tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-81575149088007791882024-03-13T23:29:21.688-07:00Other Dimensions - Speculative, ParanormalTom Olberthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05816824395647735536noreply@blogger.comBlogger155125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8157514908800779188.post-61259275547790140142023-02-05T10:39:00.000-08:002023-02-05T10:39:56.578-08:00The Rising Darkness…<p> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgC602kr_jztj_XoABPYkCYnlluByjEsKAftXW1MrwNPXaKBfrq62hoHT4T713NcJ7WjPLslgnfFBdKxJTbBmb7H7jiA7KxheIPmTFaXiVNfAkKwEH-3j3WPinFPgyo334MZ6fUi5Jh-S1B34ugVL0L1pOCPMydCfhbvz3RzoY-CO4MD1ZcTzniErEg/s600/j0149118.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="406" data-original-width="600" height="269" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgC602kr_jztj_XoABPYkCYnlluByjEsKAftXW1MrwNPXaKBfrq62hoHT4T713NcJ7WjPLslgnfFBdKxJTbBmb7H7jiA7KxheIPmTFaXiVNfAkKwEH-3j3WPinFPgyo334MZ6fUi5Jh-S1B34ugVL0L1pOCPMydCfhbvz3RzoY-CO4MD1ZcTzniErEg/w596-h269/j0149118.jpg" width="596" /></a></p><br />
<p class="MsoNormal">A backlash is rising in the United States.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A backlash against social progress.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Against freedom.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Books are being removed from school library
shelves on order from state governors – all such books now have to be screened
by state-appointed overseers - and people are being threatened with criminal
prosecution for voicing opinions and self-expression.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Public expressions of gay or trans identity,
like drag shows are now being criminalized.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The M.O. of this reactionary movement is to fan the flames
of transphobic fear, branding transsexuals as freaks and those who try to help
trans youth by providing them with needed therapy as child molesters out to
sexually mutilate defenseless children.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>As always, these right-wing fear mongers invent an insidious left-wing
agenda aimed at destroying or perverting our society.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Their own agenda is becoming increasingly
apparent.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The right-wing agenda is to
control thought and destroy freedom of expression and self-identification for
anyone who falls outside the right-wing anti-progressive ideology.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">It’s all justified under the false mission statement of
protecting children from indoctrination and perversion, and upholding parental
rights.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Indoctrination defined as
mention of anything outside the ideological agenda propagated by the state, and
perversion defined as whatever the state decides it doesn’t like.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In reality, denying trans youth any
possibility of needed therapy greatly increases the risk of mental imbalance
and suicide.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As for parental rights –
states dominated by right-wing politicians are trying to throw parents in jail
– even for life - for supporting their trans kids in trying to get them the
kinds of therapy they need to stay healthy and sane.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">When state governments can dictate morality to the public,
control what we see, hear and read and jail parents when they don’t raise their
children according to the state’s official agenda – That is fascism.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The irony is that these banner-waving right-wing activists and
the ideologically motivated judges who serve their agenda justify much of what
they do in the name of free speech.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>According to them, so-called counselors have the right to tell gay or
trans youth that they’re mentally ill and that counseling could “cure them”,
but educators have no free speech when it comes to having open libraries free
from state censorship, or to even say the word “gay” within earshot of a
minor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One librarian was told he
couldn’t keep up a quotation from Eli Wiesel encouraging resistance against
tyranny.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now, what agenda does that
suggest?<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">So, what’s the next logical step?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If books and free speech can be criminalized
as “child abuse” in the public education system, how long before private
education hears the knock of government censors at the door?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How long before public libraries and
privately owned book stores can be censored in the name of keeping children
safe? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The same goes for radio, T.V.,
movies and the Internet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Goodbye, 1<sup>st</sup>
amendment. If parents can be jailed for life for supporting trans youth…could
such parents be executed? Conversely, could the state legally allow parents to
abuse, even torture their kids in the belief it will purge them of their
unnatural gay or trans tendencies?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Indeed, we’ve seen real child abuse in the conversion camps the religious
right has set up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How long before state
borders are closed to prevent the escape of individuals and families trying to
flee such policies?<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The right wing would like to erase LGBTQ people from the
face of the earth and delete from books any and all mention that they ever
existed, as anything but maniacs and deviants.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The key to destroying a whole group of people is to keep them
invisible.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The public must not be
allowed to empathize with them or even acknowledge their humanity.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They must appear demons to fear, never human
beings to love.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The short story which follows is pure fantasy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But, it illustrates one basic fact:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The truth can be repressed, but it has a way
of emerging eventually.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sometimes with a
vengeance.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">********<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">EMERGENCE<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The near future…<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Dr. Clark Wellington looked over the brain tracings printing
out of the encephalograph.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“No change at
all?” he asked.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“None,” Dr. Robert Carter answered, looking down at the
comatose teenaged boy and checking the electrical contacts of the electrodes
taped to the boy’s skull.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“No variation
over the past 2 weeks.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“I would have expected to see more activity by now,”
Wellington said, holding the X-ray slides up to the light.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“There’s definitely been a substantial growth
of cerebral tissue since we upped the dosage of the regenerant.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“The brain damage was extensive.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not surprising, considering the shock
treatments and experimental drugs you were pumping into him in the conversion
camp.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You really believe the brain can return to
normal even after this long a coma?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“The growth of cell tissue proves it, as far as I’m
concerned.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His memories will be largely
gone, but his higher brain functions will be fully restored.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A complete cerebral re-boot.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Why do you suppose every state in the
Southern Confederation has diverted so much money into my experiment?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His heart raced as he imagined his impending
fame.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Carter sighed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>“Because they see this as a potential propaganda coup.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If your theory proves correct…if young Mr.
Stephens here really does wake up…fully cured of his transsexual mindset…they’ll
finally have scientific proof that transsexuality is purely a psychological
aberration and curable through induced coma.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">And, his name would go down in medical history.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You can take off for the night, Bob.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I want to run some more tests.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“All right, Clark.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Good night.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Wellington barely noticed when Carter left.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He studied the readings pensively.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What the devil was happening?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His heart leapt as the readings suddenly
spiked, the ink trails swinging wildly across the scrolling sheet, the
bio-monitor beeping wildly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His blood
racing with wild excitation, he checked the patient’s heart rate and
respiration.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Both were through the
roof.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He reached for the intercom
button.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He nearly jumped out of his skin
as a soft hand touched his shoulder.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He
looked up and gasped, wide-eyed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A
beautiful young woman stood before him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Long, stylish red hair, piercing green eyes and a tight-fitting,
revealing dress.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Who the hell are you?”
he demanded.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“How did you get in here?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Name’s Calliope,” she said with a mischievous smile, her
long eye-lashes fluttering.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“‘Hope you
don’t mind, but…I just had to meet the legendary Dr. Clark Wellington
personally.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Her graceful, dainty hands
caressed his face.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She laughed softly as
her slender arms encircled his neck, her perfume sharp and overwhelming.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">He was short of breath, his heart pounding.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Miss…Miss, I…I have work to do.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I…uh…”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The room began to sway around him, the patient almost forgotten.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was like a dream.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No woman like this had ever expressed an
interest in him before.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It seemed his
cutting-edge experiment was making a name for him already.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As she kissed him, the blood rushed to his
brain.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He nearly fainted.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He smiled, sweating like a schoolboy.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">He almost didn’t notice when she picked up a scalpel and
stabbed it into his throat.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">***<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Detective Sid Garvey looked down at the lifeless body of Clark
Wellington and smacked his lips.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Quite
a mess,” the homicide detective commented absently, looking down at the blood
splashed across the laboratory floor, Wellington’s eyes open and staring. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And, scrawled in the blood, apparently by the
victim’s fingers was what appeared to be a name.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Possibly ‘Calliope.’ <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You were seen leaving this room just about
the estimated time of death, Dr. Carter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Any comment?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“As you said, Detective…quite a mess. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think the security guards would have
noticed blood on my clothing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And, you
won’t find my fingerprints on the murder weapon.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He gestured at the bloodied scalpel now being
dropped into a plastic evidence bag.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>“Or, my DNA.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Security cameras don’t lie, Doctor,” Garvey said, his
frustration growing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Apart from you, no
one left at that time, and no one entered.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>And, the pattern of the wounds clearly rules out suicide.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So, who killed him?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A ghost?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“I certainly had no motive…”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“We both know that’s not true, Doctor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Wellington was quite famous, wasn’t he?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Performing medical experiments on the trans
kids in the conversion camps.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
Northern Alliance had tried him in absentia and branded him a war criminal.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“What has that to do with me?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Don’t be coy, doc.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You
think we haven’t checked you out?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Your
sister and her husband fled the state through the underground 2 years ago, with
their transie son.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You were investigated
at the time on suspicion of helping them escape.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“And, I was cleared, of course.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Of course, or you’d be on death row by now.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But, are you telling me you felt no ill will
toward Dr. Wellington, who might have ended up putting your nephew on that table?”
he asked, glancing at the comatose boy lying nearby.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“There was no love lost between my sister and myself,
Detective.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There’s a reason she’s
living in the north, while I’m still here.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I didn’t share her views.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She was
breaking the law by helping my nephew acquire illegal treatment, and I
certainly didn’t approve.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I haven’t
spoken with my sister in 2 years.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“And, you have no idea who might have wanted Dr. Wellington
dead?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“As you pointed out yourself, Detective…he had enemies in
the Northern Alliance.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They may have
agents here.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Who knows?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Uh-huh.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well, if you
notice any employees here at the Institute who seem suspicious, drop us a
line.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He texted Carter his contact info.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“We’ll be in touch, Doctor.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“I’m sure you will, Detective.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">***<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>FAMOUS BRAIN SURGEON
MURDERED<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Harrison Blythe switched off the newsfeed on his Q-pad, his
hand trembling a bit as he poured the boiling water into his cocoa.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He hadn’t been able to sleep.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Wellington’s murder had put him on edge.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He knew Wellington had been experimenting on
the Stephens boy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Blythe had made quite
a name for himself as the state prosecutor who’d convicted the trans boy’s
parents of getting their son illegal hormone treatments.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Peter and Sara Stephens had died by lethal
injection thanks to him.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">He sipped the cocoa, burning his tongue and swore.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He checked the external security monitor
screens and noted the security guards at their posts outside the house.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He so wanted this night to end.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Stop worrying, he told himself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The new security system was fool-proof.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No one could…<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Hey, Harry,” a woman’s voice said behind him.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">His blood froze, the cocoa cup shattering on the kitchen
floor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He gasped as he saw her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His numbness passing, he was in awe of her
beauty.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Her piercing green eyes and
waves of red hair.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And, that body…a
goddess.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Who…”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Calliope,” she said with a smile as she unfastened his robe
and slipped it off his shoulders.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I’ve
just been dying to meet you, Mr. hot-shot lawyer-man.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She giggled as she nuzzled his neck.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">He swooned, feeling himself growing hard and eager.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He wondered if he was dreaming as he glimpsed
the large kitchen knife in her hand.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">****<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Garvey rubbed his tired eyes as the coroner’s men carried
Blythe’s dead body to the meat wagon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>“The pattern of the wounds was the same as on Wellington,” the medical
examiner said.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Figures,” Garvey muttered, lighting a cigarette.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“The security cameras got nothing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Private security swears no one entered the
house.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We had to break in.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All the doors and windows were locked from
the inside.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Well, there’s no chance it was suicide.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“And, let me guess…no prints on the knife?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“None.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">And, no DNA either, of course.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Just like the scalpel.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He didn’t even see much point in checking
Carter for an alibi.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If this was the
work of Northern Alliance agents, they’d done a damn good job.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He stared absently at the cloudy dawn sky and
ran the facts through his mind.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Both
murders were obviously connected to the Stephens case.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>First, the doctor who’d put the Stephens boy
in a coma.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now, the prosecutor who’d
sent the kid’s parents to the death house.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>If it was a vendetta…either personal or political…who was next?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well, the governor was the obvious
target.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ralph Gianelli had led a
flaming, bible-thumping anti-trans crusade that had swept him into the
governor’s mansion.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The public fervor
surrounding the Stephens execution had scored him a lot of points with his base.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And, a lot of enemies in the north.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">He flipped open his phone and called his old buddy Joe
Cassidy.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“What’s up, Sid?” Cassidy said, his face appearing on screen.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Joe…you’re pretty high up on the governor’s security
detail.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Have you noticed anything
unusual lately?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Well…keep this under your hat, Sid, but…I think our beloved
governor’s got a screw loose.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“How’s that?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Well, the last time I checked in with him at the mansion,
he said he didn’t want to be disturbed because he was entertaining a lovely
young lady.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I saw him pouring two
glasses of wine over the vid, but…there was nobody else visible in the camera’s
frame.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I checked with the house
guards, they said no visitors had been admitted.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They swear he was alone.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Did this ‘lovely young lady’ have a name?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“That’s the really weird part.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He actually seemed to be talking to his
imaginary friend at one point.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He called
her something…sounded like ‘Calliope.’”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Garvey felt his blood running cold.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“When was this?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Just a few minutes ago.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Christ.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Joe, listen…tell
them to get some men in there, fast!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Break in if they have to.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now!”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“I can’t go against the Governor’s order.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Dammit, Joe, the governor’s life is in danger!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Do it now!”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“This has to go through channels…”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Garvey swore as he ended the call and switched to the police
dispatcher.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“This is Garvey, badge
117.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Get me on a sonicopter to the
Governor’s Mansion now!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Screw the
warrant, screw the commissioner!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is
a code red.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ll take full
responsibility.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">***<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Detective Garvey, you are in violation of state
air-space!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Change direction at once, or
you will be fired upon!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The voice
boomed from a half dozen security drones hovering around the Governor’s
Mansion.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His heart pounding, Garvey
ordered the robot pilot to hover close to a window at the top of the
house.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Drawing his gun and raising the
copter’s hatch, he leapt head-first, glass shattering around him as he heard
the crackle of the drones opening fire.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Groaning as he tucked and rolled, he came up running and bounded through
the corridor as the thundering explosion of the sonicopter blasted through the
window behind him.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">He froze as he came upon the governor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Gianelli lay dead in a pool of his own
blood.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Crouched over him was a beautiful
young readhead.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Clenched in her hand was
the bloodied shard of a broken wine bottle.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>She looked up at Garvey with a wild, hateful snarl, her eyes flashing,
her teeth bared.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">He fired twice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He
gaped, his heart frozen as she vanished into thin air, the glass shard falling
to the floor beside the governor’s body. Numb, he knelt by the corpse and
picked up the shard.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Freeze!”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">He looked up as two men burst in, guns drawn and trained on
him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He reflexively began to stand.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was then he realized he was still holding
his gun.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Their muzzle flashes were the
last thing he ever saw.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">***<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Robert Carter ran the brain tracings on the comatose patient
through the A.I. in direct comparison with 3 recent news reports – The murders
of Dr. Wellington, Harrison Blythe, and the governor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The 3 sharp spikes in brain activity
coincided with all 3 incidents.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Closing out his PC, he walked into the lab and looked down
at the comatose boy, opening and reading his file.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Cal Stephens, 16.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Since infusion of experimental cerebral tissue regenerative compound,
subject displays level of neuron activity unprecedented in medical history.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">He closed the file.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Arcane
theories flitted through his mind.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Theories he dimly recalled reading about years ago in books long since
burned in fiery night rallies presided over by the late governor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Terms like psychokinetic manifestation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Astral projection.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">They tried to destroy
you, Calliope,</i> he thought as he looked into the boy’s face.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">But,
you’re still in there, aren’t you?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They
wouldn’t let you be born.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But, you just
had to emerge somehow.<o:p></o:p></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br />Tom Olberthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05816824395647735536noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8157514908800779188.post-73249247247561809362022-07-09T20:43:00.000-07:002022-07-09T20:43:17.539-07:00The Art of Denial...<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaP14F2DPVuDE9OSnObVMVlH9ZHwP1H6YqcG4TZlIWhRTMiH5QsmyGSuZvyQfFyl87o_ynK7eVKDJtoKIbmH6zHcog3__Nx2YMUcD-nPqbRRrzzd0YBQWI4wLfiIUrWfPZdUcG2M4ycks4zhG2ytvR8fPCODTeZ-MxWpYtV49Pr8M92dL63OjsAbOW/s2048/merlin_10870762_a1fafdac-c844-46b6-afe6-de5023d21a9d-superJumbo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1479" data-original-width="2048" height="231" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaP14F2DPVuDE9OSnObVMVlH9ZHwP1H6YqcG4TZlIWhRTMiH5QsmyGSuZvyQfFyl87o_ynK7eVKDJtoKIbmH6zHcog3__Nx2YMUcD-nPqbRRrzzd0YBQWI4wLfiIUrWfPZdUcG2M4ycks4zhG2ytvR8fPCODTeZ-MxWpYtV49Pr8M92dL63OjsAbOW/s320/merlin_10870762_a1fafdac-c844-46b6-afe6-de5023d21a9d-superJumbo.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p><br /></p><p>There are those who find looking for patterns in history...patterns of racist white dominance, specifically... unpalatable. They claim acknowledging that the systemic dehumanization of blacks by whites spawned in the days of slavery continues to permeate our social fabric in many ways, both subtle and overt, perpetuating patterns of social inequity and violence, is unjust; that it punishes the whites of today for the crimes of their ancestors and perpetuates unwarranted anger among blacks and tragic self-hatred among whites.</p><p>But, it's not about recrimination. It's about recognizing patterns in our society which, through the decades of freedom marches, boycotts, civil rights legislation and affirmative action continues to manifest in suspicious patterns of racially stilted hiring practices, inequities in housing and medical care, and innumerable police bullets finding their way into unarmed black suspects.</p><p>Many whites don't want to acknowledge these patterns. It's easier not to. Less demanding. So much easier to just brush racism aside as a minor annoyance than to admit it's a basic human failing cultivated by American history. One that's still operating inside each of us in ways we may not even be aware of. </p><p>If our white-centered, self-congratulatory version of history continues to prevail, then racism at all levels must continue to eat away at our society, the gulf between the races growing ever wider and ever more insurmountable. The average white American may continue to see the average black American as genetically inferior; a crime waiting to happen. An attitude which perpetuates social inequity, which in turn perpetuates crime. An endless circle. Ignoring or denying racism will not make it vanish. Only acknowledging its historical origins can do that.</p><p>This short story illustrates the time-honored principle that those who forget history are...in this case, literally...doomed to relive it.</p><p>*******</p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal">REMEMBRANCE<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">2122 A.D.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The American science sub glided silently under the South
Pacific…<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Julia clenched her fist, her nerves frayed as the argument
between Roger and Tarrence finally drew to a close.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She’d tried desperately to keep her mind on
the monitors and computer data, but it had been like sitting through an
artillery duel.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Tarrence had glared at
her as he’d stormed off the bridge, his keen eyes stabbing through her like a
knife.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She winced, hating herself for
not coming to his defense.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She felt like
a coward.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She reflexively passed her
hand over her stomach, swallowing in a dry throat, a bitter taste in her
mouth.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She blinked back the tears.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Could she do it?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Did she have the courage not to?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Roger sighed as he stepped over to her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Anything new?” he asked quietly.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“No,” she responded flatly, not meeting his eyes as she
brought up the computer analysis of the magnetic field recordings.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The graphic of the wormhole formed on the
computer screen, a tube linking two plains.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>“But, the readings are constant.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>If and when it opens, the coordinates will be the same.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We are where we need to be.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She couldn’t help reflecting on the capacity
of human beings to fail to see the obvious.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The 21<sup>st</sup> century had nearly drawn to a close by the time the
world’s scientists finally realized incessant UFO sightings were
extraterrestrial in nature.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It had taken
them years after that to determine that the reason these alien ships were
appearing and disappearing inexplicably was because they were coming and going
through a trans-dimensional wormhole linking Earth with the black hole at the
center of the Milky Way galaxy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Used
apparently as a power source by aliens to operate a trans-galactic sub-space
rapid transit system. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Roger sat beside her, re-checking the readings.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I’m sorry you had to see that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He’s becoming quite militant, I’m afraid.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Her blood boiled.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She
couldn’t take it anymore.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Exactly how
would you react in his place?” she forced out.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Just what is that supposed to mean?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How could I be in his place?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m not…him.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“You’re not black.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>There, she’d said it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Let him put
it on her psych report.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Not this again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Look…I’ve treated him with the same respect I would any other member of
this team. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We all have.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“That’s not the point, and you know it.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She managed to look directly at him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“His academic achievements and efficiency
reports are as high as anyone else’s.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Obviously, or he wouldn’t have been selected for this
expedition.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“And yet, you haven’t recommended him for promotion.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In spite of his going above and beyond
consistently.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He’s put in twice the
effort of any Level 2 science officer, he qualified for an expedition that few
could even hope for, and he keeps getting passed over.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Why?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“You know why.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
don’t make the rules.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Promotion is based
on A.I.-formulated stats… social averages… group tendencies….”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Her heart was throbbing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>She couldn’t hold it in anymore.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>“Why don’t you just say it?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our
society has labeled his ethnic group genetically inferior.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">He stood up… as though reflexively distancing himself from
her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“That’s the kind of thinking that ends
careers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Look… I know it doesn’t seem
fair.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It isn’t, in a sense.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But, we’re scientists.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We have to accept the inescapable conclusions
of statistical data.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There’s a reason
why his… his group has predominantly and consistently occupied the lowest
strata of western civilization.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In
everything.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Employment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Income.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Housing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And, there are the crime
rates to consider.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Stats don’t lie.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His people had the same opportunities our
ancestors did, and have achieved far less.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>There are exceptions, of course.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Tarrence is one of them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But, we
can’t accommodate every individual in a race… a socio-ethnic group which is…
well, statistically inferior.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">She glared at him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>“You can say that as a scientist.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Even though every bit of genetic, physiological and evolutionary data
proves beyond any doubt there is absolutely no intrinsic difference…”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Just because we haven’t isolated the causal genetic
differentiation doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>We know it must.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What other
explanation is there?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">She closed her eyes, sighing in exasperation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You’re making it easier for me to make my
decision.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A chill ran through her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She’d avoided discussing it, though he’d been
like a silent, hovering presence ever since the pregnancy test had come back
positive.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She evaded his cold stare.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“I can challenge it, you know.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“You don’t have standing, now that the divorce is final, and
you know it.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She clenched the arms of
her chair.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She so wanted to scream it
out, but she couldn’t just throw her life away.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>“I will not…”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">She started as the red light flashed, the klaxon blaring…
the pre-programmed computer alarm sounding.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>ALERT.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>ALERT.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>MAGNETIC SHIFT DETECTED.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>WORMHOLE ACTIVATION IMMENENT.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Her fingers flew over the computer keys, the analysis coming
up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Confirmed,” she said, her heart
racing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“This is it.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Tarrence, to the bridge,” Roger shouted into the
intercom.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“It’s opening.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Tarrence rode the lift up from the lower deck and dashed to
his station, activating the scanners with lightning speed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Magnetic perturbations detected and
plotted,” he said.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Course laid in.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Roger assumed his place at the coordination center.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Course dead ahead east,” he said, plotting
the coordinates on his board.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Prepare
to surface.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">As the sub broke water, Julia lifted the shields from the
view port.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And, there it was.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Her jaw dropped.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A gateway into infinity…a twisting
kaleidoscope of shifting colors and warping space appearing in a vast circular
aperture floating in mid-air above the ocean surface.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nothing she’d seen in the computer
simulations had prepared her for this.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Regaining her senses, she checked the radar sweeps.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Exiting contacts confirmed.” <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A split second later, a half dozen or so alien
craft emerged from the rift.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Time was
short.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It wouldn’t stay open long.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Engage lift jets!” Roger ordered.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Engaged,” Tarrence acknowledged as the immense vertical
rotors lifted the sub into mid-air.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>“Magna field activated.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Engaging
aft thrusters.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Julia was thrust backward against her seat as the sub became
an aircraft, diving headlong into the alien star gate.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Dear God…” she whispered as the light
engulfed them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“We made it.” <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She strapped in as the ship trembled wildly
around her, the readings going crazy.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Fluctuations in the magna field,” Tarrence announced.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Attempting to compensate.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Roger…” Julia said in a breathless whisper, unable to
believe her eyes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“The chronometers are
going whacky.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is…”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">A blinding flash of white light swallowed everything.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">She felt hot sun, heard wild screams and smelled smoke.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She opened her eyes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She was standing in a village of burning
huts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Screaming black natives were being
driven from their homes by white men in archaic clothing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>16<sup>th</sup> century?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The whites were howling and setting fire to
the huts with torches.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The blacks were
being beaten down and shackled.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Some of
the black villagers attacked the whites with spears, and were blasted down with
primitive muskets.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Was she
dreaming?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Or, had she died and gone to
hell?<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Where the hell are we?” Roger demanded.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Central Africa, 1535,” Tarrence declared, checking his
portable com pad.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Julia’s mind was
spinning.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Tarrence roared as he picked
up a spear from a fallen black warrior and thrust it into the gut of a white
man as he tried to grab a fleeing village girl.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Damned heathen,” another white man shouted as he aimed a
pistol at Tarrence.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“No!” Julia shouted as she threw herself against the man,
knocking him off balance and grabbing the pistol as it fired.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Another blinding flash.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She found herself back at her bridge station
on the sub.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She looked around.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Tarrence and Roger were back at their
stations too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Was it real?” she asked,
barely able to speak.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“That had to be some kind of shared hallucination,” Roger
exclaimed, wiping cold sweat from his forehead.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“This looks real enough,” she said, picking up the recently
spent single shot pistol from where she’d dropped it on the deck.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Real as this graze on my shoulder,” Tarrence said, his hand
coming away from his shoulder smeared with blood.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I think you just saved my life, Jules.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Thank you.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Before she could even think, another flash swallowed
them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This time she found herself on the
rolling decks of an old wooden sailing ship at sea.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Wild screams…a battle.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sabers clashed, muskets firing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Blacks were breaking their chains, attacking
the white crew that held them in bondage.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Where this time?” Roger asked.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Mid-Atlantic.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>1683,”
Tarrence answered.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“According to the
computer.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">One of the sailors pointed a pistol at an enraged black man
covered in blood as he attacked the sailor, swinging a broken chain.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Tarrence picked up a sword and hacked off the
sailor’s gun hand.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The white man
screamed as the black smashed in his head with the chain.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Another white flash, and they were back on
the sub again.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Another souvenir,” Tarrence said, holding up the bloodied
cutlass.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“What is happening?!” Roger demanded.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Near as I can figure,” Tarrence said, checking his
instruments…<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“We’ve slipped into some
kind of time warp.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Somehow, we’re
passing through our own history.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“I think he’s right,” Julia said, regaining her senses
enough to run a computer analysis.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“The
temporal readings have balanced twice, then disappeared into dead space each
time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We seem to be randomly
intersecting with the time stream, slipping in and out of normal time.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Another white flash.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">This time, she found herself at a kind of open air market, a
noisy crowd of people in 18<sup>th</sup> century garb.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And a barker putting human beings on
display…black men and women paraded before the crowd in chains.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Good strong men for the fields,” he shouted.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Fine young ladies to serve in your
households.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What am I bid?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“This is Boston,” Tarrence said, checking his hand
comp.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“1752.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“What the hell’s going on?” Roger asked.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Can’t you see?” Tarrence asked.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“It’s a damn slave auction!”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“What?” Roger’s face twisted in disbelief.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Here, in the cradle of the American
revolution?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This can’t be right.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Another white flash, and they were back on
the bridge. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">And, so it went, one time shift after another.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Black soldiers in blue Union uniforms
storming Confederate lines.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Thousands
gathered in Washington, D.C. a century later.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>“I have a dream today,” a black man said to cheering crowds.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“By any means necessary,” another black man said to other
cheering crowds.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Who were those men?”
Roger asked as they shifted back to the bridge.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>“I’ve never seen their faces before in history holos.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We have to be slipping through some kind of
alternate timeline.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A parallel universe,
different from our own.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Not according to these readings,” Julia said.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“A parallel timeline would have a different
quantum signature.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s definitely our
own past we’re seeing.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“But, that’s impossible!” Roger insisted, his face flushed,
his eyes wild.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Those events never
happened!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They can’t have.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Obviously, they did,” Tarrence said.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“We just saw them with our own eyes!”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“But, why aren’t they recorded in our history texts?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Roger asked.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Another white flash.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Black protesters gathered around a police line protecting an incinerator
where books were being burned.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“We’re in Dallas,” Tarrence said.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“2054.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">A huge image of a white man’s face appeared on a gigantic
public telescreen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Julia vaguely
remembered him from her high school history.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>A little-remembered U.S. president of that period.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“The Supreme Court has correctly decided that
free speech does not extend to history, as public interest outweighs the 1<sup>st</sup>
Amendment,” the man’s voice boomed through multiple loudspeakers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Histories that vilify the white race will
fill our children with self-loathing and divide our society, perpetuating
endless recrimination and alienation between the races.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Let us celebrate the heroism and nobility
that made America great!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>These dark
chapters of our past are over and done with, and meaningless now.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They are best forgotten.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Another white flash, and they were back on the bridge.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“We’re coming up fast on our own time,” Julia
said with relief, checking the readings.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>“And, we’re merging back into the timeline again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We’ll be home soon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Whether by our own miscalculation, or by
deliberate design of our alien friends…the wormhole’s turned us back and spit
us out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We’re headed back where we
started.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Brace for splashdown!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The ship trembled as it exited the wormhole
and hit the ocean surface.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“South
Pacific, 2122,” she said, checking the instruments.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“According to the chronometer, it’s been just
a few seconds since we left.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“The wormhole just closed behind us,” Tarrence said,
checking his instruments.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Julia checked the
computer records.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“And, we’ve got quite
a story to tell.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our personal vid
recorders were on the whole time and uploaded everything into the onboard database.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We’re carrying a living history.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Roger blanched white.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>“Dear God…delete the records!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All
of them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He lunged for the nearest computer panel.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“What?!” Tarrence exclaimed, blocking his path.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Have you lost your mind?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We have to bring back what we’ve learned.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“It would destroy everything!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It would plunge our society into chaos!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No one can ever know.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Get out of my way!”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Over my dead body.” <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Julia gasped as Roger pulled a gun.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Don’t make me, Tarrence,” he warned. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Julia quickly re-set the navigational controls, turning the
sub sharply to port.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As Roger lost his
footing, Tarrence tackled him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They
struggled for the gun.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Julia gasped as a
muffled shot rang out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She felt both
horrified and relieved as Roger fell limp to the deck.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Tarrence took Roger’s pulse.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He looked up at Julia.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“He’s dead.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">She lowered her head into her hand, leaning against the
panel.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Horrible as it seemed, she
actually felt a gigantic weight had been lifted from her shoulders.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She felt Tarrence’s strong hand gently stroke
her shoulder.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I’m sorry,” he said.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Don’t be,” she said, looking up into his strong, handsome
face and stroking his hand.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I’ve
decided.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m not going to abort our
baby.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">He took her hand.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>“You’re sure this is what you want?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I’ve made it clear how I feel, but… you know this means prison or exile
for both of us.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">She stood and put her arms around him, kissing him full on
the lips.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I feel freer than I have in…
as long as I can remember.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Besides… I’m
hoping once those records go public, things are going to change.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And, long overdue.”<o:p></o:p></p><br /><p></p>Tom Olberthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05816824395647735536noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8157514908800779188.post-65956182421287976902022-06-26T09:44:00.000-07:002022-06-26T09:44:55.953-07:00Retreat into Darkness...<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1rTCxgZyX2jy68wd-lns-UlLErFk2EWBnVbhuEwaramPLwlu2KpVSD7ajW1Rh30g30yO7heLGYVa3OSTeSgMV9x3nhNxrwUQcb1s3AJOqq2Bore1HTySX4YjDOiMNwZxx8EAA6D7cKojMzQRvJRG-HVHuZn-vL6jtltocQlVrRjB45cWT0OaOiVWt/s600/j0178945.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="401" data-original-width="600" height="308" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1rTCxgZyX2jy68wd-lns-UlLErFk2EWBnVbhuEwaramPLwlu2KpVSD7ajW1Rh30g30yO7heLGYVa3OSTeSgMV9x3nhNxrwUQcb1s3AJOqq2Bore1HTySX4YjDOiMNwZxx8EAA6D7cKojMzQRvJRG-HVHuZn-vL6jtltocQlVrRjB45cWT0OaOiVWt/w461-h308/j0178945.jpg" width="461" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p><br /></p><p>And, for the first time...the Supreme Court has revoked a fundamental civil right of personal choice and autonomy by sending the question of a woman's right to an abortion back to the states.</p><p>Battle lines are already forming between Federal authority and state sovereignty. Women of low income...primarily women of color...will be hit the hardest in states that have already banned abortion to one degree or another. </p><p>What fundamental human rights might next be declared nothing more than the opinions of individual states? Segregation? Slavery? The very right to live if you're LGBTQ?</p><p>It isn't just social issues on the line, though. The highest court is already weighing in on issues of gun control and climate change, in direct challenges against Federal authority. Issues of national security...maybe even the survival of the environment and consequently of the human race itself...are being decided not by law enforcement agencies, scientists or even by the popular will of the people. But, by ideologue judges appointed as operatives of social change by reactionary politicians and their political bases, which look on the verge of all-out rebellion.</p><p>In an already divided country...one in which the validity of the electoral process was recently challenged by a large faction, threatening the peaceful transition of power...these growing divisions look like sparks waiting to ignite the fuel.</p><p>This short story takes it to the limit. How far away now is the dividing line between speculative fiction and reality?</p><p>****</p><p> </p><p class="MsoNormal">JUGGERNAUT<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">2051 A.D.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Bradley’s blood raced as Washington D.C. burned.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The teeming mobs roared like a pack of wild animals, firing
their automatic weapons into the air as the capitol dome went up in
flames.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Bradley’s mind exploded like a
thunderbolt as he raised his hands, the heat of the fire washing over him as
his voice boomed over the crowd through a hundred hovering audio drones.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“My fellow Americans…” The mob fell into a hush at the sound
of his voice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was awed at the sway he
held over them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“The 2<sup>nd</sup>
American Revolution is successful!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
elite has been purged, the abortion mills have been destroyed, the perversions
of birth control and sexual deviancy have been eradicated, our right to bear
arms is vindicated, and American industry is free.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The coal plants are open, the oil
flows…American power is revived.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>America
is ours again!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The crowd exploded.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His heart throbbed as they chanted his
name.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He saw the dead bodies in the
distance, dangling from hangman’s ropes and reveled in his own power.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">His mind flooded with memories.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Once his hand-picked judges had handed the
power of life and death to the state politicians, the battle was won.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They’d armed the masses…his hand-picked
rabble rousers had led the uprisings.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The cities had burned, and martial law had made his power absolute.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Now, he could build…<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">***<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">2073 A.D.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Bradley shuddered and slammed his fist into his desk as the
entire underground complex seemed to tremble around him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He cursed as he looked up at the domed
ceiling.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The distant bombing seemed to
get closer every day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The immense plasma
screens around him conveyed the scenes of surface bombardment from the
Euro-Asian space platforms, numbers scrolling across the screens totaling the
daily body counts…He snickered, switching the views to the underground
monitors. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Construction of the subterranean cities was well
underway.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The coal plants had been moved
deep underground where the bombing couldn’t reach them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Construction round the clock.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Jobs, jobs, jobs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He almost laughed, shaking his head.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The idiots worked themselves to death
building cities they’d never live in.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Cities
only for winners like him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They barely
noticed the flooded coastal cities, the tornadoes leveling the heartland, the
droughts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Of course not, he thought,
switching the screens to scenes of black ghettoes burning.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Crematoria spewing the ashes of assorted
undesirables into a darkening sky.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Police squads kicking in the door of every domicile where a pregnancy
implant monitor had gone dead. They were too busy killing each other to notice
the old world was dying.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The juggernaut of
progress couldn’t be stopped.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“By the Chancellor’s leave…”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">He started as his latest Chief of Staff, Jason Barrett
entered unannounced.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“What is it,
Barrett,” he grumbled, switching off the screens, irritated at having his daily
entertainment interrupted.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Barrett’s forehead was creased.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The dark circles under his eyes and his
gravelly voice revealed he hadn’t been getting much sleep.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Chancellor…we need more conscription.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The black and Hispanic insurgents are getting
increasingly organized, and arms are getting to them from the Euro-Asian
Alliance.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And, refugees from the storm
areas are beginning to join them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ll
need at least…”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Forget conscription,” Bradley said, pouring himself a
bourbon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I need all the manpower I can
get for the construction projects.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Organize more militias, for God’s sake.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>There’s no shortage of dead weight up there, and all of it armed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Use some of it.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He tossed one back and poured himself
another, smiling at the buzz.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Barrett sighed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>“Sir…they’re getting hungry.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Hungry people get desperate fast.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Bradley swirled the ice in his glass.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Barrett…you forget the perfectly balanced
nature of the times in which we live.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He patted the other man’s shoulder and whispered close by his ear.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“As half the population shrinks, the other
half gets fed.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He switched one screen
to a scene of a food production mill where the dead bodies of a generation he’d
saved from the abortion mills were being processed into raw protein food
stuffs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He chuckled, taking a swallow.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Increase food production.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>More mass executions of the homeless, more
anti-homosexuality sweeps.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Just step up
food production.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He switched the screen
to moaning porn scenes.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“One other thing, Chancellor…We’ve received another entreaty
from the E.A.A.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They’re willing to
negotiate a cease-fire if we cut back on coal and oil.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Absolutely not!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How
many times do we have to go over this?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>If we cut back on fossil fuels, the economy suffers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Besides, we’d see hydro and solar cropping up
all over the continent before you know it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>No…centralized power grids are key to maintaining control.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You said yourself rebellions are flaring
up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The last thing we need now is to cut
back on the juice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Besides…”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He finished off his drink.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“The more of them that die in the heat and
the storms, the less we have to worry about.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He smiled, slapping Barrett’s shoulder.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Dad…”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">He grinned broadly as his daughter Rachel entered.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Radiantly beautiful as ever.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So like her late mother.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He found himself having to fight off certain
urges where Rachel was concerned.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Kitten…always
a pleasure, but I’m a little busy right now…”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Dad, this is important!” Her lovely face flushed as she
stamped her foot and raised her voice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>“I’m trying to throw the biggest party of the season, and your security
staff is telling me I can’t have my friends from Houston or the New York
platforms, because of travel restrictions?!”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Everything’s locked down because of the insurgency, Miss,”
Barrett explained.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“I wasn’t asking you!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Dad…”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Just as Bradley was about to pour himself a stronger drink,
Claudette…his lovely black attendant entered, in one of her sexiest
form-fitting mini-dresses.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One he’d had
designed personally.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He looked her over
and nodded approvingly.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Is now a bad time?” Claudette asked.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“This is our usual hour.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“It’s never a bad time for you, my dear.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He licked his lips and smiled.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“That will be all for now, Barrett.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“What about my party, dad?” Rachel demanded.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Is your little whore more important than
me?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">He rolled his eyes, wondering what expensive gift would
placate her this time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Alarm bells and
strobing red lights shrieked across his nerves. Barrett put his phone to his
ear, sweat glistening on his forehead as he switched the screens to a scene of
explosions in the coal mines… black and Hispanic slave workers armed with
assault rifles blazing away, killing their overseers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Bradley’s blood boiled.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Barrett…what in hell…?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The man stared at him, the color draining out of his
face.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“E.A.A. commandoes smuggled
weapons to the slaves.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There are revolts
in every mine and explosions spreading towards the main power plants.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Where the hell were your guards?!” he shouted, his face
flushed, his voice cracking.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“The security gates were opened and the guard units moved on
your authorization, Chancellor.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“What the hell are you talking about?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I never authorized…”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He froze, as in a nightmare as Rachel pulled
a plasma gun and pumped three rounds into his stomach.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The pain was blinding, the room
spinning.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He barely saw Claudette pull
her own gun and blow Barrett’s head off before he hit the floor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Bradley’s hand came away from his stomach
drenched in blood.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“You’re so careless with your security access codes,
father,” Rachel said with a grin.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Did I
do all right, Darling?” she asked, stroking Claudette’s long, luxuriant hair.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“You were perfect, my love,” Claudette replied, sliding her
arm around Rachel’s slender waist and kissing her fully on the lips.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“But, we have to hurry.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The shuttle’s waiting.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Bradley’s mind was reeling, his heart fluttering.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Why?” he whispered.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Claudette’s under cover for the E.A.A., of course,” Rachel
answered with a sneer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“They’ve granted
me asylum in Europe in exchange for my help.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I understand Paris is lovely this time of year. Give mom my
regards.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She smiled as she pointed her
gun at his head and fired.<o:p></o:p></p>Tom Olberthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05816824395647735536noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8157514908800779188.post-35933760327674841702022-06-19T14:54:00.001-07:002022-07-09T16:06:39.188-07:00And, the death toll continues...<p> <br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqaOXJ110SMs8tcVmm6zJXMGr2iOP5aWE-WQJo4IZPXyQ32GGmS9brhxpuVPl5EoOu5dLSXUz0iK9VKPg7VJW-J_RT0iHdFxrZ__Kn_Yn2jfgY_KpLGFHDQRC-BvcqEUJwUh6ri6AuTmIzvedWwxeeSjSPRrLfQJLgVjOSSsrWOLELyieJqWFWGNy1/s284/imagesP2X2N5B0.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="177" data-original-width="284" height="396" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqaOXJ110SMs8tcVmm6zJXMGr2iOP5aWE-WQJo4IZPXyQ32GGmS9brhxpuVPl5EoOu5dLSXUz0iK9VKPg7VJW-J_RT0iHdFxrZ__Kn_Yn2jfgY_KpLGFHDQRC-BvcqEUJwUh6ri6AuTmIzvedWwxeeSjSPRrLfQJLgVjOSSsrWOLELyieJqWFWGNy1/w504-h396/imagesP2X2N5B0.jpg" width="504" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The killings go on... the automatic rifle the weapon of choice. Sometimes, the motive is madness. Sometimes racism or other extremist ideology. But, the death is constant.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">After the most recent mass slaughter, a degree of bipartisan cooperation unseen in Washington D.C. for decades materialized. For a minute, anyway. Whether it will lead to any meaningful step towards the restoration of sanity in this country remains to be seen.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Firearms helped shape our history and just may be the end of it, if our society dissolves into a lawless frontier.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">This short story illustrates an extreme (hopefully fantastic) scenario of just where America might be going if gun rights ultimately take precedent over human rights.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">****</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">SANCTUARY<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“West 20 degrees, Feng,” Marjani ordered, her eyes fixed on
the computer analysis of the projected flight path of the last expedition to venture into the North
American continent.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Acknowledged, Commander,” her Chinese helmsman replied.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Marjani recalled her history…in the old
pre-globalist days<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">, the ancient Americans had worshiped a fire-arms culture.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It became all-consuming to them, dominating their way of life even as it destroyed their civilization.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span> Other nations, including those of </span>Marjani’s native Africa, had instituted common-sense gun control legislation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But, North America had ultimately dissolved into utter chaos.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">As the
ship circled in and descended, she saw their destination on the forward viewscreen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Across the desolate plains of ruined ancient
cities…there is was.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The dome.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Truly the crowning achievement of a dead
civilization.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Immense as a mountain
range, it straddled the continental heartland.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The only human built structure in existence big enough to be seen from
space.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Any contact?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Negative, Commander,” Cibor, the European com officer
replied.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“But, this was the last known position of the European
Coalition expedition, just before they disappeared?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Affirmative.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m
scanning on all frequencies, but I can’t be sure radio communication is even
possible through the dome.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Probably not,” Meera, the young Indian historian said.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“By all indications…towards the end of the
late nationalist period, the Americans had completely isolated themselves.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not even radio contact with the outside world
was possible.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The dome was designed to
insulate them from what they called ‘foreign dominance.’ Primarily, they wanted to escape the gun control legislation of the new United Nations Assembly.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“There’s the first ship!” Feng exclaimed, pinpointing the
Euro expedition airship on the viewscreen, brackets flashing around a point
near the edge of the dome.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Enhance 40%,” Marjani ordered, the landed airship growing
larger on screen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“That’s the Artemis,
all right.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘Looks intact.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Put us down right next to it, Feng.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All hands, brace for landing.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She felt the vibration as the landing jets
engaged, the ship touching down with a slight shudder.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Deploy scanning drones.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“No sign of movement,” Jean-Paul, the tactical officer
reported, the aero-drone images of the surrounding area appearing on split
sections of the viewscreen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“However…”
he zoomed in on one section with a hand-held remote.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What looked like a breached hatchway appeared
on screen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“It looks like they gained
access to the dome through there.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Marjani studied the situation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“All right…Minimal contingent.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We don’t want to kick over any hornet’s nests
if we can avoid it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Meera,
Isabella…You’re with me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Beamers set on
heavy stun force.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Jean-Paul, you have
the bridge.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The man looked at her with a furrowed brow.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Commander…I respectfully request that I be
allowed to…”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Denied,” she said firmly, suiting up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I need you here.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But, have a squad standing by, armed with stun beamers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We may lose contact once we’re
inside.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If we’re not back in 20 minutes,
come in fast.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Clear?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Affirmative, Commander,” he said grudgingly, a frown on his
stern black face.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Marjani climbed down the airship’s ladder, the harsh wind
howling through the surrounding ruins.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Her breath rasped through her helmet, fogging the glass of her
faceplate.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Dust pelted her suit as she
and the other two women made their way into the shadowed interior of the
dome.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They turned on their helmet
lights, the gloomy darkness swallowing them as the faint light of the entrance
faded behind them.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Air musty, but breathable,” Isabella, the South American
anthropologist reported, checking her scanner.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>“No dangerous microbes or toxins detected.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Marjani cautiously
lifted her face plate and winced in disgust, the ancient stench of decay and rot
choking her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was like stepping into a
charnel pit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She threw her light across
the rusted, decayed wreck of shattered metal and gutted instrument panels all
around her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Layers of dust all
around.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“How old are these ruins,
Meera?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“About 3000 years at best estimate, Commander,” the young
woman said, her voice a tense whisper.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>“This was the last outpost of technology towards the end.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A haven from the gang wars, for the wealthy
elite.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But, as you see…long since
cannibalized for raw survival.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Civilization clearly fell inside, too.” <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Commander, we’ve just lost contact with the ship,” Isabella
declared.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“However…I’m picking up a
signal from the sub-dermal emergency tracker of one of the expedition
members.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Half a kilometer due east.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Beamers at the ready,” Marjani ordered.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Isabella, you take point.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Meera and I will cover the flanks.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She watched every shadow as they advanced in
the gloom, fighting to keep her breathing steady.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Isabella…Have your people in the South
American Federation sent no expeditions this far north?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“None that have returned, Commander,” the young Latina
replied.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“There have been rumors of wild
cannibal tribes in these parts, but nothing definite.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Marjani started as something moved in the shadows, red eyes
blazing in the darkness as the thing lunged.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>She fired, a shrill, inhuman scream lancing to her marrow like a cold
skewer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She caught a glimpse of
something shaggy as the flash of the energy blast faded.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A cold chill ran through her as her heart
started beating again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You both
okay?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Both women exhaled, replying in
the affirmative.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Marjani threw her light
over the thing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Something like a
rodent.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But, huge.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Over a meter long, with straggly fur and
three-inch curved fangs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“What in hell?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Clearly, a mutant,” Meera said, breathlessly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“It seems the vermin are evolving towards becoming
the dominant lifeform.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Stay close, stay alert,” Marjani said, sweat stinging her
armpits as they advanced into a dim, growing light coming from a section ahead.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">They emerged from the dark tunnels into a wide, open
chamber.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Rusted, abandoned machinery
choked with thick weeds and underbrush.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Artificial light shined down from an arching ceiling high overhead.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Atomically powered lighting,” Meera
explained.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Clearly designed for
hydroponic agriculture.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The farming
equipment’s obviously long since fallen into disrepair and the crops have gone
to seed, but the reactors are still running.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Isabella shouted as
some horrible multi-legged organism…something like a centipede, but nearly a
meter in length crawled by.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Another
mutation?” she asked.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Marjani looked around, seeing winged insects, like
mosquitos, but nearly half a meter long, fluttering about.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“I’m picking up low-level radiation,” Meera <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>said.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>“Radiation leaks increasing over 3 millennia in a closed biosphere would
account for this level of mutancy.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Are we in danger?” Marjani asked, fighting to keep her
voice steady.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“The radiation levels are too low to do us any harm over short periods, but I
wouldn’t advise a lengthy stay.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Have no fear.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Which
way now, Isabella?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Through there.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">They pushed through clinging vines and brambles into another
section.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ruined industry.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Gutted factories.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What looked like wrecked battle drones
covered in thick layers of dust.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In open
areas, metal wreckage had been piled up, forming what looked like barricades,
covering makeshift shelters.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Like
primitive forts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Marjani ran her hand
across jagged holes in sheets of metal.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Bullet holes, she realized.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“They turned on each other at the end,” Isabella
declared.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Their food supply probably
ran low, so they split into factions and fought over what was left.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She picked up what looked like a crudely
fashioned metal club.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“When the industry
collapsed, when the ammunition was spent, they reverted to hand-to-hand
combat.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">They all looked up, Marjani’s blood running ice cold as a
scream echoed through the chambers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They
all ran in the direction of the scream.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The sound of multiple voices resounding in the rhythm of some savage
chant grew louder as they neared the entrance to a lower chamber.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">They stopped, looking on a scene out of a nightmare.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In a wide, torchlit chamber, a crowd of
hideously deformed, pale little primitives in rough animal skins clustered
about a towering statue.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>An immense
bronze figure of a man holding a primitive rifle aloft.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“En-Rah!” they all chanted in unison.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“En-Rah!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>En-Rah!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>En-Rah!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A man was dragged forward by those crooked
little savages.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A man in a European
Coalition uniform.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Marjani gasped as a
stack of wood and brambles was gathered around the poor man’s feet as he was
tied to a pole.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“They’re going to sacrifice him?” she asked in a whisper.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“To their ‘god,’" Meera whispered.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> "</span>Since they fell back into primitivism, their gun culture seems to have degenerated into a pseudo-religion.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The captive screamed as one of the primitives brought a
torch toward his pyre.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Marjani shouted
as she fired. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The stun blast knocked the
little creature down, the torch falling from his hand.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The other savages gasped and drew back as the
three women bounded down the steps, firing warning bursts into the air.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“En-Rah,” the creatures all whispered in awe,
falling to their knees, apparently at the sight of guns.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Untie him,” Marjani ordered.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I’ll cover you.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As Meera and Isabella freed the captive, the
mutants snarled in rage and attacked en masse.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Marjani fired directly into the crowd, stunning several of the creatures
into unconsciousness.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Some were
frightened off, but the rest kept coming, brandishing primitive spears and
clubs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Marjani’s heart raced.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Bursts of energy blasted through the wild
mob, multiple creatures falling.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
rest screamed in terror and scattered into the ruins.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Marjani looked up, heaving a sigh of relief
as Jean-Paul’s strike team came bounding down the stairs, stun beamers
blazing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“That’s enough!” she shouted,
holding up a hand.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Hold your fire.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t think they’ll be back.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well done.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>She holstered her beamer.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Are you all right?” she asked the man they’d saved.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">He nodded, trembling.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>“Yes,” he said in a strangled whisper.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>“Thank you.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“The rest of your team?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">He shook his head, burying his face in his hands.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Get him back to the ship.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>We’re getting out of here.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She
looked at the monstrous statue and brushed a layer of dust away from the plaque
at the pedestal.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Three letters stood out in bold relief:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>NRA.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></p><br /></div><p></p>Tom Olberthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05816824395647735536noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8157514908800779188.post-60132429905405711502022-05-28T14:19:00.000-07:002022-05-28T14:19:15.220-07:00After Roe v. Wade...<p> The United States Supreme Court may shortly overturn Roe v. Wade, the historic decision which secured a woman's right to terminate a pregnancy. Half a century of basic freedom may soon come to an end.</p><p>Chief Justice Alito's philosophy is that this decision is not an inalienable right of the individual, but the province of state politicians. One has to wonder, if a right of bodily autonomy is not considered a constitutional right, what is? What next may be left to the mercy of local state politics and self-serving politicians catering to populist sentiment? Marriage equality? Basic human rights for LGBTQ people? How about even racial and religious equality?</p><p>In the near future, if the right to abort a pregnancy is left to the states...if some states allow abortion and others don't...what then? Legislation has been proposed already that would literally equate abortion with homicide. If that becomes the law in some states, will those states actually stop pregnant women from crossing their borders to obtain an abortion elsewhere? Could abortion actually be punishable by death?</p><p>If state's rights are to be considered virtually absolute in the case of abortion, how far could this go?</p><p>This short story proposes an extreme possibility which hopefully will remain the stuff of science fiction.</p><p>*************</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXa6eZyUIGwhB0c8mJzxxyo9I-DrGKHIsoOJ6E32UQBKTd3o4X9FTwTgBsTNBDm-b6TG6jsyRMdsxHTKlPtfYwr8fNMi8wyKMIRSPGdm47EVuwQ4DMIBCZXDeaAf4tFA2M0pkbCa1rJJIQzBNhVlvtZGMA_yjiGDDXYkpU2x62flnmNJdyMrpXFaT-/s407/iStock_000014247188XSmall-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="295" data-original-width="407" height="232" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXa6eZyUIGwhB0c8mJzxxyo9I-DrGKHIsoOJ6E32UQBKTd3o4X9FTwTgBsTNBDm-b6TG6jsyRMdsxHTKlPtfYwr8fNMi8wyKMIRSPGdm47EVuwQ4DMIBCZXDeaAf4tFA2M0pkbCa1rJJIQzBNhVlvtZGMA_yjiGDDXYkpU2x62flnmNJdyMrpXFaT-/s320/iStock_000014247188XSmall-1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal">CRUCIBLE<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Tara roared as she fired, men falling from the machine gun
turrets atop the wall guarding the Texas border.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The hatred raging through her blood was
intoxicating, pounding through her brain like bomb bursts as she swung the
machine gun, the copter turning.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Focus,</i> she
commanded herself, concentrating through the red haze.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Switching to interceptor RPG’s, she linked
the A.I. through her scanner goggles, targeting the enemy choppers moving to
intercept the Federacy tanks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She tasted
the salt of her sweat on her upper lip as she took out one copter after
another.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She found herself reveling in
the deaths of the Christian Nationalist pilots, and winced in disgust.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She hated what she was becoming, but she
couldn’t stop.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Their hate was a
scorching fever, and it had infected her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>She could quell the fire in her brain only by killing them.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">She cheered as the tanks breached the wall, a tide of
refugees making it across the border into New Mexico.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>EMERGENCY, the auto pilot intoned as the
chopper’s gas tanks burst into flame, punctured by ground fire.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>SEVERE DAMAGE.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>EVACUATE.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Tara cursed as the A.I. automatically swung the chopper downward.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She didn’t wait for an easy jump distance;
She knew the sooner she was off, the sooner the A.I. would switch to secondary
combat protocol and aim itself at the nearest enemy command post.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">She jumped, groaning with the impact as she tucked and
rolled across the dusty ground.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She came
up firing with two handguns.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">This is more like it,</i> a part of her mind
exclaimed with a perverse pleasure as she killed the C.N. scum firing at the
refugees.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Out of the corner of her eye,
she saw her chopper crash into a hovering enemy command heliplatform, the two
dissolving into a searing fireball.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She
laughed in madness, the killing fever taking her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She fired and fired, dead enemy soldiers
falling until her ammo was spent.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">She drew the serrated blade from her boot as it came down to
hand-to-hand. The hulking swine with the eagle tattoo on his thick neck came at
her, a sneer crossing his ugly face.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He
licked his lips as he drew his blade.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If
this was it, this was damn well how she wanted to go out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Face-to-face with the pigs who’d killed her
sister and tortured Tara in the camps.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The swine snarled as he lunged.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She winced as she spun, his blade grazing her
shoulder.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She thrust, skewering his
kidney.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He groaned, swinging
backward.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She ducked and stabbed him
again, cutting through the flab and muscle of his ample mid-section.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He roared in pain, his black-gloved hand
clenching his knife as he swung.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She saw
stars as the hilt of his knife connected with her head.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Flat on her back, she shook her head, his
wild-eyed, savage face glaring down at her as he raised his knife over his head
with both hands.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She kicked him in the
groin and rolled.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He doubled over, then
came after her again, his teeth bared, sweat streaming down his bald head.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She threw dirt in his face and reached for
her knife where it lay on the ground.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>She knew she wouldn’t reach it in time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>She thought of her sister as the bastard closed in.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Gushing red holes formed a line across the man’s chest as
the sound of an assault rifle cut through the hot midday air.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As the enemy soldier fell dead, Tara looked
up at the woman on the passing tank, holding the smoking rifle.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A smile spread across Tara’s face as she
recognized the girl’s face.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Steph!” she
shouted, getting to her feet as Stephanie tossed her the rifle.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Swinging onto the tank, Tara laid down cover
fire, taking out more C.N. troopers as they advanced. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">As the tank cleared the wall into Federacy territory, Tara’s
heart leapt as she saw more Federacy tanks moving up fast, a solid line
approaching, Federacy flags flapping in the hot wind.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She held on tight as the tank swiveled
around, joining the advancing line as the Federacy tanks opened fire.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The air vibrated, thunder blasting through
her chest as sections of the wall collapsed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Federacy sonic jets roared in, long-range air-to-airs taking out enemy
choppers moving in.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Tara cheered and
held her rifle high and proud as the Christian Nationalist troops retreated.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">She turned to Stephanie who sat there on the turret, smiling
at her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Thanks,” Tara said, brushing a
wisp of hair out of the other young woman’s eyes and vividly remembering the
day they’d met.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The day Stephanie’s unit
had liberated Tara from the C.N. conversion camp in Utah, years ago.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Missed you, babe,” Stephanie said.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">As they kissed, Tara found herself trying to remember how
many times she’d broken up with this girl.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>As usual, she couldn’t.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 5;"> </span>***<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Tara exhaled a stream of cannabis cigarette smoke into the
cool night air, firelight washing over the sign on the Christian Nationalist
side of the half-shattered wall.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A huge,
enlarged photo of a first trimester fetus, with the caption in bold
letters:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>LEAVE HERE TO KILL YOUR CHILD,
AND DIE WITH HIM. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She lit the corner of
the poster with her lighter and watched it burn.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She walked past the bonfires where the
Christian Nationalist flags were being burned, the white cross against the
stars and bars shriveling in the flames, the firelight illuminating the
Federacy Flags being hung.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The red and
white stripes and rainbow crescent and green-and-blue earth…and that blue field
with precious few stars left.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How long
would the Federacy be able to hold this territory, she wondered.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How many times had it changed hands already,
and at the cost of how many lives?<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“More damn’ Russian guns,” a Federacy grunt muttered as he
helped load captured enemy ordnance into trucks for shipment.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“That’s ‘cause we bombed the hell out of the C.N. arms
factories in Dallas, bro,” another Federacy soldier said with a smile.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Yeah, I know.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I just
wish our dear Chinese allies were as generous as Ivan.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Amen to that,</i> Tara
thought as she walked on.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">They were still clearing away the dead bodies.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She turned away, wincing in revulsion as the
firelight fell on the dead, ash-pale face of one of the refugees who didn’t
make it across…a girl, late teens maybe…one of thousands of pregnant girls
trying to get to freedom.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Tara clenched
her fist as she remembered her sister Karen had saved countless others like
that one when she ran the underground railroad into the free states.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The C.N. bastards had publicly executed her
for it in front of cheering crowds in Selma.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Remember all the ones we did save,</i>
Tara reminded herself as she unclenched her fist and walked on.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">At
least the poor girl died quick,</i> she thought.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Unlike the ones they caught alive.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Those, they grew to term in the camps, then
butchered like animals, cutting them open without anesthesia to extract the
babies.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Her stomach turned as she
remembered what she’d seen when her unit had liberated the camp in Ohio.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The gutted bodies stacked carelessly in the
crematoria…<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">She doubled over and vomited.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She leaned back against the wall and cried,
slumping to a seated position.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She hated
herself for that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When she’d screamed in
anguish, convulsing from the electric shocks in the conversion camp, she’d
promised herself those pigs would never see her cry.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Damn, they were winning.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They were killing her by inches, and she
couldn’t stop them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No matter how many
of them she killed, it would never be enough.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>She heard gunfire in the night, and recognized it for what it was.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Firing squads, executing the damned C.N. butchers
who’d killed so many like that girl, and anyone who’d tried to help them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She’d volunteered for such firing squads in Louisiana.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In Mississippi.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In Tennessee.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>She’d lost count of how many notches she’d carved into her rifle
stock.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It would never be enough.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>More of them just kept coming, and coming.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She slumped her head back, the tears
streaming down her cheeks.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">She felt a hand on her shoulder and looked up.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Hey, babe,” Stephanie whispered, sitting down beside her
and putting her arm around her shoulders.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>“Finally got a little R&R.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>C’mere.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She kissed Tara on the
head, wiping away her tears.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Tara rested her head on Steph’s shoulder.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Share?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I could use a
hit.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Tara handed her the smoking joint.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Stephanie took a long drag and exhaled.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Mmmm, that’s good.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Bless our Mexican allies.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Tell anybody about this, and you’re dead,” Tara warned,
taking back the joint and taking a drag.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Same old Tara,” Steph said, putting both arms around
her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Won’t allow yourself the luxury of
being human.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Look…it’s not going to last
forever, y’know.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Feels like it already has.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Buck up, soldier.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Have
you heard?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Word just came down from the
G.I.E. in Montreal…The Federacy has officially merged with the new Canadian
Republic.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We’re the North American
Coalition now.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The new Human Rights
Charter is being drafted as we speak.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Hooray.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She took
another drag, frustrated that she just couldn’t get stoned enough to kill the
pain.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Steph took the joint from her and took a puff.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Look…with more refugees streaming into the
free states and Canada every day, the brain-drain and worker shortage is
starving the C.N. bastards out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our weapons
keep getting better, and those dead heads are slipping back into the stone
age.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Plus, the storms are killing them,
and winning more recruits for the eco-guerrilla cadres.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We’re gonna’ win this, babe.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The damn’ Russians can’t keep propping them
up forever, and fight the Polish Resistance at the same time.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Great.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So, in two
years, we’ll be fighting to liberate this country from the Chinese.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Those tired old men in Beijing can’t hold on forever,
either.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not with their eco-revolution in
full swing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Who knows?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In five years, when this continent pulls
together, we may hook up with the new European Union, arm the Chinese rebs,
bomb the coal plants and save this sorry excuse for a world.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Tara stretched out, her head in Steph’s lap.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“How do you do it?” she whispered, looking up
at her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“How do you stay alive inside,
even through all this?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Steph put out the joint and lay down beside her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“My mom was also my social studies
teacher.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She used to say, ‘Life at its
worst is a crucible.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Everything it burns
away isn’t worth saving.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What survives
is what the future is built on.’”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She
came down on her as they kissed.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Tara felt her unfastening her clothes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The pain and the hate faded as Stephanie
gently stroked her face.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Stephanie was
like a cool, soothing balm, her love washing the hatred from Tara’s blood.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Tara moaned in pleasure…the love flowed
through her, quelling the fever, the rage…the despair faded like smoldering
embers in a cool rain.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Love survived the crucible, she thought.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That, they could never kill.<o:p></o:p></p><br /><p></p>Tom Olberthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05816824395647735536noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8157514908800779188.post-25294876939962107822021-11-25T16:03:00.002-08:002021-11-25T16:03:53.966-08:00Thanksgiving 2021<p><b><span style="font-size: large;"> Happy Thanksgiving, America.</span></b></p><p><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-JAToFZC1ykw/XNzHZLZiAvI/AAAAAAAAAcg/geEqVycCbfoyxKar_w104m0RTMeIg-1UgCPcBGAYYCw/s284/imagesP2X2N5B0.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="177" data-original-width="284" height="177" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-JAToFZC1ykw/XNzHZLZiAvI/AAAAAAAAAcg/geEqVycCbfoyxKar_w104m0RTMeIg-1UgCPcBGAYYCw/s0/imagesP2X2N5B0.jpg" width="284" /></a></p><p>That once innocent sentiment has become bitterly controversial as our society has evolved.</p><p>Traditionally, this occasion celebrates the white man's deceptive friendship with the indigenous population - ending of course in two centuries of imperialism and near genocidal war. To the 'victors' it is a time of romantic reflection on a first meeting between two cultures. To the native American, it is a remembrance of sorrow.</p><p>For all, it is a time to reflect. So, what have we to be thankful for, as a nation, on this Thanksgiving?</p><p>This past year, we've seen American troops withdraw from Afghanistan, only to be replaced with lightning-swift rapidity by incoming Taliban forces.</p><p>Are we to feel thankful that no more American blood is to be spilled on a country we occupied for 20 years? Or, sorrowful for the tyranny and brutality against women, minorities and dissidents sure to come? Or, for the scores of American dead sacrificed in a war that proved as futile - and, twice as long - as our involvement in Vietnam?</p><p>Both, perhaps.</p><p> The sorrow, for us, lies perhaps not in our idealistic albeit naive belief in fighting the good fight for freedom, but in our apparent refusal to learn the historic lesson that freedom must be won by the oppressed, not handed to them by the liberator (or, occupier posing as liberator.)</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-NuYmkVpW4Dc/TpIypSa3TSI/AAAAAAAAAF4/7Ihnw2ZqD7gpfaYA_gfJqPUyyVnrVLubACPcBGAYYCw/s407/iStock_000014247188XSmall-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="295" data-original-width="407" height="232" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-NuYmkVpW4Dc/TpIypSa3TSI/AAAAAAAAAF4/7Ihnw2ZqD7gpfaYA_gfJqPUyyVnrVLubACPcBGAYYCw/s320/iStock_000014247188XSmall-1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>Are we to be thankful that three self-appointed racist vigilantes who killed an innocent man have been justly convicted? Or, sorrowful that a 17-year-old all-American boy-next-door can legally obtain a military-grade assault rifle, travel across two state lines and kill two unarmed men exercising their right of political protest all in the name of self-defense?</p><p>Both, perhaps.</p><p>The sorrow perhaps lies not in the fact that our criminal justice system still ocassionally works - but, in the fact that the 2nd Amendment - which clearly refers to a well-regulated militia, and the collective right of the people to bear arms in upholding national sovereignty - has been woefully twisted and distorted by right-wing judges into a sacred right of the individual to bear arms against his neighbor, developing in tandem with the principle of "stand your ground" which seems designed to encourage vigilantism over law and order. And, over free speech. How many more "good American" white vigilantes armed with automatic weapons can we expect to see turn up at the next demonstrations against racist police brutality in the name of self-defense? How many armed protestors can we expect to see in response? And, is this the path to ultimate dissolution of social cohesion?</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-kSDbugTgawM/TppZMkTSsmI/AAAAAAAAAHI/78ibgVhBXx8TuancbWWUXBZtLnZh9VlRwCPcBGAYYCw/s600/j0309624.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="428" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-kSDbugTgawM/TppZMkTSsmI/AAAAAAAAAHI/78ibgVhBXx8TuancbWWUXBZtLnZh9VlRwCPcBGAYYCw/s320/j0309624.jpg" width="228" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>Are we to be thankful that the mad talk of wall-building is over? Or, sorrowful that refugees are still being driven in droves from our borders?</p><p>I vote sorrowful.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-IGm3oB5g66w/YaAiNgS7oNI/AAAAAAAAAkU/z-yhvIjTrlY5nZ5hSJymyNKooiZA4o91QCLcBGAsYHQ/s720/p065w52k.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="405" data-original-width="720" height="180" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-IGm3oB5g66w/YaAiNgS7oNI/AAAAAAAAAkU/z-yhvIjTrlY5nZ5hSJymyNKooiZA4o91QCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/p065w52k.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>The hope for a better, more compassionate approach to those yearning for safe haven and freedom - the American ideal - is not being realized. Not here, in the land of the free, the shining beacon of hope - or, in Europe. On both sides of the Atlantic, tides of refugees are being turned away, with no solution in sight. In a world where the effects of climate change are being felt more painfully every day - this can only get worse before it gets better.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-iAR204SpCqM/Tg1AT1S1oUI/AAAAAAAAAFs/PtHvPPOwgYUk0z9-GpgHerdac40O0yp2ACPcBGAYYCw/s600/j0178945.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="401" data-original-width="600" height="214" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-iAR204SpCqM/Tg1AT1S1oUI/AAAAAAAAAFs/PtHvPPOwgYUk0z9-GpgHerdac40O0yp2ACPcBGAYYCw/s320/j0178945.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>And, in addition to society failing refugees from abroad - it is also failing to address the plight of the homeless right here inside our borders. Tent cities may be torn down and refugees may be turned away, but people have to go somewhere. If the causes of international refugees and homelessness are not effectively addressed, what is the inevitable outcome as the storms and floods and wildfires and wars continue? What is society ultimately to do with all these displaced people? Slavery? Extermination camps?</p><p>On a holiday meant - however hypocritically - to celebrate different cultures coming together in friendship, our country seems to have come full circle to division and alienation. The police - and, to a growing extent, the white civilian population - seem to see African Americans as the new Indians, America itself as the new frontier. And, there's no second great Thanksgiving dinner on the horizon, it seems. Just automatic weapons.</p><p>And so...as we give thanks for family, friends and good fortune...let us seek ways to give back more than we take...to honor what this holiday is supposed to be about...in seeking common ground and common effort for a better tomorrow.</p><p>God of the pilgrims ... Great Spirit ... if you're there ... We need all the help we can get.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-RT6maNOoSjE/YAX0XZp_3DI/AAAAAAAAAhs/KgpIA1o6FXYQtvAhvNmADOSWmiVpdTFJACPcBGAYYCw/s2048/merlin_10870762_a1fafdac-c844-46b6-afe6-de5023d21a9d-superJumbo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1479" data-original-width="2048" height="231" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-RT6maNOoSjE/YAX0XZp_3DI/AAAAAAAAAhs/KgpIA1o6FXYQtvAhvNmADOSWmiVpdTFJACPcBGAYYCw/s320/merlin_10870762_a1fafdac-c844-46b6-afe6-de5023d21a9d-superJumbo.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p>Tom Olberthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05816824395647735536noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8157514908800779188.post-40934738950022439912021-10-17T20:13:00.000-07:002021-10-17T20:13:27.880-07:00Thoughts on "The Last Duel"<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-uRASs5gTHZY/YWzXrFs0Q4I/AAAAAAAAAj8/QJ-IJ-TOmQkuo-bWOw4LjIWEZRimug1AgCLcBGAsYHQ/image.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="512" data-original-width="346" height="400" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-uRASs5gTHZY/YWzXrFs0Q4I/AAAAAAAAAj8/QJ-IJ-TOmQkuo-bWOw4LjIWEZRimug1AgCLcBGAsYHQ/w266-h400/image.png" width="266" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0 0 0 40px; padding: 0px;"><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Ridley Scott's visually striking and highly disquieting new film "The Last Duel" is a based-on-fact drama derived from <span style="text-align: left;">Eric Jager’s 2004 book, “The Last Duel: A True Story of
Trial by Combat in Medieval France,” the historical drama of France’s last
government-sanctioned trial by combat, held between Jean de Carroughes, a celebrated knight and war hero and his friend-turned enemy, Jacques Le Gris, a politically connected and duplicitous court noble.</span></div><p></p></blockquote><p><br /></p><p> A bitter and agonizing tale of a loveless marriage and bitter male rivalry, rape, legal and political intrigue and a vicious duel to the death. A tale set in a barbarous age which in some respects bears a disturbing resemblance to our own, supposedly enlightened age.</p><p>Three stories in one, the film tells the same sequence of events from three perspectives: Carrouges, Le Gris, and Marguerite de Carroughes, the heroine of the film, whose version of the story is presented as the truth. Visually potent, the film transports us through war, poverty and a dark, gritty age.</p><p>Jean de Carroughes is depicted as a brutal man, a primitive more at home on the battlefield than at court. His best friend Jacques Le Gris, is a suave, charming political manipulator who's outwardly cultured manner hides a brutal and evil nature. His gangster-like methods of rent collection gain him favor with his superiors, land, power and all the women he desires (assuming his appetite in that area can ever be satisfied.) A predator in every respect, he advances while Carroughes is left deprived and embittered, the rivalry between them developing quickly into hatred.</p><p>The key object of contention between them is Margueritte, a wife Carroughes brutishly treats like a head of stock. In a time when women were regarded as property, Margueritte is expected to perform her wifely duty and lie through her teeth in saying she enjoys her husband's ape-like sexual performance. She notices Le Gris noticing her, and at his first opportunity, he forces himself upon her. In a strictly factual sense, Le Gris' version of the act itself and Margueritte's are virtually identical; it's the textures that differ. To him, it's a game of pursuit that always characterizes sex. For her, it's torture and violence. When she urgently begs him to stop, her face twisted in anguish, he continues remorselessly to climax. Le Gris' version of reality claims an affair; Margueritte's does not.</p><p>Upon learning of the rape, Carroughes' reaction is one of personal wrong; the final attack of his rival upon him, personally. The first thing he does is unbuckle his pants and order his wife to submit to him, unmindful of her post-traumatic pain, insisting Le Gris will not be the last man to have his trophy wife. For, he knows Margueritte insists upon publicly accusing her rapist and that she can be put savagely to death by public flaying and immolation if her account is not believed.</p><p>What follows is timelessly familiar. Margueritte's best friend turns her back on her, disbelieving her account. Her unsympathetic mother-in-law tells her she should have kept her mouth shut, to avoid scandal, as is any woman's duty, rape described as a normal fact of life that women simply have to learn to live with. Le Gris' powerful friends rally around him. The church publicly humiliates Margueritte in court, asking her to publicly swear she has achieved orgasm with her husband. Margueritte's humiliation is compounded by the fact she is pregnant with her rapist's child. All-too-familiar pseudo-scientific claims that rape cannot result in pregnancy are leveled against her. The misogynistic core of the patriarchal culture is laid bare in the statement by a church official that this is not a case of a crime against a woman; this is a property crime against her husband. </p><p>Finally, Carroughes defends his honor by invoking the right of a sanctioned duel to the death with Le Gris. This barbaric ritual is expected to reveal God's will in the survival of the righteous. If Carroughes loses the duel, it means Margueritte lied and will be put to death. The duel itself, beginning with a joust and culminating in a vicious hand-to-hand struggle is like something out of a Roman gladiatorial match, the spectators...including the king himself...gleefully cheering on the slaughter. Neither combatant has earned our sympathy, but we must root for Carroughes, the suspense building as Margueritte's life depends on his victory. She sits in a spectator/defendant's box, her ankles in shackles, tears in her eyes as she watches the match play out. Visceral brutality rivaling Gibson's "Passion" culminates in a feast of blood and gore that takes the brutality and senselessness of the age to its devastating climax. Carroughes emerges victorious, saves Margueritte's life and proudly walks off with her surrounded by cheering crowds; the traditional ending of classic patriarchal fantasy. But, that is only what's on the surface. The closing scene shows Margueritte alone in a sunlit garden with her beloved baby son, her husband nowhere to be seen. The closing credits tell us he is later killed in battle and Margueritte goes on alone, never to remarry. The true victory is hers, not his.</p><p>The numerous rape scenes in this film were, in my opinion excessive. But, its message was clear and spared us nothing. The movie's limited success in box office sales suggests that many may dismiss it as yet another Hollywood "message" movie. Historians may quarrel over its accuracy and critics may pan its social preachiness. But, on a very basic level, its harsh truths are undeniable. A system which claims to hold Christ at its heart, like any other patriarchal culture holds at its true core an evil born of an underlying hatred of women and all the deceptive illusions it spawns.</p>Tom Olberthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05816824395647735536noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8157514908800779188.post-77466019660785826122021-09-06T13:14:00.000-07:002021-09-06T13:14:28.468-07:00Time in Reverse...<p> Time Flowing Backwards...</p><p>Time in reverse is not something unique to science fiction. We just saw it happen in the state of Texas. After nearly half a century of women having the right to control their own bodies, Texas has passed the most restrictive anti-abortion law on record. Using not law officers to enforce it, but civilians encouraged to file lawsuits against anyone who performs or "aids and abets" an abortion.</p><p>Now, that's one for science fiction. Where but in some dystopian future world would one see citizens encouraged...financially rewarded, in fact...to employ lawyers as hired guns to enforce a repressive law?</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-X0BkQc8KtCo/XzdIF_eGaLI/AAAAAAAAAfw/UvKQ3yaizVolvr5btAJGRUTWrAP7RrGyACPcBGAYYCw/s1620/Star%2BDancer%2BCover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1620" data-original-width="1080" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-X0BkQc8KtCo/XzdIF_eGaLI/AAAAAAAAAfw/UvKQ3yaizVolvr5btAJGRUTWrAP7RrGyACPcBGAYYCw/w426-h640/Star%2BDancer%2BCover.jpg" width="426" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="MsoHyperlink"><a href="https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/star-dancer-tom-olbert/1137460943">https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/star-dancer-tom-olbert/1137460943</a></span><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/1037624#longDescription">https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/1037624#longDescription</a></span></span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>One has to wonder how far we are from seeing Texas...a state that wants to ban the need for gun permits altogether...start posting "dead or alive" bounties on abortionists.<div><br /></div><div>This reversal in time...this temporal regression towards the days of back-alley abortions is one fraught with contradictions and hypocrisy. Texas is a state that refuses sex education or contraception to its young people. A land of chastity pledges and fire-and-brimstone piety. It is also the state with one of the highest rates of teen pregnancy and abortion in the union.</div><div><br /></div><div>Why do anti-abortion elements in this country continue to wage war on a woman's right to control her own body? Certainly not out of compassion for the unborn. Conservatives won't stand for "welfare states" or "big government" picking their pockets to care for the children of unwed teenaged mothers. If babies starve or die of disease, they couldn't care less. Just as they don't care if children die in detention on our southern border. They're all for war and capital punishment. They'd slaughter whole populations if they could...They'd "make the sands glow in the dark" if they could. They'd execute illegal aliens, LGBT people...and, probably African Americans en masse if they could. (Look what was done to the native American.)</div><div><br /></div><div>No, it's not the word of Jesus Christ, the Prince of Peace that motivates them, that's for sure. What they want is to dominate women. That, they will not let go. Patriarchal culture in its most primitive form...the macho cowboy culture that shaped the great American west...that goes to the soul of the anti-abortion movement.</div><div><br /></div><div>And, that movement employs an almost science-fictional approach to equating abortion with murder... something that was never done, biblically or otherwise, in all the centuries before Roe v. Wade. Abortion was legal under English law for a hundred years after the American Revolution. It was outlawed in the 1800's for 2 reasons: </div><div><br /></div><div>1) The procedure was dangerous and life-threatening in those days, so the doctors didn't want to perform it.</div><div><br /></div><div>2) Women had no individual rights to speak of in those days and, in the eyes of the church, their primary role in society was to produce children.</div><div><br /></div><div>A century later, neither of those reasons applied anymore, so the forces wanting to maintain men's control over women had to invent a whole new reason why abortion was wrong. Even while dropping napalm on children on the other side of the globe, they told scientific and medical half-truths, implying that abortion was the moral equivalent of infanticide.</div><div><br /></div><div>So, here we are, half a century later...perhaps on the verge of waking up in the past. Coat hangers, knitting needles...garage mechanics performing surgery in back alleys. Illegal abortion drugs sold on the black market. Women and girls dead by the hundreds.</div><div><br /></div><div>But, perhaps we're waking up into a dark future, as well. A nightmare world of state-sanctioned vigilante goon squads herding women into detention camps in the desert where they're force-fed and maybe even cut open like livestock to safeguard their unborn babies. Could it happen? If a woman can be forced to carry a pregnancy to term against her will...if that's not considered a violation of her most basic human rights...then, why not?</div><div><br /></div><div>The clock is ticking backward...how long before we wake up?</div>Tom Olberthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05816824395647735536noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8157514908800779188.post-59182015175233155322021-07-02T20:41:00.000-07:002021-07-02T20:41:24.030-07:00Top 90 Blogs for 2021...<p><span style="color: red;"> <span style="font-size: large;"><b>Attention, all Bloggers and Fiction Writers -</b></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Doing blogger outreach and want to connect with new
influencers in niche markets?</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: red;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">Check out </span><span style="font-size: x-large;">FEEDSPOT</span><span style="font-size: large;">: </span></b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: #ff00fe; font-size: large;"><b><i>Top 90 Fiction Blogs and Websites To Follow in 2021 -</i></b></span><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span> </span><a href="https://blog.feedspot.com/fiction_blogs/" rel="nofollow noopener noreferrer" shape="rect" style="background-color: white; color: #196ad4; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, "Lucida Grande", sans-serif;" target="_blank"><span style="font-size: medium;">https://blog.feedspot.com/fiction_blogs/</span></a></p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><span style="font-size: medium;"></span><u><span style="font-size: large;">Feedspot media database</span></u><span style="font-size: medium;"> has over 100K Influential
Bloggers in 1500 niche categories. Email them the type of bloggers you want to
reach out to for your marketing campaign and open a world of possibilities...</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p>
</p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">-<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; line-height: normal;"><span style="font-size: large;"> <b> - </b></span></span></span></span><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Author Interviews</b></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: large;"><b> - Improve your skill</b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: large;"><b> - Learn
to sell</b></span><o:p></o:p></p><br /><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-rU0zWhU88SY/TVCenXAxgoI/AAAAAAAAAFg/xpDYeRDwAmAoxZcNCngBnPcO5J7efaTPACPcBGAYYCw/s600/j0178677.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="600" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-rU0zWhU88SY/TVCenXAxgoI/AAAAAAAAAFg/xpDYeRDwAmAoxZcNCngBnPcO5J7efaTPACPcBGAYYCw/s320/j0178677.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Whatever your market - Reach out and be heard!</b></span></div><br />Tom Olberthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05816824395647735536noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8157514908800779188.post-9056202717282320522021-06-12T13:05:00.003-07:002021-06-12T13:12:23.982-07:00Illusion vs. Reality<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-X0BkQc8KtCo/XzdIF_eGaLI/AAAAAAAAAfw/UvKQ3yaizVolvr5btAJGRUTWrAP7RrGyACPcBGAYYCw/s1620/Star%2BDancer%2BCover.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1620" data-original-width="1080" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-X0BkQc8KtCo/XzdIF_eGaLI/AAAAAAAAAfw/UvKQ3yaizVolvr5btAJGRUTWrAP7RrGyACPcBGAYYCw/w292-h400/Star%2BDancer%2BCover.jpg" width="292" /></a></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<p class="MsoNormal"><span class="MsoHyperlink"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span class="MsoHyperlink"><a href="https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/star-dancer-tom-olbert/1137460943">https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/star-dancer-tom-olbert/1137460943</a></span><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="MsoHyperlink"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 17.12px; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"> </span></p></div><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/1037624#longDescription">https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/1037624#longDescription</a></span></span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="MsoHyperlink"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span class="MsoHyperlink">Fluidic existence...The solid state of reality shifting into the fluid realm of thought, desire, dream...</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span class="MsoHyperlink">And, nightmare. Shaped by fear. And, hate.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span class="MsoHyperlink"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span class="MsoHyperlink">The foundations of democracy...once thought as solid as bedrock...were recently shaken by an explosion of those who trust more in the unseen. The claims of unseen conspiracy. Of election fraud, deep state manipulation and fake news. Nightmares usually confined to the pages of science fiction. As was the sight of angry mobs storming the nation's capital in this day and age. Fiction and fantasy seem to have broken down the walls of reality.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">And, it goes on...</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">Not just in the perception of physical reality, but something else that may be even more basic...The basic definitions of right and wrong. Of the cornerstones of moral norms which define civilized life.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">In a dystopian future science fiction like "Star Dancer" social norms are horribly distorted, basic human rights and values giving way to futuristic versions of the dark ages.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">In contemporary reality, such basic norms seem no more solid than wax reshaped by the fire of politics. In a nightmare vision, our nation's capitol is besieged by rioters, many openly brandishing banners antithetical to the ideology of this nation. Openly calling for the mob rule executions of public officials. Many of those officials had to barricade themselves in their offices, their lives in apparent danger. Now, half those officials (the half of the ousted party) are downplaying the incident as a minor occurrence, no more rowdy than an ordinary tourist visit. (I wasn't aware tourists made a regular habit of breaking windows and building gallows with the Vice President's name on them. Someone really should look into hiring better tour guides.)</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">One made the comment that (as he was cowering in his office with the door blocked, presumably) he took comfort in the fact that the people attacking capitol police officers, smashing in doors and storming offices were people who "loved this country" - seriously? And, he went on to make the blatantly racist comment that if it had been Black Lives Matter protestors doing the same thing, "I'd worry." (Yeah, you have to be particular about who's lynching you. I mean, one has to have standards.)</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">More recently, people who've downplayed the storming of the capitol and flatly refused to investigate it have also taken great moral outrage at an elected official denouncing human rights abuses at the hands of America's friends and foes alike, claiming the statement blurred the moral lines between American allies and enemies. Huh.</p></div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">So, let's get this straight...It's okay to lay siege to America's capitol and threaten to kill its elected officials, so long as you do it waving an American flag (albeit alongside a Confederate flag) but it's not okay to criticize American friends and foes in the same breath for committing the same illegal acts.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The reason for this moral ambiguity is clear. The ousted party lives in fear of the same element that launched the siege and which still controls the party by sheer numbers. An element which embraces the blatant lie that the election was rigged. They control the vote, so they define the truth. And, the shape of the party. Of reality itself, as far as the party "leaders" are concerned. The party has ousted one of its own leaders simply for not following this obvious lie, in the name of "unity." Their unity...their "truth"...flies in the face of actual reality. And, of conventional morality.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">A party which has always called itself the standard bearer of "traditional morality" has proven by its own actions that truth is meaningless to them and that reality is whatever their voters choose to believe it is. Morality is not bedrock. Truth is fluid. Numbers are what count, not facts. Fear is what defines the party platform, not integrity. And, justice is extremely selective.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">This today is the opposition. Tomorrow, it may again be the dominant party. In the long run, though... The question is... can the country survive without a common sense of basic values? Or, even a basic understanding of what those values are?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">No democracy can survive if its words are divorced from its values, and if its direction is determined not by moral codes and standards of civilization, but by armed mobs at the gate.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-kS6ECcliE6I/XBHX4_2dR4I/AAAAAAAAAbE/aIn2QCFdeMgyixnVZdRJJiA76wQ9HAAZgCPcBGAYYCw/s2048/Dissent.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1365" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-kS6ECcliE6I/XBHX4_2dR4I/AAAAAAAAAbE/aIn2QCFdeMgyixnVZdRJJiA76wQ9HAAZgCPcBGAYYCw/w426-h640/Dissent.jpg" width="426" /></a></div><p><br /></p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="MsoHyperlink"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Dissent-Book-Nexus-Thomas-Olbert-ebook/dp/B01CRCEMQG">https://www.amazon.com/Dissent-Book-Nexus-Thomas-Olbert-ebook/dp/B01CRCEMQG</a></span> ***<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">Barnes & Noble<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/dissent-thomas-olbert/1123585538?ean=9781942342892<o:p></o:p></p><p>
</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><br /><p></p>Tom Olberthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05816824395647735536noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8157514908800779188.post-48374445858085710142021-01-18T13:15:00.000-08:002021-01-18T13:15:46.589-08:00A Dream Remembered...<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Today, we honor the memory of Dr. Martin Luther King. And, of what he represented. A dream that one day, this nation would celebrate the true meaning of its creed. That all human beings are created equal, regardless of race, color or creed.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><br /><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-RT6maNOoSjE/YAX0XZp_3DI/AAAAAAAAAho/T8jhDo7snx0DNd_CkFV1Jxbs7Y2cyk3DQCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/merlin_10870762_a1fafdac-c844-46b6-afe6-de5023d21a9d-superJumbo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1479" data-original-width="2048" height="289" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-RT6maNOoSjE/YAX0XZp_3DI/AAAAAAAAAho/T8jhDo7snx0DNd_CkFV1Jxbs7Y2cyk3DQCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h289/merlin_10870762_a1fafdac-c844-46b6-afe6-de5023d21a9d-superJumbo.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><div>There was a time when that dream...noble and profound as it is...would be considered as something akin to science fiction. Many might still see it as such.</div><div><br /></div><div>But then, that is the true creed of America, is it not? Not equality at the end of life, perhaps, but certainly at the beginning of it. "We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal."</div><div>Do we still believe in the truth of those words, the meaning of which resonate through the words of Dr. King?</div><div><br /></div><div>On the day we remember Dr. King's dream, how does the Land of the Free and the Home of the Brave stand in the world?</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ZDe0NQET0JQ/Wz67ekAp7aI/AAAAAAAAAZk/hUrRUGR-GZUAChWrRjbFB7Qs_FsbUXzIACPcBGAYYCw/s284/imagesP2X2N5B0.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="177" data-original-width="284" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ZDe0NQET0JQ/Wz67ekAp7aI/AAAAAAAAAZk/hUrRUGR-GZUAChWrRjbFB7Qs_FsbUXzIACPcBGAYYCw/s0/imagesP2X2N5B0.jpg" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Our democracy, once a shining beacon to the world, seems now to hang in the balance, fighting for its life. Not against foreign despots, but against our fellow Americans. Predominantly white Americans who waved Confederate and neo-Nazi flags as they stormed our nation's capitol and cried for the murder of elected officials.</div><div><br /></div><div>That is how far we've come since Dr. King voiced his dream to cheering crowds so long ago?</div><div><br /></div><div>That dream lives, in the hearts of many. But, hate lives in the hearts of many, too. Hate, despair, anger...and a desire to build walls, not bridges. To look only to ourselves, not to help those less fortunate. And, to see only the worst in those different from ourselves.</div><div><br /></div><div>The dream of a better America, an idealized America seems more under siege at this juncture of history than ever before. With the presidency of Barak Obama, that dream seemed to advance a step further towards realization.</div><div><br /></div><div>With the election of Donald Trump, the country took a horrifying step backward. Now, like a wanderer slowly regaining his direction, the country takes a step back towards hope, back towards idealism.</div><div><br /></div><div>But, the road ahead is rocky and unsure. The journey along it may or may not succeed. But, the dream is the beacon that leads us in the right direction. That's what matters.</div><div><br /></div><div>Dr. King promised a path to the Promised Land. The quest is long. But, the direction at the heart of the quest is what defines us. </div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-05Jf6kZszxI/S7OjRk2z5CI/AAAAAAAAAB4/IpVxBNZ004Eluhj0lpzJHXHDkK6sienHgCPcBGAYYCw/s600/j0178537.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="402" data-original-width="600" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-05Jf6kZszxI/S7OjRk2z5CI/AAAAAAAAAB4/IpVxBNZ004Eluhj0lpzJHXHDkK6sienHgCPcBGAYYCw/s320/j0178537.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /> </div>Tom Olberthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05816824395647735536noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8157514908800779188.post-72198051785318300952021-01-08T19:30:00.000-08:002021-01-08T19:30:02.224-08:00Science Fiction Short Stories<p><span style="font-size: large;"> Fans of Good <i><span style="color: #04ff00;">SCIENCE FICTION:</span></i></span></p><p><br /></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Check out these collections of short stories by 2 talented SF writers:</span></p><p><br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="218" data-original-width="145" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-01zIE_RFLy8/X_kg_-hWScI/AAAAAAAAAg4/vE4p726jMfY4zbW_V7Pc6NwJogqV5gdgACLcBGAsYHQ/w266-h400/Superluminal.jpg" width="266" /><span style="font-size: x-large;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-01zIE_RFLy8/X_kg_-hWScI/AAAAAAAAAg4/vE4p726jMfY4zbW_V7Pc6NwJogqV5gdgACLcBGAsYHQ/s218/Superluminal.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></span></div><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: large;">SUPERLUMINAL: Sci-Fi at the Speed of Imagination<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: large;">By Justin Sewall</span><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/SUPERLUMINAL-Sci-Fi-at-Speed-Imagination/dp/B08NQHB5DL">https://www.amazon.com/SUPERLUMINAL-Sci-Fi-at-Speed-Imagination/dp/B08NQHB5DL</a><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">*****************************************</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Bdh1wacrjLs/X_kh-XUSN2I/AAAAAAAAAhE/r68PUyCdvnUeEd31GVkufpgMcCNKPGIQQCLcBGAsYHQ/s500/41uIlMN2S6L.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="314" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Bdh1wacrjLs/X_kh-XUSN2I/AAAAAAAAAhE/r68PUyCdvnUeEd31GVkufpgMcCNKPGIQQCLcBGAsYHQ/w251-h400/41uIlMN2S6L.jpg" width="251" /></a></div><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: large;">Alien Puzzle Boxes: Twenty short science fiction
stories <o:p></o:p></span></p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: large;">By Jeremy Lichtman</span><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">
</p><p class="MsoNormal"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08RY2VZ9Y">https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08RY2VZ9Y</a><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> ***</span><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;">Short stories by these and many other talented science fiction authors can be found at:</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/group/show/175537-science-fiction-microstory-contest">https://www.goodreads.com/group/show/175537-science-fiction-microstory-contest</a><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;">Drop in, read, enjoy, and share your writing talent as a contestant.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-N0XVgiK5-vU/S23R0sRZTwI/AAAAAAAAAAM/W6-d04Q_64Aw6mJpzBs1PJgiY6WlVQI6gCPcBGAYYCw/s600/j0289203.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="472" data-original-width="600" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-N0XVgiK5-vU/S23R0sRZTwI/AAAAAAAAAAM/W6-d04Q_64Aw6mJpzBs1PJgiY6WlVQI6gCPcBGAYYCw/s320/j0289203.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p></p><p><br /></p>Tom Olberthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05816824395647735536noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8157514908800779188.post-83328374174298477372021-01-07T18:52:00.002-08:002021-01-07T19:01:06.747-08:0013 days to history's next chapter...<div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-feN1lzl7cEQ/S23UQQ4omtI/AAAAAAAAAAU/fuuwrqu9dc8UCkFXKt0cf160sROV0JZMgCPcBGAYYCw/s600/j0149118.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="406" data-original-width="600" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-feN1lzl7cEQ/S23UQQ4omtI/AAAAAAAAAAU/fuuwrqu9dc8UCkFXKt0cf160sROV0JZMgCPcBGAYYCw/s320/j0149118.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><span style="font-size: medium;">
In fiction, the story unfolds, chapter by chapter, building towards a conclusion.
Life can be like that, too. History unfolds, chapter by chapter, the outcome shaping the future of nations and cultures. We look for patterns in history which shape our beliefs and cultures. The nature of good and evil. Of truth and lies. What we value in life.</span><div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"> The American dream is a young one. One that changed the world, and ushered in a new age of hope. Hope that the people can choose their own path, in effect their own future through democratic rule of law. Is that dream now, once again, in danger of dissolving into carnage?
Last night, we saw a sight that will forever remain burned into our collective consciousness. The sight of an angry mob storming the Congressional building. The seat and symbol of our democracy.
Who were the insurgents? People who have lost all faith in the institutuions of American law and government. Who believe the words of a pseudo-populist demagogue who condemns and slanders the system itself rather than admit political defeat. The sheer madness of the moment lay in the hypocrisy of a movement that claims to treasure law and order, which condemns and even brutally suppresses protests by African American citizens challenging racism and destroying monuments to white patriarchy while itself brutally vandalizing the nation's capital and disrupting the system of government they claim to revere. One can only imagine the extent of police brutality that might have occurred had this riot been led by Black Lives Matter instead of the Proud Boys.</span></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-iAR204SpCqM/Tg1AT1S1oUI/AAAAAAAAAFs/PtHvPPOwgYUk0z9-GpgHerdac40O0yp2ACPcBGAYYCw/s600/j0178945.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="401" data-original-width="600" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-iAR204SpCqM/Tg1AT1S1oUI/AAAAAAAAAFs/PtHvPPOwgYUk0z9-GpgHerdac40O0yp2ACPcBGAYYCw/s320/j0178945.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div> <span style="font-size: medium;">What flags do these pro-Trump insurgents carry? Some carry the American flag (whatever that still means to them). Some carry the Confederate flag. The symbol of rebellion, racism, and slavery. Most, of course, carry the Trump banner. The cult of one man who, it seems, must rule this country or destroy it. White supremacists, misogynists, neo-nazis and Klansmen invariably rally to the Trump banner. That is no coincidence.
These insurgents refuse to believe in the system because it will not give them what they want. What they want is what Trump has promised them. Isolation. Walls to hide behind. A system of white rule in which racist brutality is practiced but never acknowledged. Where the past is romanticized and never questioned. Where science is suppressed, truth malleable and all things unwelcome...global climate change, pandemics...are simply denied. The path to disaster and desolation.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"> At its heart, the age of Trump is based on racism, homophobia and above all...anger and ignorance.
Will this insurgency continue and grow beyond the end of the Trump presidency? More urgently, what will Trump do next in the 13 days remaining until the end of his presidency? 13 days with one man's finger on the nuclear trigger. A man with no respect for the system, the republic, freedom or truth.
History holds its breath through each of those 13 days to come. Like a prelude to the conclusion of some fictional melodrama. This time reminds us how fragile our democracy truly is. How our arrogant comfort in all our wealth and military might comes to nothing if we turn on eachother. And,our national unity seems now undeniably marred by fissures, racial, economic and ideological which seem to strain at the fragile veneer of our supposedly indivisible nation. One nation under God? Whose God?</span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"> Could America be at the brink of a second civil war? Who would win? What would follow? Could our nation even survive in any unified form? </span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"> 13 days and counting...</span></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-JAToFZC1ykw/XNzHZLZiAvI/AAAAAAAAAcg/geEqVycCbfoyxKar_w104m0RTMeIg-1UgCPcBGAYYCw/s284/imagesP2X2N5B0.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="177" data-original-width="284" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-JAToFZC1ykw/XNzHZLZiAvI/AAAAAAAAAcg/geEqVycCbfoyxKar_w104m0RTMeIg-1UgCPcBGAYYCw/s0/imagesP2X2N5B0.jpg" /></a><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-NuYmkVpW4Dc/TpIypSa3TSI/AAAAAAAAAF4/7Ihnw2ZqD7gpfaYA_gfJqPUyyVnrVLubACPcBGAYYCw/s407/iStock_000014247188XSmall-1.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="295" data-original-width="407" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-NuYmkVpW4Dc/TpIypSa3TSI/AAAAAAAAAF4/7Ihnw2ZqD7gpfaYA_gfJqPUyyVnrVLubACPcBGAYYCw/s320/iStock_000014247188XSmall-1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /></div><br /><div><br /></div></div>Tom Olberthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05816824395647735536noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8157514908800779188.post-75918924163522857732020-11-22T13:49:00.002-08:002020-11-22T13:51:35.411-08:00Fiction vs. Fact<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jKDoXBhGcQs/V1OOQRy_vII/AAAAAAAAAU8/jJmMfnXobrsS8tESDi7ZrNY10kEeNpMjwCPcBGAYYCw/s2048/Dissent.jpg" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0; text-align: center; "><img alt="" border="0" height="320" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1365" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jKDoXBhGcQs/V1OOQRy_vII/AAAAAAAAAU8/jJmMfnXobrsS8tESDi7ZrNY10kEeNpMjwCPcBGAYYCw/s320/Dissent.jpg"/></a></div>
https://www.amazon.com/Dissent-Book-Nexus-Thomas-Olbert-ebook/dp/B01CRCEMQG
The demarcation between fact and fiction is expected to be clear. Only in science fiction stories of time travel and parallel universes do different people live in wildly divergent realities, one person's reality diverging from his neighbor's.
But, life today is not so simple. What kind of reality is it in which the populace of the most powerful nation on Earth can't agree on who won the last presidential election? In which divergent versions of reality conflict on a daily basis?
We have a president who refuses to acknowledge that he lost the election. He cries "fraud" without proof. He refuses to hand the reins of power to his successor, impeding the operations of government while scores of people die of an ongoing pandemic. Our president can do nothing but praise himself for a vaccine in development which he claims wouldn't exist had he not "forced" the FDA to advance it. Also, not true, but of course his supporters believe it, as they believe every baseless claim he makes. He tells us the election was rigged in a vast international conspiracy, and his followers - at least a third of the country - believe him. He could probably say the election was rigged by hostile Martians, and they'd load their guns and point them at the sky. (Why not? Orson Welles accomplished that in 1938 and he wasn't even trying.)
It's as if, in a science fiction story, an alternate parallel universe has appeared in the middle of our reality. An alternate universe in which real news is fake news and fake news posts that claim child pornography rings are operating out of pizza restaraunts actually bring people out of their homes with shotguns. In which global climate change...the evidence of which is a daily occurence...doesn't exist. In which thousands who have died of an ongoing pandemic never really died at all. Like some twisted quantum double take: reality and anti-reality existing side by side. Which will triumph in the end?
The election is over...at least according to the majority view of reality. But, the clash of realities goes on. When the current mad king finally departs, he becomes the rabble rouser leading his followers in the streets. They vote, and the political opposition party now held captive by this newly spawned anti-reality is forced to capitulate. Truth fades, or at least bends, like warping space and time...in some places, but not in others.
Can two realities...Two worlds...coexist in a powerful nuclear nation? When a sizeable segment of the population simply refuses to trust authority, whether governmental or scientific...What then?
The capacity of the human mind to delude itself seems unlimited, reality merely a matter of opinion. Can civilization survive without a common vision of reality?
We'll see.
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-X0BkQc8KtCo/XzdIF_eGaLI/AAAAAAAAAfw/UvKQ3yaizVolvr5btAJGRUTWrAP7RrGyACPcBGAYYCw/s1620/Star%2BDancer%2BCover.jpg" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0; text-align: center; "><img alt="" border="0" height="320" data-original-height="1620" data-original-width="1080" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-X0BkQc8KtCo/XzdIF_eGaLI/AAAAAAAAAfw/UvKQ3yaizVolvr5btAJGRUTWrAP7RrGyACPcBGAYYCw/s320/Star%2BDancer%2BCover.jpg"/></a></div>
https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/star-dancer-tom-olbert/1137460943
https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/1037624#longDescription
Tom Olberthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05816824395647735536noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8157514908800779188.post-81057284967576696662020-08-14T19:54:00.002-07:002020-08-14T19:54:55.688-07:00Star Dancer<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-J5gp9zyJ8h8/S7LGyNMzCPI/AAAAAAAAABo/NQKuUpmTqMEEC1TvFgZJ459mCJ2s03rQACPcBGAYYCw/s600/j0182769.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-J5gp9zyJ8h8/S7LGyNMzCPI/AAAAAAAAABo/NQKuUpmTqMEEC1TvFgZJ459mCJ2s03rQACPcBGAYYCw/s600/j0182769.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-X0BkQc8KtCo/XzdIF_eGaLI/AAAAAAAAAfs/YKT839rVoSs8XJcXC-KVbnuwa-CQNhUYwCLcBGAsYHQ/s1620/Star%2BDancer%2BCover.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1620" data-original-width="1080" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-X0BkQc8KtCo/XzdIF_eGaLI/AAAAAAAAAfs/YKT839rVoSs8XJcXC-KVbnuwa-CQNhUYwCLcBGAsYHQ/s640/Star%2BDancer%2BCover.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div><p class="MsoNormal" style="clear: both; margin: 0in 0in 8pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">In a dark future, the
orbiting Mars Platforms are an independent space nation and open trading port
where every vice known to man is legally practiced.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div><p class="MsoNormal" style="clear: both; margin: 0in 0in 8pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Sabine DeGuerra is a
professional concubine with a long list of wealthy clients.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A master of dance, mathematics and martial
arts as well as sex, Sabine makes a comfortable living, though haunted by the
dark nightmares of her secret past and the dangers of her present.<o:p></o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div><p class="MsoNormal" style="clear: both; margin: 0in 0in 8pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Sabine’s life changes
dramatically when Mirabelle, a young orphan girl fleeing torture and death in a
tyrannical Mars colony, seeks her help.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Sabine risks her own life to get Mirabelle and herself off the platforms
and out of Mars space.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Surrounded by the
cold, black vacuum of space, Death lurks around every corner of the platforms
at the hands of the Guard, the merciless security guild.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sabine has only her courage and cunning
against overwhelming and deadly odds…<o:p></o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/1037624#longDescription"><span style="color: #0563c1;">https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/1037624#longDescription</span></a></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"></span></span> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"> </p><span class="MsoHyperlink"><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"> </p><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">"Star
Dancer" is a tale set in a dark and violent future. A world in which
greed has taken its toll.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Pollution and
global climate change have devastated the world, the nations waging global war
over dwindling resources as whole populations are reduced to near barbarism,
slavery again becoming the norm.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Fiction today.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Fact tomorrow?<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Who can say, in a
time when the strongest nation on Earth is led by a president who denies the
reality of climate change and global pandemic?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Who thrives in a political atmosphere of enmity and race hatred?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Could the dystopian science fiction of today
become the inescapable reality of tomorrow?<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">The answer to that
question depends on the human capacity to hope.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>And, to find the will to change.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The protagonist of “Star Dancer” is a woman shaped by a horrific past
and an even more horrific present.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yet,
she dares to hope.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To fight, even at the
risk of her own life, to protect hope for a better tomorrow for the next
generation.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">The cruelties and
failures of the past are not easily forgotten.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>But, hope lies in the capacity of the human spirit to overcome all
obstacles.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-J5gp9zyJ8h8/S7LGyNMzCPI/AAAAAAAAABo/NQKuUpmTqMEEC1TvFgZJ459mCJ2s03rQACPcBGAYYCw/s600/j0182769.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="476" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-J5gp9zyJ8h8/S7LGyNMzCPI/AAAAAAAAABo/NQKuUpmTqMEEC1TvFgZJ459mCJ2s03rQACPcBGAYYCw/s0/j0182769.jpg" /></a></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></p></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"> </p></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"></span></span> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"></span></span> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"></span></span> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"></span></span> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"></span></span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span> </p>
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> </div>Tom Olberthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05816824395647735536noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8157514908800779188.post-41630641256436618022020-07-06T19:49:00.000-07:002020-07-06T19:49:21.766-07:00New Reality...<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Hhq_t1x0zL4/WiQ2cmeemtI/AAAAAAAAAX4/XkMguy-A5wIH3QE9s3d4Rfh0bQIpOYYEQCPcBGAYYCw/s1600/VisionsVII.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="200" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Hhq_t1x0zL4/WiQ2cmeemtI/AAAAAAAAAX4/XkMguy-A5wIH3QE9s3d4Rfh0bQIpOYYEQCPcBGAYYCw/s400/VisionsVII.png" width="266" /></a>Science Fiction creates imagined realities. Whole new worlds, based on the author's visions, fears and aspirations. But, what reality do we perceive in the real world?<br />
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As our nation celebrates another birthday, one cannot help but feel a strange new reality dawn. A reality of pandemic and race conflict. Of a nation fighting to find its elusive and evolving soul on this, the anniversary of its birth.<br />
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Multitudes march through the streets demanding justice, in the wake of still more police killings. The best and the worst of us emerge in tides of anger. In fire and looting. In peaceful protest. In embrace. In hope. In the toppling of monuments. In the changing of names and symbols. We confront our past. We confront our past romanticizing of it. We seek to find ourselves. To heal wounds. To find the path that brought us here, and a new path forward.<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">With Liberty and Justice for All.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;">For All. </span> <br />
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Those are the words we seek to earn the right to call our national creed. Some of us do.<br />
<br />
Not the man who currently calls himself our leader.<br />
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4jNgbJsOdkQ/Wz69Ufrz6QI/AAAAAAAAAaI/BrVjbRMM4EwO5LyuFPLtE3FGFfhiUTwGQCPcBGAYYCw/s1600/Trump.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="748" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4jNgbJsOdkQ/Wz69Ufrz6QI/AAAAAAAAAaI/BrVjbRMM4EwO5LyuFPLtE3FGFfhiUTwGQCPcBGAYYCw/s320/Trump.jpg" width="299" /></a></div>
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He's not about healing or unification or truth. His power grows from the antithesis of these. Anger. Fear. Hate. Self aggrandizement. Truth twisted into any form that suits the deification of self. Of nation. And, above all, of him.</div>
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As reality shifts into places we've seldom been. As life seems more a science fictional dream of masks and distancing. As scientists issue grave warnings amid mounting death tolls...</div>
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Our rabble-rousing megalomaniacal leader dismisses it all as mere fantasy and exaggeration. Life is wonderful, he tells us. It is everything we wish it to be, because he presides over it. He takes credit for victories which have not happened. He ignores deaths which occur daily. He utters not a word of injustice or police brutality or killing, because these things do not exist in his flawless kingdom.</div>
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He acknowledges those who cry out for justice only as evildoers who would dare deface our mighty monuments. Who would dare see our nation as anything short of the kingdom of heaven. His is the imagined reality. Some follow it, while others seek a higher reality of justice. One not yet born, except perhaps in the minds of science fiction writers who envision utopia.</div>
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A reality that never was...a childish melodrama of heroism and blazing glory...contends with an aspiration for a better world; a world in which we are all equal in justice, and in which ideals of freedom and truth are living things that grow into a brighter future; not relics of a half-imagined past to be blindly worshiped, but never understood.</div>
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Happy Birthday, America. On this birthday, you are offered challenges of hardship to test your mettle. And, you are offered a choice of realities. Truth, it has been said, is clothed in thorns and hardness. Lies in soft, comforting offerings.<br />
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Choose, America. The future is watching.<br />
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ZDe0NQET0JQ/Wz67ekAp7aI/AAAAAAAAAZk/hUrRUGR-GZUAChWrRjbFB7Qs_FsbUXzIACPcBGAYYCw/s1600/imagesP2X2N5B0.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="177" data-original-width="284" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ZDe0NQET0JQ/Wz67ekAp7aI/AAAAAAAAAZk/hUrRUGR-GZUAChWrRjbFB7Qs_FsbUXzIACPcBGAYYCw/s1600/imagesP2X2N5B0.jpg" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/group/show/175537-science-fiction-microstory-contest"><span style="color: blue; font-family: Calibri;">https://www.goodreads.com/group/show/175537-science-fiction-microstory-contest</span></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://www.amazon.com/Dissent-Book-Nexus-Thomas-Olbert-ebook/dp/B01CRCEMQG"><span style="color: blue; font-family: Calibri;">https://www.amazon.com/Dissent-Book-Nexus-Thomas-Olbert-ebook/dp/B01CRCEMQG</span></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://mochamemoirspress.com/catalog/dark-mocha-bites/"><span style="color: blue; font-family: Calibri;">https://mochamemoirspress.com/catalog/dark-mocha-bites/</span></a><o:p></o:p></div>
Tom Olberthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05816824395647735536noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8157514908800779188.post-34817925347074678822020-03-15T14:45:00.003-07:002020-03-15T15:05:20.046-07:00SLAY!<span style="font-size: large;">Attention: Lovers of vampire fiction...</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Coming soon from</span><span style="font-size: x-large;"> Mocha Memoirs Press<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: large;">:</span></span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: red; font-size: x-large;"><em>SLAY</em></span><br />
<span style="color: red; font-size: large;"><em><span style="font-size: x-large;">Stories of the Vampire Noire</span></em></span><br />
<em><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">an anthology of vampire stories from the African Diaspora</span></em><br />
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<span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><img height="245" src="https://ecp.yusercontent.com/mail?url=https%3A%2F%2Fmcusercontent.com%2F28b83590b42a87bdd3b11ade4%2Fimages%2F6514b6ef-7fc5-4283-822f-2e7887818887.jpg&t=1584308341&ymreqid=02beb855-72fc-dd76-1c17-920000014800&sig=NpEc3NTtXHGqMQ.27COFbA--~C" width="400" /></span><br />
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<span style="color: magenta; font-size: large;"><span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><a href="https://www.indiegogo.com/projects/slay-stories-of-the-vampire-noire/x/23267103#/"><span style="color: blue; font-family: "calibri";">https://www.indiegogo.com/projects/slay-stories-of-the-vampire-noire/x/23267103#/</span></a></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: magenta; font-size: large;"><span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"></span></span> <span style="color: magenta; font-size: large;"><span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #28202f; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "times new roman" , "times" , "baskerville" , "georgia" , serif; font-size: 18px; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">Vampires have been a part of the horror genre since the beginning but for all the varied vampire tales, few of them speak to the beautiful diversity present in humanity. To the point, this anthology will focus specifically on stories from the African diaspora, tales of the vampire noire. From vampires to hunters, this anthology celebrates Black vampires in all their beauty.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #28202f; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "times new roman" , "times" , "baskerville" , "georgia" , serif; font-size: 18px; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">Mocha Memoirs Press is currently accepting submissions for <span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: red;">Slay: Stories of the Vampire Noire</span> </span>until March 31st. If you are interested in writing for this anthology, please find find submission guidelines </span><a href="https://mochamemoirspress.us8.list-manage.com/track/click?u=28b83590b42a87bdd3b11ade4&id=7bd028f4d0&e=d2a3a8d02e" rel="nofollow" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: white; color: #335e80; font-family: "Times New Roman", Times, Baskerville, Georgia, serif; font-size: 18px; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: underline; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;" target="_blank">here</a><span style="background-color: white; color: #28202f; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "times new roman" , "times" , "baskerville" , "georgia" , serif; font-size: 18px; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">.</span></span></span><br />
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<em><span style="color: magenta; font-size: large;"></span></em><br />Tom Olberthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05816824395647735536noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8157514908800779188.post-67183798373591881392019-07-04T22:06:00.000-07:002019-07-04T22:06:36.861-07:00Short Story: Aliens
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">ALIENS<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">By Tom Olbert<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">2037 A.D.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">U.S. / Mexican border<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Billy smiled as his finger tightened on the trigger, the
barrel pressed to the old man’s head.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The old Mexie’s eyes were wild with fear, moist with tears as the search
light washed over his lined brown face.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>“Por favor,” he said in a strangled whisper, his sweat glistening in the
sultry night as Billy pulled the trigger.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Billy howled with the rush as the old man’s head
exploded like a piñata, his brains and blood splattering across the sand.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He laughed into the wild, black night.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Papa!” the dead
man’s teenaged daughter screamed, looking away, tears streaming down her face,
her body trembling.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Billy grabbed the
girl by her long dark hair.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“C’mere, Chiquita,” he whispered in her ear, nuzzling
her neck.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She cringed and tried to pull
away.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He laughed as he held the girl’s
face to the light.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Bonita,” he
whispered, licking his lips and feeling aroused as the search lights played
over her high cheek bones and moist doe-brown eyes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>An amusing mix of fear and hatred played over
her pretty features.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He had his men
shackle her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I’ll handle this one,” he
said, dragging her toward his hut.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The drones buzzed about, their search light beams
playing off the great wall as it loomed against the night sky. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He glanced up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The muzzle flashes of the robo sentries lined up along the top of the wall
sparked in the black night as the automated plasma guns swiveled, targeting any
Mexies who’d somehow made it past the razor wire and land mines.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The drones swooped in with flawless
coordination, launching their tactical rocket grenades.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The militiamen hooted and cheered at the
sound of screams half-muffled by the explosions.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Stay the hell out of our country, Billy thought.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">He slammed and locked the door to his hut, throwing the
girl roughly across his cot and shackling her to it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He drew his knife, tested the sharpness of the
serrated edge on his thumb and smiled.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>An indulgence, he knew, but a damned sweet one.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Why feel guilty, anyway?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Who asked them to come here?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He looked her over, his blood racing…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">He swore as the grainy streaming video irritated his
eyes in the dim light.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“What is it?” he
demanded, driving the knife into a wooden post.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Skipper,” one of his men, Hanson stammered, his eyes
wide with terror, his face flickering in the vid.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“There’s something moving out here…”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Billy heard screams.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Screams from his side of the wall.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Skipper…” Hanson screamed as something
grabbed him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The vid dissolved into
static.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Billy’s heart raced.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>“Corbin.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Briggs.” <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He switched to every terminal, but got only
static.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Someone…anyone…what’s going on
out there?!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The screams stopped.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He could hear something, like…tearing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Chewing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The blood drained from his face and extremities.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">That’s when he heard it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>A sound like dried leather scraping across rocks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The girl.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>She looked up from the cot, her face creased with wicked delight.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The sound he’d heard had been her
laughter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He nearly fainted when he saw
the shackles crumbling to metallic dust around her wrists.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He gaped, certain he was having a nightmare
as her face and body likewise decayed and crumbled, her once soft flesh dissolving,
her once beautiful features melting into a half-skeletal death mask.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He drew his gun.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He gasped as the weapon crumbled to dust in
his hand.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Such primitive technology,” a grating, hissing voice
whispered.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That’s when he knew, the word
forming in his mind.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“No,” the evil
voice said.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“We’re not aliens,” it said,
as though reading his thoughts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You are.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is our planet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You don’t belong here.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He choked, paralyzed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Five billion years ago, we realized another
planet would soon collide with ours.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So,
we escaped by slipping five billion years forward, to a time after the planet
had congealed and cooled.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A tick of the
clock to us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But, we returned to find
our home infested with you alien scum.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Evolved from bugs that crawled out of the primordial slime.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Bugs evolved from the alien spores the
colliding planet brought to our world.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>We had to live in these grotesque, loathsome bodies of yours to
acclimate ourselves to your bacteria…”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">He screamed as a writhing mass of slimy, clawed limbs
tore out of the girl’s shriveling body, tentacles slithering in dark fluid as
the monstrosity lunged at him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Its
hateful thoughts shrieked through his mind.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Get out of our world.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span> </div>
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Tom Olberthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05816824395647735536noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8157514908800779188.post-26851428215801666352019-05-16T20:25:00.000-07:002019-05-16T20:30:45.188-07:00Short Story: Birthday Wishes<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">BIRTHDAY WISHES<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">By Tom Olbert<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt; text-align: center;">
<o:p><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></o:p></div>
<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Mary screamed and fell to the dusty ground, pressing her
hands to her ears against the deafening burst of gunfire.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The light show was brilliant in the black
Utah night as the underground soldiers around her fired on the government robots
surrounding them.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Hideous things, like gigantic eight-legged metal bugs
blasting with built-in machine guns. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As
her life flashed before her, she happened to glance at her wrist comp and saw the
red digits come up 12:00 midnight.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She
realized it was now May 14, 2042.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She
was 17 years old as of this moment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Happy birthday, me, she thought, laughing hysterically, the light
blurring through her tears.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>An ice-cold
skewer thrust through her as she thought of the unborn life she carried.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The one that would never see a 17<span style="font-size: small;"><sup><span style="font-size: xx-small;">th</span></sup>
birthday if she made it to the Canadian border.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>As a rebel fighter fell dead into the dust two feet from her, half the
man’s head blown away, the guilt vanished.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">“That’s the last of the bots, Nick,” Carlos called over,
his plasma rifle still smoking.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Nick ran over to Mary.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>“You okay, darlin’?” he asked softly, kneeling by her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She held back the tears and sniffed, nodding.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“All right, turn loose the decoys,” Nick
ordered. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“They’ll have DNA trackers out
lookin’ for us.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Mary drew a deep breath, looking up at the stars and
trying desperately to hold on to sanity.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 6;"> </span>#<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Nick took a swallow from his flask as Mary patched his
ugly shoulder wound, using one of the black market nano-probe surgical devices
outlawed in the American Heartland, for their detrimental effect on healthcare
profits.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“We’ll camp here for about an
hour, to give the trackers a chance to fan out,” the big man said, wiping his
whiskered mouth with the back of his hand.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>“We should make the Nevada border before first light.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nevada.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Mary trembled just at the thought of it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The Republic of Greater Canada.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Freedom.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I’m gettin’ too old for
this,” Nick said with a chuckle, putting away the flask.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Don’t worry, kid,” he said, winking at
her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“We’re almost home.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">She was almost afraid to ask the question that had
burned in her mind since Nick and his squad had rescued her from the redemption
camp where her parents had sent her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Where she’d been raped by those men who’d promised to “cure” her of her
unnatural attractions.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She shuddered as
she shook off the memory.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Why are you
helping me?” she asked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">He leaned back and lit a cigarette.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“We all got our stories.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Me…I’d just got back from droppin’ bio-toxins
on civvies in Venezuela an’ Mexico…stuff that made unborn babies die in their
mothers’ wombs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I came home to our
beloved nation of life and they told me my baby sister Rose was dead.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Rufied and raped by her college prof…who I
killed, by the by.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Rose tried to escape
to Canada to abort, and they stuck her in one of those machines where pregnant
girls are fed through tubes like veal until the baby’s ripe.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then, the second the robot cuts the newborn
out of the womb, the blade comes down and chops the girl’s head off.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She winced and lowered her head. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I ‘aint looked back since.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">She touched his hand.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It was the first time she’d been able to touch anyone since the night
her baby was conceived.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 6;"> </span>#<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Mary trembled in fear as she saw the ominous dark shapes
of the cyborg troopers marching towards them out of the night.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The cold chorus of their artificial voices
blared through the darkness:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>WE ARE A NATION OF LIFE.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The cyborgs and the rebels opened up on each
other, the night exploding with gunfire.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Mary screamed in rage as men and women died around her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>“No!” she screamed as she bounded forward and stepped protectively in
front of Nick, just as one of the black-armored, faceless monstrosities closed
in on him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Its laser site fixed on her
chest.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It didn’t fire.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It couldn’t.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It was programmed to protect the life inside her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nick rolled and fired, blasting the cyborg
wide open.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">“Don’t look,” he said as she started towards the smoldering
ruin, but she ran over and looked.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She
gasped, looking away in disgust and crying on Nick’s shoulder as he held
her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There, inside the cyborg’s
shattered chassis, hard-wired into its A.I. was the organic component that
served as its brain.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A new-born baby. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">***</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Originally presented in the Science Fiction Microstory Contest:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><o:p>https://www.goodreads.com/group/show/175537-science-fiction-microstory-contest<o:p></o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><o:p><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></o:p> </span></span> </div>
Tom Olberthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05816824395647735536noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8157514908800779188.post-79445779524242169712019-05-15T19:18:00.001-07:002019-05-15T19:18:24.189-07:00Two Faces of Alabama<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-JAToFZC1ykw/XNzHZLZiAvI/AAAAAAAAAcc/HMMJy87UPUgUKsYL8sxt0z1scT_97RP4ACLcBGAs/s1600/imagesP2X2N5B0.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="177" data-original-width="284" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-JAToFZC1ykw/XNzHZLZiAvI/AAAAAAAAAcc/HMMJy87UPUgUKsYL8sxt0z1scT_97RP4ACLcBGAs/s1600/imagesP2X2N5B0.jpg" /></a></div>
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Alabama has just passed the most restrictive anti-abortion law in the history of the United States. One that could send a doctor to prison for 99 years for performing an abortion beyond a designated stage of pregnancy. (What, they couldn't pass a death penalty? Wait.) A 12-year-old rape victim would find no escape from this law.<br />
<br />
Alabama. A state with a dark history of hate and oppression. Odd that a state that has certainly never embraced a culture of brotherly love or Christian compassion should now violate a woman's constitutional right to control her own body in the name of defending the value of human life or of denying man the role of Almighty God.<br />
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This same week, Alabama was also in the news for having a prison system like something out of the dark ages. The mentally ill and the helpless are often left to die in their prisons, the most fundamental legal proscriptions against cruel and unusual punishment callously disregarded by those charged with upholding the law. No, Christian principles like compassion, redemption and forgiveness are certainly not at the heart of Alabama's attack on a woman's right to choose.<br />
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What is it, then? Why do conservatives in general, people who have no moral qualms about bombing cities to rubble, killing scores of women and children in the name of geopolitical strategy, who openly practice execution in the name of revenge (assuming the role of God) and who will let innocent children die of disease or malnutrition or thirst in cages or on deserts rather than pay higher taxes or open our precious borders, suddenly and conveniently find religion when it comes to a woman ending her pregnancy?<br />
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The answer, I suspect, lies in one of the defining pillars of their ideology: patriarchy. Women must in their minds be allowed to control nothing of their own lives. They can be domestic servants, nannies...and, of course, incubators. But never self-determining free beings. The irony is that a woman signed this bill into law. (A woman too old to bear children, but not to run for re-election.)<br />
<br />
The right wing hope is that laws like this one in Alabama may be the wedge they need for a right-leaning Supreme Court to overturn Roe vs. Wade. It may well happen. And, what then?<br />
<br />
Will there be choice states and handmaiden's tale-type states? Will the latter establish armed borders to prevent pregnant women from escaping to the former? Will underground railroads appear? Could interstate border clashes occur if one too many pregnant women attempt to escape? Will abortion pills be the next great prohibition nightmare? Might we come to see floating abortion clinics; vans on lonely country roads in the dead of night, and trigger-happy militias opening fire on them? Will murders of abortion doctors become the norm in states like Alabama, as lynchings once were? <br />
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The idle speculations of a science fiction writer? Or America's future? We'll see.<br />
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Tom Olberthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05816824395647735536noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8157514908800779188.post-82182290856721436202018-12-23T18:48:00.001-08:002018-12-23T18:48:33.057-08:00Dark Shadows Herald the New YearAnd as the holidays are upon us and another year draws to a close, let us review the evolving darkness of our nation's leadership. If leadership it can be called.<br />
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A journalist is butchered and dismembered by a royal despot. Our own intelligence services swear the royal prince of Saudi Arabia gave the order, but our president brushes it aside, acting as if it doesn't mater. (Sure, why not? It's just a journalist.) And, the accused represents a royal family that has helped Trump make scads of money. He can make more by selling them guns so they can kill more innocent people. Priorities. Money over morality. Our leader. Our role model for our youth.<br />
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The world's leading scientists (including Trump's own science team) unanimously confirm that pollution-induced climate change is destroying our way of life and that it may already be too late to change course. Trump's response? He puts Andrew Wheeler, a lobbyist for the coal industry in charge of the EPA. (Par for the course, after Scott Pruitt.) Trump seems determined to destroy this planet one way or another. Why? His pals in the fossil fuel industry want to make scads of money. So what if their grand kids inherit a dying planet? Priorities. Money over morality. Our leader. Our role model for our youth.<br />
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The innocent are slaughtered in Syria. By ISIS. By Assad. By Turkey. By Russia. Our president's response? Pack up and go home. Not our problem. America first. Last, and always. But, not America the protector of freedom. That America is dead, apparently. Trump's America is the America of amoral self interest. The America that withdraws from the world and hunkers down behind a wall and an arsenal, denying food and water to the poor at our gates. (Isn't God supposed to have destroyed Sodom and Gomorah for that kind of selfishness?) Money over morality. Our leader. Our role model for our youth.<br />
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Refugees flee war and crime and poverty, making a long and sometimes fatal trek towards America. America; that shining beacon of light that beckons the tired and the poor, the huddled masses yearning to breathe free. Their welcome? Barbed wire. Not enough? Hell no! We need a wall, our President says. Can't have one? Shut down the government. Keep it shut down until the opposing party coughs up five billion dollars for a border wall. (Wait, wasn't Mexico supposed to pick up the check on that one?) Five billion dollars couldn't be better spent trying to solve the problems that caused the exodus in the first place? Or, to somehow pave a path to eventual citizenship for some of those refugees? Nah. Our president appeals only to fear and hate. He claims to feel compassion for the American victims of crimes committed by the army of criminal evil-doers supposedly streaming across our border. But, no compassion does he feel for children ripped from their parents and put in cages. Or, buried in American soil. Such blessed ground. Money over morality. Our leader. Our role model for our youth.<br />
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Mass shootings continue. No end in sight. Children are slaughtered, and Trump and his NRA buddies say their thoughts and prayers go out to the victims. Then, the victims speak out and demand gun control, and they're accused of being "soulless" or "mush-brained." He does nothing. We need more armed guards, he tells us. In the schools. In the temples of worship. More armed guards. The NRA is too powerful. Too much money to be made from gun sales. Money over morality. Our leader. Our role model for our youth.<br />
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Resignations. Terminations. A revolving door on the White House. Trump wants only fawning supplicants, apparently. (Caligula's palace offered more stability.) He chastises an Attorney General for not protecting him from prosecutors. He accuses judges of being political agents and the law enforcement agencies of being out to get him. He considers justice his enemy. He believes the law should be his personal weapon. That's how he sees the world and his place in it. Money over morality. Our leader. Our role model for our youth.<br />
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Yet, our God-fearing heartland still loves him. Why, only they know. He makes them feel strong, perhaps. He shows them the easy path, the self-serving one, and tells them it's okay to be selfish. It's okay to do what comes easiest for human beings: fear and hate each other. Kill each other. It's fine. God loves us anyway, because we're Christian.<br />
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Happy Holidays, America.Tom Olberthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05816824395647735536noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8157514908800779188.post-6055041111580346132018-12-16T09:40:00.000-08:002018-12-16T09:42:08.656-08:00NewMyths Magazine<span style="color: red; font-size: large;"><em><strong>Science Fiction and Fantasy Lovers, attention:</strong></em></span> <br />
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<span style="color: magenta;"> <span style="font-size: x-large;">NewMyths Magazine Issue #45 is now live:</span></span><br />
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<a href="https://sites.google.com/a/newmyths.com/nmwebsite/past-issues/2018/issue-45" rel="nofollow" shape="rect" target="_blank">https://sites.google.com/a/newmyths.com/nmwebsite/past-issues/2018/issue-45</a><br />
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Visit strange new worlds, and share in startling adventures:<br />
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"Gentleman's Agreement" by Tom Olbert -- Excerpt:<br />
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">The entire sand ship trembled on its
massive treads as the sand crawler’s forward limbs, like the gigantic legs of
some nightmarish arachnid crushed the upper framework.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nicholas’s blood boiled.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Men plummeted to their deaths from the radar mounts
and gun turrets, screaming as they were smashed like insects against the
buckling metal hull or swallowed up into the churning desert sands.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
writhing hydra-like organism swallowed several of the native workers even as
they fired laser turrets from the overhanging gantries.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nicholas lunged for one of the upper turrets
as the gunner’s scream was muffled, the man’s legs kicking in mid-air as he was
seized by one of the lashing triple-pronged tongues of the great beast and
sucked into one of its three-sided mouths. Nicholas roared in impotent rage as
he fired and fired, hoping desperately for a lucky shot at one of the damnable
titan’s neural nodes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
crawler’s roar reminded Nicholas of a star destroyer’s atmosphere venting into
space as its bulkheads gave way under a laser barrage.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Feeling the support platform give way under
him, Nicholas leapt from the gantry, grabbing a railing along a walkway, and
slid down a support strut to the deck.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He struggled to hang onto the guard rail, his boots sliding over the
tilting deck.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br />
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*******<br />
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This and other exciting stories, by a variety of writers is now available. Stop on by!<br />
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span></span><br />Tom Olberthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05816824395647735536noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8157514908800779188.post-65626815250369759432018-12-12T20:07:00.000-08:002018-12-12T20:36:13.016-08:00Science Fiction...<br />
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<strong><em><span style="color: lime; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: x-large;"></span></em></strong><br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"> <span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"> <span style="color: red;">exotic worlds...</span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="background-color: magenta;"> <span style="font-size: large;">alien realities...</span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"> <strong><span style="font-size: x-large;"> <em><span style="color: lime;">Experience them all:</span></em></span></strong></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="background-color: lime;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="background-color: cyan; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="background-color: cyan; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="background-color: cyan; font-size: large;"></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="background-color: lime;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="background-color: cyan; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="background-color: cyan; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="background-color: white; color: black;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Dissent-Book-Nexus-Thomas-Olbert-ebook/dp/B01CRCEMQG">https://www.amazon.com/Dissent-Book-Nexus-Thomas-Olbert-ebook/dp/B01CRCEMQG</a><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>***</span><span style="mso-no-proof: yes;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<a href="https://lillicatpublishers.com/?product=visions-vi-galaxies"><span style="color: #0563c1; font-family: "calibri";">https://lillicatpublishers.com/?product=visions-vi-galaxies</span></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/group/show/175537-science-fiction-microstory-contest"><span style="color: #0563c1; font-family: "calibri";">https://www.goodreads.com/group/show/175537-science-fiction-microstory-contest</span></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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Tom Olberthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05816824395647735536noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8157514908800779188.post-89712095937711666892018-09-08T14:30:00.000-07:002018-09-08T14:30:49.472-07:00Passing of an Era, Birth of a Nightmare<br />
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Our nation recently mourned the passing of a true statesman and national hero: John McCain.<br />
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Like everything else in our present dark age of anger and hate, the funeral was greatly politicized; charged with anger and resentment. Understandably. Our current president had mocked John McCain, a man who put his life at risk in the service of his country. Who endured excruciating torture in a foreign prison and who chose to remain there in deference to honor and comradeship. Two concepts our president - a man who escaped military service for minor medical deferment (having more money in the bank than patriotism in his heart) - will never understand. How did our president acknowledge the service of John McCain? "He's a hero because he got captured? I like people that didn't get captured." (Or, who didn't weasel their way out of service?) He accused McCain of having failed the veterans. And, he declared that he loved war and torture. Never having experienced either, himself.<br />
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This is our dark age. Embodied in the death of a man who personified an age that has passed. The age of honor and dignity. Of courage and love of one's fellow man. On the campaign trail, McCain, unlike Trump, did not fuel the fire of hate when a supporter in his audience stood up and referred to his opponent Barak Obama as an "Arab." McCain, a gentleman of principle, among the last of a dying breed, referred to his political opponent as a "decent American with whom I happen to have profound political disagreement." That may have been the last time that phrase will be uttered in American politics. The look on McCain's face when he said it was one of dismay, like a man of a time past looking into the face of a dark future already festering.<br />
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Now, there is no moral foundation of national unity and respect to serve as the dam against the crashing waves of hate, of anger, resentment and bigotry. Those dark impulses catapulted Donald Trump into the White House. The ultimate triumph of style over substance. Of hate over love. Of self-aggrandizing cruelty over respectability and of tribalism over shared values. It is the age of insolence. Of disrespect. The age of the cyber bully. The age of self delusion. Of truth rejected and falsehood embraced. Represented by a president who hugs the flag with a false smile while splintering families and putting children in cages, in flagrant denial of what that flag represents. Who slanderously accuses both the free press and the agents of law enforcement when they oppose him.<br />
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The age of kindness, respectability and nobility, it seems, was buried with John McCain. <br />
Our founding values gathered like angels in the church where a mourning nation said farewell to an age fondly remembered, when America was truly great. Our current national leader was conspicuously absent from that gathering. There will be little of kindness or nobility to remember when his time comes. His mourners will gather in anger, not prayer. In hate, not humility. There may be torchlight parades to take him to his final resting place. But, no gentle songs or kind memories. Only drumbeats promising more hatred to come.<br />
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What follows? A new age, I hope. As a new generation emerges...an angry and increasingly focused generation...we may remember with respect the nobility of an age now gone, but we must look to a new future. A future more diverse. More female. And yes, angry. On the march, and resistant. No longer silent. No longer passive. They will not go gentle into that dark night. Women may again have to fight for the right to control their own lives, LGBT people for the right to love and marry without shame, and kids in school just for the right to be safe. The new darkness must one day yield to a stronger, purer new light.<br />
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Tom Olberthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05816824395647735536noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8157514908800779188.post-24446554990841777672018-07-05T18:07:00.001-07:002018-07-05T18:10:45.671-07:00Sundered Identity<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
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Our nation celebrated its birth last night. Amid music and revelry and fireworks, we commemorated the birth of a nation. Did we remember what the defining values of that nation were?<br />
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"Send me your tired and your poor...your huddled massed yearning to breathe free." No more, it seems. Not for those who cheer on our current leader. Many others protest his policies towards those fleering poverty, terror, crime, tyranny and death...<br />
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Long has it been since we were so divided as a nation. Division born of identity crisis. What does it mean to be an American? Who are we? Are we the compassionate, giving people we once took pride in claiming to be? Or, is that now considered the creed of fools? Those who embrace the pseudo-populist movement of Donald trump embrace cynicism and cruelty. "We're not gonna take back our country by being nice," Trump has said.<br />
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<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-4jNgbJsOdkQ/Wz69Ufrz6QI/AAAAAAAAAZ4/rBI9ZbtnxTsV59n57B3RTzVn6-Pkr5vCgCLcBGAs/s1600/Trump.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="748" height="320" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-4jNgbJsOdkQ/Wz69Ufrz6QI/AAAAAAAAAZ4/rBI9ZbtnxTsV59n57B3RTzVn6-Pkr5vCgCLcBGAs/s320/Trump.jpg" width="299" /></a>No longer do we embrace the image of Lady Liberty holding her torch aloft, welcoming those in need from distant shores. Nah, that's for suckers. Build a wall, with a great big "keep out" sign on it. That's the new America.</div>
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Maybe that's the whole planet Earth. Nationalist and populist movements are erupting everywhere in the western world. Once enlightened nations are following the demagogic example of Trump's America. Never trust a foreigner. And, never trust the rule of law.</div>
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Except when you want to use it to justify tearing immigrant families apart and putting children in cages. Or, when you want to stack the courts with ideological zealots who simply can't wait to strip away a woman's right to choose or an entire community's right to marry. Civil rights? Religious freedom? They come in second to a president's king-like power to control the borders by arbitrarily deciding who can travel here and who can't. More broken families, more cruelty to remind ourselves who we are now.</div>
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We call ourselves a nation of life. Except when we bomb the sh*t out of countries we don't like. We call ourselves a nation of law. Except when we're torturing people in foreign prisons. We call ourselves a nation under God. But, only some people's conception of God, not everyone's. We call ourselves a nation of family values, yet we tear families asunder or at best incarcerate them together, not truly out of respect for law (we have no problem, remember with torture, imprisonment without trial or undeclared war) but out of fear of those who are different.</div>
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E pluribus Unum? Not by a longshot. Happy Birthday, America...Whoever the hell you are.</div>
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Tom Olberthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05816824395647735536noreply@blogger.com0