La Araña

It was a blistering day in Del Rio, Texas. Nunez and Smith had just come back from another run.
"They are getting more creative" Nunez said to Smith as they exited their aging Border Patrol SUV.

"A tunnel directly into someone's house. A freaking tunnel into a living room! How in the hell are we supposed to find those? I guess we were lucky this time."

"Yea, if it weren't for that kid Escobar I don't think we would have found it. How many do you think they got across this time?" Smith asked.

"Escobar said that it was finished months ago, so there's no telling. Hundreds probably." Nunez opened the door as he and Smith entered the Border Patrol Regional Headquarters.

Del Rio had become the focal point in the new battle against illegal immigration. Since the President had signed the "No Illegals Bill" in December of 2006, there was a big push to shut down all entry points into the States. Nunez and Smith had been teamed up only for a year, but they both had many years of immigration work under their belts. They had also been developing a deep love for one another. And yes, it was against policy.

"Heard you had a good one today?" the voice came from behind the big desk. It was seemingly in need of oxygen, but the pair knew who it was. That fat jerk Chief. He sat, as he did day after day, behind that huge desk of his as if he were perched, ready to pounce on anyone at any time. Laying in wait for his next meal be it fried burritos from Manuel's next door or the ass of his subordinates who screwed up again.

"Yes sir!" Smith replied with obvious spark in her voice.

"Twelve today. Escobar really came through. Can we do something more for him?" asked the ever so caring Smith.

"What, and perpetuate that spic? Hell no! He can go back to Mexico if he doesn't keep delivering!" Chief bellowed out as his enormous belly jiggled with delight.

"You're so crude." Smith lashed out as she slinked back to her desk.

Smith had such a good heart, always seemed to try to take care of the poor illegals. After all they were just trying to make their lives better. It was her job to enforce the law, but she wanted to make sure that they stayed safe. It was important to her. After all, crossing the border is extremely dangerous. More so than the Mexican government would let on. There were wild animals, raging heat and also crazed border vigil-anti's that would just assume shoot them as turn them in.

"Nunez, you writing this up? I wrote up the last one." Smith asked as she stared across the two desk that were arranged back to back.

"Sure, whatever. It pisses me off though. I can't understand this La Araña (The Spider). We pick up something here and there, but never anything concrete." Nunez said with distain as he began pecking at his typewriter.

"We'll get him, Nunez. We'll get him" Smith said with confidence.

The next day Nunez and Smith were patrolling the fence line FM 3245, a favorite amongst crossers. It was low and offered come conventional cover from the Patrol such as trees and shrubs. It was another hot day, topping out at 103. Smith was cranky.
"Where are you headed Nunez?" Smith questioned.

"Over towards that bunch of trees. I found several last year over there. It's got a nice little pocket that we can't see from the road."

"It's not in our plan for today Nunez. Chief is going to blow a vein if we don't make our patrol on time." The frustration on Smith's voice was heavy.

"Chief has no clue what he's doing. Him being so strict on these patrol times is stupid. Like you can control exactly how long it should take you and then get pissed because you’re an hour late. I should tell Chief where to... wait! I think I saw something in the trees." Nunez and Smith both grabbed binoculars as Nunez pulled the vehicle to an abrupt halt.

"You don't see anything. I think your brain is fried in this heat, " said Smith with a sneer on her mouth.

"No, I'm freaking serious. In the spot I was telling you about. I saw something red move over there." Nunez began to inch the vehicle forward still gazing through the lenses.

"And there it is again!" Nunez chirped as he stopped the SUV and put it in park. He turned the motor off and opened the door. Smith reluctantly exited the vehicle and moved to the rear to grab her shotgun. Nunez snapped the holster loose on his right thigh and began making his way through the ocean of buffalo grass and mesquite trees that were not more than knee high.
He was a good thirty yards in front of Smith when he saw a figure wearing a red shirt stand up and make a running break for the tree line.

"¡Parada! ¡Inmigración! ¡Forzarán la parada o me para tirar! (Stop! Immigration! Stop or I will be forced to shoot!)" Nunez shouted as he stepped up his pace to a full-fledged jog. This was extremely difficult given that he was in rough terrain and in those heavy polyester pants.

"Smith! Try to cut him off on the left!" Nunez shouted back at Smith who was now also at a fast pace. She cut to her left and could see where the runner was headed. It was a small rocky drop from ground level to the river bed, which was pure rock.

As the two Border Patrol Officers closed in on their prey, the force of gravity and clumsiness took over. The runner tripped at the top of the drop and landed face first on the unforgiving riverbed.

Smith called the dispatch when she arrived to the bloody and unconscious runner. "Dispatch, this is 281. We have an illegal on FM 3245 down. Repeat, FM 3245. Illegal has fallen and injured head and neck. Dispatch an ambulance to FM 3245 on the North side of highway 211."

"Copy that 281." the voice replied over Smith and Nunez's radios. It echoed in the riverbed and the river seemed to carry it to another destination.

"He's coming to!" said Nunez. "¿Cuál es su nombre?(What is your name?)"

The runner moaned with pain as he struggled to get up from the river bed.

"El señor querido, esté por favor con mí. Ahora cúreme.(Dear Lord, please be with me. Heal me now.)" he mumbled as his breathing quickened. He opened his eyes looking straight at Smith and Nunez.

"La Araña! La Araña!" He yelped.

"Sssshhhh" Smith tried to comfort him, "Tenemos venir de la ayuda. Apenas relaje y tomaremos el cuidado de usted. (We have help coming. Just relax and we will take care of you.)"

His voice began to soften, "La Araña. La Araña."

The Mexican illegal let go of his last breath.

As Nunez grabbed a beer he had a puzzled look on his face.

"What's wrong dear?" asked Smith.

"I'm just wondering why that runner today was shouting 'La Araña! La Araña!'. Do you think the Spider was close?" Nunez asked.

Smith never answered as she sat on the couch next to her lover. They had grown so close over the past year. At first he was unsure about having her as a partner. He was a hot head who never followed the rules. She was a passionate protector of the border, but always staying within the bounds her government had setup. Plus his last partner had died in a raid last year and he wasn't sure he was over that either. Juan was a great friend of his. They had partnered together the previous 3 years and had developed a stellar record. But he couldn't resist Smith. She was sexy. She was more woman than he was used to. He wasn't sure how that had happened, her getting into the Border Patrol business. She was from a wealthy family in San Antonio and could have done so many things in Law Enforcement. But he was glad that fate had brought them together now.

The warm Texas sun splashed across Smith's face as she woke the next morning. She rose from her slumber and ever so gracefully made her way to the bathroom. She was completely nude and Nunez was no longer sleeping. He noticed her perfect body catch the rays of sun from the window dancing down her back and across her perfect rear. As she crossed the threshold of the bathroom she stopped, turned and invited Nunez in without saying a word. She knew he wasn't sleeping.

Later that afternoon the pair was at the office when the call came in. An informant named Hector had called the voice mail box and left a message. He was frantic. He kept saying "¡Éste es grande! ¡La araña instaló éste! (This is a big one! The Spider set this one up!)"

Hector was a favorite informant of Nunez. He had used him on several occasions and Hector had always delivered the goods. Nunez felt the icy tingle come like a waterfall down his spine. He knew that something big was going to happen today. Maybe they could get the Spider after all.

"Smith! Hector called in! This one sounds like it might be big."

"Whatever Nunez. We are so backed up on paper work. You can go waste your time with Hector if you want, but I'm staying here and getting caught up on paper work."

"Smith!" Chief burst out from behind his desk, " you go with your partner. You know we never go out alone anymore."

Smith just dropped her head in disgust. She knew it was no use. Once the Chief had made up his mind you couldn't change it. He was a stubborn one. He was the type that once her had something in his head no one else was an authority anymore.

"Fine, " Smith mumbled.

The two sat out side of the old warn down house. It was in need of some serious repairs.

Nunez just sat in the SUV. Thinking. He had become so close to Smith. He had already talked to the Del Rio Chief of Police about a job there. He was promised a position. That way he could ask Smith to marry him. "Tonight," he thought as he glanced over at his soon to be. He reflected over the past year of his life. It was so wonderful with her. He hated the fact that they had to hide their relationship. Partners just don't marry. That's against everything in law enforcement. He knew it. But if they worked for different organizations then everyone would be happy for them. Except maybe for Chief. He can't be happy for anyone.

"I don't see any movement Nunez."

"Lets move in. I'll take the back door, you take the front." Nunez ordered.

Nunez drew his 44 as he stepped up on the stoop of the dilapidated home. Adrenaline was surging through his every vessel. It always did in these types of situations. He didn't know exactly what to expect. Most of the time the runners weren't armed, but there had been a time or two when the people who help the runners were. It was, after all, their livelihood. Like the Spider. That SOB had plagued Nunez for so long now. He whished he could find him. The thought that the Spider might be in this very house right now thrilled Nunez.

"Ésta es la frontera patrulla. ¡Abra por favor la puerta y salga con sus manos sobre su cabeza! (This is the Border Patrol. Please open the door and come out with your hands above your head!)" Nunez shouted as he approached the back porch.

He could see the door was slightly ajar. From the door opening he could see a tiny little face. Couldn't be more than five years old. Then the door slammed shut. He knew he was in trouble.

As he rushed the door he cleared it with the heavy boot of his left foot. He was wearing the latest Kevlar, but there was always that possibility that a shooter would aim for his exposed skull.

"¡Todos abajo en la tierra! ¡Déjeme ver sus manos! (Everybody down on the ground! Let me see your hands!)" He shouted as he made his way through the small kitchen to the living room. As he entered the door way he saw that someone was forcing their way out the front door.

"Smith!"

The runner shot twice. Nunez couldn't see Smith be he knew that's whom they were shooting at.

He ran through the front door to see Smith lying face up. A bullet had caught her throat.

"Smith!" He yelled as he collapsed beside her. She was already dead. Nunez welled up inside. A lady appeared in the door frame. "¡Usted idiotas estúpidos! ¡Ésa era la araña! ¡Usted ahora la ha arruinado para toda su familia! ¡Usted asno estúpido! (You stupid idiots! That was The Spider! You've ruined it for all of your family now! You stupid ass!)" she screamed at the two young men now making their way down the street.

Nunez fought to clear his head. He turned to the lady and asked, "¿Qué usted está diciendo? ¿Qué usted significa, la araña? (What are you saying? What do you mean, the Spider?)"

"Ella tomó pitty en nosotros. Ella setting-up estas casas seguras por los dos años pasados. Le llamaron la araña porque ella podría tejer una tela en nuestra propia casa, Del Río. Ella ha ayudado a millares de mejicano a hacerla a Tejas. (She took pity on us. She has been setting up these safe houses for the last two years. She was called the Spider because she could weave a web in her own house, Del Rio. She has helped thousands of Mexicans make it to Texas.)"

Could this be true? Nunez was crushed. He realized he had been a piece of her puzzle. She had been under him the whole time. That's why he could never catch the Spider. Keep your friends close... your enemies closer.

Due date is 0001 hours on April 1, 2006

Funny stories ladies and gentlemen. Once again, it is time to switch gears. I want everyone to find your comfort zone. What would you write about given free reign, and what would the rest of us expect from you. Once you get that write a story of your choosing in as opposite a style as you can imagine. Example: If you would typically write a horror, then I want to see a children’s story. Use your imagination, but give me as much as you can. I would like to see 1500 words or more, but don’t kill yourself. If you don’t make it, don’t worry. Good luck!

In the care of friends

It was a very warm and extremely dark night in Glenwood Springs Colorado. I had not seen any action at the bar, and my karaoke exploits had left me unfulfilled. As I entered the car and started the ignition Jim Croce sang “Operator” from the CD that I had in the stereo. I knew when I got to the bar that I was driving, so I intentionally avoided drinking anything alcoholic because the road to my friends’ house was particularly dangerous.
My sobriety, however, did not assist in my ability to make good decisions. When the speed limit is posted as 20 mph, 60 is not an acceptable substitute. As I came to the corner where my vehicle met its end, I failed to realize my error in time. I tried to make the turn, but was met by loose gravel on the road. The car drifted sideways. I was literally standing on the brakes. Seeing that this was not going to work, I suddenly realized that my Saturn was front wheel drive. I released the brake and jammed the gas pedal as far down as I could. The engine revved, and for just a moment, the front wheels caught and began pulling me out of the slide. But as luck would have it, the passenger side tire found more gravel and off the cliff I went. Suddenly I knew why I should have bought the maxi-model (with wings), but alas I had not. As the vehicle leaped twenty-five feet to the right of the road and proceeded to fall twenty-five feet below the road, I screamed. But everything happened in slow motion. My scream died out, I looked at my watch, wrote a will and knitted a sweater. I actually began to get impatient wondering when I would hit the ground.
Finally, there it was. In the darkness I could feel pain in my back, my right shoulder and my head. I realized that I was sitting in the passenger seat of the car with my back to the door. I looked behind me and found that I had put my head through the door’s window. Then as I looked to the right I found that the passenger air bag was responsible for the pain in my shoulder, and that there was a hole in the collapsed windshield that was eerily shaped like my head. I climbed across the vehicle and kicked open the drive side door. As I leaned out I could feel warmth all along my face on the right side. I knew that I was bleeding, and all I could think about was how dark it was and how high up in bear and mountain lion country that I was. I climbed the twenty-five foot cliff back to the road and took off my shirt to apply pressure to my cut head. Then I started walking. I walked about three quarters of a mile, talking out loud to warn off wildlife that could undoubtedly smell me, before a car came along. I must have looked like something out of a bad Halloween dream in the dark like that, covered in blood, but they stopped anyway.
When the kind people dropped me off at Scott’s house, I slowly made my way inside. I caught my reflection in a window on the way in and jumped when I saw that I had an almost perfect line down the middle of my face. On the right blood streaked everywhere, on the left, nothing at all. When I walked in Scott’s house, I was angled so that he could not see the blood. “I hate to be a pain, but could someone drive me to the hospital?”
“Why do you need to go to the hospital…” I turned to face Scott as he asked, and without pause he leaped to his feet and continued, “okay, we’ll go right now!”
At the hospital, I was subject to the sadistic personalities of two graveyard shift nurses who wanted to pick the glass from my scalp, and one radiologist who wanted me to hold fifty pound weights in my right hand so that if there wasn’t a separation, they could be sure to create one. Once back in the exam room, the doctor came in with the x-rays. With the doctor on my left and Scott on my right, we looked at an obvious separation between my right collar bone and right shoulder.
“Does your shoulder hurt?” Scott asked sincerely.
“Yeah, it really does…” I began without looking away from the film, “it is throb-“ I was cut short by a sudden excruciating pain in my right shoulder.
“WELL GET IT FIXED!” Scott said while turning and slapping me directly in the injured area. I fell to the ground, tears streaming down my face cutting through the still caked blood…laughing to the point that I couldn’t breath! Meanwhile, the doctor is looking at Scott as if he were going to hit him as well.
Finally, back at Scott’s house I was able to wash my head and lay down to rest. Just as I was about to fall asleep on the couch, Scott turned on Sports Center where they were recapping today’s greatest putts. Someone made a fifty foot putt, and Scott yelled, “INTO THE CLOWNS MOUTH!” I laughed until I lost consciousness begging the whole time for him to stop talking!

1966

"Are you going to drive?" I asked my cousin, Ryan, as we approached the car.

"Heck yes!" He eagerly responded as we approached the newly refurbished 1966 Ford Mustang.
It had a V8, 235 horsepower 289 engine. It also had a fresh white paint job and a thin red pin stripe that seemed as perfect as the rest of the car. The interior was flawless as well. Crushed red velvet tuck-n-roll covered seats with all of the dash restored to the original look, except for the stereo. It was a jaw dropping, heart thumping Alpine CD player connected to the two twelve inch woofers in the trunk. On the ground was a set of Michelin Street Pro tires that were wrapped around the shiniest sixteen-inch rims I had ever seen. My uncle had spent close to $10,000 dollars on the car and the restoration. It was, well, perfect. There was only one slight issue. Ryan was sixteen.

He had just turned sixteen a week before. He did not know how to drive a stick shift, especially one with this much power. So as we traveled from Odessa to Comanche I drove most of the way teaching my younger counter part in the fine art of shifting. We were to spend a week working with my granddad on his ranch. He had a lot of stuff for us to do, and we both needed the extra cash.

As we entered the car I could feel the electricity fill the air. Ryan had been driving all week and he had gotten pretty good at shifting. He only ground the gears every so often. We were headed to Gilmer to a small family owned restaurant where they served the best chicken fried steak in the country, at least that's what it seemed like after ten hours of work in the hot Texas sun.

As we pulled out of the ranch onto the dirt road I warned Ryan of the sandy parts coming up. He abandoned warnings and began to put his foot in it. He was revving close to 5000 RPM when we entered the apex of the hill that also turned toward the left at a graceful pace. It almost reminded me of a turn in a NASCAR competition. However, I'm sure that NASCAR tracks are not made of pure sand.

As we began our slight decent from the hill Ryan had the car in a beautiful power slide, much like that of the Dukes of Hazard in the opening credits. The tail of the car was about 45 degrees out while the front wheels where headed in the direction of the road. When we hit the bottom of the hill we hit a sea of sand that can only be described as like that of the Sahara Desert. And that's where we hit trouble as well.

The car was doing about 65 miles per hour and when the sea caught us it straightened the wheels into alignment with the car and catapulted us forward. Unfortunately in this part of the country they have machines come out every so often and grate the roads. That makes a neat feature on the sides of the roads we call banks. Banks also make nice ramps for out of control cars! We were launched into the air immediately. I bet we cleared all four tires by at least two feet. Then Ryan and I managed to look at each other as somehow we hit the time-space continuum and were in a state of slow motion.

While weightless we both yelled "Oooooooooooohhhhhhhhh dddddddaaaaaaarrrrrrrrnnnnn!!!!" as we flew into our ultimate foe.

In front of us was the biggest tree I had ever seen in my life. The giant tree must have been over a hundred years old and would take ten of us to wrap our arms around it. Now let me say that the car weighs about 2000 pounds. The tree has a death grip on the earth. The tree won.

When all of the dust cleared, and space and time returned to normal, we were sitting in the car with the nose of the vehicle apparently trying to climb the tree. As I looked at Ryan I noticed the stream of dark red that had began to flow from his hairline. He noticed mine as well and we both scrambled out of the car, because of course it was about to explode right. They all do at some point, don't they? I stumbled over to the other side of the road while Ryan made his way back to the trunk where he had a role of paper he had used for cleaning the windows of the car just a day earlier. He made his way to my newfound sofa of sand and slumped down next to me. He handed me a wad of paper that I used to remove the blood from my forehead. He looked so defeated.

As we both sat there in dismay we viewed the beauty turned beast. It was the most awful site you can imagine. What was once a vintage ride, a splendor to the eye, was now married to the aging oak as if they were meant for each other.

At that moment I started to feel a twinge in my stomach. I turned to Ryan and asked, "so, I guess we're not going to get that chicken fried steak after all, huh?"

Premise: Poe's Lost Manuscript

You are Edgar Allen Poe. You must write the lost manuscript that will be discovered 200 years after the author's death.

It is suggested that you read up on Poe. You can find a good number of his poems and short stories here http://bau2.uibk.ac.at/sg/poe/.

You need to write a short story, preferably in the same vein as Fall of the House of Usher and the Raven. Remember, it's the mid-1800's and death and disease are all around!

You have two weeks to write this one. It cannot be posted until 3/17/2005.

Seven Lagoons

I had received the letter from the widower over a month ago filled with horror and grief. She had been catapulted into a world she did not understand, and certainly one she did not want to be a part of. This land was unexplored by civilized humans; however its inhabitants knew it as if they had always been here. They crawled through the veins of this organism as do parasites in a fresh kill. My transportation was beginning to reveal his own concerns over the issue of our very survival of this retched place. If my equestrienne companion could sense something you would consider that I might have taken note. However I had not and thusly continued my push to what might have been my very last exploration.

The widower, Jane Montgomery as she is known to her former friends and companions, had befallen what to the people in her circles would considered an awful fate. She had been married to a well-to-do tobacco farmer of the great South. The businessman Maluable Montgomery had always succeeded in his former quests, including that of obtaining his wife, the beautiful siren, Jane. Maluable knew how to prosper in the usual and unusual ways, both of which he enjoyed to the fullest; however I believe he may have enjoyed the latter most.

Maluable arrived in the South some twenty years earlier than the events described here. While he had some monetary value he obviously had to pursue other endeavors to support his every growing curiosity in the strange. He was often seen carousing with the traveling gypsies that had also come over from the old world, a world he knew very well. They brought with them things of fancy and things of fright, the types of things that would give grown men nightmares and day shivers. Maluable was definitely different than his other high society, gold wielding counter parts in the areas of business he chose to envelop himself in.

One sort that brought him this far South was a curiosity in what some call the dark religions that crisscrossed this horrid country side like a plague of old world proportions. They called them selves religious but I so do not know what bounds a religion such as their lacked. Anything vile and seemingly obtuse would be apparent to them. They relished the things that should have expired in life, but lived on, while they chased the life from everything else that carouses in their land.

Maluable had purchased land in Louisiana that he claimed would relinquish the most wonderful leaves, a fertility that had not been seen in the rest of the country. It is a thriving industry again from an old world made new, this tobacco would make him rich he said. With the land also came an abundant source of labor, making him even more prosperous than his previous endeavors had every dreamed. A slave would provide the necessary sweat that would allow him to thusly provide the Northerners with their tobacco rolled as tight as the human finders would produce. The sweet, as well as pungent, smells that rolled from these fine leaves would entice the nostrils of the upper class, definitely a group that Maluable would like to see enticed, and cause many a rucass between husband and wife, and Maluable seemingly was good at that.

But my research has led me in a strange direction, as I had not desired. It seems that while I had been hoping to discover what had befallen the fair Jane, I had unwittingly discovered the dark side of Maluable, for he had enveloped himself in this dark religion of the region. It had worked its way in him as a tape worm does, feeding and festering making its host wholly uncomfortable while leaving him with such a deep hunger for more. It’s a revolting thought to have some other being encapsulated from within, but feeling a need to allow it there.

When Jane had first contacted me some six months ago, I could not understand what she had been describing. I was trained in legal matters and a wife in the South did not have much say in legal matters regarding her husband, except in the cases where the husband has passed on and as such has no male children to which the estate would naturally fall to. So I began my quest to discover this strange man Maluable Montgomery and his goings on, as well as his dealings both personal and professional. I contacted his family in England and also had correspondence with his former business partner in France, Luis DePladu. Mr. DePladu had informed me that he had dissolved his relationship with Maluable when more attention was being paid to the gypsies and less on their dwindling business. He said that Maluable had come to the Americas to clear his business head and begin to refocus his energies, although DePladu had estimated that the relocation was more to find his new fancies.

As I arrived in the small shore town of Seven Lagoons the ever brightening sun had perched high on my shoulder. This was indeed a strange place, it looked as if the town had begun an evolution, and then something had happened. I, of course, knew what had happened; The South was a mixture of old and new worlds. There were slaves who brought old dark religions and then there was new money. The two did not mix well. There were not more than thirty residents as far as I could discern, from the arrangement of buildings and the single solitary street that divided the township equally. It appeared as if there was no such concept of a governing body, which can be a deadly situation in remote locations such as this. I indeed feared greatly for my own life at this point.

The inhabitants of Seven Lagoons also seemed so strange, as if they were there in body only. Their eyes, while functional seemed to stare into an inexhaustible tournament as if they were witnessing some great event that had completely escaped me. I had passed a few of the dwellers when I finally found the courage to interrupt a person's great experience.
"Excuse me, I am Jonathan Berthold. I am seeking Jane Montgomery."
A blank stare was returned.

I queried another passer by, "Pardon me, is there anyone that can help me? I am looking for Jane Montgomery. She's a white lady. She has written several letters that come from here, or close to here."

A tall thin man replied, "You lookin for the white lady? She's down the way. Over at the good doctors place. On the left," and with out a change in expression the thin man went about his way.

As I arrived at the door of the shack of the good doctor, a stench that made me recoil suddenly assaulted my sense of smell. It was thick and pungent, very much unbearable. The smell was so threatening that I then noticed that even the insects avoided the good doctor’s residence, which led me to think, what type of doctor was he?

"Mr. Berthold," a weak thin voice protruded the haze that was now burning my nostrils.

"Are you Mr. Berthold"

I then noticed a figure leaning around the side of the dwelling almost blending in with the unpainted wood of the shack as if she had not seem a drop of water in months.

"Yes, yes I am," I responded.

About that time the door swung open with such veracity that it almost clipped my forehead. As I stumbled backward my eyes caught the daunting figure now possessing the entry way of the not-so-well-to-do abode. As I had feared, with the mass of the door forcefully pushing the dead air in front of it toward my position and a more horrid group of smells invaded my body. I must have had some sort of viral reaction as my body over powered my mind and flung itself backward.

"Who are you?" the figure bellowed with such as tremendous roar as to produce bumps over the skin of my forearms.

With all that I could manage I responded as I picked up myself from the dirty grounds, "Jonathan Berthold. I am a lawyer from New York. I am visiting you because of a letter that Mrs. Jane Montgomery had sent, about a legal matter."

"The white woman?" the man again bellowed as he turned his burning gaze toward the figure of Jane who now had hesitatingly taken a few steps toward my position.

"She was given to me by my master. She was part of the deal." The doctor said with a smile revealing his horrid teeth that had been modified. As he purposefully stared at Jane with his lips still curled back I had the opportunity to inspect his exposed bite. If I were to see those teeth with in the woods without fully understanding what they belonged to I would assume that their owner was an animal. I could even see some stains of red close to the gums.

"What do you mean given to you? What right do you have to own this woman?" I asked as I dusted the dirt, old hair and pieces of what appeared to be rock from my clothing.

"My master, Mr. Montgomery give her to me. It was part of the deal. He wanted to dance with the devil and I told him he had to give up every thing to do that. He said he wanted to, that dancin with the devil was mo' important to him than anything else. So I said to him that he would give up his beautiful white bride and he said sure. The plantation was already in bad shape. He'd pretty much given that up chasin the devil. He was sure that the devil could give him something that nothin else could. He was a smart one. He had asked around about the Voodoo and what it meant to live for ever. So he knew I was a Voodoo doctor and he asked me to help him. I said I would on the count that he done three things for me. Number one, he had to let all of us slaves go. Number two he had to give his wife to me. And number three he had to do the Voodoo ritual of eternal life. Now I want you to know that I warned him. I told him that white man can’t do this. He said 'shut up and show me how!'"

"And where is Mr. Montgomery now?" I asked with hesitation knowing that this large man may very well reach over and take the life from my body at any moment.

"Round back. Come on!" the doctor said with poise.

As I made my way with the doctor guiding me we entered what seemingly was at one time a garden of splendor, a natural beauty so rare you might only hear it described and never see it with your own eyes. But it was far from that state now as it lie in ruins. And as we passed what used to be a Purple Heart vine, now only resting in eternal decay, I noticed the smell that was already harassing my nose get worse. And there he was, Mr. Maluable Montgomery sitting in a chair overlooking a winter’s meadow and watching the weeds grow erroneously and without care. He was sitting upright with his legs crossed as if he were relaxing taking in the view of what someone might of thought to be the garden of Eden itself. He was seemingly decaying at the same rate as his surroundings.

I could hear the whimpering of the sorrowful Jane somewhere behind me. As we closed in on the departed Maluable the doctor started in again, "See, the master he don't want to listen to me. He just said 'show me how,' so's I did. It killed him alright, but see he had already tricked the law here to make his white wife his slave, his property. And when he did that, he gave her to me. You can see the papers here," as he produced the warn, but seemingly lawful set of papers that did indeed document the proceeding giving Jane to this witch doctor.

I looked Jane in the eyes and pleaded for her forgiveness as there was nothing I could do. So you see, I left her there and headed back to New York where I could start pleading my case to the President of this United States of America to get rid of slavery once and for all. It was me who left Mrs. Jane Montgomery, once a socialite of the North, who had happened to marry the wrong man that had convinced a government of such an unlawful place that she was indeed his possession, in the despair that no civil American could endure. Thusly I ask you, if she cannot endure this as the former self she was, then how can we expect any man or woman to endure this?

To the Citizens of Earth

The year is 3068 on planet Pledian. That is located in the galaxy Zargon which would make it the year 2106 on Earth. My name is Max.

Two years ago there was a revolution on one of our three closest neighboring planets. One is a hydro-planet (Plartisian) where we have placed a treatment plant for our own planets water supply; this was not affected by the war. Another is rich in precious metals (Cryoniplian) where we have also placed a mine to help our government afford to trade with other worlds in our system; this planet was eventually lost to the rebels. The final neighbor (where the revolution actually took place) is a prison colony for white collar criminals (PX12). It is really more of a resort than a prison, and no one ever gave a thought to having trouble from the inmates there. All of the problematic inmates are sent to an unoccupied system that is so far away that by the time they got there (if they survived the lengthy trip) they would be too old to ever make the trip back.

Our failure to properly respect the fact that these people are still criminals is where we failed. Had we taken more safety measures we would not be in this position. Now we are in negotiations with our own banished citizens to save our economic health. The Rebels hold our monetary reserves, not for their own gain, but are threatening to destroy them altogether if the judiciary figures responsible for their imprisonment aren’t handed over. Some of these people are high powered members of our government, and not likely to surrender themselves under any circumstances. These people have escape plans. It is the regular citizens (like me) who face starvation, invasion from other worlds and ultimately death due to the failure of those figures to turn themselves over.

There is one thing that makes me unique among my people. Ninety-eight percent of our population is passive. This is genetically engineered. We have determined throughout history that world peace will never happen unless it is assisted by science. We keep only two percent of our people armed and trained for defense against other worlds. To that end, we have very few violent criminal acts (which are perpetrated by the occasional rouge soldier). In fact our last violent crime was committed almost ten years ago. Back on point, I am responsible for tactical training of every member of our defensive corps. I am the only individual who holds the license or knowledge to prepare or combat what our military knows.

The rebels have given us a twelve hour deadline to meet their demands. We are to make delivery to Cryoniplian where the Rebels have openly moved their aggressive force. They are comfortable moving all of their fighters here because this planet is their hostage, and because they control what you would recognize as a type of fusion bomb. The only difference is that if they set this bomb off, it is big enough to turn this entire planet into vapor. My dilemma is trying to devise a Counter-Rebellion to take Cryoniplian back. The problem I face is that my government will not assist me in any attempt to re-take the planet. I will truly be on my own.

That is why I have directed this to the people of Earth. You are either the “problematic” inmates banished from our planet, or the descendants of those inmates (your constant abduction stories are the result of mind erasing failures). I don’t know if there is a single person among you who still cares, but if you have received this communication…it means that I have failed. Your true home has been lost to the Rebels, and there is no telling what has become of it now.

The Assault

“I hope no one picked up my trail.” Max had infiltrated planet Cryoniplian’s atmosphere. His anti-detection monitor had not alerted him which means that no electronics equipment had picked him up. As long as no one had actually spotted him by eye, then he could still count on the element of surprise. He would need that and perhaps a small miracle to deactivate the device before being caught and killed.

Max set off toward the complex to the East. Lucky for him he used to train his recruits here two generations ago. He could not afford to lose any time, but before he got too far from his transport, he stopped to check his PDU (personal defense unit). You might view it as a suit, but it is really more of a vehicle. The unit is designed to serve three purposes. The first is camouflage. The unit adapts to its surroundings and becomes virtually invisible. The second is armor. The unit can fully protect its occupant from every type of munitions developed to date. The third is stamina. The unit will take whatever force exerted by its occupant and multiply it by 100. This means that if you expend the energy to lift one pound, the unit will lift a 100 pound object. This allows for more intense fighting, and longer periods of marching. Therefore we have no need to develop assault vehicles. We just arm our foot soldier with a cannon and send him (or her) marching.

Finally, Max reached complex. He had approx. two hours before the device would detonate. Max monitored the guard movements for about fifteen minutes. “I am surprised at the remedial approach to security” Max thought to himself as he watched the patrol pattern form. Then just as he was about to move in, he saw it. There was an automated robot on the roof armed with an electromagnetic cannon. “That would be inconvenient” Max new that he would not be seriously harmed by the cannon thanks to his PDU, but since it was made out of metal alloys, he would be displaced, and there is no telling where he would end up, or how badly the suits camouflage feature would be damaged. Max quietly loaded one round into his .308 sniper rifle. Max knew that no one had used such a primitive weapon as a firearm in almost 100 years, but he was counting on the accuracy factor as well as no one recognizing the loud annunciation from the weapons muzzle. Max took careful aim at the robots access panel and fired the shot. The robot made no moves, and there was no way for Max to know if his round had disabled the robot, but no one else could tell either. Max waited for a moment while everyone scrambled into action, then in the chaos he slipped in a doorway not six inches from a guard.

Once inside, Max activated his blueprint display and began trying to locate the device. “Two doors down and to the left; that’s where I would put it.” Just as he turned the corner, Max walked right into another guard. In a single continuous movement Max gouged the man’s eye, stepped right through the man’s knee and placed him in a reverse headlock and crushed his neck. Suddenly the man’s partner rounded another corner and ran right at Max. Max caught the man behind the neck and head butted the guy’s nose flush with the rest of his face. Max then trapped the man’s right arm under his left and shoved the man’s head back with his right palm. Max ran directly toward a wall forcing the man backward and then without warning brought his elbow around and knocked the man’s Adams apple halfway around the man’s neck.

“Hope nobody misses them.” Max took a quick right hand turn through a doorway, and there in front of him was the device. Max quickly switched displays to his bomb blueprint. He reached to cut the green wire when he realized, “There is no disarm on this. They never intended to turn it off. Well, they didn’t plan on me.”

Suddenly, Max felt a sharp pain in the back of his neck followed by tunnel vision. Finally, everything went dark, and Max lapsed into unconsciousness and dreamed.

“Corporal Myles” the nurse called. A man grasped the Corporal’s arm and led him from the waiting room into an observation room where he restrained the Corporal to the table. There was a panel of high ranking military personnel seated in front of the table. Then a General began to speak.

“Let the record show that on this twenty-first day of May in the year of our lord two thousand and three, Corporal Myles is being court-martialed for the murders of three members of his unit. Doctor, please explain to me why I should not have a firing squad formed right outside of this building for this man.”

“Sir, Corporal Myles is suffering from the worst case of dementia I have ever seen. He is not living in our reality. His crimes are not crimes. They are courageous acts performed by a good soldier. The circumstances just didn’t occur in our reality.” Max Myles had been a decorated soldier with eight years of meritorious service. No one could understand what had caused him to fire upon the roof sentry and to break the necks of the two soldiers assigned to fire watch in his barracks. It just hadn’t made any sense.

“I don’t buy that Psych. mumbo-jumbo Doctor. This man killed three of this country’s soldiers without provocation. We sentence this man to be hanged by the neck until he is dead.”

Corporal Max Myles was led to the gallows. He was offered a hood, but refused. The trap door was sprung, and Max felt the Earth drop from underneath him…suddenly, Max woke up!