merest trickle from outside. And perhaps even more heart breaking, the life force of the planet itself seems sick and anemic. Never has any of the minds he holds in his head felt a thing so sad or discouraging. He does not turn away,

though. He reaches out instead and tries to appreciate the energy still there. To touch it with a reverence and sense of hope. “What the hell are you doing anyway?” Amanda Is standing at the point where hall way and living room meet. Jesse breaks his concentration and opens his eyes. Amanda is behind and to his left. He has been balanced on the tips of his toes while squatting at the knees. He rises effortlessly and turns to face her. “Some therapeutic meditation. I'm sure it must look kinda odd.” “Odd? You call balancing on your toes odd? That's gotta be almost as freekin weird as having hot burgers in your back pack. Did you escape from some foreign circus?” She has her arms folded in front of her and still looks quite groggy despite the surprise on her face. She is wearing faded pastel light blue pajamas. They are embroidered with white clouds that have lost a good bit of stitching. Her hair is still matted on one side where the pillow had made contact. He just smiles at this. “I've had a lot of training. Not for a circus so much as... Well let's call it a specialty act. I've had to be on my own for a long time and have had to learn a lot of different ways to make a living.” She raises her eyebrows at this explanation and then shakes her head. “Like I believe any of that. But hey. None of my business. You want to keep your weird to yourself, that's fine by me.” She rubs her hand through her hair and yawns. “Since I live here I get the only 5 minutes of hot water my lease allows. You want to shower after that, knock yourself out. In the mean time, if you plan on flopping any longer than one night, you better come up with something for breakfast.” She yawns again, rubs her neck and then turns back into the hall way. The bathroom door is evidently the first on the right. The door opposite had to be the place's only bedroom. Jesse gets to his pack then and begins searching through binders. A suitable candidate is found and the others are put away. The search here is thankfully short as there are now several dog eared corners to mark good choices. The small, two chair dinette set is quickly taken up by two plates each of eggs, bacon, hash browns and wheat toast. Fresh cups of coffee top it all off. Amanda wasn't kidding about the short amount of hot water as she reappears exactly seven minutes later in a pink terrycloth bathrobe, still toweling her hair. Her expression when she she sees, and smells, what is on the table is a repeat of the night before. Her mouth hangs open as the looks from the meal to him and back.

Jesse decides that he's going to have to give her something to keep the impossibility thing to a minimum. He holds up his hands in a sign of concession. “Look. I know how weird this is for you. And I'm sorry for the whole loss of memory thing the night before. I had a scrape I barely got away from. A scrape you really don't want the details of. I have my memory back now. My name is Jesse. Jesse Alexander. I used to be with the government. I have in my possession very highly classified technology. It allows me to materialize certain common items with a very small amount of energy. Just as if they were fresh made, only they are actually just copies of the original. Copies that were scanned by the biggest piece of high tech the government will never let anyone ever see. The scanning part takes huge amounts of electrical and computing power to do, but the result gets stored in a very thin film, and looks like nothing more than a picture. It's amazing actually. About as future tech as it gets. Now why don't you sit. Enjoy your breakfast and I'll answer any of your questions.” Amanda has stopped with the toweling and scowls at him at first. Looks back at the meal and has the scowl just melt with the reality on the table. She sighs. Shrugs. Throws the towel on the couch and sits. She digs in immediately. Jesse follows suit. The looks on her face that then transpire are a wonderful mix of wonder, bliss, and new found joy. By the time she's mopping up with the last of the toast Jesse can tell that the curiosity has finally won back from the hunger. “Jesse huh. I knew a Jesse once . Not very bright... I'm glad you got your memory back anyway.” Jesse takes another sip of coffee and nods. “Not half as glad as me I can tell you. I'm just sorry I had to come across so goofy. You were very sweet to let me flop despite it all.” She shrugs again. “No big deal. I mean you did put the big stick to those Drop pieces of shit. Too bad it was only one of em dropped for good though.” Jesse rubs a hand through his hair and can't help but let a bit of his sadness for that leak out. “It was an unfortunate necessity. Killing one was the quickest way of intimidating the other two and getting you safe. As sorry an excuse for taking up space as though those shits were, there were still human. More or less anyway. How do people here end up like that. And please. Try to pretend that I've been away for quite a while. And I mean way far away.” She looks at him skeptically for a second and then shrugs again. “It's like you would expect. Stupid shits give up on everything and are too freeking cowardly to do it right. Like dying would be harder than the hell they fall into. Makes me sick.

Sure as hell ain't worth you feeling bad about snuffing one of em.” Jesse considers this for a couple of minutes, tapping a finger lightly on the edge of his coffee cup. “Which part makes you sick.” She frowns. “What?” “Which part of what they do makes you sick?” She looks away for a moment, rolling her eyes. “I don't know. Either. Both. I mean every body's got it rough these days. The country's been full war mobilized for over ten years now. Nobody's got shit except for the big shots on the top floors. You have to learn to make do. And there's always America Net. They never take that away thank god. And they never charge for it either. Couldn't even if they wanted to.” It's Jesse's turn to frown. “You do know what America Net is don't you? Arlen Green, the father of the “NeuroPhasic Relay?” True Virtual Reality?” She throws up her hands in disbelief. “Un freeking believable. Nobody can be that far away to not know about American Net and Vir-Ret. Everybody on the planet knows about that shit.” “You have to believe me Amanda. Where I've been and why is really really complicated. I've told you too much already. I don't want to put you into a situation where certain folks might want to hurt you. When I say I've been out of touch with what's been going on here it's the god's honest truth. I swear to you. I mean you could probably turn me in and get a reward if you wanted to. But I'm trusting that you won't. All I'm asking is that you trust me back just a little.” Her expression has soften a little as she looks at him. “Well... Wouldn't want to turn anybody in to those Heartland Security fucks. They screwed my daddy over. Took everything from him. Broke his heart so much he just quit trying to live. Died when I was only 16.” She is looking down and it is clear that this is more than just a painful memory. “What happened to your Father Amanda?” There is a moment when Jesse thinks that Amanda might open up and share what is obviously a great deal of unexpressed grief, and more, but that moment vanishes. The street hardened person that has come to live inside this young woman turns it all off. Shoves it all down.

“There ain't nothing left worth saying anything about it. He's dead and buried. About the only difference between him and the Drops is he at least had the good sense to go before he wore out his welcome. Would have killed momma even more if he hadn't.” The anger now in her voice is matched by the sudden kicking back of her chair as she gets up. She grabs her empty plate and slams it down on the narrow counter by the sink. “Just leave the dishes here. I'll clean em up later.” With that she stalked off to her room, head down and looking as empty as she did angry. Jesse lets her go without saying anything more. “Once a nerve has been irritated,” he thinks, “best to let it settle down on its own. Besides, you're not going to crack through that armor in day.” And maybe not ever he has to admit to himself. More importantly, should he even be thinking of sticking around here at all. “The longer you stay here the more danger you put her in,” he tells himself, though the incident last night seemed to suggest that was already a fact of life. What kind of America was this anyway? It was beginning to make the difficult times Jesse's America were in look like a minor little annoyance. He picked up his own dish and stacked it on hers. His coffee had gotten cold so he dumped it out. He then went back to the couch and his backpack. A refill was in order. Not to mention a little taking stock. With a fresh cup in hand he settled as best he could on the tired old couch. What was he going to do now? Until he had more information on what was going on and what the day to day situation was, he had little choice but to keep a very low profile. A nation at war for ten years could get very paranoid about pretty much any little oddity. And right now he was oddity in ten meter Halogen lights. Like it or not he had to risk staying here for a few more days at least. Until he understood more about what was minimal for a citizen to be walking around with, as well as when, he was risking arrest just standing on a street corner; especially looking like he did. A backpack was bad enough, but his Slap Jacks were sure to be way too unusual. “You need to find a better way to glean info than grilling Amanda,” he tells himself. “She's a wild card in far too many ways. And every question only serves to highlight all the more just how unusual you are. The trade of material things for silence will have its limits. Get too carried away with what you give her and you'll make her just as attention grabbing as your are.” He sips his coffee and ponders what would be a better alternative for information gathering. The door to Amanda's bedroom closing brings back to the here and now. Amanda appears from around the hall way corner. She is wearing a worn company coverall. Salmon colored, pockets everywhere and a sown on patch that declares “GFD.” The material is obviously a very cheap synthetic and does not look very comfortable at all. She stops just in front of him.

“Look. I gotta go get my work chit renewed so I'm going to be gone for a while. When I get back, though, you and I are going to have a talk about this arrangement. “And then there's plain old human nature,” he thinks to himself. “How much is ever enough.” “You are obviously on the run for something serious. That means I got my ass sticking way out even talking to you. Giving you cover for food is no way near being enough for that. We re-negotiate and I don't want to hear any talk about it not being fair.” Jesse just tilts his head as he purses his lips. “I don't have any problem with that. You are taking a risk. I wasn't myself when we first made the deal and couldn't make all the risks clear then. You have every right to want to a better return for your help.” She'd obviously worked up a head of steam in anticipation of an argument. His unexpected agreement put a pin in that balloon. Her whole demeanor seemed to deflate more than a little. “Oh. Well... OK then.” “Listen Amanda. It would actually make me feel better giving you some other things. Nice things. Mostly because I think you deserve a little sunshine in your life. There's only two things I would hope you'd keep in mind. The first is most of the copies I have are pretty old stuff style wise. If you use it anywhere in public you might attract the notice of the wrong people. The other thing is the simple fact of someone with your income suddenly showing off a lot of new items. That might attract unwanted attention too.” She frowns at this. Brows knitting a weave of frustration. “What are you saying then? I can't have much of anything?” “No. That's not what I'm saying. I'm just trying to get you to understand that it will take some caution on your part on how you use whatever I give you. Take your apartment for example. We could set you up with all sorts of really nice furniture, appliances and such. That would be easy because no body can see it. We can give you nice clothes too as long as it's a style that won't cause people to wonder where the hell you got it.” She looked around the drab apartment. The peeling wall paper, worn carpet. It was clear what was going through her mind. “And it wouldn't just have to be furniture either. We could fix this place up. Recover the walls. Beautiful rugs to cover the old carpet. Paint the Kitchen. Even your bedroom and bathroom.” Her face brightened at this suggestion.

“We could that? I mean, I don't know much about fixing things.” “It's really not that complicated. I can show you. And if we work together it won't take nearly as much work.” She actually broke a smile then. Looking around and seeing something better in her mind. Jesse is certain then that this is the first time in quite a while that this girl has had something to look forward to. “Wow. Making this place look nice. Maybe not as good as Willow Place, but a lot better than this. That would be something.” “What's Willow Place?” “Oh. I keep forgetting you're stone age man. That's my most favorite Vir-Ret on American Net. I am a Amy McPherson girl all the way. Never miss a new session.” “Ah. I take it this sort of thing really puts you into the action.” She rolls her eyes again. “Are you kidding me? You get to be the person of your choice in these things. You get to live their lives for a while. And I mean in every detail. It's just like you are them. Except for the fact that you don't control anything of course. Not that I'd know how to do all of the stuff Amy knows. She's a McPherson after all. High society. Best schools. And just so confident. God. What I wouldn't give.” Jesse is beginning to understand a good deal more about how things work here now. “Well, I can certainly see the attraction. Where do you do this here?” “In my bedroom. It's a lot more comfortable to link in laying down and my bed is way better than the hay sack your sitting on. The emitters are built into the box spring. You lay down, close your eyes and think connection. The chip I got in my head does the rest. First thing you know you're standing in the America Net Grand lobby. It's this fantastic concourse that floats above earth. And you've got fabulous clothes on and you can talk to other people. All sorts of stuff.” “That is almost as amazing as my materialization tech. You can actually go into this VirRet and socialize?” She wags her head slowly, a look of mild embarrassment on her face. “Well sort of. It's... I mean it's like you and me talking now, but its also not really like you and me talking now. You can touch and see and hear and smell and all, but getting to really know each other kind of falls short; at least for me anyway. It's pretty much just a way to hook up with a stranger for an orgasm fest. Don't get me wrong, it can still be cool every once and a while. Everybody's got to pop a load now and then you know. It just gets boring for me pretty quick. I never stay in the lobby very long. I go straight to a channel portal. And it's

always channel one if a new session of Willow Place is ready.” Jesse considers the ramifications of what is essentially an Internet/television hybrid gone mad. “My God,” he thinks. The potential for abuse with something like that. And what about work...“ “There's something with this I don't understand Amanda. If you folks have this kind of tech available. Why are you walking to a factory still?” Her hands got to her hips and she sighs in disgust at his ignorance. “God if you are not the dumbest person I have ever met. Where do you suppose they'd get the robots from if all of that production goes to making warriors? And where do you suppose they'd get the empty bandwidth to support remote working? I mean shit, between the war in South America, and the export market, and the data load of American Net. They can't keep up with demand now. I know cause my brother's a combat operator. Been doing it for as long as they've had front line Vir-Ret drones.” She looks more than a little morose now, and distant. Jesse makes an educated guess.” “That sounds like it could be hard on the operators. You get to see your brother much?” Amanda doesn't hear him right away. When she does her hard ass twin takes over the controls. “No and a good thing too. He's about only one twitch away from a total burnout. Damn near tore mommas house up last time we were all together. Kept telling him to get out, but they build that damn duty thing in so deep. Stupid fucks and their stupid war. That's why I'm working here you know. Wouldn't sign up like my brother did. They know how to slap that kind of shit in the face.” She turns abruptly at this. And heads back to the hallway. “I gotta get going. There's an extra key in the top counter drawer. Don't forget to lock up if you leave.” Jesse bounds up from the couch. “Wait Amanda. Just one more question.” She stops just as abruptly, not wanting to face him. “What for Christ sakes.” “Is there a place I can go do some research. Like a library?” “Shit. You and your stupid questions. They don't have libraries any more you dumb ass. Who needs libraries when there's Vir-Ret.”

“Isn't there anything else? Some kind of terminal access for written documents maybe? “Jesus. That's authorized only. You have to be security or a licensed company to have that. Now Good By.” And with that she stomped out and slammed the door behind her. Jesse has to sit down on a dinette set chair and put his head in his hands. The state of the connection here was beginning to make an all too horrible, if not perfect, sense. Absolute disconnect sold in the guise of a perfect sensory illusion. Social organization taken to a new level of abstraction. The perfect cold logic of it made him ill. Control and entertainment fused into one glittering piece of distraction. Those pulling the levers could do anything and they could feel quite benevolent in the process. This was light years ahead of anything dreamed of by media moguls in the America of Jesse's memories. And now even their killing was bloodless for the killer. No bodies returning home in flag draped caskets. And certainly no real account of the carnage their mechanized warriors wrought. And what a colossal human grinder that would be too. Jesse's memory of primitive war drones would hardly even scratch the surface of what these people had no doubt achieved. And for what. Would the lofty goals be any less stupid than the ones offered by national interests in the past? Resource access? Market access? Or simply that the enemy is an other? A dehumanized piece of different that had to be hated because they caused sacrilege to the accepted dogma. Another way of saying that a true believer cannot long tolerate anything that might cause them to question. Better to kill even when the dogma said different than to question. Eliminating the other is so much easier in concept than trying to find a way to tolerate. In order to tolerate you first had to accept the possibility that the other might be just as human as you. Just as frail and fearful and susceptible to easy answers. Jesse wants nothing more right now than to grieve for these people, and what they have lost. It is more heartbreaking than any one person could ever bear. But another voice in his head makes itself known. It is one of the former Guardians. “You are not just another person you know. And you cannot afford the luxury of grief right now. You are here for a reason. You must find a way to help them. Whatever it takes. However long it takes. There is always hope. There is always room for redemption. Never lose sight of this. You carry the Light of Creation. It is redemption and hope. Let it inspire you just as the connection and elemental embrace do. You will be our best my friend. It is time to get started down that path.” He already knows the truth of this of course, but to hear it reaffirmed by one of his brothers. He gets up and goes back into the living room. His backpack is leaned up against the far end of the couch. Still strapped to it is the thing that looks like a plain short sword in a scabbard. He unties the straps and holds it up before him. This thing that was a great deal more than it appeared to be. And he remembers now the full extent of what he is responsible for. The “Light of Creation” is actually two things: The Light of Creation itself, and the “Portal

to the Center of Infinity.” The Light is the power of the singular point where things start being realized, and the single encompassing word by which to grasp it with. This word is not a word at all in the conventional sense, but the essence of all objectification, and for all practical consideration, looks like nothing more than a plain handle in sentient realities. The Light is always held inside the “Portal,” which in sentient realities looks like a shabby old scabbard. The Light can only be held by the Guardian for only he knows just how broad and encompassing the word is. When the Guardian withdraws the Light he has in his hands power akin to a singularity. It can become the point of origin for anything; a new universe, a black hole, or transformations on any scale. It is all a part of how it is wielded by the Guardian; of the focus, spirit, love, heart, will and intent he can bring to bear. It is, for this reason, almost too powerful to use at all. If the love or focus is not up to the task, he and everything around him will be blindly remade.

Scene 42: Amanda has returned. Jesse has been meditating now since her departure, trying To marshals whatever magic he can. He has found, with the help of another former Guardian, that he can store it just as he stored the Radiance. It has been a pains taking process, what with the boundary for this reality so rigid and inflexible. The door shutting and a desultory clomp of foot falls brings him back to the hear and now. He opens his eyes as she slumps dejectedly into the closest dining room chair to the entry hall. Jesse is on the floor in the living sitting cross legged. He gets up then and goes over to take up the chair across from her. She is sitting askew on the chair, one arm over the back and her legs out to one side. Her face is turned in the direction of her feet, which she is looking at dejectedly. She has the air of one who's day has started out bad, and is maintaining the trend. “Anything I can get you to lighten the load?” She gives him a sideways glance and a skeptical crink in one side of her mouth. “Not unless you've got a first class ticket to some where else ville.” He purses his lips in mock thinking. “Hmmm. You know, I was going to offer up that very thing, but it turns out everybody over there wants to come here. Go figure.” She sighs, turns to sit in slouch that more or less faces him. 'Don't that just say it all. Everybody thinking it's got to be better elsewhere when even a nut job like you knows its all totally fucked up.” “I take it that getting your work chit renewed is a crap on toast sandwich.”

“Man. And then some. Especially for me seeing as how I'm so unpatriotic. Refusing to run a war drone means its open season on making you feel like dirt. And every 30 days I have to do it all over again. If the job I qualified for at GFD wasn't on a “Needed List” they'd shave my head bald and make me go through a full body cavity search every time. Probably put the whole experience on America Net somewhere too. Just to make sure everyone knows to shun you. Not that they don't already of course.” “You don't have many friends now because of this do you?” She's rubbing absently over a cut in the surface of the table now with one finger. “Can't blame anybody. It's not like they are any more fired up for a Mind Muncher gig than I am. It's just that you can get on any number of different shit lists if you make nice with an objector.” “Well, luckily for you I am just enough of a nutter not to care about such things. They can shit list me as much as they like. In fact, the more shit listed I get the better I like it.” Her eyes come up a bit to give him a look that is a combination of disgust, disbelief, and irritation. He can feel, though that a good portion of the irritation is because he's beginning to cut through a righteously mounted bit of funk. “That sort of cute comeback only works if you were actually a part of this world. I don't think the jury had to deliberate at all on that one.” “Ouch. Being friends with you sure isn't easy. I can see I'm going to have to bring out the big guns now.” He gets up at that moment and heads back towards his backpack “I was hoping to avoid this but you leave me no choice.” Her posture straightens up a little as her face tries to balance irritation and curiosity now. “What are you going on about now?” On his knees on the living room floor now, and with his back to her, he is rummaging again through the back pack. “You'll see. Don't say I didn't warn you though. You brought this on yourself.” She has twisted round and is now eying him with a good deal of suspicion. “Look, if it will keep you from going off the rails, I'll pretend to be your friend.” He has started pulling things out now. Various ceramic and metallic clinking noises ensue. There is also an aroma wafting into the room that is delicious. It is something that Amanda has not smelled since she was young and still living with her folks. “Hey. That cannot be what it smells like.”

He turns around then Grinning. “Wanna bet?” He is holding an enormous bowl of freshly popped popcorn, and a fairly large, square thing made out a shiny plastic. He brings them around and sets them on the table. Her eyes go large with the popcorn and she's already licking her lips. “My folks used to make that. I don't think they sell it any more. What's with the big square thing.” “This, my fine grumpy friend, is what served for high tech when your dad was probably young. It is a laptop. A very good one in fact. And we are going to use it to watch some movies. You can't have popcorn without movies.” “You have got to be kidding me. Old 2-D movies? What's so cool about them?” “When was the last time you saw one?” “Well, I don't remember actually. But from what I've heard, they were lame incorporated.” “That is so not true. It may not be super sense surround, but there was some really cool stuff done with these. Told some great stories. You will be amazed.” She is well into the popcorn now and has to chew a bit before she can answer. “God. This is even better than I remember it. How much butter was put on this anyway?” “A lot. Only way to go. Popped in Olive Oil too. Makes a huge difference.” He opens the laptop and proceeds to get it stared. Once he has logged in he goes to a drive where a large list of folders indicates different movie titles. “Now let's see. What should we start with. Hmmm.” She strains her head around a bit to kibitz. “Are all of those movies?” “Damn straight. In my former life there was a time when I was quite the movie thief.” He considers a bit more before pronouncing with a flourish “Ah ha! We'll start with an animated feature. 'Up'” “Up? What kind of title is that?” “A good one as a matter of fact. You'll understand when you see it. Move around towards the end here so I can put the screen close to both of us.” She moved around, and he moved his chair as well before he sat down. Tapping a couple of times on the touch surface, the movie began. They sat should to shoulder then,

munching buttery kernels and getting into the story. It didn't take long at all before she was laughing despite herself. They had time for one more before she had to go and get a little rest before her night shift started. For that he chose the Marks Brothers “A Night At the Opera”, for which he brought out some beers and pizza. She complained a lot at first about it being in black and white, not to mention from an era as old as dirt as far as she was concerned, but her biases were no match for the timeless inspired nonsense of Groucho, Harpo and Chico. When she finally climbed in the sting of things in general around her hadn't been forgotten exactly, but they were certainly not so prominent for a while. She went to sleep with a smile. It made him feel very good. That response, though, triggered a cautionary feeling from more than one of his brothers; a feeling they seemed reluctant to articulate yet. After she climbed in, and he had had time to clear things away, he has to take some time to ponder his next move. The fact that information access was so controlled now put him in a very difficult position. He had to know more before he could take any further steps to address the bigger problems here. Now that he had a magic reserve, he could certainly move about cloaked, but to what end? He was still a blind man, feeling his way around a very dangerous forest. He simply had to have a better grasp of the big picture here. The question was how to get it. And the only option presently available to help him was to see if Amanda might be willing to explain more of how things worked here. That this would only serve to deepen her suspicions of why he would be so ignorant couldn't be helped. He would try to be as straight with her as he could. It seemed like they were getting closer to a tentative kind of trust, but he still didn't want to tell her everything. When you looked at it from the perspective of someone steeped in a nothing magical kind of ordinary, what he was and what he could do was an awful lot to expect a person to swallow. Trying to imagine how to lay it out with any hope of it being understood was just impossible for the moment. And his brothers were being conspicuously silent on suggestions. Obviously this was always something each new Guardian had to figure out on his own. Jesse went over to the couch then and laid down. How to be straight with Amanda and how to continue with why he was here were a real source of worry. There were no easy answers and there was the real possibility that this would always be the case. He has to do some deep breathing, and centering to set it aside for now. “Get some rest,” he tells himself. “Something will present itself.” Sleep comes quickly after that. Jesse rises early again the next morning. He wants to get his conditioning routine done before she gets up so as to keep reminders of his uniqueness at a minimum. That out of the way he pulls all of the picture binders out of the back pack and sets them on the table. He considers them as he ponders his next step. “You can't keep pulling stuff out of these without being more up front about it,” he thinks to himself. “You have to show this part and do it in a way that makes it clear there is more, but you can't say what yet. And you have to be as honest with that as you can.” He sighs. It seemed an impossible task. Mutually exclusive goals. How would he do it? It is at this point that he hears her bedroom door open, and the creek of the floor boards

as she shuffles down the hall. She appeared then, rummy eyed and just starting to rub at the crust still there. “Uhg. Did I sleep or what.” She flopped into the chair across from him. It takes a second for the stack of binders, as well as the look of worry on Jesse's face to register. Her brow furrows in concern as she speaks “Ah... Something going on that I should know about?” He sighs again and lays his hands out flat on the table before him. “Yeah. I need to explain a few things that I haven't quite been completely honest about. The thing is, I can't tell you everything yet. I want to. I really do. It's...” He looks away then for a second to find the words. “...The thing is, it's really complicated.” She groans a little and looks more than a bit worried herself. “Oh God. You really are in a lot of trouble aren't you. What did you do, kill somebody really important?” Jesse shakes his head. “No. Nothing like that I promise you. That, at least, would be a great deal easier to explain. Not very reassuring about my character maybe, but certainly easier to explain.” Worry turns to confusion then. “OK. I'm really not getting this then. Are you in some kind of trouble or not?” “In a sense I'm in about as much trouble as anybody could possibly be in. But it's because I'm not like anybody anywhere on this planet. I've had to ask all the questions I've been asking because I really don't know much of anything about how things are here.” Her eyes grow big then as her mouth falls open. “Oh my God. Are you saying you're some kind of alien? Like in the Sci-fi channels?” He holds up his hands then in a “slow down” gesture. “In a way yes, but not exactly. The problem for me is that this is where I need to hold some information back. Just for the time being. I can tell you that I am part human, but I'm something else as well. I know a lot about Earth history, but not about what's happened in the last twenty years or so. And the most important part is this. I'm here to help Earth. I've been given abilities that aid me in this. When I came upon you the other night, I had just arrived. The... Well, let's call it the transfer process, can take a lot out of you when you arrive. That's part of why I was so confused when I got here. There were other factors as well, but I need to leave that out for now.” He paused then to let it all sink in. She blinked at him wide eyed for a moment before she spoke. “Christ. You sure know how to dump a load on girl. I've heard some far fetched stories in my time...” She has to rub a temple now. “...But this. And this isn't even the whole of it. You're asking a lot for someone I've only known for a few days now.” “I know Amanda. It hurts me deeply to have to go at it like this, but I'm worried about it

on two counts. First is the fact that the more you know the more danger you are in. A part of me feels like I shouldn't be here in the first place, but I need help. There's just no two ways about it. And the second thing is how fantastic the whole truth actually is. I can imagine the rolls being reversed here and it's not hard at all seeing the difficulty in taking it in. I'm winging it here in thinking that doing this in steps will help. I mean that's the honest truth.” She softens a bit then. It was the sincerity in those eyes. The real concern for her in that face. God help her. She has to swallow hard then with the realization that the real thing to be afraid of here was not where he was from, or what he really was. “You really are a piece of work Jesse Alexander. Seems like I can't help but believe you. Crazier than monkey shit though it has to be.” Her head goes back then, as if looking to the heavens. “Momma. I hope I'm not doing something we're both going to regret.” And then to Jesse. “You have to promise me one thing.” “Alright.” “You have to promise that you'll tell me the whole story, and sooner rather than later.” Jesse holds out his hand then to shake on it “Deal.” An inner part of her is so nonplussed now with the whole sequence of events so far, and culminating with this second hand shake. It was not just some toss off gesture any lame ass would do, in any lame town across the country, signifying little other than a convention. For this man it was a solemn declaration of his word. It reminded her of something she hasn't thought of in years. Something her daddy used to talk about when he was still working. It was a complaint at the time. Of how hardly anybody understood what steadfast and true was. It was corny as hell to her at the time of course. But now. Now it stood up and it made you take notice. It also made a part of her go soft like she has never felt in her life. And this was cause for warning flags. Big honking ones with red lights. She has to rally a sense of hard nosed practicality. It was just the surprise of what he had already shown he could do. As well as the generosity. Wasn't any reason to go all dewy eyed now. He was still trouble. Keep a cold clear eye on that girl. Nice or not, he was still trouble. Don't be shy on getting a full return for the risk involved.” She settled back then. Folded both arms in front of her and let a determined sense of practicality settle on her face. “Don't think for one minute that this changes our other deal though. You seem like a decent guy. Enough at least for me to cut you some slack on whatever crazy thing you really are. All well and good. I still expect what's fair for the risk I'm taking.” “Understood. In fact, I was hoping we could start going over what some of that return might be today. I wanted to clear the air a little first because I don't want what I do to get it for you to be a secret any more. And you have to prepare yourself for how this works. It's got a butt pucker value of about 8.5 on the don't crap your shorts scale.” She sags a little, still trying to hold a tough veneer. “Well... OK. I appreciate the warning. It's not like I shouldn't be at least a little prepared already. You've been pulling stuff

out of that backpack like it's a magic lamp. How much crazier than a human half breed alien could it be?” Jesse looks a little pained as he reaches for the stack of binders. “Ah. Maybe I should let it speak for itself. Probably it would be a good idea to get you some coffee first too. Get your mind running on all of the cores possible.” He digs through the stack until he finds the binder he wants. Pulling it out he begins again. “OK. I told you before that there was a technology I was using that involved pictures. That's not exactly true, but it amounts to about the same thing. I do have to have a picture that presents the object or objects desired.” He flips through till he finds the coffee shop picture. “For coffee I have several choices. Usually it's this one that shows a cup on a counter by an espresso machine. This was a cup that had already been run through the machine.” Amanda frowns. “What's an espresso machine?” Jesse registers surprise. “Your folks never talked about those?” “No. Coffee always came out of a can at our house. Tasted only a bit better than what we get at work.” “Oh. Well, twenty some years ago, in some parts of the country, coffee shops were very popular. Most especially in Seattle. And the main way they made coffee there was with these machines.” He turns the picture around so she can get a view of it. “It used really pressurized steam to work through finely ground beans. See that thing with the handle there. That has the grounds in it. What it does is make for a much stronger, and more pure coffee extraction. And it allows for a lot of variety on how it can be prepared. The type I've been getting for you is called a triple shot Americano, which is basically three measures of a standard espresso pour with a little water added to thin it down a bit.” “God, no wonder it's so strong. Not that I'm complaining mind you. I really like it strong and bitter like that.” Jesse smiles. “You'd probably make a really good programmer then. Having mostly caffeine for blood was a requirement.” Amanda has a bit of surprise on her face now. “I wanted to, but you have to have a really high clearance to be allowed to do that kinda work. But are you saying you were a programmer?” Jesse shrugs. “That's complicated too. I can tell you that a part of me was for a while. Back in a time when that part could afford and appreciate coffee shops. There are some difficult memories associated with that time.” Amanda doesn't know whether to be irritated or saddened by this information, and the way he looked as he said it. “I think you may have to get me drunk before you tell me the rest

of this mess.” “I'm sorry. A part of the difficulty I'm having is that you could call this my first assignment as a helper.” “A rookie? Why am I not surprised. That would explain a lot. Anyway... Why don't you just do your thing and let's get this over with. I need that coffee now.” “Right. Here it goes.” He takes the picture back and just reaches right in. The steaming cup comes back out a second later. Her mouth hangs open and she's still looking at the picture. It takes a full minute before she can take the cup from him. “What the fuck did I just see?” “Think of it as the picture creating a tunneling affect. Like a worm hole through space time. That worm hole created a link to a place where that cup of coffee existed independent of this reality. I am able to reach through that worm hole and bring stuff back through.“ She takes a sip of the coffee. And then another. She looks at him with a sense of real wonder now. And then she looked back at the picture. This causes her to frown. “Wait a second here. If you've just brought the cup back through this worm hole, how come I still see it in the picture.” “Well... The picture and the worm hole destination are not really the same thing. And I can always get another cup because the worm hole created each time is not the same, even though it still ends at a point where there's a cup of coffee. I know I'm probably not describing this very well.” She holds up one hand in a sign of defeat. “It's OK. I give up trying to understand for now. It's a great cup of coffee. At some point you have to stop looking in the horses mouth. And please don't say you're sorry again. We have that firmly established. Let's just move on to breakfast. I'm famished.” “Right.” Jesse groans inwardly with disappointment, but tries to accept it with some perspective. “Be thankful it didn't go down any worse than this,” he thinks. “All things considered, she was handling it far better than your explanation deserved. She would get used to it and then he could be more forthcoming about the rest. He just had to keep a good thought about it all.” “OK. So. Breakfast.” He pulls the binder closer and goes back to the front page before beginning to flip through them again. “Why not something on the sweeter side this time. Let's see... “ He looks up at her then with a questioning look: “Where do you stand on the whole waffle pancake situation.”

She skrunches her face in confusion. “Excuse me?” “You know. Are you a waffle person or a pancake person.” She's gone back to a refined version of the “are you for real” face now. “Is this some kind of big divide where you come from?” “Well, yes and no. People just like to make a friendly stand on what they think a proper breakfast should consist of. It was one of those small things that helped say who you were. Kinda like cream in your coffee or black. Boxer shorts or briefs. Sleeping naked or pajamas.” “OK. OK. I get the idea. Food hasn't been a high choice item for a long time now. Not the kind of thing where we get to make a statement. Why don't you chose what you think I would be.” “Of course. Should have thought of that.” He studies her for a second and then nods to himself. “Right. I think I have it. The pajamas are a definite tell.” She looks at her pajamas and back at him. “What's that supposed to mean? What's wrong with wearing pajamas?” He shrugs diplomatically. “Nothing at all. I knew lots of girls who slept in jammies.” She rolls her eyes. “Oh, so it's jammies now is it. Not being at all judgmental there are we. And just of out curiosity, what does that make me? A pancake or a waffle?” “You my friend are a pancake. No doubt about it. The true warm and cozy, breakfast comfort food. Waffles are a more purposeful type of enjoyment. You have to have some crust to prefer waffles.” “Wait a second. I got crust. You have no idea of how much crust I have. I sleep naked sometimes too for your information. Not that it's any of your business. Besides. For all I know you probably wear briefs. Talk about no crust. Care to confess to that little secret Mr I'm so smart?” Jesse smiles conspiratorially. “Well, I'm not saying I do and I'm not saying I don't. I would just point out that there is a third option. Where I come from some folks don't bother with shorts at all.” He has a steaming plate of pancakes now and he sets them down in front of her. This is followed by butter dish and syrup dispenser, as well as a big plate of sausages. It is only when he pulls out a plate of waffles for himself that she blushes ever so slightly. She also makes a point of not looking at him at all for a while. After breakfast they spend the next several hours going through all of the pictures. With what he has available it is quickly agreed that sprucing up the apartment is the best way to go. She becomes quite consumed then with the process of making selections of furniture,

paint colors, linen and kitchen ware. Jesse has to take notes to keep track of it all. At lunch Jesse decides to broach the subject of how to get information access. There are both working on burgers and fries when he brings the question up. “Can we talk more about how a person gets any information?” She's daubing a fry through catchup when she answers. “What do you want to know?” “Well. You said before there weren't any libraries any more. And you had to have special clearance to have access to a terminal. There aren't any other alternatives?” “Well, I also mentioned American Net but I'm thinking that's not going to be much help for what you're looking for. As already indicated, that's either sex or entertainment. Not much of anything else there.” “What else can you tell me about terminal access. Where do they keep these?” She takes a big pull on her beer before she answers. “Mostly it's middle management and up that have them. I get to work on one at GFD, but I don't have an actual log in. I'm really good with computers. That's why I got the “Special Needs” job. When I get to work, though, my terminal just starts up automatically with a process log in. Very limited on what it is allowed to do.” Jesse thinks about this for a while as he progresses through the burger. With that finished and having room for only half his fries, he get's them both another beer. By this time a plan is beginning to take shape. “I have an idea. There is some risk though. I won't do this if you aren't comfortable with it. It involves you helping me get into where you work. I think I might be able to figure out a way to do a terminal access.” She has pulled his plate of fries over and continues to nibble on a few as she sips her beer. The look on her face now is one that is both intrigued and frightened. “Jesus. Do you have any idea of how tight the security is at GFD? Think of a Nun's privates and then multiply by about a thousand.” Swallow a fry bite. “Don't get me wrong though. I'd be willing to suck dick to get back at those cock suckers.” She stops for a second, realizing that her easy penchant for cussing has indicated a desire she might not have really meant. “Ah.. that is to say...”` Jesse waves her off with only a half smile. “Don't worry about it. I under stand the figure of speech. Tell me more about the security.” She then rattles off a very impressive array of measures both structural and electronic. When she's done she's waggling an empty beer bottle at him. Refills are produced and he considers his without focus for a few moments. With two beers and a full stomach Amanda is feeling quite content now. “God,” she

thinks. “A girl could sure get used to this. Great food. Beer to die for, and somebody to talk to. Quirky crazy maybe, but still. Certainly not boring like so many of the lame asses in this town. And it was just so easy to relax with him. You could feel an agenda going on in there somewhere, an agenda felt with real passion, but not the lets get naked kind. This was passion about bigger things. Things that were important. What's life come to important. How could some one so seemingly crazy on the one hand seem so linked to that kind of important. It was a mystery. A mystery like a magic sack to her inner cat. And boy wasn't that just another warning flag. She should be tossing his ass out now with this talk of GFD security. But the thought of exploring that magic sack, and the possibility of sticking it to her erstwhile employers was way too tempting. And as far as the risk went? When she thought about it, a recent attack just barely thwarted, how much more at risk could she be? It was all going to shit anyway. And your ticket was going to get punched sooner or later no mater what. This at least would be doing it with a little style. And so far, the only feeling she had gotten from momma's soul was this sense of a knowing smile. Not a “this is perfectly OK” grin mind you, or even any kind of I'm just happy about it grin. Just a knowing, slight smile, like she'd been through something similar, seen the good and bad of it, but was smiling anyway. What the fuck she thought. “Jesse?” He looked up then. “Yes?” “Listen. Whatever you want to do with GFD. I'm in.” He regarded her then with more real concern. Concern that said he cared about her. She had to look away. That was a deep water that had way too much pull. “Amanda. I really need you to be clear on this. We're talking about a very big risk here. I think I can get in, with your help. I also think I can work something that will allow us a terminal access. There just aren't any guarantees though. This could go South in about a hundred different ways. Even if I were to come through on a promise to keep you from being implicated, it's doubtful they'd believe it. I have to believe it would be very harsh for you.” Looking at her beer now. “I know better than you do what the risks are. Trust me. I'm just so tired of living hand to mouth. They couldn't do me any worse than what almost happened on your arrival. This is almost like living again.” She held up the beer then. “I don't care how long it lasts. Even if this whole you want to help business is shit, I don't care. It sure sounds good. And even a crazy man is better to talk to than these walls.” Jesse is nodding, even though she doesn't see it. “I think I understand. I am going to do everything I can to make sure nothing happens to you. That much I can promise.” He shrugs then as well. “And who knows. Maybe I can raise the conversation to the level of just being a minor goof. I mean, I do have your high standard to shoot for after all.” She looks up then, a good bit of consternation on her face, to see him smirking. “Oh man. Are you ever asking for it.” To which she places a thumb on the top of her beer, begins shaking and then proceeds to use the pressure thus created to squirt him quite accurately.

“Hey,” he yells, laughing now. “No fair. Is this any way to treat a guest? Especially the one supplying the beer?” He has jumped up now and is duplicating her procedure. The return fire is nearly as accurate. She screams out a laugh, tries to dodge, and has only limited success. They are both soaked and sporting nearly empty bottles when he holds up a hand and shouts “OK. I surrender. If I had known you were Calamity Jane I would have exercised more caution.” They are both dripping with beer and smiling as they set their bottles down. She has the very satisfied air of the victor when she says: “Not looking so crusty now are we Mr. smart guy.” She has her hands on her hips for added emphasis. Jesse wipes his hands on his pants before he goes to the binders for towels and a wash rag. Towel in hand he comes around without even thinking about it to gently rub her head. He begins telling her that “They say beer is supposed to be good for hair...” when he stops suddenly, realizing that he's crossed something of a line. Her hands have dropped to her side and its only his sudden awkwardness that makes her realize that she had closed her eyes to accept his touch without even thinking about it. He stepped back then, obviously embarrassed and trying not to show it. “Ah. At least that's what I've heard.” He hands her the towel then, trying to smile and make a graceful retreat. “Yeah. I think I remember momma saying something about that. They never could afford much beer of course after I was born.” She forces a smile as well working the towel on her own like this was what was intended all along. She's as flustered inside as he is now, though, trying to understand what had just happened. It wasn't any big deal on the face of it. But underneath... Underneath a simple act of wanting to help had become something he touched in her. They both felt if and they were both too frightened to face it straight on. Better to brush it under a rug of awkward misunderstanding. It was nothing. The exuberance of a couple of beers and talking about real danger. You could dismiss it out of hand. Neither of them were exactly experts in socializing after all. An awkward exchange here and there was to be expected. It was like a silent bit of telepathy exchanged between them. And unspoken agreement of what the reality needed to be. They were helping each other in a difficult situation. They were also both adults who could see the need for focus on the very real practicalities of that bad situation. This was not a game and they were both clear on the seriousness of it all. They both seize on this and for all intents and purposes, it never happened. “Well. I'd better hit the shower. Maybe we can do another movie or two afterwords?” Jesse picks up the new thread in stride. “Yeah. That sounds great. Maybe an adventure story this time.” “Works for me,” she answers back as she heads back down the hall.

It is early evening and he has just come down the front stoop in front of Amanda's apartment building. She is no more than 5 minutes ahead of him, on her way to work. They had gone over the plan together before she departed. He made it clear to her that he had the ability to cloak himself. To her credit she had simply accepted this without question. Within that cloak no one would be able to see him. He would also be shielded from passive infrared detection as well. Already the corridors of this small town are beginning to darken. He ducks into an alley he is certain will parallel her course. There is still enough light to see the grime and filth that has been allowed to accumulate. He ignores it as he moves quickly down its course, not making any sound as it goes. With the magic ready, and satisfied that he is unobserved, he applies the persuasion yet another brother has used so many times before in the past. It is a complicated one, talking to all visible, and infrared light around him. “Wouldn't it be fun,” it says, “to not let yourselves be interrupted by one so unworthy of your splendor. Better to alight on all the rest of the surroundings to dazzle the eyes of others.” And that was just the preamble. The result of this is to become as nearly invisible as it is possible to be. He has to keep in mind, of course, that this is not full spectrum invisibility. He could not collect enough magic for that. Given Amanda's description, visible and infrared seemed the most likely. He can now quicken his pace. He had to catch up to Amanda before she reaches her destination. Inasmuch as walking through solid matter was still out of the question, she would have to be his ticket in. The alley soon empties onto the street that Amanda turns on. He comes out on the sidewalk in time to see her just a few meters ahead. He falls in behind then, matching her pace. She is walking along, feigning the sodden resignation of one who has bore this dreary process many times before. Underneath, certainly, there was nothing but adrenaline, but she was doing a good job keeping a lid on it. The GFD factory is a sprawling complex that has absorbed most of what had been the small town's north side. The north side had once been home to what was once the only employer here. A textiles mill that had finally succumb to foreign competition decades ago. GFD had started over on the sight and expanded far beyond the original. GFD, or General Foods Distribution, was the aggregated result of decades of concentration. Amanda had explained that it was now one of the elite 22 in American economics. These were the two companies in each of the 11 main areas that economic life had been divided into: Food processing and distribution Residential and low tier commercial construction Mid and top tier commercial construction Information processing hardware Heavy commercial machinery construction Light commercial machinery construction

Non-Food consumer products Education and research Weapons production America Net Health Care In effect, each mega-corp within these divisions were the survivors who had achieved the coveted status of last men standing. Together they represented fully 98 percent of all economic activity in the combined nation, which now included Canada as well as Japan; the one coerced into turning provinces into states and the the other forced by circumstance. Each of these companies was headed by one or two of what was now known as America's Grand Families. Something around 25 dynasties that sat at the top of pretty much everything. The McPherson tribe that Amanda was so involved with was of course head of the America Net giant Virtually Everything. As Amanda approaches the outer perimeter gate Jesse sees that he might have a problem. There is a line and it is moving slowly. The reason for this is the one at a time turnstiles that each worker must pass through. An oversight from their discussion. The chit that Amanda had had to get renewed was in fact a sub dermal implant. The new access code she had to have reauthorized worked things automatically. The turnstiles were no doubt able to interact with the chip without any intervention on the part of the worker. The queues being formed at each turnstile were packed tightly together. Being invisible in this situation wasn't going to be of very much help to him. He scanned the outer perimeter fence. It wasn't made of metal, but looked more like some kind of composite. And it wasn't chain link either. Massive three meter square panels featured an array of hexagon holes evenly spaced across the surface. Each hole was just about the size of a human face. From the look of the material, it was plain that, short of a high powered laser, you wouldn't be cutting through a panel any time soon. The panels were also thick enough to support a meter wide path on top. In constant motion along that path were the ugliest looking pieces of rolling future tech Jesse's memory could ever recall. And after studying them for a few moments it was obvious these things were not limited to the visible or infrared part of the spectrum. They were also rigged for millimeter wave radar. Amanda was well into the queue now. He had to think quickly. It was time to improvise. Even if it ended up being less than subtle. Jesse made his way over to the corner of the perimeter wall. The front gate was fortunately close. Watching the auto sentries move back and forth on preset patrol distances, he gauged their timing. He was in luck at least as it applied to the sentries. The bot going north and south relative to the corner was exactly opposite to the one going East and West. That meant one was moving away as the other approached the corner. If he timed it just right, he would only have to disable one of the little monsters. With one shut down, the area directly above it would be in shadow from the interlinked scanning of the others. He had to hope he had enough magic left to work a persuasion to convince the thing it was time for a

diagnostic shutdown. Amanda was at the turnstile. It was now or never. He pushed out the spell, talking directly to its CPU array. The thing resisted at first, being highly suspicious of the contact, but Jesse pressed it even more persuasively. It relented and initiated the diagnostic, stopping mid distance between the corner and it's West most traverse point. Jesse then concentrated on his internal physiology. Leg muscle efficiency was increased, along with heart rate and the production of adrenaline. He crouched low and than sprang up with all the exertion he could manage. The leap would have been a mind blowing experience for the crowd had they been able to see it. Jesse clears the sentry bot by the merest thin margin, and then lands with a roll that produces very little noise. It is an achievement he needn't have worried about as the other sentries begin chirping loudly and rolling over to their comatose comrade. Interlink queries had evidently been ignored beyond the specified norm. Jesse walks away as quickly as he can. The sentry commotion has finally attracted the attention of the few human guards in attendance. Hopefully this would go down as just another computer glitch. It takes him only a minute to catch up with Amanda. No other alarms appear to be going off so Jesse feels this can be considered a win. Amanda's affinity for computers made her eligible for middle tier clerical work. That is why she had gotten the special needs position. It gives her access to the second floor of the transportation administration building. It is also why he needs to stay close. She made it clear that the company didn't need all that many tier four clerical workers. AI was abundant these days and apparently a great deal more sophisticated than in the IT of Jesse's old world. It was only the age old problem of things still getting garbled beyond the ability of a machine to understand that made human intervention a resilient necessity. Unfortunately for Amanda it was crushingly boring. Amanda negotiates the maze of pavement, sidewalks, storage tanks, piping, and process buildings with the ease of someone who's done it on automatic pilot for years. Not even the constant traffic of automated vehicles large and small disturbs the inner ruminations that keep her mind anywhere but focused on what's going on around her. He's close enough now to hear her whisper a: “Jesse? Are you there?” “Yes,” he whispers back. “God Jesse. I don't know why I didn't think to mention the turnstiles. I guess it's just the automatic pilot I'm on every night doesn't see them any more.” “Don't worry about it. I found a way to improvise.” It takes another ten minutes before they arrive at the four story transportation administration building. It looks very sleek and clean and obviously prefab. Jesse is right behind her when she gets to the front door. The hum of an electric lock release precedes her hand grabbing the door handle only by a couple of seconds. She throws it open in what she

hopes will be seen as a routine bit of rebellion before her servitude begins. They are immediately closed in by a blanket of air conditioning and sound proofing. No one is about as she enters the only elevator. The machine closes the door the moment she enters and Jesse just barely avoids tripping the doors back open. There are no floor buttons to push. The machine just knows where this employee is supposed to go. It takes only a few seconds to reach her floor. Jesse is now presented with a space nearly the size of a high school gymnasium. The ceiling is high, but the feeling is still low clearance as trace way after trace way of fiber optic cable trays and piping hang down like a miniature suspended freeway system. Something only the place called California could have produced according to Jesse's memories. Across the large floor area are refrigerator sized black oblongs that produce a hum just slightly above the low point of human hearing. There are enough of them that the total effect is the malfunctioning neon light from hell. Two desks are the only indication of a human presence. Each is at opposing ends of the room, middle distant from the side walls. Amanda heads for the nearest and sits down. The moment she does a holographic display leaps up in front of her. Perfectly rendered miniature representations of documents, folders, filing cabinets, and icons for remote locations are presented. Each item has its own color coded text and source or route arrows to accompany it. He watches her sigh as she begins the day's process of tapping, pulling, pushing, and examining the material presented to her. She doesn't bother to hide her voice now. “OK. You can do what ever it is you think won't set off any alarms. Just remember what I told you. Anything you do to those boxes will set off an alarm.” “I have both of our butts in my hands. I intend on using only the most intense form of caution. You can count on it. My first course of action is going to see if I can figure out a way to consult with a colleague. Rest assured that if I do it will be undetectable. It will undoubtedly be quite a while before I can converse again. Don't let it spook you.” “Too late Casper. I'm talking to the invisible man. I will keep the lid on though. Just remember the shift change is only 10 hours away. It's not going to do my disposition any good if you miss that boat.” “Right. Should be way more than enough time. Till then.” He stepped away. Jesse sits at the far desk. Nothing happened of course. It will take another persuasion to get things moving here, but for that he's going to need more magic. His little improvisation to get in has depleted his reserves. Because it had taken him over six hours earlier to collect his first batch, there is no doubt about who he should turn to for further assistance. And though this is a friend of the former Jesse and he is no longer that person in the strictest sense, that memory brings a real smile of joy to his face. And thinking about him now he realizes that Jacob has somehow managed to ring a very tiny figurative bell. But to what end? There is no hope of any direct communication. Not with magic so scarce here. And then another memory surfaces. Jacob had insisted on Jesse's taking a picture. He had that picture with him in his back pack. Could that really work? It would have to be a partial entry and those were not very dynamic for any other picture. Things could be taken

from them, but they were not much for any real interaction. In looking at the alternative, though, it was easy to allow for a try. It certainly couldn't hurt anything. Jesse retrieved one of the shots they had taken and quickly pulls it down over his head. The administration floor is immediately replaced by the familiar surroundings of the stone house. Jesse is surprised at how much this place resonates in him still. The point of view is exactly where Jesse stood when the picture was shot. Jesse now is facing the journals that line the West wall. The dark wood table around which so much occurred is to Jesse's left. The back door to his right. Everything is as the Jesse then had left it. The extra furniture, oil lamps, and dishes by the sink that were never returned. There is a pang then from wishing he could return to that Jesse, but it is only momentary. The way was forward and always would be. Jesse then considers the front window, expecting to see a bit of frozen grass out front, but to his shock this is not the case. The wild bits of tufted green out front is clearly bending before a stiff wind. And he can see rain pouring down in wonderful detail. He reaches out to the connection and is doubly gratified to feel the rich depth of a connection as it should be. The magic is about to be sucked hungrily when a very welcome voice sounds from his right. “I would advise great caution on how you draw from it my friend.” Jesse turns and is warmed more than he would have thought possible by the shimmering form of his former mentor. “Jacob. I cannot tell you how pleasing it is to Jesse's memory to see you now.” Jacob's initial joy is tempered a bit but he continues his own smiling continence. “Is it truly you Jesse? You look so much different. I can still see hints here and there of the old you, but this new visage. I must say. You have become most impressive.” The tiniest bit of sadness crosses Jesse new face. “I cannot truly say what my identity is now Jacob. I have much of what was Jesse in me. I have relied, in fact, on that familiarity to ground me as I try to figure it all out. But I have all of the Guardians that have ever been inside as well. I can tell you that it is fortunate they remain mostly silent. They seem to know when to speak and limit themselves accordingly. In any case I have kept the name.” Jacob has to remove his glasses to wipe his eyes at this news. There is also a clearing of the throat to give him time to recover. “It pleases me as well Jesse that this is so. More than I can say.” “These links that the Jesse you knew had. There was no way that I could simply set them aside. You and I will be brothers my old friend, just as you and he were. I don't think the Connection would ever forgive me other wise.”

The old man has his hankercheif out now and is blowing his nose. “I hope you can forgive a sentimental old fool.” “Always my friend, though I see little need now.” “I've missed you. And the adventure, the gods forgive me. It's been a full cycle of seasons by local time since you freed her. Gods what a tantrum she went on. The peak her shrine was in is now an active volcano I'll have you know. Fortunately the thing spits violently only once and a while, and that's mostly out to sea. And the regular flow is to each side and seaward as well. The Island will get bigger for the next bunch of cycles and that will be the legacy of her display.” “It is strange. Only a few days have passed for me. I've only just begun to be in full possession of my faculties. Which gets us to the situation at hand. I heard you call Jacob. How did you manage that.” Jacob has recovered and the glasses are once more in place. “I used a persuasion on one of my copies of the pictures you took. Put me out for a week after wards too. I was beginning to think it didn't work. Hard to know just how much out of sync the two realities will be time wise. I'm glad the longer end is on my side though. I can pass time easily enough when I need to.” “Well my friend, it looks like the adventures are afoot once again. I need a magic fill up quite urgently.” Jesse does not have to look very close to see a twinkle return to the old man's eyes. His hands slap together and clasp with relish. “By all that's true and sacred. A team once again. More than worth the wait. And truly.“ Jacob draws closer and becomes the serious ally Jesse's memory recalls only too well. “If its urgent we'll have to save a full recounting of your new situation for another time. The immediate thing you must bear in mind is that any significant disturbance of the connection here will draw a quick reaction from Her. Even with the constant jumping she's been doing from one reality to the next in search of you, she'd be here in only a few beats of a heart. Be certain of it.” “Hmm... That's going to put a damper on getting my batteries recharged then.” Jacob puts a hand to his chin to consider this for a moment. It doesn't take long. “Not necessarily. I think we can work a dodge of sorts.” Jesse can't help but smile in admiration for the old man's pluck and depth of knowledge.

“I'm all ears.” “I've been giving careful thought to this very problem for some time now and I think the answer is obvious. Took me half a season to realize I was trying to make it too complicated. In reality its simplicity itself. You use me as a conduit.” “A conduit. Intriguing. You tap into the connection and I link with your manifestation persuasion. That's really quite brilliant.” “Well, it would have been a great deal smarter if I'd of thought of it right off. In any case. The flow I'm going to be able to manage won't be large I'm afraid.” “Trust me my friend. How ever little it may be it will seem as a river compared to what this reality's boundary allows. Never have any of my fellow Guardians seen the like. Things are so closed off here it tears at your heart.” Jacob shakes his head in disbelief. “With the stretch of millennium represented by the memories in your head. I am truly taken back by such a claim. That such a thing could be... Well...We mustn't delay any further. Ready yourself. I'm going to minimize my manifestation to its barest point. Link as soon as you are ready.” The link is made and despite Jacob's modesty, the flow is quite respectable. It takes only a few minutes for Jesse to be fully charged. “Alright my friend. I must go now. I promise you again though. There will not be so much time between our talks.” “I know it will be so. Just be of your best awareness my friend. I fear you've gone from the frying pan to the fire.” Jesse removes the picture and returns to the administrative floor. Everything is as it was. He gets up and makes sure that Amanda is still hard at it. More importantly, she was keeping up a completely normal demeanor. Back at the desk again Jesse begins the process of clearing his mind. The experience the former Jesse has had in working reverse programming from a persuasion is about to be put to the test. There are also other Guardians who were able to develop similar sets of expertise. The approach to programming, and the underlying hardware are considerably different here of course. Even will all of this help it is going to be tricky. He must interface with a system he has no knowledge of. And he must do so without raising any alarms. A society as paranoid as this probably was would have some very sophisticated monitoring protocols in place. This would be the very kind of thing they would be very fearful of. Nothing for it but to try though. He reaches out then and begins to sense the fundamental fabric of this much advanced AI. Very delicately does he probe. Several hours does it take for him to even start to recognize the patterns; the unbelievably beautiful logic. Thankfully now he can resist it,

though only just, so enticing is this advanced form of reason abstracted. Another two hours go by and he knows he is weakening. The structures of detection for unauthorized bits is layered so deep it is more daunting than he imagined possible. He must withdraw for now. And he does so as carefully as he has entered. He is awake again at the desk. Sweat has soaked his Slap Jacks; a remarkable thing given how they normally breathe. He is drained to the point where he must wait a few minutes before standing. Another check of Amanda, though gives him a reassurance. The readout on her display indicates another six hours to go for her shift. He shakes his head. No wonder she's so weary and beat down. Ten hour shifts six days a week for who knew how many years. She had told him she was only twenty five but she looked well over thirty now. The people who profited from this kind of modern slavery would be given a wake up call. He made solemn, if silent vow to this poor young woman. The disconnect between her pain and their blithe disregard would end. He returned to the desk. He went through a full session of his mental routine to refresh himself. Another call to Jacob got his magic batteries recharged. The five hours here was over a week for Jacob. He then sat and meditated on the patterns he had seen. The reasoning engine thus revealed was starting to make sense now. The vast layering of protection was centered on a kind of quantum entanglement for each bit that moved as a photon across the labyrinth. Only an absolutely specific source could be authentic to an absolutely specific destination. Any interference or attempt to insert false bits would be detected. The trick was to either find a source that could somehow be compromised. Or create a new source whole cloth. One that would receive validation by mere fact of being so intrinsically deep within a processor array. An outside agent might be able to accomplish the first by doing what Jesse had already done. Enter the premises and manipulate an existing user like Amanda. Even then the chances of getting caught were still high as certain sources were only expected to produce certain kinds, and arrangements of bits. Who had done it would be known after the fact in any case, and their lives would be over, manipulated or not. That left Jesse with only the last option. An entirely new processing layer would have to be added within a given array stack, and it would have to be done within the time of one basic processing cycle. That this was a fractional part of a second whose number of zeros to the right of the decimal point would rival the number of stars in any galaxy in this reality was a fact to give pause to every Guardian in Jesse's head. The consensus seemed to be that it couldn't be done. Not doing it, however, was unacceptable to Jesse. As daunting as that was, it was not the entire problem. Not only did this have to occur within an unimaginable fragment of time, the processing layer itself would have to be a completely identical copy, save for one small detail; Jesse's ability to link to and control the command protocols. The fundamental pattern of that reasoning logic was intricacy taken to a nearly infinite power. What Jesse faced then were two monumental persuasions. If he did them wrong Amanda would undoubtedly be killed unless he spirited her off to another reality then and

there. And that would mean having to give up on this one. It was truly a rock and a hard place worthy of such monumental persuasions. To keep working here he would have to be willing to sacrifice the life of an innocent girl. Preserving that life meant condemning this reality to its current fate as he would be very unlikely to find it again. He reaches for his backpack to secure himself a very strong cup of espresso. He has to sit there for the time it takes to sip it very slowly and ponder this set of choices. For reasons he can't begin to fathom he wonders what the woman the former Jesse knew would advise. Their bond was still alive in him now. He thinks about this for a while. It then becomes quite clear. The wonder this fills him with is confusing. Did he get this insight from the link that their love kept strong? Or is the wonder from the fact that he will take this advice without any question. Her advice was very simple. Don't do this unless you know in your heart you can achieve it. If you do know this then you have no choice but to succeed. Even as the decision is made he still does not know whether he will save the girl or save the reality. The real nut he faces here is time itself. The elemental embrace and the objectification therein relied on the vector that was fundamental to the reality they occurred in. How could he slow the mediation that was association along that vector. His very link was part and parcel to that. Going deep into the connection bought you a great deal of quickness simply by the phenomenal change in scale. But that wasn't going to be enough here. How could he keep a connection in one sense, and have it slowed in another. And then it hit him. Jacob's reality was on a vector that put it significantly slower than this one. Five hours had been several weeks for him. The interesting thing about this was that Jesse had been suspended between the two with no apparent ill affects. That meant he had to have been coexistent across two different vectors of time. This was, in and of itself, something of a miracle. The real question was could this immunity be extended a bit. Could he make a deep connection here and then still have a part of himself functional there? Would Jacob's delay be enough, even if the cross link didn't tear him up? All he had was the feeling that it would work. No specifics and no certainty. One thing was certain in all of this. Jacob was going to have kittens when he discovered what Jesse was about to do. There is also the minor point of having the right kind of mass to make an array layer copy from. If it had been a case of simply copying processors from his time he could start with a pile of sand, and doping elements, but that wouldn't cut it here. These array layers were far more complex combinations of silicon and fullerenes. To copy these he would need an exact slab of source material. The only way to do that would be to take a picture of an entire array machine and pull it out temporally. He could then alter a layer in the copy and then move the atoms over into the destination. This would also make copying the interface layer much simpler. Fortunately, the insides of what is essentially a large cryogenic tank was designed with a great deal of extra space to allow for a large safety margin of coolant. A new layer wasn't going to cause any space problems. After he gets a picture made, and a copy pulled out, Jesse decides that the best thing to do is to start by preparing a simple persuasion to work on the picture of the stone house. This

persuasion will hold the picture suspended by the left side of his head. When he is ready within the deep connection to come, he will cause the picture to move over and cover the left half of his brain. It will also have to send a mental image to Jacob that will hopefully convey something of what is going on. Jesse is fairly certain that he won't be able to do much in the way of conversation. With the first persuasion set, Jesse takes a deep breath, whispers a “Thank you Carmen for your faith,” and then begins clearing his mind. Entering into the copy does not take long. The process to create the copy, though, takes an hour. The very careful entry into a deep connection with the nearest real array takes nearly an hour as well. The persuasion to move the copy takes another hour, even though it hasn't actually been triggered yet. It weakens him to the point where the connection to Jacob's reality is a must if he is to survive this at all. Without an infusion of magic he won't even be able to extricate himself. He triggers the final piece of the first spell and the picture moves over. There is an immediate dissidence in every particle of his being. His mind is split in two. The right part has the frozen impression of the target array, and copy transfer persuasion, while his right eye seems to be seeing Jacob's Journals. It is pure schizophrenic madness. The working half of his mind clings desperately to itself. It is all he can do to keep from giving in to the shrieking howl of identify explosion. There are then singular quite voices of past Guardians. They speak simple statements of assurance. “You are not mad.” “You are real brother.” “Hold on Jesse.” Over and over. And because they are directed to something it makes more definite the self to rally around. Something stronger to which to cling. And then Jacob's shimmering form can be seen. His expression mirrors the terror Jesse feels. The scholar's lips are moving but Jesse cannot sort out the sound waves from the rest of his sensory confusion. The lack of response has his friend on to another tact in quick order. Jacob's form begins to minimize just as he starts gesturing to himself. Jesse has just enough presence to understand. He reaches out with that part of him functioning there. Jacobs essence is then instantly about him. Holding him and adding to the reaffirmation of self. The warm flow of magic pours in then too. Giving new strength. The scholar's voice is then crystal clear in his left brain. “By the Gods Jesse. You must focus on my voice. Try and think my name.” Every thought. Every mental action is now a Herculean effort of will. It takes what seems like a life time.” “Jacob.” 'Yes. That's it. Again.” A little easier this time.

“Jacob.” “Much better. Now think your name.” “Jesse.” “That is much better my friend. The magic your getting now will help as well. Have you done what I've got pictured in my mind?” “Yes.... I am... Suspended... Two time vectors...” “By the gods indeed. Well... The lecture will have to wait for now. I have to assume this is for a spell.” “Yes... Computation engine... Have complex.... Copy... Timing... Smallest part... Of a second... To cast...” It is a credit to Jacob's depth as a scholar that has him at the ready with an answer. “By all that's true and sacred Jesse. It's never the easy path is it. Well... Your only hope is to move as deep into the connection here as you can. We'll have to risk alerting her in the bargain I'm afraid. Nothing else for it. I'll try to set up as many diversions as I can. The change in scale here will lessen the time differential. More importantly though is the link itself. Somehow you've got to get the two connections to help you bridge the remaining difference. It's only a hunch Jesse, but if anybody can do it you can. Just try and ease in as carefully as you can. She's going to know sooner or later but this might buy you enough time.” Even with all of the magic Jesse has received from Jacob he is on a ragged edge of a full sense of himself. The renewed strength is a big plus though. He eases out of the connection with Jacob and begins to slowly let the little bit of him that's left merge with the connection there. It is all he can do to keep from letting the joy of it ring out. He lets himself go thinner and thinner as he goes ever deeper into the lowest scales of embrace. It is both a limit of his self now, as well as the limit of what one reality can disassemble of objectification that stops him. But he is nearly as deep now as he has ever been. The dissonance and schizophrenia lessen dramatically. Both halves of his mind are present with a minimal amount of pain. And the frozen part is now more a kind of molasses. It is moving but very very slowly. And communication between his two halves is garbled pain. There needs to be one more piece. He lets his free half float then. Just lets go and feels. The connection seems to resonate with this; and stirs in a way not encountered before. The connection itself seems to be reacting to the still prominent dissonance. As this stir increases Jesse can feel the faintest tremble in the molasses of his other half. The connection there has responded somehow as well. And then a mental impression seeps into here. It isn't words, but it is a statement. A statement of readiness. That was it. The Connection could not tolerate the dissonance between two connections of the same sentience. It forged a link on it's own between them. And now it was acting as a buffer for communication. It was a crude link, but given the circumstances, it would have to

do. Jesse let an impression of his own flow out from this half of himself; a simple declarative: “Do it”. He knows now what to do. He has to assume his other half will come to the same conclusion. The second persuasion has to be triggered here and pushed into the buffer. It has to coax the connection itself into allowing for it's own time conversion to judge how the flow of the persuasion will progress. It would have to use that judgment to time it's convergence with the first spell, bypassing Jesse's other half completely. The buffer in essence would be a translation of the transfer timing so it could sync with the clock function of the processor array, but also help in absorbing the spacial displacement in precisely the right sequence. He set to it. How much time this one took would be pointless conjecture, given the now unbelievably relative nature of it all. Even relative to Jacob's reality it was of little value at the scale of embrace Jesse was at. You could only judge by the amount of magic expended. And that was an immense tidal flow on the scale of a continent. Once this tremendous flow has moved, however, he knows for certain that She can feel it. He lets the Jacob reality go and scrambles mentally to make his escape. He is out of the link here in an instant. The spell on the picture is reversed even as his right eye sees Her materialize. A blast of magic meant to hold him is slowed just enough to allow his escape. Jacob's diversions have been quite effective, but there is little doubt that he will be out of touch for quite a while in payment for them. It takes another agonizing stretch of time to slowly extricate himself from the deep link with the target array. It is a fight like holding your breath while coming up from a great depth of water. It is all he can do to avoid the panic that would end everything. He cannot remain within this penetration and recover himself. And yet he must still withdraw with utmost care. The effort nearly has his head explode with strain of it all. He is suddenly whole again in the administrative floor. The combination of snapping back and extrication makes his head swim horribly. Great waves a nausea overcome him. He will have to wretch. There is, oddly enough, a waste basket by the desk. He covers the bottom with mostly bile. The noise me makes, however, is a great deal more noticeable. She walks over the desk opposite to where Jesse still sits. The look on her face is now a mix of worry and fear. “Are you alright?” “I've been better.” He has to pause for a minute before he can continue. “The effort this took was especially taxing.” Another pause. “I think it would be better if I spared you the details.” He rubs his forehead and then manages a weak wave of a hand. “Don't dally here. I'll be fine in a few minutes.” He looks to her like he has just been through a very bad interrogation session. The only thing missing were the bruises and open wounds. “Are you sure man? If you weren't talking I would be in a panic right now” “I'm sure it looks bad, but I am functional. I have the ability to recover quickly. You need to be more concerned with your absence from your terminal. An alarm going off now would

not help my recovery at all.” “OK. I'm going back. I just hope you don't make this sort of punishment a habit. We're going to have a real short partnership otherwise I think.” It takes Jesse at least twenty minutes to fully recover, alternating the nausea with sudden fits of shaking. Her advice has hit home more than he would ever want to admit to her. “Think long and hard before you try that again,” he tells himself. “There are fundamental limits and they are there for a reason.” He also wanted to tell himself that he should perhaps use a bit more sober reflection before taking such leaps, but he knows this would be pointless. There is some consolation in the fact that there aren't any alarms ringing though. At least if it didn't work, the attempt wasn't detected.” Once Jesse's stomach has settled down he makes another check on Amanda's desk. Her shift has a little more than a half hour to go. For what remained to be done, that would be enough. Back at the empty desk he reaches out in a very focused manner. It is careful as well. If the new array layer wasn't there he'd want to be sure not to trip up at the last minute. He extends himself into the processor stack where the new layer should be. To his great relief the command protocols respond with ease. His link to the system is complete. All that is required now is a relatively simple persuasion to be a relay. After this his close proximity would no longer be required. The spell is cast and Jesse eases out. When he came out Amanda was just getting up and stretching at the conclusion of her shift. It was wonderful timing. Even more encouraging is the discovery that the exit gate is separate from the entry. Turnstiles are no longer in evidence as well. Evidently a group scan as they leave is all the security required when finishing a shift. The prospect of having to disable another wall bot was not a very pleasing one. And after what he had already been through, it was a blessing he deeply appreciated. As he shadows Amanda back home through the darkened streets he begins to plan his strategy for snooping about an information infrastructure that will still not be easy.