Reading an old back-issue of Starlog recently - from November 1983 - I had forgotten what poor reviews Return of the Jedi had received on its release. Reviwer Norman Spinrad said, "except for a few minutes with good old Yoda and the Luke-Vader-Emperor sequence, virtually nothing happens except endless shoot-'em-ups". It is interesting to hear echoes of these sentiments in reviews of The Phantom Menace; and particularly interesting when the movie is compared unfavourably with Return of the Jedi.
Leaving Star Wars aside (after all, you get enough of that at the supermarket), this issue's contents begin with new short fiction by Frances Taira. Her distinctive fiction has previously graced issues 35, 26 and 22. After an interesting letter to the editor, we then commence a new two-part serial The Adjustment by Virginia Chandler (yes, the sister of regular contributor Tony). Australia has a tradition of "Christmas in July", so I've also included a poem by Richard Stevenson entitled Silly Season; it is not exactly a Christmas poem but I'm sure you'll enjoy it.
This issue's featured artist is Duncan Long, who describes his evocative images as "Artwork that will amuse, amaze, and sometimes terrify". Visit his extensive on-line gallery by clicking on any of his images in this issue. Ibn Qirtaiba's contributors are always happy to receive feedback, so please feel free to email them directly, or via the editor, with your comments and suggestions.
Short story: Gate Made Only for You
by Frances Taira
The agent known as Vince Amati listened in to the Luna Council meeting through the bug in the room. Chairman Katerin pounded on the gavel, but his daughter Clare turned up the volume of her mike. The members booed her. She continued.
"Two teenagers entered a restricted military site rumored to store nuclear weapons. They fell from the roof of the control tower, to their deaths. Clan McDonald members claim the police did not fully investigate the alleged accidents. I don't want to live in a society where such concerns are ignored. Approve their access to a legal suit."
You may get your wish. Brave or stupid... don't understand the situation? You could become a candidate for hypnotic counselling, if you try to limit the Council's access to high tech weapons. I'd better go down to the meeting room.
All talking ceased. The committee waited. "Of course they may seek legal redress, after the election. But now we are running on an antiterrorism platform, against Ian McDonald and his gang. To stop the violence is our major priority. We shall examine this referral later. My daughter Clare was renominated for the Council. However I am assigning her to an LOA on Earth. She will remain there for a two year period, starting now." The Chair said with the calm affect of a judge.
"My vote to open a formal investigation still stands. Lax security at the weapons site endangers us all." Clare distributed handouts and articles pertinent to security issues. Guards took her to the nearest hypnotist counsellor.
Vince followed them and whispered to Clare, "You're causing trouble for your father." He turned to the counsellor and showed his authorization. "Clare is on a mission for the Chairman. She has no time for a psychological assessment, before boarding the Earth shuttle."
"Mini assessment ordered. First: a 100 question test." That took 5 minutes to administer and machine analyze. "Since I found no evidence of disloyalty there is no reason for detention. Your brain scan and blood test show interesting evidence of brain enhancement through adrenal gland implants." Clare wrote down a reference for him, detailing research findings. The hypnotist signed her departure permission.
"You did a dangerous thing, speaking out," Vince said. "Don't return home. We'll go straight to Spaceport."
"I have no clothes or credits with me." Vince Amati
may look like a pro wrestler, but he is an intelligence op. His accent and rhythm in
speaking are wrong for his phony immigrant cover story. "Did my Dad send you?"
"No. You've said enough. I'll bill you later. To vote your conscience and harm your career isn't an easy choice. The fights in your family may have less to do with principle than inheritance. Have the courage to face reality. Sometime in the future, you will have a family feud over inheritance."
"I was adopted, from Clan McDonald parents, so I could have a better life. Didn't know citizens faced the hypnotists' increasing power here." She e-mailed the Chair. "This letter gives up any financial claim on your estate as my punishment. The Luna struggle where I could make a difference is important to me. Let me stay."
She got e-mail. "No. You will adapt to Scotland. Sometimes you don't recognize the gate to opportunity."
A month later, Clare returned to her new apartment in Glasgow. The building housed other colonists, making a new life away from the low wages and terrorist activity of the Luna Federation. The tall brunette found work as a model and accessories buyer while attending the Atheneum Art Institute. First bed for a nap, then back to work on her student presentation.
Something was wrong with the building. Graffiti? No trace now of where a vandal spray painted the building, "GO BACK HOME." Vince informed a local Highlanders group, who helped the residents remove the graffiti.
Posters? They advertised the Glasgow visit of the Luna Ambassador. Concerned about the "Brain drain," he hoped to persuade colonists to return home. Today the terrorists threatened to expand their attacks from Luna to target colonists relocating to Earth.
Curtains! The curtains in Vince's corner apartment remained closed at... math time: her watch was still set for Paris... 9:00 a.m. Holiday? Illness?
A delivery man pounded on her door. "Your neighbor's out. Will you take in the fruit basket?"
"No." The basket could be a trick, or lethal, or a request for help from someone who wished to remain anonymous. I feel scunnered with myself. Funny how the dialect comes back.
The new residents noticed the curtains, and turned for leadership to the nearest politically connected Katerin - a long-term habit. "Clare will find out the problem." She could afford to move out to interact more with the diverse group of Glaswegians, but usually, she enjoyed helping the new arrivals. She referred them to the honest people with clout in the government and in business. Today Clare advised, "Don't get involved with a Council op. in a potentially dangerous situation."
This afternoon she needed to present her project. The Atheneum selected her for their annual Student Awards Day. Can't concentrate on preparing till I check on Vince. She walked past the waiting residents, who smiled and nodded.
"Need help Vince?" Clare picked the lock, then called out as she entered the apartment. "Just jet lagged from Paris, merci beaucoup." Vince lay unconscious, face down on the floor. All colonists are sleep taught civil defense procedures as children. She ran forward to cut out a tissue disk from the back of his neck - the kind used by a marksman or illegal safari hunter to tag and locate the target with a sensorscope. Then examined the disk more closely. Should have been deeply inserted into his scalp due to the force of the shot. Instead it was hand placed into his brown hair.
She sat down, shaking with rage. "How could you and the Council do this? Fake a real life episode that so many of us have experienced. If you publish this staged incident as an example of anti-Earth violence, I shall go to the Council and accuse you of lying and propaganda."
Vince sat up. "The Ambassador never expected you, his spoiled rich cousin, to turn hero. Now the Council is collaborating with him to catch a terrorist. The custodian will find me in five minutes and report the incident to the police. Go home."
"FYI, be more selective with your assistants." The sadness on her face silenced him. "I belong to a Target family, so we're informed about safety checks. She showed him with mirrors that under his jacket collar someone hid a second active tissue disc. The paralyzing poison was eating its way through the collar towards his neck.
Vince jumped up off the floor, divested himself of the hidden tissue disc and other equipment and vaporized them. "The custodian turned you in as a terrorist leader for the reward. We were just checking to see if you would search the apartment or act suspicious. Deliver the package to the picnic. Do that much to help."
She opened the curtains and left amid congratulations for saving Vince's life. She explained it was an exercise against terrorism. Invitations to the community picnic were accompanied by a wink. "We know, who's going to hear the Ambassador speak." She was educated to marry the Ambassador and help him become viceroy of Luna. Fortunately he didn't deviate from the family plan, and was promoted. She refused to keep secret from him that her birth parents were executed for treason and was disqualified as too controversial.
First brunch, then polish the project. The Institute adviser said yesterday,"You lack one exciting detail to make your accessory presentation a hot selling idea." Come up with that. No fresh ideas. Maybe the music and dancing later will inspire me. Perhaps radicals intend to demonstrate against Luna. A university campus offers open debates, and diverse participants. She put on her pink turban and placed the fruit basket with the other prizes. She waited for trouble.
Everyone seems to be enjoying the outdoor meeting in Kelvingrove Park. Kelvin believed that what you can't measure and number isn't knowledge, as science is knowledge. You can count that on stage are 20 women dancers wearing the traditional black cotton pants and tunic, with a pink turban pulled over sun streaked hair. Message sent, "I'm a colonist." Message received, different for each audience member. How to influence the Council members?
A burly Realtor in a loud aloha shirt appeared. "You live in Maryhill or Milngavie? I'm in real estate. First rule is location, then price. My card." Didn't say how much Vince charged in fees, when undercover as a Realtor.
A cop drove his car over the grass to the Ambassador's table. Clare moved closer.
People tensed for trouble. Then the Ambassador stepped out of the car wearing the green
cap and arm band of a male colonist. His aide in the McDonald yellow and black tartan
played the bagpipes, as he crossed the grass with kilted dancers from the second group of
entertainers. 
"Too bad you don't have his political skills. My card," Vince repeated as they joined in singing both National Anthems. "I didn't say thanks properly. I'm focused on the assignment."
"I admire the Luna Council agents for breaking up that terrorist group who tried to recruit the Scottish clans last year. Our fighting on Luna started off as a justified protest against Earth's rule. Now we're killing our brothers and sisters in a civil war."
The Ambassador hovered near the podium. Needed to lower it for him. He had a boyish face, short military haircut and beautiful smile. The Ambassador introduced himself as Mickey in English and dialect. "A woman from Luna isn't eating because a friend from Earth brought a tray of unfamiliar food to her. Stand in the buffet line and choose for yourself what to eat."
Cultural choice or they're scared of deliberate contamination by terrorists. Clare said, "I heard that a volunteer had the flu, so I'm sterilizing the food on my tray. Also I'm allergic, so I want a chemical analysis." The organizers insisted on having these machines on site to avoid problems.
They waved her to come into the kitchen. The cautious participants followed to check for infection, or poison in the meal. None found. Everybody relaxed and ate. The fruit basket contained a tape recorder that Vince confiscated. The rest of the prizes were found to be OK.
"We want you to return and take up your family and business responsibilities instead of calling yourself an artist," the Ambassador said. "Your father refuses to make concessions for peace. You have a vote on the Luna Council. People are dying, and you're here with your greedy friends and their stupid projects. I shall be forced to extradite you." He returned to the podium.
"People die all the time throughout the galaxy. I don't flatter myself that I can compete with all the wealthy important women, who want to rule Luna with you. I have a different mission, to use my talent in art."
"I'm returning to Luna," Vince said. "You should go back and vote."
"And get killed. I'm not a hero." Clare hid in the portable toilet unit to avoid an extradition order. When the speech started, she drove home. Must leave for the project demo, with something new. Clare sat on the sofa. She was roused from a nap by a woman's scream, a man's deep voice and the crash of falling furniture. The dog barked. Forgetting the emergency number, 911, Clare ran over and pounded on the door.
"We woke you up with that noise, after you were so kind when I had surgery." May turned off the soap opera and scolded a tiny poodle. Both had a lot of fair hair, and color coordinated outfits.
"I had no idea that Susie had such great outfits. Won't she make a mess on your clothes?"
"Baby pool pants prevent leakage."
"Please lend me your dog and her pool pants wardrobe for a presentation." Vince's car approached the parking lot.
"I'll come with you both. Told the family you would see Susie's potential." May drove and Clare sat on the floor, to avoid Vincent.
On the car radio, Headline News announced the Luna election race for Prime Minister was tight. Vince switched it off to confirm that it was necessary to deliver Clare to the Luna Council. The vote was too close to call.
At the Atheneum, Clare was surprised to see how many successful alumni showed up to encourage and offer work to current students. Standards were higher than she anticipated. Clare felt superior to the money loving Earth residents, but now she looked at their radiant faces and changed her mind.
"Now improvise a photo presentation."
Clare positioned a seated model as Venus, with a mound of accessories in front of her. The cute poodle licked her face. "Title... Fit for a goddess." Okay. But not as original as other presenters. They sang, danced, painted and read poetry, while Clare expected to succeed on May and Susie's talents. The gate made for Clare was closing, like Kafka wrote. She had no big finish and didn't like to lose.
Mickey and bodyguards showed up, and demanded that Clare either return to Luna to vote for the concessions, or face civil disobedience charges
"Forget the stale fashion model approach. Videotape an average looking woman, me and Susie, I brought our ten matching outfits," May hissed. Her eyes shone with love as she stepped behind a screen to change, then presented different outfits to Susie for approval. Clare nodded to a fiddle playing presenter, who wanted a piece of the action. Susie did a two hind legs dance as her big finish. The execs stood up and high fived.
"We want you and Susie for a series of commercials, May."
"We're artists. Clare's our agent, provided she has an acceptable percentage and a role in the production." They met with the marketing people and signed the contracts. Smiling Mickey and Vince shook Susie's paw for photo op, then responded to the pager.
Clare passed Vince a towel for the sweat pouring down his face. He looked as if it were blood oozing from his pores. He said, "Your Dad won the primary election, then was killed by a car bomb. Suppose you and the Ambassador will be returning home."
"I must find another voter, the Scottish Judge ruled," the Ambassador said. "I'll appoint you Vince, Clare can stay in Glasgow, where she's happy." He went to Spaceport.
"I thought you and I might become friends, Vince. What about limiting undercover assignments, so I won't worry?" Clare said.
"Some things you don't know. I'm really Ian McDonald's brother."
Clare hit the police emergency button. Bitter disappointment, Vince a member of the fanatic terrorists. She raised her hands to release the poisoned darts, then lowered them. "I need help, I don't want to kill anyone."
Vince vaporized the weapons and took Clare to a deprogramming military clinic. The hypnotist said, "She's OK. We make a hypnotic suggestion that aborts the program for assassination."
"Please drive me to Spaceport. I have to show up at the Luna Council and confront you and Ian McDonald to explain your actions."
At the Luna Council meeting the Ambassador said, "Ian McDonald is dead and his gang dispersed after the Chair's murder. We should table the agenda including Clare's LOA assignment until after the new Council is seated. Why didn't you tell Clare about Ian and the potential changes we plan to institute?"
"I was desperate enough to consider kidnapping her if necessary," Vince said, his face flushing. "She wouldn't come for the peace agreement, she came for vengeance. OK you'll obtain justice in court. You're changing Clare, and it's not an improvement."
"I want us to move on and see the final report on the teenagers and what is on site that's dangerous to the Clan McDonald community. Next we'll debate on the vote for peace. Then I can walk through my gate to my new life." The table motion won.
Both Vince Amati McDonald and Clare Katerin were nominated for Council members, but they lacked the money to campaign. "Your wee cousin will help herself and you." Clare contacted May and the ad agency about her proposal for a Susie commercial. Only after child actor and lost Susie share a box of Cereal Plus do they find the way home.
The Council selected Vince as Chair. Merited and a sign to the Clan of changing times. Clare felt the weight of the documents the committee was to read and comment on. This is your life, live it.
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Hi
I am not really into ET but are very curious to know why the US Dept of Defense (.Mil) papa1.barksdale.af.mil would be monitoring email. Do you know what sort of facility this is?
My website was visited twice by what I presume is some sort of spider immediately after I had sent a couple of light hearted emails. This really surprised me as it seems to be stretching the imagine that it was just a random visit. I no longer have my emails as just after this I received an email with the Happy99.exe worm attached which resulted in my deleting all email files. Fortunately I had read about this virus and just deleted everything as a precaution.
The email messages were in response to a light hearted message I had received from a horse breeding group I am a member of. I had somehow been dropped by mistake and they had wondered whether I had left because someone had offended me or whether I had been kidnapped by aliens and could I give a genetic explanation (I use genetics to explain just about everything :).
Anyway to cut the story short I replied that I had been returned by the aliens (who were reptilian descendants of the dinosaur)- went on about how they would have evolved if they had not become extinct and that they would have been the intelligent race on Earth and not man, as fossils show the earliest brain folding occurred in dinosaur fossils and that they should save up their farm flies as a suitable gift etc. All very harmless fun stuff.
Anyway right after this my website was visited by either a computer or someone from the above address. I have no idea what the word sequence was they would have been monitoring but are curious to know what sort of facility this is. Can you help?
Regards
Name and address supplied
Ed: Does anyone else find this as intriguing as I do? Why don't others of you with Web sites (referred to in your email signatures) post similar messages to mailing lists you are on, and then track what visitors you get? And be sure to update your virus checker before you do so!
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The earth people welcomed the Dalphites from the sky with enthusiasm and awe. The Dalphites, in turn, were equally enthusiastic in teaching and guiding the youthful civilizations. The humans proved to be bright and curious pupils. The world, as would be expected, thrived and knowledge, not war or power, became the ruling force.
The Dalphites grew to love the Earthlings and their blue and
tranquil planet. Earth became an adopted home for the aliens. For hundreds of years the
two races of beings grew in harmony and the planet became known as a haven of peace.
Earth began to attract other beings from the galaxy. The Ramsies, a race from further out than the Dalphites, arrived on Earth and began to teach the Earthlings as well. From the beginning, the Dalphites did not trust the Ramsies and secretly resented them. Yet, the Earthlings benefited from the two alien races; great deeds and inventions began to occur all over the planet.
Then, as was prophesied, Michael, a powerful Dalphite leader, arrived to make his home on Earth. He offered his spiritual and philosophical beliefs to his beloved Earth people. He was only able to remain a short while, but many Earthlings grew to love him and believe as he did.
The Ramsies, in turn, began to fear Michael's influence and began to challenge his teachings vehemently. A great battle of words and accusations arose between the two races. Suddenly, without any advance warning, the Dalphi leaders ordered Michael to leave Earth. Confused but obedient, Michael left the debate unsettled. He did promise, though, as he prepared to leave, that he would return and that his ever watchful eye would never leave his favored world. He would return someday, he said, and finish what he had begun.
Two millennia later, a Dalphite craft hovered just outside of Earth's detection systems. The long, white corridors of the Dalphite craft were busy as usual with the crew members making their way to their assigned stations. Traclin, a tall, slender Dalphite, who had been a close attendant of Michael's on Dalphi, moved within the hurried flow of fellow Earth-watchers. His troubled mind raced with the planet's proposed fate.
As he turned a corner to enter the command center, his heart sickened with the reminder of Michael's vow to never alter the Earth beyond the universe's own spiritual and kinetic designs. Perhaps this time Michael would see the need to move beyond those parameters of conduct. Perhaps soon the Dalphites could openly return to Earth and once again reside with their chosen people.
Traclin anxiously entered the code to gain entrance into the Center. He smiled bitterly as he entered the word, "ALLIANCE", and then shook his head at the cold irony of the word. If the Ramsies, also asked to leave by the Prime Council one millennia ago, kept gaining power on the planet below, then the Dalphites and the Prime Council could kiss the planet's future good-bye: The Ramsies had proven to be too power hungry for everyone's tastes; except the tastes of the Earthlings. They, too, sadly enough, had found a lust for power. Despite the early history of the Dalphites and the Earthlings, the Ramsies were now the dominant influence on the blue and white planet.
The doors opened then with a smart click that resounded in Traclin's ears. He shook himself out of his world of thoughts and quickly entered. As his eyes raised to survey the room, he stopped himself short and gasped silently at what lay before him. He was met by the glorious sight of the Earth world brilliantly revealed throughout the huge observation window in the Command Center. He stood transfixed. His mind began to relax as he remembered the very first time that he had seen Earth. It never failed to amaze him how deeply blue were the waters and how white and peaceful were the clouds. The planet was so graceful as it hung against the backdrop of twinkling stars and nebula. There were so few planets, thought Traclin, in the galaxy that had such peaceful and pleasant colors. A warm feeling seeped into his soul and the desire to see the Earthlings live once again in peace overtook him.
A sudden sense of urgency struck him cold as he tore his gaze from the world outside of the window. An attendant approached him, slightly bowed, and waited to be acknowledged.
"Salam Ishi, Traclin," the attendant whispered.
"Ishi Salam. Is he here?" Traclin snapped back.
The attendant nodded and pointed towards Traclin's Captain's Room. "In there."
Traclin barely nodded in return before he turned on his heels and hurried into the meeting. He did not hear the "Salam Amar" that followed him across the room from his crew; the long conference with Michael just hours before was too heavy on his mind. Traclin was already exhausted, and there was still much to do.
As Traclin rushed into his Room, he wondered how the Earthbounder would feel about the present situation down on Earth. Traclin never knew how the 'Bounders would react anymore. Some remained loyal to Michael and his teachings, while others were influenced by Earth's traditions and sometimes found in difficult to find the meeting ground between the two. In fact, there was still a heated debate going on in the Prime Council over whether there was a "meeting ground" for any teachings or alterations that would coincide within the balance of the galaxy. Nevertheless, the Prime Council and the 'Bounders did recognize that there was a need for Dalphite aid despite the repeated protests of the Ramsies. Furthermore, there were still many who followed Michael - even those who held seats on the Prime Council. For that, Traclin was relieved and grateful to the Spirits of the Cosmos.
The Earthbounder sat in a chair near Traclin's own private observation window. The 'Bounder failed to stir when Traclin took the seat opposite him. The two Dalphites watched the Earth for a few quiet moments, and then the 'Bounder spoke.
"Salam Ishi," he greeted as Traclin mumbled the correct reply as he drummed his fingertips on the desktop, "I'm glad that you came so soon, Captain. We feared that Michael would delay too long."
Traclin searched the 'Bounders face for the Truth but was only met with the tired expression of a worried man. The 'Bounder was apparently stationed in the western part of the world. His clothing consisted of loose-fitting, thick cloth of one solid color with a hood on the pullover jacket. Traclin searched his mind for the correct English word for the attire but could only come up with something akin to "moisture." He frowned as his mind continued to wander.
"We have a situation where several small Middle Eastern countries have united into a coalition of sorts," the 'Bounder paused as he turned his gaze back towards the Earth. "They are declaring themselves as one nation to the rest of the world and threatening to fight anyone who dares oppose their alliance." Traclin nodded vaguely as he continued to stare at the clothes of the man. "The situation is extremely volatile. The West, namely America, does not want this coalition to be accepted by the United Nations, but there's not much that they alone can do about it. The newly united Arab nations are calling themselves a Brotherhood of Islam, and they have released a list of their goals and objectives to the U.N. They wish to spread their beliefs to the rest of the world. They say that Allah commands it. Even at the risk of a war. A Holy war. Hostility is almost in the air that we're breathing down there. The Ramsies are backing the Brotherhood. They are pushing their people to attack the Americans if they do not accept this new nation.. There are more Ramsies down there than the Prime Council is aware of, Captain. We've suspected it for years, but with all of this, I think that it's obvious how prevalent their influence is in the East."
Traclin again nodded as he reached into his inside pocket and retrieved an Earth cigarette. Michael disapproved of the tobacco habit, but Traclin had been introduced to it some years before and found it extremely pleasurable. He lit it casually and then leaned further back into his seat. He looked at the 'Bounder once again as he thought of how the East and West were always at odds. He found it fascinating how the two hemispheres were so differently influenced by the two races of aliens. Maybe the Prime Council was right: maybe there was no "meeting ground".
"Yes," Traclin said as he leaned forward again as he blew out a ring of blue smoke, "I'm well aware of the tensions and how influential America is as well as the Ramsies are to the East. I am also aware of how dangerous a Holy War could be to the entire world.. We could have the destruction of what we have worked so hard and waited so long for."
"Then, Imar," the 'Bounder continued as Traclin smiled at the reference to his relationship with Michael, "Michael must realize how urgent it is that this situation be remedied."
"Imar or no, " Traclin said as he stood and walked towards the window, "I cannot influence Michael one way or the other." He glanced at the 'Bounder who sat looking quite dejected. "Yet, there was a conference arranged on Delphi just a few hours ago. Indeed, I was present with Michael at the meeting. We were sent here with the blessings of the Prime Council to research the situation."
The 'Bounder rolled his eyes and stood abruptly. "Look, Captain, I work for a news station in the American city of Boston. I've been here for nearly eighty Earth years, and let me tell you something that you can tell to the Prime Council: This situation is HOT. I mean absolutely HOT. We haven't had anything like this since the Cuban Missile Crisis, I promise you. We have to act soon... before America does and before the Ramsies do."
"The Ramsies will not act without the blessings of the Prime Council," even as he said it Traclin felt the disbelief growing within him. The Ramsies would act and everyone knew it.
"The entire world is sitting on the brink of a jihad, Imar," the 'Bounder said softly, reverting back to the respected spiritual title.
"The entire world, as you put it, can be adjusted if need be," Traclin replied solemnly, blowing yet another string of smoke rings into the darkness of the ceiling.
The 'Bounder laughed aloud despite his best efforts to control himself. " Aren't you forgetting the Council, Imar? Adjustments are forbidden without their blessing."
"Most adjustments," Traclin said, propping himself on the desk directly in front of the 'Bounder, "are forbidden, my dear Frommi."
The 'Bounder could not hide his surprise. "Forbidden? But... how... who could dare defy the Council?"
"The one who cares what happens to the people of the planet where you have made your home. Michael dares."
Traclin stood, drew the last bit of tobacco through the filter, blew out the bluish smoke, threw it into his ashtray, and sat back down at his desk.
"Look," he said quietly, "you're down there, seeing it all. We're here, there, almost all over the quadrant. That's why we need you, the 'Bounders, we need to know what the American government intends to do, and what the Ramsies intend to do. Can you do this?"
"You ask for a tall order, Imar."
Traclin frowned at the expression. The 'Bounder seemed to
sense it and explained, "You ask for a lot, Imar, perhaps more than I alone can
deliver."
"Will you serve Michael?"
"I always have, Imar, I am bound to him more than I am to anything in my life. I fear an adjustment, I must confess that to you, but I trust his judgment. I will return to the surface and do what I can." He rose then to go, bowed slightly, and whispered "Salam Amar". He reached the doorway and then hesitated.
"Something else?" Traclin asked, still watching him.
"Yes, Imar. Faulkner, you know him?"
Traclin's stomach grew hard and cold at the name. "I know the name, Frommi."
"He's the Adjustor from the assassinations of '63 and '68."
"Yes, go on," Traclin replied.
"He, too, is in Boston. I can also contact him, if you would like."
"The Fabric of the Cosmos has guided you, Frommi. The Future-Patterns were adjusted in our favor in '63 and '68," Traclin seemed to be thinking aloud, "get a location for him and put him on standby. Salam Amar."
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Get out your cameras and videocams!
Grab your binos, load up your vans!
The sky is a switchboard of travelling lights!
It's time for saucers and marvellous sights!
It's silly season! Reporters take note:
Bigfoot will boogie; bodies will float
outside their windows on blue tractor beams.
Nothing will ever be quite what it seems!
Grinning green men will walk through your walls,
MIBs ask dumb questions in shopping malls,
sea serpents will flash olive green coils,
boys will be boys and go after goils.
If you've got a dog, better go call 'er.
Abominable swamp slobs are down in the holler.
You ain't got time to watch the news:
Chupucabra's slaverin' after your ewes.
Time to hobnob with goblins down in the glen,
grab cheap seats in saucers with little green men.
Mothman's back with his fiery red eyes.
Ain't nothin' like the element of surprise.
The Nazca Lines, the Great Pyramid,
the subtle subconscious and dithering id,
the great grey wastes of the unconfined
are hanging out vacancy signs for the mind.
Punch my ticket! Beam me up, Scotty!
The government scoffs; the leaders are dotty.
Spaceship earth's wobblin' off course.
I'll try my luck with grey intercourse.
If there ain't no room in the A 'LE' INN,
book me a room less high falutin'.
Somewhere in the outer meninges will do.
I'm tired of humans. How about you?