by Ric Dawson
I got up and pored over my notes on the runes. There must be a clue here.
“Portal activation requires written symbols and a spoken word or thought,” I said to the ceiling.
Phats stretched.
I felt sure the power words were built from the paths between symbols I’d seen at the compassion primal pillars. I counted forty-four possible combinations of three runes each.
I struggled to figure out how the words linked together. The craziness of the idea rattled me. I took a breath and rolled my eyes. How could any of these psionic notions be real, and yet … they were. I had already used them.
The feeling of being caught up in an impossible dream persisted even with the evidence embedded in my skin.
I couldn’t shake the surrealism.
I tried to focus on the runes, but my mind drifted to the irradiated nightmarish hell outside the mountain. Who would make such weapons? Clearly, humanity did, but I just couldn’t wrap my head around why any rational beings would make something like that. Dolphins don’t murder each other for a spot of ocean.
A chill ran down my spine, cold – like death’s grip. This wasn’t the natural evolution of domination and survival. It was too perfect, too extreme. What if we had been led down this road? Cultivated with the desire and skill to create horrific weapons of mass destruction as a species. Culled, generation after generation, to make sure the most dominant survived regardless of mental acuity. No higher thinking allowed.
Why?
My rage grew. Fingers tingled, and adrenaline rushed down my arms and the back of my neck. Energy surged in my mind.
A door opened in my soul. I couldn’t close it. Sanity clung to a thread as a tidal wave of emotion swelled.
Ages of anger flooded me like a burst dam, thought energy drawn from the countless billions of souls who lived and died throughout history, a vast reservoir with only one objective … revenge.
Channel it, channel it, do not become hate, someone whispered.
The room brightened, and for a moment I thought power surged from our struggling generator. My hands blazed bright as violent sheets of iridescence surged around the room. Rage and vengeance became real, surging torrents of color. Small bolts of electricity danced over my fingertips.
The room shifted. The door, walls, bed, all still there but everything shimmered and vibrated as if I’d stepped out of phase with space and time.
I’m in the psi. No CDs. No tanks.
My body stretched. Urgency. Walls of granite flowed by, as my projection moved towards the east and the nuclear fires that consumed Colorado Springs.
I floated out of the mountain and hovered, looking over the front range. Smoke and fire shrouded the hills and plains. The mountainsides and further west burned in jagged lines of dark smoke and angry red flame. Massive boiling clouds of debris stretched skyward to the western horizon. Pikes Peak’s lower slope was ablaze with wildfire. Nearby, the glassy ground had fractured into crystalline shards. No trees stood, and those on the ground were smoldering ash heaps. Buildings near the compound had collapsed into burning rubble. Overturned, crumpled Humvees were piled up around the tunnel mouth like toys tossed against granite. Dense smoke and scattered, glowing fire covered the remains of the city.
A swath of undulating red-licked tendrils reached skyward. As I watched, bright sparks ignited near the ground, turned into red streamers, and were swept into the writhing coils. The noxious braids merged into a massive column of blood-red that replaced the city’s luminous multicolored vortex.
Turning from the horrific sight, I took a moment to identify this new psi place.
The astral must be a collection of different shifts or phases like a spectrum.
This phase felt very close to actual space-time, a near-psi zone.
The feeling of urgency returned and propelled me towards the remains of the city. In moments, I floated just above street level. Smoky ghosts stumbled through the haze. Many had charred skin with muscle and tissue burned away, revealing exposed bone. Critically burned and with melted skin, they fell to the ground as I watched.
Steady, Lane.
I ground my teeth and drew on anger for strength.
An energy field of white sparks and red ribbons drifted around some people, while others had a sullen murkiness of red-black with auras stretched skyward as if sucked into an angry sky. Tiny sparks appeared every few moments. I knew instinctively that life force left them. They were dying. My tears fell in astral glitter. Compassion welled inside me. I couldn’t leave them like this.
Moving to a small group nearby, I stretched out my hands and willed healing into them.
Compassion, give me strength.
A flood of energy answered the call. My violet aura spread out and encompassed them. Murky red and black auras scattered, leaving behind blues and violets. Small, sparkling motes of life force rejoined their auras. Inside my mind, mental channels widened like clogged blood vessels cleared of clots. Inner walls expanded under the flow of compassion. I felt like a garden hose. The energy flowed from me in ever-increasing torrents.
Down the street, on the edge of my aura, a dull red seeped from building windows like thick soup through a sieve. I tensed.
The sludge from the buildings merged into blobs that undulated up the street. Viscous red ribbons streamed from people on the ground and merged with the ooze. Bodies lay unmoving once the streams stopped.
The noxious goo exploded into hissing smoke when it struck my shield. With each strike, my barrier shuddered, and its blue color shifted toward black.
A burst of gold radiance sprung from my left hand. I turned to see where it went. A tall, hooded figure stepped from an alley two blocks away. Raging torrents of light splashed off the figure’s aura-shield.
All around me, survivors were dead except for those enveloped in my protective aura.
He’s killing people to make his blobs. How can I heal with this abomination attacking me and killing those I try to save?
“Anyone. Help me!” I broadcast into the astral.
More blobs approached from cross-streets and wobbled towards me.
Dammit.
Smoky streams sped from the entities’ sleeves. The distortions in the air struck my aura-shield like storm waves against a lighthouse. Electricity arced over my shield’s surface in dazzling streaks. The medallion blazed under the onslaught.
The aura-shield held.
Abominations flowed into the street in ever-increasing numbers.
Four glowing spheres of violet and blue appeared around me. Streamers of colored energy flowed from the orbs into my left hand. The yellow beam became a shimmering pulse of prismatic brilliance. It smashed into the dark-hooded figure and bored through his red shield, leaving a dinner-plate-sized hole in his chest. The figure dissolved into smoky tendrils and vanished.
“We, the Disavowed, will aid you. We will merge with your chaa’rak.” The voices in my head sounded like chords of music.
Adrenaline rushed down my neck in sharp tingles as the Disavowed entered my mind. I lost all context. Flashes of purple raced across my vision; barks of dogs, gunfire, screams, cut-grass smells, burned diesel, love, fear, every experience I’d ever had flooded my consciousness at once. Without order. Nothing had pattern. I couldn’t process it. Bile rushed to my throat. I struggled to maintain my sense of self.
Fine grids appeared and shrouded the sensory maelstrom in front of me. Buildings and streets rose in sparkling netting. Motes of energy raced along the grid in faint lines. Everything glowed as cognitive forms became recognizable. Space had a pattern again. My heartbeat soared like a rapid drum solo. Yellow waves burst outward from my chest in expanding circles. I arched my back. The waves washed over the buildings and lit them up like beacons Their patterns synthesized and became stable.
I sensed the Disavowed in my mind.
“Who are the dark hooded beings?” I asked.
“Dark mystics, the Kaa’zak, minions of the Ziir’jal.” The voic
es were now chimes and the smell of roses filled the air.
“Who are the Disavowed?” I asked.
“We are the collective mind fusion of the Disavowed of the Suul’jin. The Ziir’jal have accelerated the extraction. We will help you openly, in defiance of their edicts. We must hurry. We dare not manifest for long periods lest we draw a large force to us.”
Our combined projection rose into the astral sky above the city.
“Look for red energy spikes into the sky. There you will find a Kaa’zak,” the Disavowed fusion said.
Thousands of dark shapes huddled on the ground in large and small groups. Interspersed among the ruins, red beams twisted into the sky to join the red vortex over the city. As I watched, the dark shapes on the ground vanished near the beams.
“There. I see them,” I said.
We flew down and killed vile Kaa’zak with irresistible beams of pure thought energy. The red beams stopped. Some had escaped.
Moving through the city, we bathed the survivors in waves of emerald light. Space vibrated in a low hum with each wave. Where auras were faint, the Disavowed showed me how to focus the energy and change to a higher resolution to affect cell repair.
“We must go now. There are hidden secrets in the silk scrolls and ancient weapons of your people that even the Suul’jin and Ziir’jal do not know. Find them, use them,” the voices said.
The colored spheres vanished.
I moved back to the Octagon, leaving the still smoking ruins of Colorado Springs behind me. Exhausted, I entered my body and fell asleep.
# # #
I smacked the alarm and focused on the time. Seven a.m. The air smelled dusty with an overlay of electric ionization. I knew the Octagon techs had been hard at work welding support structures and repairing cracks. We were lucky. Many of the people in the CMC died when the granite chambers collapsed.
None, except the command room, had the support structure the Octagon did.
I swung my legs out of bed and got the cats some food and water. Phats could use a diet. How he got so big still mystified me. After consulting with everyone, I had let the cats have the run of the Octagon as rodent catchers. Though how a mouse could get in here I didn’t know. They got loves from everyone and were good for morale, though I noticed the maintenance crew often scowled when they pulled clumps of cat fur from ventilation grills.
The smell of bacon and coffee drifted in from the hallway. I followed the delicious aroma past Kane’s and Doc’s rooms.
“Fresh coffee here, Mr. Sudler. Want some?” one of the security guys asked as I rounded the corner to the dining area. His name-tag read “Dawkins.” The puffy skin under his eyes belied his half-smile, but his deep voice resonated confidence.
The only woman in the security squad hovered over a sizzling pan.
“Sure. Thanks,” I said.
“I’m Joe Dawkins, though these goons call me Trapper. It’s fend for yourself. Mel there makes a great Spanish omelet. If you can get on her good side. No one has, mind you, just saying.”
“Trapper, you’ve never had one of my Spanish omelets, and it’s easy to get on my good side if you’re not an ass. Trimming that black mop you call hair and a shave would improve my disposition.” Her name-tag read “Fletchin.”
“I’m Mel, Mr. Sudler. I’d be happy to make you an omelet as long as you don’t give any to Trapper. We haven’t got him out of training pants yet.” Mel winked.
“There you go wantin’ in my pants again,” Dawkins said. Mel glanced at me and shook her head.
“Thank you, Mel. Call me Lane.”
Mel’s Spanish omelet featured cheese, cilantro, tomatoes, onions, wafer-thin potatoes, and black olives. Heaven.
I wiped the melted cheese from my chin as Doc arrived and sat at a nearby table.
“Doc, can we get a meeting around noon? I’d like to get a sit-rep from everyone,” I asked.
“That sounds good, Lane. I will tell everyone,” Doc said.
After breakfast, I went back to my room to enter the near-psi and help more people.
Many of the fires in the city had burned out, leaving a dull, thick haze of floating ash around the downtown area. A light snow fell from dark clouds overhead. Fires still clawed at the mountainsides farther into the front range. Steam and vapor from light snow added to the poor visibility. Winds from the blasts had died down, but swirls of sooted snow still whipped around the crumpled city ruins.
The buildings had cooled, and the snow brought the radioactive particles out of the air and created a muddy, toxic slush. A sea of humanity had emerged from buildings. Thousands. They splashed through the muck and clung to each other as they tried to escape the city.
“No, Dammit. Stay underground,” I screamed. No one could hear me.
Only certain death waited for them.
I flew downtown and hovered over one of the main avenues. A woman and two young girls stumbled through the debris in front of me. Collapsed buildings and partially slagged cars packed the street as survivors wound their way through the obstacles. The older woman supported one of the girls.
Swooping down, I enclosed them in the healing aura and went to work repairing their cell damage with the method the Disavowed had shown me. Extensive burns under her skin covered the older teen’s back.
Did radiation do that?
Her digestive system neared collapse.
They stood straight and picked up their pace under the influence of the healing aura. The woman steered over to another small group huddled behind a burnt-out car with missing fenders and side panels. The car body and undercarriage had partially liquefied, slagging into puddles of gray metal.
The small group included two men, a woman, and two children. I extended the healing aura to enclose them as well.
I thought at the woman, “Collect more people, hurry.”
The more in the group, the more I could heal.
Tilting her head, the woman looked at the hazy street ahead. She got the message.
She hurried up the street with the newcomers in tow. Another group of three gathered around someone on the ground, badly burned. It was a child.
Her partly melted pate had a few shriveled tufts of hair on one side. She trembled on the ground in pools of blood and filth, pale with shock.
The tears in my eyes matched the lump in my throat. I had to try to save her.
My thoughts poured into the astral. Something stirred, and the astral surged like a tsunami that rushed towards shore from the deep. Eons old. The ancient energy flowed through me like water over Niagara Falls.
I gasped. Another egregor.
Hope.
Healing hope blazed from my astral projection like a thousand suns from a distant galactic core. An iridescent cocoon of energy formed around the child, a membrane of liquid light. It encased her in a soothing glove and bathed her in beams of lapis-lazuli.
My sight bored into her body. Her cells responded at the atomic level. Capricious quarks danced through Casimir channels in space-time, only to reappear moments later. Energy flowed through my vision as it moved in and out like a powerful electron microscope.
Ever so slowly, her tissues stabilized, repaired, rejuvenated. Time slowed as I worked on her. The scars vanished. Healthy skin regrowth replaced the melted tissue. Hours were minutes, time shifted. It had only been seconds. Startled, I saw it wasn’t my hands cradling the child, it was the older woman. Together, working through her, we had channeled the healing energy. The child opened her eyes and smiled.
Thank God.
“We must hurry,” I mentally urged the woman on, and brushed away a crystalline tear.
Stay focused, or you’ll lose them all, someone whispered.
The child walked now, so we continued through the snow-flurried, foggy morning. More people appeared as we got farther away from downtown. We moved west through Old Colorado City. I knew if we could get to Manitou Springs, our large group would have a good chance of survival. The group had swelled to several hu
ndred now, and moved at a steady pace down Colorado Avenue. The healing aura of hope spread its potent touch over the growing crowd. Torrents of energy flowed through me from the astral.
I’d guess we’d been moving for about two hours. It would take another two hours to get to Manitou Springs. They could shelter behind Red Rocks and the distant front range hills.
The minutes slipped by. The group grew larger, but what of the people trapped in their homes? I expanded the cloak of hope far into the smoking ruins of side streets and smoldering buildings. I imprinted the aura with a silent message, “Leave your shelters, come now, come to Colorado Avenue.”
Telepathy? Presentiment with a little nudge? I don’t know what I did. I thought at the aura, and it worked. Injured people began to emerge from side streets all along the avenue. They dodged wrecks and shuffled down the broad, debris-strewn road.
Emergency vehicle lights flashed ahead. Long lines of naked people waited to get into a car wash. Their clothes, in giant piles, were left behind. A large tent stood sentinel in the middle of the road. Doctors hurried from one injured person to the next. I entered the tent.
Hope radiated from me like a lighthouse and pushed back the pale of death. I stayed. Hours? Days? I lost count.
The energy flow never wavered, never slept, never doubted. A part of me became something else, automatic, forever channeled. It was not the whole of me or even the part called the conscious me. It was a background piece of code, set in motion, running until no longer needed, a heartbeat of compassion and hope. I could feel others joining in, the doctors, the nurses, the survivors, increasing the signal, amplifying the effect. It was a vortex, gaining strength from everyone in it, becoming more than the parts.
Is this the morphic field that Doc mentioned?
Were the people of the vortex sensing, maybe even creating the release of that mysterious, binding energy of what – God, maybe?
The cosmic illuminated eye, we-are-all-one vibe suffused the fabric of total reality.
My eyes opened. Part of me still powered the healing aura in Manitou Springs, yet “I” was here-now. The cats were still snuggled up so I eased out of bed, got dressed, and headed to the meeting.
