[continued from previous message]

Each team has been briefed on their individual functions down through the ranks
at Oldham AFB and again on the train. Ready to proceed, the seven consortium observers are led forward, and positioned next to the fortress they shall ride through the gate.
On the other side of the gate the landscape is unchanged. This part of lightmach-24 is so heavily drained of momentum by the failed zero clock that it
is in a state of rigid abeyance. Nothing has changed since the catastrophe.
Within the one mile radius of the failed clock motion is impossible without carrying in your own momentum supply, functioning in a similar way to a deep sea diver, tethered to a surface compressor pumping in life sustaining oxygen and pressure through
a tube.
The Old Chief salutes Juzya Kydd and enters the Body Fortress momentum skin on
the far left.
Kydd calls out.
“Activate Zero Ultima Zero.”
Upon withdrawing his hand from the gate, the oval turns to the darkest absence of motion, the all color containing white light is nulled; and the all absorbing black light is nulled. He touches the unseen clear light momentum still creating and
recreating the gate at the systems minimum speed of six trillion times per sixth billionth of a second per round trip from The Zero to One.
Juzya begins an opening bid transaction to begin conversing with The Origin Drawing to overlapping circles; in the top circle he touches the left side then
the right.
In the overlap between circles he touches five times. The symbol looks like an owl or snowman.
The 2085 gate removes the circulating overlapping circles, pulses the five points lower; etching in its place an "A' with a circle around it to mark the gate as an alpha connection. It's motion dynamics cycle from lightmach-23 to the circle in the Mantas
zero clock; surge inward through the monument, activate the existent sphere, to
create zero circles that attach abridgements to the everywhere verses nowhere information sorting of the ship’s data connection modeling systems. Juzya walks through the
still black gate repeating the same process in reverse. A slight popping of the
assembly’s ear signals the gate is open. Stepping back through Juzya Kydd calls the two clergymen to his side. They watch the Body Fortresses move four abreast through the
gate and execute a sweeping ninety degree turn. Moving fifty paces west towards
The Octagon they stop.
The AR20 Special Forces don their EMV Sensor hoods and begin entering the gate to search for any inertial lines to follow. With no pipes available the entire force follows the four Body Fortresses down the hill, towards The Octagon meeting center,
built above the failed zero clock that threw lightmach-24 into dispute. The Manta parked fifty feet above The Octagon at the bottom of the hill, uses auto-abridgements to supply its Captain Juzya Kydd with momentum loops; that reach outward to him and
circle back to its active Zero Horizon clocking computation.
Brother Aesop and Friar Dormante were sent to serve as bridge vouchers for the 2085 gate opening. Their task is to insure to their own satisfaction and that of their consortium allies that Juzya Kydd and his equipment are not infernal machinations of
an abstract threat to humanity.
For both clergy men it is a pure formality they are performing with The Mantas pilot having given and received information freely in the past. Soothing
ruffled feathers in the rank and file members of the OX5 Consortium is a different ball of wax
altogether: observing gives them the inspirational armor required of the task.
Friar Dormante feels comfortable with him because of his resemblance to his former student Pierce Daniels. The liaison from Rome is still settling himself and nervous. Juzya
his back to the open barrier faces both men.
With reverence Brother Aesop Mercurius say’s “Thank you for allowing me to
enter your soul.”
Stifling a round trip giggle from the ships core through him and back he places the index finger of each hand under their chins softly chucking them twice. Both men laugh involuntarily.
BrotherAesop smiling, “It’s like that then, you’re always filtering it.”
Juzya briefly, “The Totality takes snapshots of The Construct recording them for The Origin.”
Juzya turns facing the open barrier; reaching out to both men he clasps each man’s proffered hand, calmly walking Brother Aesop Mercurius and Friar Dormante through The Gates of Hell.
The Day That Never Was

Frank Harris and Alex Mathias are alone enjoying a brief moment of silence sitting on their regular bench outside the Oldwood Station. Danes in his sedated hurry to cross into enemy territory has left his map behind again. The troop transports are back
in the Oldham railhead terminal and the 2085 bridge is long closed. Alex is breathing the shallow breaths of sleep.
Frank first woke up at The Octagon on the night of the great northeastern blackout. He keeps a mimeograph copy of the congressional report in his inner wallet sleeve. It provides him with a modest sense of continuity, within the sequential
intrapsychic imagery; that was once his daily life: before his imprisonment at The Octagon.
Congressional Report To The Special Committee
Gordon D. Friedlander
“Shortly before 5:15 in the evening, somewhere along the great triple-conductor line that runs from Niagara Falls to New York City, in three wrist-thick strands of iron-core aluminum, a surge of electrical energy went berserk. Whether a switching
device had failed to operate, whether
somewhere in the vast Northeast power grid, a giant generator had suddenly gone
out of phase, whether a computer experienced a nervous breakdown--no one would be able to determine exactly for some time afterward. But at that moment the electric pulse
all up and down the great 345-kilovolt line surged, wobbled and flickered; and,
like a pinched aorta, it caused an entire civilization to flicker with it.”
When Frank fell asleep Tuesday, November 9, 1965 he awoke at The Octagon unable to move or escape. Over time he logically deduced Mr. Eight’s usage of stolen power peaked that day.
Harris eventually stopped dreading falling asleep and somehow triggered a formal conversation with the 2085; while staring blankly at the circle of his fellow prisoners. Eventually the polite discussions became centered on the dilemma at hand, and the
2085 explained its role as a finely grained clear light inside the monument as a point, circle, and sphere; that operates outside the monument, using models and pictures to converse with the ship’s other structures. On nights that Frank was sick, tense,
or overworked it provided him with deep silent restfulness or catalogs of entertainment. Alex Mathias was less fortunate and became a type of human clock each time he fell asleep; still being exploited by the National Intelligence Directorate and the
PSI consortium.
Frank hearing Mathias was asleep lit a fresh smoke and allowed his knee to contact Mathias.
2085 Logarithm 44-A
The Vulture / Reconnaissance Loop 7337 /Ivan Vulchario
Paralyzing force binds Alex Mathias to the black chair. It is always a different face, but it is always the same gun; the only constant known to a man
walking the lonely razors’ edge between two civilizations forever at war. A growling in the pit of
his stomach sends gentle waves of euphoric relief trembling across Alex’s slow silenced mind. His first spoken word would come soon after wondering what
the first word might actually be. He is known to both Gog and Magog as Mr. Magoo; a cartoon
character nickname, for a man both crumbling civilizations intelligence services feel: they can exploit with impunity. No wife or children and parents buried long ago leads both versions of the Protected States to underestimate the titanic level of
resolve with which Alex Mathias plays this ghoulish otherworldly, most horrific
of macabre games.
His eye twitches. He tries to smile but his body isn’t ready. Alert to his quarry the shooter is shuffling his feet. Alex waits expectantly in hopeful exultation for a conscious worded thought.
Alex relishes the return of his hearing indulging in fantasies of the sounding of waves and
pieces of music he has heard and grown to love. He tries to rock forward from his chest detecting some movement in his groin area. Clocking forward he knows only two minutes remain before he can speak again. Thinking clearly he silences
his mind
voluntarily restoring his true instincts. Sitting on an antique desk-map to his
right; a bold typed message is awaiting decryption. The encoding is obvious to anyone who has the foreknowledge to survive the great war of 2024.
There are only two popular television shows now being broadcast and they are viewed by a colossal audience in real time. The Protected States clandestine experimenters need this type of effect to acquire benchmark gauges for exploiting the ZB 12A virus.
The ongoing experiments are designed to determine the power of synchronized mass consciousness on the quantum fields that generate the future and past. The first show started broadcasting on 01-01-2020 was the haplessly titled; THE
DAILY TIMES.
Experimenters were unaware people already existed who could nefariously manipulate the simple cause and effect relationships embedded in a television broadcast. The National Intelligence Directorate intends to capitalize on the power generated by the
viewing audiences’ ZB 12A infected consciousness; to initialize the type of devices required to create time and roam the universe. Alex Mathias is fighting to free the future of machines.
WEIGHTY MATTER EXCHANGE
BY SEAMAN GUARDED BY OWLS
9999 SHIPS WERE LAUNCHED
TWO WERE LOST AT SEA
23 SKIDOOS THE JOKE
LAUGHS A PIG IN A POKE
The decoded message is no doubt a shop worn deception. Mathias opens his eyes
and looks at the shooter. This is the first time he has ever recognized his executioner. Struggling for composure he allows no thought. Mathias waits for the muzzle flash.
The shooter doesn’t raise the weapon. Looking downward he notices it is still
the same Arsenal 44. Magnum used on him every time before. Unable to move his limbs yet he studies the face of the lookalike wondering why it took the NID so
long to finally
try this trick. The shooter looks at the single gold pen on the desk, before assuming a semi-squatting position, to examine the bottom of the oversized white drafting table, Alex uses as a work board for his math problems.
Pierce Daniels speaks evenly toned, “There are no death mark counts scratched
under the table.”
“The count is accurately reckoned at precisely 7337.” Alex spoke against
his better judgement.
Pierce Daniels pretending to vehemently object, “It’s time for you to go home soldier.”
The shooter starts preparing a pot of tea by selecting some bags from the glass
jar on the shabby kitchen counter. Three bags are silently denuded of their strings and labels, before being quickly doused until watered logged in the stout white china tea
pot, now headed towards the far end of the top floor apartment; of the 1920’s
art deco styled Harland Building.
The shooter pauses briefly before entering 6:00 into the microwaves key pad. Mathias picks up the pistol glancing under the table. Reassured there are still
jump calibrations marked underneath he places the gun in his mouth. The shooter
presses start
on the key pad hoping to avoid an awkward moment. The pistols firing hammer clicked resolutely against the loaded chamber.
Pierce asks with polite genuine curiosity. “How many times have you made it
out to the Mummy’s Cave gate at Canyon De Chele and succeeded in jumping off the cliff?”
Sighing, Alex Mathias lays his sinking heart and the loaded pistol on the table
for the last time.
Harris shakes Alex’s shoulder, “Michelle’s waiting and we’ve got to return Lisa’s Chrysler.”
Mathias rouses himself quickly getting a coffee from inside the station. Walking out, “All set.”
Near the baroque bridge crossing the river they hear Michelle singing softly to herself.
“The polestar is wandering a cold heart is wondering.
Invisible to the golden sons wrapped in the fat of the land.
Invincible in a never ending battle against their timestar zero guns; held in
ever shakier hands .
Too afraid to pull the trigger and fire what might bring down the builders plan.
Walking a road, that is called by a name, under a sky, that is held up by a game.
Never heard laughing, never caught crying, when sitting in a library of yesterdays.
Always a nod to those who keep trying, knowing justice always seeks truth.
Never heard laughing, never caught crying.
Blackjacking the big casino, in tomorrow’s theatres, on Selectavision Avenue.”
Michelle points up to one of the eight statues topping the bridge’s pillars. “My favorite one.”
Alex refreshed from his nap, “Who is it?”
Michelle stifling a giggle, “It’s not a who, it’s a what; Miss Gretchen Faversham circa 1752.”
Frank whimsically; “Are they all his wives pointing at the other sky bound marble sculptures.
“Yes.” Michelle replies. “Let’s boogie I don’t want my two rakish vampires catching on fire.”
Frank is making short work of the drive to the Reed Estate coasting along at ninety miles per hour when he is touched by a wave of panic spotting a tiny pinpoint of light on the darkened, emptied of vehicles, Route-24. Slowing to sixty-five he passes a
state trooper with a flashlight who waves him to the side of the road. Waiting an interminably long time for the trooper Frank asks Michelle for advice on how
to get Trevor to the Grand Canyon short of kidnapping him.
It takes fifteen minutes for the trooper to finally start his car and cross the quarter mile it took the Chrysler to stop. He pulls up thirty feet behind them and with only a “Your all set sir,” He is speeding off into the night.
Reaching Michelle�
�s house after security checks, Frank and Michelle park the huge car, swapping it out for a brand new Alfa Romeo Spider purchased a month ago by Lisa Templeton; and successfully hidden for nineteen days of unrestricted driving, before a bounty hunter
informed on her. Mathias found the VW Sirocco’s extra key in a magnetic box under the front driver’s side wheel well and fell in behind the idling Spider. Without interruption the conspirators were in Alex’s listening post apartment across the hall
from Daniels and down the hall from McBain fifteen minutes later. Azrok and Juzya’s two small crates of gear are outside the bedroom they’ll position an escape transit inside.
Michelle goes down the hall and sits outside Mac’s door. She slips into her
cloud which is impossible for Mr. Eight to detect and politely engulfs the sleeping Trevor for three seconds and slips out undetected. Leaving Alex’s apartment door wide
open she returns giving the men a strong thumbs up, “It’s all good, no worries.” Grabbing her acoustic guitar from its case in the hall closet; she pulls a chair into one of the empty bedrooms and plays softly. Alex and Frank amuse themselves with
poker and a small amount of their favorite spirits until the sun is rising.

[continued in next message]

--- SoupGate-Win32 v1.05
* Origin: www.darkrealms.ca (1:229/2)