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 Jake's Final Continued. M walked back to his room with a sense of dread. Why did he snap on Shamya like that? She's only trying to look after him. The war has been going on for the last ten years, it is all he seems to have ever known. The Zankot were a crossbreed of a psychic alien race and humans, though only a few of the hybrids had the ability to read and control other men's minds. M's side represented a part of the population who rejected the superior Zankot's control. Though they were highly organized and trained, it has been a losing effort the last five years or so. But they were fighting for their lives, their freedom. It was the "good" side, right? M banged his head against his door. Sometimes, deep inside, he wished he had been born at another time. Life would be easier, right? No war to worry about. No training to go through. But, this was a life he wanted for his children, and if exterminating the Zankot would end the war, then that's what M would do. The idea that Kelion and Megroth were under the control of the Zankot seemed utterly ridiculous to M. While Kelion might be thick headed and brooding, there was no way he was under any sort of mind control. He was too much of an asshole. No one would be so hard on you, M thought, if their ultimate goal was to kill you. Megorth, though, perhaps. But, Kelion would have seen this. M was sure of it. Almost sure of it. M swiped his keycard and went to his bed. He lay down on top of his covers, arms behind his back, and closed his eyes. Tomorrow… tomorrow was an important day. Faux ammo practice in the flyers. He thought of some scenarios he might encounter, and then fell asleep. The white light, now trapped in M's hands, dimmed considerably. In it's place there was a shiny metallic ball, no larger than a melon. M looked at his reflection, and instead of himself, he saw a young female with two older males standing beside her. Their dress was of gypsies, ragged clothes and leather swatches. M blinked, and then started to hear voices, quiet at first, but with increasing volume. "He's coming to…" "Get back, Annie…" … "Get back, Kannie…" … ( I got it, jake thought.) "Get back, Kiani, he might be dangerous…" There was a sudden rush of wind (seemed like wind) and M found himself back in reality. The force of his soul returning to it's corporeal state made M's body tighten up and he moaned in pain. None of his dream (seemed like a dream) remained in his memory. He quickly sat up and took inventory of where he was. It looked like, from the inside, a small, wood perhaps, dwelling. Three people stood in his foreground, a young girl with crystal blue eyes and an innocence that was endearing was in front of two older men, statesman, perhaps. Numerous people crowded behind them but M couldn't get a bead on them. "Who… who are you…?" The old man, whose beard was older than M, spoke first. "Young man, we are to be asking the questions here. Then we will answer all of yours." The other man, not quite as old but just as distinguished looking, spoke directly after the other, as if they had practiced this before hand. "Who are you? And how did you get to Nortflat?" … "Who are you, and how did you get to North Green Ro?" … "Who are you, and how did you get to North Green Flat Falls Town Ro?" … "Who are you, and how did you get to our village?" "Last thing I remember, sir, is my flyer went down unexpectedly in the middle of the… fight", there was code names but M remained vague, "I was able to acquire some food and water, but it soon ran out. My last memory is of looking up at the stars, and that's all." "See, father, I told you!", the girl said, not too loudly but not too softly. "Quiet, Kiani. Young man. We found you not more than six paces from our gates. If you speak of flyers, then you must mean the Resistance war with the Zankot, but I see it not possible how you ended up here, since that is more than six thousand miles away, on the Green Continent. So I suggest you tell us the truth now, or else there will be repercussions of which you have no idea."    
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EVERYTHING JAKE is TM & (C) 2000-2011 by Mike Rosenzweig. | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
