2 Sunny Vista LaneNew Spring Heights

Complex 53BDecember 9, 2062 Roman Standard

The wrinkles pedaling the rickshaw had to be the oldest man Lt. Dunmar had ever seen. Yet he flit over the rolling hills gracefully without a belabored puff of his lungs.

"98 if I am a day. Time does seem to wander about more lazily here on 53. Though I don't feel a day over 80. A very long life I hear…for a normal citizen these days, a classification D citizen anyhow." his legs pumped at the pedals but left no rhythmic artifact when he spoke.

"So you are the help then?.." questioned the Lt. unintentionally condescending,"… What I mean is…well I'm a classification D, "he was trying to recover apologetically, " I just never thought… Are there any other jobs like yours? Why a Rickshaw?"

Somehow the wrinkles scruntched and multiplied and the impossibly wide grin grew even wider, "No offense taken, I have been very lucky. I was 60 when my Sultan moved first to the lower complex then here to 53. I was Purchased as a token of War after the Collapse of the Megiddo Front April 5, 2022 , essentially a slave. Under the New World Compact that made me a classification D citizen under bond to The Corporation of the Dawud Sultanate, an institution made wealthy by the Great War. I am a Trophy of sorts. As Such, I have been well taken care of by my Sultans and I am the oldest living survivor of the Collapse at Megiddo…Quite a trophy you understand! I have seen 2 Sultans pass and the third has just wed a daughter of The Caliphate of Constantinople. Sultan number 4 is in the bread basket, thought it might cost me a head to spread the news…hah, I am doubtful the boy I practically raised would forcibly remove a single hair from the head of his dearest friend and most prized heirloom. There is a reason I have lived to see the ends of 2 sultan masters. Indeed they prize my health above their own…"

"Why the rickshaw?" the Lt. chirped again. "What is the connection with the Sultan and Don Herald Scott?"

"I quite enjoy my rickshaw rides. It is beautiful here. These hills wander and roam all the way up to the terraces of 70. But that jaunt takes the better part of our long day," the Ancient Veteran continued more to the point of the interrogation"… to the question of 'why not a filthy gas combustion engine or noisy Pinger?' There is your answer or enough of it. Look about you… this place is an Eden of sorts."

There were birds singing and insects humming, sounds of water splashing and children laughing all tumbling about on a florid breeze, palitably sweet. Willows swayed dolefully and perpetual blossoms snowed summer pollen in late fall. Bees hummed, fat and docile, hives dripping honey, fruit stooping the bows of their paternal trees. There were about on the smoothed stone cobbled roadways occasional horses and drawn carriages, children on bicycles and various pedaled contraptions even scooters and skateboards. All the noises pulsed with subtle natural rhythms. The rickshaw gently creaked and the pneumatic tires made a punctuated white noise over the gentle seems in the smoothed stone beneath.

Lt. Dunmar thought of his mother reading him bedtime poetry. She said the faeries taught it to her. He always slept so well those nights his mother put him to bed. Time began to slow to a crawl and emotions swept over the grizzled cop in waves that, for a glimpse, swept away all his ego and identity. The whisper of a single errant tear tumbled back cooled by the sweet breeze sweeping his cheeks. Something of the shame in it, the indiscretion of a single tear, jerked the man in the ill fitted hat back into the tortures of being, quite unsure how long he had been 'absent'.

"Alli, my Sultan, is lifelong friends with the man D. Herald Scott - Donnie they called him as a lad. They played soccer together as children. Champions! City Champions 46-53, 7 City Champions 47-49, 51, 52 and All-States Champs in 48 and 51. He is still in tip top shape. Would still be in the professional circuit were it not for the new rules about Tru-Growth reconstructions. He was forced to retire by statute… It was odd to hear he was in the med house. Especially odd that it was in Old Hollywood. I only saw him last night…Well here we are. I hope he is much better. I am not entirely sure why a man should need to be questioned so soon after a visit to such an unpleasant place as a med house in Old Hollywood."

Another archway of ornate brickwork covered in vine was crested with marble inlaid..

IISunny Vista

Beyond a cast iron gate there trailed a stone staircase that terminated at some unseen point bounded by iridescent plant life and a canopy of up-lit trees. The gates rolled back as if of their own accord.

The Lt. and the pale agent moved to climb the endless stairway but the Lt. paused to reflect a moment and turned to the warm wrinkling grin, teeth sparkling with late afternoon sun, and questioned, "You were at the Megiddo Front?" to which the wrinkles nodded, "What did they call you back then? Before you were a token of war…What makes you such a prize?"

"You might have heard of me… they called me Colonel Wingright…"

"Wingright commander of the Subterranean Assault? I was taught that you died, you and all 3 units under your command 10000 meters underground. History says your tactical failures and poor interpretations of your seismological data lead to the death of thousands and ultimately lost the war."

The grin never left the face, but something changed ever so slightly around the eyes, "History tells you what is convenient for you to know. History is created for the governed. All my forward units died or were sealed in and never recovered. We were sacrificed down there. Sacrificed for some ancient ritual. Wars are never what they seem on the surface. I was betrayed…sacrificed!" the smile never left his face but the urgent whisper did more than hint of some deeper kafkaesque reality…The smile again returned to the old man's eyes, "You see I am a very valuable prize indeed. I am a token of great leverage as History hangs in the balance…how long does History teach you the war lasted?"

"The tensions began in 2018 with increasing hostilities until 2020 when outright war commenced the Cease Fire was officially declared October 12 2024 but the British Corporate Union had tactically lost the war at the Collapse of the Megiddo Front." Lt. Dunmar was proud to be able to regurgitate the propagated versions of history he had never really accepted anyway. Still the gem he was about to receive was more than his speculating mind had prepared itself to accept.

"When the front collapsed I hadn't seen the surface in 15 years. The war had been in various conditions of engagement for more than a decade before I went under for the last time…" the old man paused but held the Lt.'s gaze affixed by some intriguing spell, " My war started in 2025!.. The Mothership at full capacity could only bore and mole 80 meters a day. Energy efficiencies demanded less than 50 at no greater grade than 60 degrees. But it generated all the food and life support, and supplied energy for up to 1/3rd of the fleet. It was the hospital and the biggest of 3 surviving transports. 15 recon units, 30 Miners, 12 chariots and 27 Search and Rescue Pods responded to every signal they could until no more came. That signal gets its energy from the same electricity that feeds the soldier's living heart. It is the live feed of all the soldiers vital data. We recovered over 3000 living soldiers of our own and the enemies from a most terrible death. But many many more we watched slowly sputter out as we bored to save them. Even a Chariot can only bore 200 meters a day and must return for charging every 36-48 hrs. Mothership surfaced 427 days after the Collapse with 4500 survivors. 427 Days without surface contact or response. We weren't even sure the surface was safe to return to… we were hit with an EMP and some new technology… I awoke at an auction. I was the chattel. It was December 9, 2024…Where did all that History go? And how does something like time just disappear?..."

And with a nod and a jangle of the bell the smiling wrinkles left the man in the ill fitted hat and a pale faced IBI agent at the footsteps of a long climb.

The Debriefingyr59 Survival Era

Crystal blue eyes shining down on him, ruddy freckles and desperate love- Xor was thinking of his mother. He didn't have many memories of her. There were not many to be had. But the human warmth was still palpable, not just the infra red 'heat' but that ultra violet emotional warmth that lingers far longer.

" I love you too Mother." he spoke to her ghost. For a moment a spark of irrepressible beauty flit across his mind, it was more wonderful than his mortal frame could endure. He wanted to shed his coil of mortal skin and follow the sprite back to the wonderful vision, back to its place of origin, back to the Adumi and his mother waiting in Eden.

Peering again outward with his eyes into the confines of his quarters, the interlocking hexagrams beneath him, the walls of leaded concrete sheathed in the matte glaze of Cruciform Shielding that covered every surface. It didn't matter what picturesque scene or holographic environment was artificially projected into the room it seemed he could only see the dull grey wall. Looking outward with his eyes all he saw was a matte grey world.

He peered at the odd squiggle on his arm. It felt like a red hot blade. The beast had found a chink in the hyper dimensional shielding and Xor had been stung. He found himself confronting the memories of his jump 48 hrs prior. Terrible heat, the insipid black-red tar, the emotional spectrum of flies in sap, the strange demonic hyper dimensional beast that his Euclidian mind wanted to describe as a great throbbing brain with infinite undulating tentacles swimming in languid sepsis. He cringed with the terrible visions and gargling sea of infinite tongues that orated. Xor began to shiver, when his core temperature plummeted the Nurse Bees responded in droves. Alarms wailed an All Staff Alert.

When Xor vacated the phantasmagoric for the mundane he found himself looking up at Omen, shivering, and throbbing like he had just returned from the jump. Omen's face was aggrievedly sullen. Omen's beard was hung with frost from his breath.

"If the I weren't right here freezing with you in my arms I would swear you just returned from a jump." Omen tried to downplay but his voice trembled more from consternation than the hypothermic temperatures in the space around Xor.

There was an awkward period of silence as the nurse Bees bobbled about their duties then Omen continued, " We were going to let you rest for another day or two and analyze all the data before we brought you in for debriefing. But perhaps, if you feel up to it… we can handle that nasty business today?" Omen knew that his boy would agree. And though it might seem that more rest was in order given the events of the morning, given the events of the morning there would be a lot of concerned people hoping that the debriefing would yield a clue as to what lead to the All Staff Alarm.

"I suppose I could do that for everybody…" the wry grin slowly pulled back his right cheek, " … or maybe this time, instead of debriefing, we could just plug everyone in for a neural regression of my last jump. That might save me some grief. I could sure use the rest!" Xor's smile spread wide and the wrinkles in his eyes hinted at his irony.

"Ha!" Omen chortled heartily. But as his boy stood up from the place on the floor where Xor had collapsed and turned towards the debriefing area Omen broke down and wept. Forgetting himself the Nurse Bees and the live feed Omen looked shamefully at the hexagrams beneath his feet and whispered…" Oh my sweet boy, that which we ask of you, no other could endure!

...Not even a partial neural regression!"

Omen thought of 226.

The Interminable StairwayDecember 9, 2062 Roman Standard

"How convenient for you that you should make such an odd acquaintance on the most slack jawed day of your life," the 2 meter newt in a black suit chose to address the man in the ill fit hat audibly, "Buck up Lt. There are more oddities to come..."

"You Salamanders are creepy. It's like you are skulking in the shadows while standing in plain sight. If you aren't putting me in my place, like you are in on some big secret gag and I'm the vic..or..or bombarding my brain with your psychic powers… Its like you ain't even there at all." The flustered Lieutenant tugged his brim, he was no fool and the continuance of his most slack jawed day found him putting bigger pictures together verses reassembling his blown mind, No, Lt Dunmar was no fool, and there was something invigorating in the air here on 53.

Lt Dunmar looked the newt in shades confidently and continued, "I know you can't read everything on my mind, only the dialogue and some of the more vivid imagery. When you inject information…" the Lieutenant paused and shifted," much of the information I saw you didn't inject. It was already mine. The vivid, hallucinatory state, you induced with your injected information was predicated on the substance that proceeded it. If you do not have information with mind blowing connectivity it would only be injected… you couldn't use the intense vision to extract information from me. Hence if I can stay calm when you inject me with psychic information you won't be able to use me to fill in your blanks…"

The Lt. took a moment to twist at his hat and adjust his tone. He was getting hot headed until it had clicked,"…You need me. You need me like my ex needs to put down the spike. I have something you don't…Something up here, " he tapped at his brim, " Something in here, " his two forward fingers rattled the change and hard candies in his breast pocket, " The Dunmar Family History doesn't exist before 1917 and I still remember the songs my mother would sing to me. She said the faeiries taught them to her. I always knew I had strange gifts. They always accused me of cheating. It didn't matter what it was I was cheating. Tests, sports, that desperate poem in Grade 5…Plagiarism!! I just wanted to be acknowledged and understood!" his verbalized thoughts seemed to ramble but his points were being understood. The Pale faced IBI agent said nothing nor made any effort to 'inject' in interjection.

"Can I trust you? I will figure it out eventually…Can I trust you? the Lt. tone was climbing frequencies, exuding hope, fear, desperation, even a willingness to give a temporary window of fool's trust, and hinting at mania.

When the Salamander spoke things suddenly steadied, " Calm yourself and trust that I want your friendship and your intuitions serve you right on all accounts. We have pressing matters, and another wonderful oddity to cap off a slack jawed afternoon."

" A Time Frag Doppelganger !" the man in the ill fitted hat was smiling, broad and warm, pearls shining out between their gaps as the new allies climbed the interminable stairway enclosed in exotic xenoform trees.

" Why, Lt. Dunmar I Believe you have cheated!" and the 2 meter newt laughed with the most unexpected snort and twitter that the grizzled beat cop couldn't help himself and broke into a spastic bellowing guffaw and the cyclic reaction continued until both of them found themselves leaning on the other from exhaustion.

As the new allies approached the crest of the interminable stairway the skyline beyond was the starlight deep blues and milky purples of the desert night. The Lt. looked back at the expanse of steep steps surmounted, " How long have we been climbing these stairs, It was like mid afternoon when we went under the arches and started on this hike…"

"…and it was dusk when we left the parking terrace" the pale IBI agent returned.

"…so I guess the elite play with time of day the way the rest of us adjust our blinds?"

The Lt might get to like his new permanent assignment.

Time Frag Doppelganger

It was a balmy star studded nightscape overhead when the new friends emerged from the arboreal cover. A deep purple hue radiated from the south west, latent ambience where the red sun had settled into the blue expanse of the Pacific Ocean.

"I like long evenings, but I don’t monkey with the weather. Typically I keep the oxygen at a half atmosphere. less if I'm in hard training. I guess that is monkeying with the weather.." a cordial almost playful man in a blue jogging suit had clearly been awaiting them at the top of the interminable stairway. He stuck his hand out in the direction of the Special Unit but waited to see who responded before choosing the Lt's vector particularly, " Well, the weather aside, " he spoke in quick chirps broken up with hasty little pauses ,"…generally it's at about a half but its at at least 3/4s now. You look to be fit fellows. Don't get many beat cops up here in 53…Wasn't sure what to expect. Most people get quite winded even all the way up at 3/4. But, you look to be fit fellows… I do like the long evenings. "

This sequence was lathered out in less than 10 seconds all the while the man in the Smart Sheild Jogging Suit was wrangling the arm of Lt Dunmar with the anticipation and exuberance of a child waiting, gift in hand, to tear off the ribbons and rip out the prize…" So Sorry… First things first. D. Herald Scott. That's me and you must be the beat cop!...Crazy! Yeah, Crazy!..a Beat Cop!..Wow!" It was at this point that the man in the jogging suit realized his awkward fervor and released his protracted handshake.

" I see someone was tipped we were on our way…Good to meet you Mr. Scott. So why don't you let us know what you already know. Save us a couple steps here!" The Lt twisted and resituated his hat that had been jangled so severely it had crept all the way up his brow and revealed enough of his predominant cranium that the Lt. was feeling quite exposed.

"Ok. Let's see…" The man in the hi tech jogging suit jumped right in without any acknowledgment, either verbal or in affect, of the beat cops enormous cranium, "Uh…this is some high level $#!*. Crazy stuff. There's a guy… maybe a Xeno, database says he is me. All kinds of weird stuff happening out in Old Hollywood. This guy… maybe he's a xeno. Yeah…Ok…Maybe he is some weird crazed fan having a freak reaction to some new experimental Tru-Growth $#!*… I used to Com for them - Tru-Growth. Not on Classification D Holi, mind you, but Cities' Circuit…"

"Snot -Vision…" the Lt snorted interjectionally, " no Classification D citizen can afford that Tru-Growth anyway… and we like to call it Standard Optic Holi," The Lt. wasn't sure why he was acting so offended, was it a sense of duty to defend his people's oppressing classification and

demeaning social position? Was it just him playing Bad Cop out of habit? "I can tell by the particulars of your accent that you are second a generation Citizen. Probably War Money. Maybe first generation…Olympian Adoption. Still you have to be close to a Citizen… Who you know…politics…whatnot. Or you would have been lucky to play 2 years for the Old Hollywood Walkers… I remember the year International Conscripted Footballers Champs beat the All States. I watched on the Mega Holi at Vin's Pub - Standard Optic. It was beautiful. Olympian Adoption… the entire '50 London Ruckers Squad … even the reserves. Herber, Roger Rogers, Little Bobby Windmill, the Dolpher, Shanks in the Box, these were Working Man's Heros. Even if we hated them we loved them. After they were adopted, they disappeared. They started playing for All States Teams on Cities Circuit Holi and we never saw them again. The Ruckers haven't had a 500 season since." The Lt. felt his rant had had some objective, and that the proper impression had been made.

"Hmmm… a beat cop…Hmmm?" something in the Lt.'s interjection had sobered the soccer player and now he was asking a question to himself aloud, a rhetorical question. Then he responded, "Adopted…but not for football, that came later… for friendship. I was a classification D citizen just like you. I didn't know who Alli was when I befriended him. My parents did not know who his father was when they came for dinner. The Sultan is wise. He brought us here gave us an inheritance of his surplus and a Classification C Citizen Status so his son would never feel sovereign over us, nor take my friendship for granted. To this day Alli is closer than a brother and my family worshiped the Sultan in loyalty and gratitude all his days… I am sorry. I often forget the plight just beyond the heights of this great city. I rarely leave…"

The man in the jogging suit paused his eyes glittered and blinked, "You know where I was when I met Alli?..The Med House… I was dieing… asthma, D classification coverage no additional benefit, in Old Hollywood. Alli was there. I thought he was another sick child. It was a ruse. Lung Cancer, an awful lie- but when I found out that he had pharma-benefits if only he had a lung donor, I said I would give him mine…when I died, sooner if he needed it. His father wept when he told me- and my parents beside me- I would not be giving my lungs away but having them returned to me. He moved us here… to a cottage on Summer Lane. The clean air, it was only asthma…I wasn't a dying child anymore.. I have had a very lucky and grateful life. I am sorry. I forget how difficult it is out there in the air you cannot breath."

"You get used to it." the grizzled beat cop returned though with an apologetic tone. "Can you think of any other reasons there might be somebody out there with enough of your genetic signature to fool database?"

"'No twins or clones that I know of..I'm not sure…uh…Am I being interrogated?" the footballers inflection was beginning to hint of paranoid sincerity, incredulity." Have I been involved in some crime or criminal act…even indirectly because I swear my innocence."

"Stop, Listen…" the Lt. changed his tone, softened, 'Good Cop, Good Cop' he reminded himself then questioned again, "Can you think of any other reasons there might be somebody out there with enough of your genetic signature to fool database? I can see that you want to say more but feel I might… maybe think you're losing your marbles "

The footballer slowly pealed back into a beaming mischievous grin, like a child in collusion with an older sibling in parent's absence to raid the cookie jar,"An old friend of mine used to tell me stories about strange things that happened during the war. They were playing with crazy experimental technology, Silent Gravity Bores to move through stone like a fish through water, Time Bombs-which were often implosive and other 'Hyper Dimensional Weaponry'. It was like they were trying to fight an enemy that didn't quite occupy our rather simple perception of space and time… These technologies most often didn't work at all, but sometimes they created something the Sub Ts called Time Frag. This could create all kinds of crazy $#!*," for no discernible cause his volume dropped to little more than a whisper, " The craziest thing that would sometimes happen the Sub T's called a Time Frag Doppelganger! It was a slight twist on your mirror image suddenly popping into time space, claiming to be someone quite exactly like you coming from some fractured reality. Quite terrible really. It was made policy to kill them on the spot. If the Original copy couldn't be discerned both were summarily destroyed. If I have a Doppelganger roamin' about I hope, for my sake, there has been a change of policy." the soccer player twittered a nervous chirp at the last thought.

The Lt turned to his friend skulking in the shadows in plain sight, "Did you hear that Pale Face? A Time Frag Doppelganger…"

" Why, Lt. Dunmar I Believe you have cheated!" and the 2 meter newt snickered a snort and the man in the ill fitted hat returned a guffaw.

Rianne Scotia PFCShortly before the Collapse at Megiddo Front

Database Identification had her hair 'BLACK' but it was red, a deep surreal ebony red. No dye had ever touched it, nor blade. In the summer sun light its gently rolling waves resembled rivulets of blood tumbling past her shoulders and over her lithe hips terminating just below her knees- hair that had not been kissed by the sunshine for more than a year.

Database Identification had her eyes 'HAZEL' but they were green. Not any particular green but a rich forest of greens - a dark mystical woodland of ancient growth. Through the enclave of rustic greens emeralds sparkled, dashing about with every flicker and glance. Large as walnuts with the outer corners turned down giving them an eternal look of hidden mourning, Rianne's eyes were otherworldly, not quite human.

They were eyes to get lost in. Not lost as one drifts off placidly into the blue heaven of a gentle lovers gaze but lost within her ancient grove, lost in a mystical forest, consumed by a quest to capture the gemstones dashing about like sprites through the thicket and lost in the pursuit, lost in the ominous awareness of the smallness of the man in the boundless expanse of towering wisdom whose boughs blot out the sun and stars above while roots entangle and ensnare the feet beneath, hampering every fleeing footstep.

Database Identification had her age '17' but those eyes had seen millennia.

She was diminutive - HEIGHT: 152 cm, WEIGHT:39 kilos. Her curves were lithe not juvenile, lean not knobby. She was a woman of 17… a very otherworldly woman. Pale strawberry cream skin played behind freckles to match her hair. The bridge of her nose was long and shallow, broader than deep, with a slow curve towards a small squared tip, gently upturned, with defined nostrils. Every forward surface of her face was enumerated with ebony red speckles and spots according to their extrusion. And places on the tip of her nose, brow, upper lip ,chin and cheekbones were far more pepper than cream.

She had been a stunt rider in a traveling circus when she was recruited by a quasi legal PMC attached to the mysterious Colonel Wingright and his Missing Wing. He was like a 21st Century Pied Piper and kids seemed to disappear all the time to join his ranks on some clandestine battlefront. Was he rogue? Was he a hero or a villain? Was he even a real person or just modern myth? Whatever the Colonel was or wasn't, it all was great propaganda for these Private Military Corporations that seemed to be hiding agents discretely in every corner hijacking impressionable youths with tempting offers years before their Corporate governments could legally force them to fight.

Rianne Scotia was a helluva find, and the recruiters offers made seduction sound docile. More than she could make on her bike in a year every month, performance raises, mission bonuses, End Victory Condition Lump Payment!..SINGING BONUS!!! She had scratched her scribble to the line without even removing her helmet.

"Just one condition, " it was all she asked, "NOBODY makes me cut my hair!!"

"The nice thing about Private Military Corporations…We can bend the rules!' and the agent shook her right hand and put the check in her left. "Report here in seven days. Tell no one! You are in Colonel Wingright's Army now!"

"Here?" She was a stone's throw from the carnival grounds. They would pull up stake Monday and 'here' would be nothing but an empty field. "There will be no one about for Kilometers!"

"Then we will be sure it's you…come alone!" The taller recruiter said.

"I'm bringing My Bike along too, its not like other bikes!" Rianne was still making addendums to a signed contract.

"We insist. Along with everything you need to keep it up. Anything else you need, we can find that too. Welcome to the Scottish Liberated Militia!" The recruiters grinned heartily but their eyes said something more mischievous.

She was an impressionable 14 year old child with a check in her hand for €350,000, a motor bike dubbed Dark Rider, and one week to get her affairs in order. She would likely never she her mother alive again.

It was 3 years ago today.

Bio-Symp Auditoriuma face for the populace

Xor's Present

The lights were low. The room was already staffed to capacity but eerily still, a tomb of silence. Xor entered the room on a Levitator up through the floor like the Rock Stars of a bygone era. On his left was Omen, the man he called Father. Xor was draped in a thermal cloak and had a retinue of Nurse Bees in constant attendance.

The dim lights went out and an ocean of monitors burst to life including a great Holi that filled the hollow space between Xor and the people in the auditorium- an auditorium designed to bombard the audience with information.

The Grand Auditorium was finely tuned and resonated the proper frequencies to Bio-Sympathize, coupled with a Nano-Pharma Complex issued in droplets to the eyes this information bombardment could be effectively processed and articulated- though many claimed that the assemblies themselves quickly morphed into an overwhelming, protracted hallucinatory experience in which the concept of time was lost and the information being conveyed with massive influx was a carnival ride of metaphor and surreal correspondences. The information itself would be 'processed and articulated' slowly for weeks afterward like memories being recovered after a severe head injury. Xor playfully called their experience 'Mind Jumping'.

Xor stepped into the Cynosure and its delicate pale blue up lighting. He suspended his Crystals in their nodes and looked out through and past the holi to the people's faces- obscure forms playing in shadows, though lit as noon to Xor's all seeing eyes. Looking back at him the people were confronted by a form both ominous and angelic, a boy of 8 years and 2 days engineered by man and gods to save humanity.

Xor understood the need for showmanship without vanity. He understood that his amicable smirk and playful wit made him tangible to these people born of men. His soul longed to ease their sorrows, their sufferings, their preponderant confusions. Still so many felt discordant Fear in his presence. Xor understood that levity gave his monstrosity humanity. And all humanity was tethered to his soul.

Today's debriefing would be on a secured live feed on the Hyperband for all relevant persons gathered in Bio-Symp Auditoriums dispersed across the globe, 2 Orbiting Stations, 3 lunar and a Martian Colony. Sequences would be clipped for general consumption. The first words out of his mouth would be broadcast, All Patterns Override, to every human soul with access to an HB

connection. Surely this same populous had been exposed in dramatic accompaniment and action clipped sequences to the dire events of the morning, humanities hope and hero in shuddersome helpless seizure surrounded by feverish Nurse Bees and a screaming All Staff Alarm. Surely this same populous hung to their holis and crowded in Public Auditoriums in wetting fear awaiting reprieve, the revival of last hope and the rebirth of their hero.

Xor peered out into the locus of their fears, reached out into their frightened hallows with his empathic tethers. He smiled broadly, exuding confidence. The stones of his crown began to radiate a subtle glow while the hairs of his head began to flow and whip, oscillating fibers terminating in dithered points of vivid resplendence, His eyes were bright beaming Red and Gold, Green and Purple. The attending audience cooed like infants, and awed liked the Children of Christmas Morn, and the uniform body of humankind exhaled in relief.

Xor's grin widened into a smile, in a voice too young to be a man's but too resonant to be a child's he began in jesting spirit , "Well, I've had a hhhhelluva day!" and there was something in the confession, something in the jesting spirit, something in the 'hhhhelluva', something so humanizing, so hopeful, so powerfully tethered to the uniform body of humankind that the entire multitude of humanity burst into coetaneous laughter and tears!

" I have news that will embolden the confidence of humankind in the face of our terrible and elusive enemy!" Xor spoke triumphantly. " I have engaged the enemy… or some great forward detachment thereof…without sword…armed only with intellect and evasion. I have branded a mark above his door where we can always find him… unless and until he vacates his base and so too vacates our space!" It was an accurate way to convey the information to the populous. Though they understood little of the technical truths they understood to cheer, to cry out, and hurrah, they wept and blew kisses into eather and hugged everyone in range.

Xor Turned his arm out and the holi projected sweeping views of Xor's strange wound. "This is my first battle scar!" The Holographic imagery had strange artifacts emanating from sting signature. Blurps of unrecognized symbols, astral bodies- some claimed they saw plume demons bursting out from the wound, even heard their cacophonic screams. Nobody could quite agree on what they had observed while watching the same holi. But something in the collective had become surreptitiously terrified and Xor withdrew the arm with a casual swiftness. With jesting style and comforting chuckle Xor confessed, "Wow, that was truly strange!! As you can see it’s a helluva sting, as it came from an Extra Dimensional Beast it has some…Odd Behaviors?" He phrased the last statement like a question, as though he were asking the people if they could accept 'Odd Behaviors' with a minimum of fear. "All of the action this morning was what might be summed up as an unanticipated allergic reaction… A simple thing really." It seemed a sufficiently accurate description for the populous. An Allergy might

seem quite severe at the moment but can be averted by a solution as simple as an epinephrine injection.

Xor smiled and chuckled again, " How was I supposed to know I was allergic to 7 dimensional Jellyfish?" There was something in his crooked smile, something behind his twinkling eyes, something in his jesting spirit that untangled all the people's fears in an instant and they began to twinkle with chortle, " It seems like the sirens ring an All Staff Alert every time I stub a toe!" and it swelled to snorts and guffaws then to raucous knee-slappery. And even Xor broke character and laughed hysterically till his diamond speckled cheeks ran rivulets. Their laughing bellies left them warm and Xor paused to let them appreciate the moment.

Then Xor returned to a sober but confident disposition and let the emotion ring out along the tethers. When the people were resounding accordantly he began again, "But our War is not over…Only now it can …begin!" and the people erupted again, but Xor tethered them from bloodlust and continued, "Defend yourselves still…against the Demons…push back the terrible eruptions…continue the suppression at the points of conflict. You will be fighting on the frontlines and I will wage the war behind the enemy's lines!"

Then Xor said something that would become the Anthem of the People. For soon the people would again learn to be truly free… but not today.

"All the People

Lift and Pull Together

People Push and Fight as One

Every Man is his Brother

As is the Father to the Son

Every Girl is her Daughter

Every Boy is her Son

Every Mother our One Mother

That we all are Born of One"

And there was something in the profession, something in the whispering spirit, something so sublime in the word 'One', something so unifying, so bright with hope, so powerfully tethered to the uniform body of humankind that the entire multitude of humanity cooed like infants, and awed liked the Children of Christmas Morn. And though they understood little of the infinite

truth they understood to cheer, to cry out, and hurrah, they wept and blew kisses into the eather and shouted praise unto the Adumi.

With a subtle nod and a wry grin Xor bode the People a good night and the APO broadcast terminated.

Bio-Symp Auditoriuma Beast and a Burden

Then Xor began to run his fingers over the suspended stones. They responded with tangles of illumination spiraling into the crystalline structure from the points of contact. The onslaught of information for the relevant personal was about to commence. The monitors, audio feeds and Holi no longer broadcast the stylized, sequenced and simplified imagery intended for the general populace. Before every obscure face dancing in the shadows now emerged a Heads Up Display and Interface. The holi was no longer a single framed shot blocked on the fly by the editors at Central Peoples Censure. Instead it broadcast all manner of shots simultaneously that would be reconstructed for the individual based on the personnel's user interactions and staff function. A Mathematician, therefore, had a different underlying broadcast and interface options than did a Xenologist or Cellular Biologist. The Holi broadcasts everything and the HUD renders it for the individual. All the blocking and movements of the debriefing were controlled and coordinated between Xor, his stones and the Sigmoid Matrix.

There were always more interactions with the interface in the beginning before the N-pharms had taken full hold. Sigmoid handled almost all this influx of preparation and posturing that was mostly just a prelude in anticipation of what was, for most 'relevant staff', a very unsettling experience.

Xor lead verbally. "This is where the information begins to get heavy! Please utilize your Nano-Pharma Complex dose." There was for a short interlude an ambient tinkle of dropper on vile. Cryptic Imagery from the neural regression bubbled from the holi. Xor wondered if they would see the same beast he remembered once the information had been strained through their individuated filters. Some of them surely would. Omen would.

"This Euclidian Space is little more than symbols in time. The shapes and forms we perceive are just the nethermost corners of innumerable fractal interactions of eternally complex spacial and temporal relationships. The lives of men though, are no small things. They are the seeds of great trees, the fruit of endless fields. They are reflections of the gods that proceed them and the gods, by reflection and experience, they are learning to become. This is why The Adumi seek to preserve us. This is why we struggle to preserve ourselves."

Some of the N-pharms effects were instantaneous. None of them were subtle but the initial sensations were generally constructed to be euphoric, sublime with intense clarity. The Nanos were very proficient at their duties. Few personnel ever took a dose and didn't have at least a pleasant sensation in its initial phases. The Nano's were reacting to data constantly and

prioritized to minimize distress above maximizing I-Vectors. Were it not for this tailoring of the Nano Behaviors few would voluntarily take a dose a second time. Nor would anyone that had ever talked to anyone having had a dose volunteer for a single venture. Massive accelerations of brain function, neurogenesis and periods of spontaneously induced fits of extra sensory perception with massive intellectual capacities not previously experienced can be extraordinarily off-putting.

"While you are of a mind to take anything I say pleasantly I will answer some FAQs…

Yes, I made contact with an Enemy Agent holding form in at least 7 dimensions of space…

Humanity is not the focus of the engagement but rather Collateral Damage.

The use of specific technologies gave away our position in a universe more complex than man has even begun to dream. Were it not for our collusion with more advanced species and a race of beings cast here at the dawn of time that have secretly been subjecting mankind to serve their ends, had we come to the development of these technologies as a result of human intellect and evolution without these collusions and tapestries of deceit, some not yet understood Universal Law would not have permitted the Incursion.

This said, the Agent I have engaged regards your human lives as you regard flies. The more Humans are a nuisance the more violent the switch. Given the structure of the Society above …unless we are willing abandon our Great Cities, and the old Metropolis, our technological indulgences and unearned commodities, the violence will not cease and the boils will continue to expand and fester.

Yes, I was stung … similarly to 226."

There was no quantity of temporary Nano induced euphoria that could ease the massive weight that set upon Omen's heart at that instant.

Omen would be plugged in for a partial Neural sync for the length of the debriefing- a very fractional partial. In the depth of the 'Mind Jump', addled by the N-pharm Omen would hear a sundry of screaming flies , wings beating in frantic hopelessness. He would feel the slow climbing, interminably mounting mania of terror as creeping insipid ooze slowly suffocates and engulfs until every fly is locked in eternal failed flight, preserved for endless ages, drowned in sap.

Omen would be haunted by a phantasmagoric beast that his Euclidean mind wanted to describe as a monstrous brain with infinite undulating tentacles swimming in a sea of blood and filth.

Omen would be swept away to the secret confines of subterranean temples populated with strange God forms colluding with men to escape the prison of time to which they had been confined, and a people from the stars, with technology to trade and some odd concept like 'hope' that humanity can free them from an ancient demon that had subjected them before our glorious sun's system had yet coalesced, while our planet was yet matter unorganized and The Children of Earth to Come were still as spiritual kerubim at the feet of The Adumi.