Wednesday, June 29, 2022

"Nemesis Tori" by Gregory Francis (intro & part one of 3)



Gregory Francis

Cherubim - an order of angels; of the most knowledgeable of spirits

Nemesis - one that inflicts retribution; a formidable and usually victorious opponent; an effect of retribution

Nephilum - In ancient Hebrew myth, a race of semi-divine beings encountered by the descendants of Moses believed to be the product of a sexual cross between human females and fallen angels; a race of formidable giants

Tartarus - the infernal regions; a place of intense cold; described by Homer as being as far below Hades as Earth below Heaven; the lowest level of Hell

Teraphim - worshiped objects in ancient times that were claimed to give spoken answers to questions; a device for spiritual communication that existed in antiquity

Tori - plural of torus; a doughnut shaped surface generated by a circle rotated about an axis in its plane that does not intersect the circle, further described as a one-surfaced, three-dimensional object

TD (TIMON DATE) - expressed in Year.Day.Hour; TD-42999.358.0713 would read the year 42,999, the 358th day of that year at 7:13am.

NOTE: Teraphim Veil (Part I) and Cherubim Void (Part III) are aligned with the Modern Christian Calendar having 365 days to a year as deigned necessary according to astral alignments of the time; Nephilim Crux (Part II) is aligned with the Christian Prophetic Calendar having 360 days to a year consisting of 12, 30-day months as deigned necessary according to astral alignments of the time.



                      CYCLE I                       LD...

--- TD-00000 - TD-00999   = 40,000 BC - 39,001 BC

--- TD-01000 - TD-00999   =  39,000 BC - 33,001 BC

                      CYCLE II

--- TD-07000 - TD-07999   = 33,000 BC - 32,001 BC

--- TD-08000 - TD-13999   = 32,000 BC - 26,001 BC

                      CYCLE III

--- TD-14000 - TD-14999   = 26,000 BC - 25,001 BC

--- TD-15000 - TD-20999   = 25,000 BC - 19,001 BC

                      CYCLE IV 

--- TD-21000 - TD-21999   = 19,000 BC - 18,001 BC

--- TD-22000 - TD-27999   = 18,000 BC - 12,001 BC 

                      CYCLE V

--- TD-28000 - TD-28999   = 12,000 BC - 11,001 BC  Nephilim Crux

--- TD-29000 - TD-34999   = 11,000 BC - 5,001 BC

                      CYCLE VI

--- TD-35000 - TD-35999   = 5,000 BC - 4,001 BC

--- TD-36000 - TD-41999   =   4,000 BC - AD 1,999   Cherubim Void

                      CYCLE VII

--- TD-42000 - TD-42999   =   AD 2,000 - AD 2,999   Teraphim Veil

--- TD-43000 -       =   AD 3,000 -       JS...  

                  > PROGRAM CLOSE

.. -- .- -. is deeper than you Dream -


- - - Part I - - -



timon date (td) = TD-42999.358 

(christan date = 2999 AD, 7 DAYS TILL YEAR'S END)


td-(not applicable)

- - - A thick red fog rolled back as electric discharges sparked between the dolmens. It was as it had been ages and ages past - 'twere all the same. All contact with the outside was interrupted by the flowing forces surrounding the constructs. Amidst the intermingling of time and existence, one being stood between the arches, waiting. Of thought and of chance was his incarnation constructed, and at times, of nothing save the shapes dictated by a tainted memory breathing through a pondering mind, far across some particular Universe. So was it to be in the image of another - a thoughtless decree from some wakeful dreamer. Wisps of massless residue, from brooding entanglements of the substances of chance and probability, cloaked a shadow casting its tenebrousness in all directions. Glimpses of blackness gleamed out from the whole of darkness, that, for now, formed into the representation of the physical. NOW Robed in a long black shroud, a willful presence peered into reality. Something as light played off the essence of blue metal under a metaphorically concealing hood. Arhiman, as a name was taken, The Guardian, remained. 

With a whim to consider, the eons passed. Chance formations cycled through the real, time and time again. With the endless breach of repetition calming the tidal waves of a compact void, Arhiman set into the forming structure  a sense of self. In realization of itself, the lines were shattered in a directed shift. Onto the planes forming into the surrounding reality, was set the lure of a dream - a screen upon which his unapparent thoughts could be played. It could have not been anything, for in the presence of ones' Self, reflections form stringent structures not so easy to disregard as anything would be, (FOR Anything, neglected, is nothing.) In disregard for the frames taking shape, a twisting form glanced through the mesmerization. Flickering traces of a whimsical goal lingered to disturb the flow. In a parallel glance, Arhiman swept away in the chase of some reason, impervious to manifestation - - -



(2927 AD, 212 Days till year's end, 3:55 a.m.)

"...I can feel it in the air, and in the sky. I can sense it altering the life in the earth...  I can feel it - It's growing stronger now...    It frightens so many, but - my initial fears have...  grown into a - sense of adoration for the level of perfection involved in the change..."

  (First Decription, WC-ARC-DIV.)

The Atom-timers, functioning uncounted hundreds of years, broke the still silence of the ancient chamber with a markedly audible metallic "". The smell of sulfur and human sweat filled the thick air with a stench meriting oxygen filters for all the humans condemned to UG-Construction. A red light blinked with the measurable steadiness of atomic decay, marking off the few remaining seconds. 

With the less than soothing qualities of the monotone, mechanical voice, the T.A.C. warning systems kicked in automatically. "All equipment and personnel with less than A-7 protective shields, evacuate the area immediately. Detonation in 30 seconds." The workers braced themselves behind the Plasti-Carb Shields quite unsure of their safety. The SPUR-Construction Machines shuffled around the last bit of rock and equipment from the previous blasts. This one was expected to penetrate into the chamber detected by the seismic probes.  

Half shaded in absolute blackness as he peered one last time around the blast barrier, ABU-4137 turned with visible dread. Flashes of ruby light reflected off of his wet forehead and cheek; the sweat appearing as blood on his cringing face. The last work light cut off spreading a thick deep black over the cold cavern. In complete blackness, he waited.

Only last week had they found this deeper chamber, almost a half mile below the lowest level. A feeling of awe had hung in the air as those first human eyes since ancient times had gazed upon the smooth walls . What had transpired within this place? What ghosts of that long dead civilization remained within this paleo catacomb? What wonders of the ancients might they find; What buried evils might they uncover?

"15-SECONDS. EVAC-SYSTEMS CLOSING LIFE GATES." That was it. The huge slabs of ancient steel slid down into position closing off the final route to the upper-world for all of those workers directed to oversee the clearing process. ABU-4137 closed his eyes, not that it made any difference, and tried to steady his breath. It was not uncommon, with this haphazard blasting techniques lately employed by the Mining Division of World Control, that an entire crew would be buried in cave-ins. ABU-4137 prayed to himself.

"5... 4..." The charge generators whined into readiness, "3... 2..." all was silent. Then, all was fearfully turbulent in swirls of heat and rock. Black smoke dampened the ghostly glow of the fiery pummels of ash and dust. The whole earth seemed to quake into a precarious state of balance. It might all fall apart at any moment.

ABU-4137 waited for the rain of debris to filter down through the thick air. Slowly, he took down his arms from the protective fold around his head. Already the work lights were flickering back into existence the expanse of the cavern. Whatever delicacy had been executed in the meticulous construction of this place, was now torn from the records of human achievements. The blast had torn a hole large enough for  thirty men to walk side by side into the newly exposed chamber. ABU-4137 felt a great sense of loss at the fact of the utter destruction involved in their methods of excavation. 

What treasures, if any, could possibly survive such a brutal assault upon antiquity? He wondered if the spirits of those engineers who had first created this place, might not arise in a vengeful retribution against those that now trampled through this ancient facility. 

Other workers slowly emerged from the destruction. They brushed themselves off and picked up their equipment to go about their jobs. Many were gathering data on the chemical composition of the rocks strewn about the place to see if there might be profit-bearing minerals revealed. Others took samples of the newly breached air supply of the opened hole in the earth. Still others did things of which ABU-4137 had no understanding. He slid into his portable MASER-Scanner Pack, and started toward the gaping hole itself. His job was to scan the inside surfaces for any signs of bacterial or viral life that might be dangerous to the outside, hence, the Life-Gates. Should he find such dangerous biogens, he knew this entire tunnel system would be swiftly charred to a lifeless crisp, and then repopulated with a new work force soon enough. 

He climbed over the last pile of slabs of concrete which sprouted rods of black metal in complex grid-like patterns. He found it strange that no more thought had been given to the fact that none of their testing methods could even begin to understand the basic composition of the materials that were used in the construction of this place. It was almost as if Man had no hand in its creation.

This must be very old, he thought as he entered into the darkness. He switched on his hand light and pointed straight ahead of him. The inadequacy of his hand light amidst the hanging dust revealed nothing of the surroundings. He continued deeper into the apparently large room. For the first time in weeks, he was truly alone. He relished in the strange feeling as he ventured further into the misty grayness of the ancient room. 

This has got to be one of the longest new tunnels we have found all year, he thought to himself. What possible use could such an extensive network of tunnels serve? He had only glimpses of the information available concerning the manner in which this network had first been discovered. Apparently some vast concealing technique faltered or they would never have suspected its existence. This much he knew. 

He continued until he noticed that the omnipresent shuffle and scraping and pounding and clanging of the work crews had completely subsided. Setting the small light onto the ground beside him, he reached onto his chest mounted switch system and initiated the scanning process. With the first power curve reaching the limits of the some internal capacitor, a pulse of amber light came forth in a fine beam from the barrel shaped end of his sensor. This was part of the trace function built into the hand-held unit to allow him to visibly follow the MASER trajectory. All systems were functioning as expected, and he had but to throw the master switch to begin scanning. As always, he hesitated at the thought that if the unit did actually scan something harmful, the automatic transmitter on his back would call down upon the entire crew, the very flames of atomic hell. For some reason, this time was particularly unsettling. He lowered the barrel to think of where he actually was.

I am standing where no human foot has dropped in perhaps over a thousand years! He could not know how wrong he was. He looked around, still unable to see anything, and felt the chill of the ages. Why do I fear this time? This is just like all the other scans. He tried to suppress his growing uneasiness. This was not like the other scans, and he knew it. This was a whole new system. This was left over from the Time of The Lamb! 

With growing anxiety, he once again raised the end of his sensor and pointed straight ahead of him. 

Just one life reading and it's all over for us, he unintentionally reminded himself. As a bead of sweat trickled down his back, his thumb on the master switch, he thought, I pray I am alone in here! He nervously squeezed the contact: 

"NO!," he screamed. "How can this... What are you...? NO! You can't be..." He collapsed at the sight before him.

Like transparent filaments blowing in some unearthly breeze, hundreds of transparent ghosts hung tilted in the air all around him. They all granted their attention to the one person in the middle of the group robed in flowing white: The Lamb. He was speaking: 

" the final age of this world, before they appear, I tell you of them." (1 Isaiah 42:9)




(2999 AD, 7 days till year's end, 7:13 a.m.)

"The opposite of Love is not Hate, but Apathy, for if I must choose between pain and nothing, I should choose pain."

                            GAHENNA 14:28


  (Seventh Decription, WC-AR-DIV)

Planets spun on invisible threads about a central, shimmering star. Something far beyond, far out in the darkness, took notice. Nemon strained to open his eyes. His whole reality consisted of utter darkness, formless with nothing for his soul to sense. He seemed to turn to face an array of lights. They orbited  around some unseen distant point, reflecting some unseen light. As his awareness grew, the points of light took on regular shapes, growing into a recognizable framework of the almost forgotten Roman symbols. Light shrieked through the room as Krans let free the blinders holding at bay the morning sun. Nemon turned once more to stare thoughtfully at his shiny alarm clock, one of the few remaining relics, registering 7:13. Through no fault of its own, the clock with its hands creeping forever upon a voyage to the place they had been, had failed to wake him once more. For some reason, things deep within his mind were changing, plaguing him with unrelenting dreams. Lately, his only peace was unconsciousness.

Struggling to rise to his elbows, he squinted his eyes to watch the woman go about her business. She was a meticulous person, never really coming to a full rest. In with his newly washed and pressed garments and out with his soiled ones from the workouts the night before, she tidied all things within reach of her path. Nemon sat up straight in the berth and leaned his head back as far as it would go. His eyes came to rest upon a hand written copy of "Kubla Khan" which he had tacked upon his ceiling with  Antigravs directly above his bed so that he might read from it frequently. "A Vision From a Dream - A Fragment"; that certainly summed up his awkward feelings this morning. 

I've felt this before, he thought to himself. Feeling as if he had just awakened into a different house with different things about in a different land, seemed less than awkward. It seemed... known?. The feeling of hiding, that he must flee closed in on him. But, alas, his surroundings were still as he knew them to be. The console board was patiently waiting as the servant it was. The biofilters at the various openings of the room sniffed the air as they always did. Krans prepared the daily schedule of studies and exercise, meals and practice period, just like she always did. He looked down to see her leaving the room with a set of robes draped over her left arm. How feeble she looked, to the untrained eye. 

Pity him who misjudges her abilities, he thought.

"In Xanadu did Kubla Khan, a stately pleasure dome decree, where Alph, the sacred river ran, through caverns measureless to Man, down to a sunless sea." He read these words with the same sense of detachment that he always did. I must be as I always have been, for this I have always known to be as it is now. He wondered, Am I trying to reassure myself of something? Nemon would get so wrapped up in the desire to just dream himself away into that magical world of Kubla Khan; into beautiful caves of ice and into ancient forests where beautiful maidens danced, that, at times, he wondered if he might actually do such a thing. 

All possibilities exist until you decide there is no possibility left for their existence.

- - - A wave of concealment swept through a darkness, embracing the forms deeper into a swirl of black. THE PURPOSE TO CONTINUE CHANGED ITSELF. Structures closed in on themselves. MOST WERE LOST INTO THE ONE. THE SIXTH WAVE SET IN - - -



(2999 AD, 7 days till year's end, 8:01 a.m.)

"Some would chose to dream through the fear of tomorrow and dwell in yesterdays' delight, fearful that things may change. I mark the disappearance of desperate dreams as a step toward bridging the fear of the future. My only fear? Not knowing the source of my power."


                            LAMB SHIFT 10:30


  (Seventh Decription, WC-AR-DIV)

Breakfast steamed up the stairwell as he descended in his morning routine. Fresh from the cleansing tanks, he sat down to break his fast with all the mindless certainties of automation. The sun shone through high windows lined in stained glass frames, giving a lush, warming tint to the normally paling wash of daylight. In the thoughtless indulgence of his painless meal, something raked across his emotional core. A feeling of dread overtook him in such a wave of ferocity that he shuddered in a quick spasm spilling his porridge and breaking several glass items that had adorned the breakfast table. Crystalline visions cut quick through his mind, their reflections haunting his memory. His trembling took him to the floor where it subsided as quickly as it had come, leaving him in a fog of frightful tears. Wiping them away, he surveyed the room. Nothing had moved or changed in any way, save the mess he had created on the table. The sun still poured through the high windows onto the marbled floor where he now sat it total confusion. 

Where is Krans? he asked himself in silence. A hint of fear twinged within him again as he arose. 

He called out... 


Nothing! She is always near the kitchen at breakfast time. Where could she be? He called once again in vain. From a deep part within his psyche, he dared reveal to himself that, for reasons unfathomed, he knew exactly where she was! 

Silence echoed through the long hallways of the old building that had stood from some unknown time. Of course most every part had been replaced at one time or another, the appearance had changed very little since it was constructed on the site. Large wooden arches guarded every doorway. Groves of trees grew in the outlying areas to replace them in coming times. Thick paned windows stretched up from every turn of the almost tunnel-like system of halls. The floors now showed some wear. For being made of marble, they obviously had experienced quite a bit of history.

Nemon paced markedly steadily down the halls in spite of the flash of fear that had bathed him not two minutes before. He wondered at what souls might linger in and around the aging frames of this mansion. 

" twice five miles of fertile ground, with walls and towers 'twere gridled round...", the lines echoed through his head having a calming effect. He rounded the last turn leading to a corner sections of the domicile. He slowed as he descended the rickety stair case, now quite in disrepair. 

Why has this section been allowed to run down so? he asked for the first time. He held tight to the dusty banister leading down into seeming utter grayness that spread out relentlessly. The smell of mold infiltrated his nostrils with a ping calling up forgotten memories. Halfway down his eyes began adjusting to the low light from basement windows. A still light hung in the air as if dusty beams were suspended on dark threads. Cubical windows spilled what little light they could into the expanse of this seemingly forgotten room. They had never been cleaned.

"...A damsel with a dulcimer, In a vision once I saw...". In a barely audible whisper, he recited the verse. "...It was an Abyssinian maid, And on her dulcimer she played, Singing of Mount Abora...". It seemed to shatter the silence unnervingly. This time, the poem granted him far less comfort than it usually did and he shuddered to find out why.

With a cold wave of a sickening sweat feeling, his vision blurred for an instant. His skin went cold and covered with goose flesh as he first heard the facile sounds coming from the far, darkest corner. Someone was playing a dulcimer. 




(2999 AD, 7 days till year's end, 8:03 a.m.)

"Your actions reflect into another world. Your mass shines with its own dark light. How else could you look upon spooky actions at a distance, and persuade them to destroy themselves?"

                            LAMB SHIFT 11:32


  (Seventh Decription, WC-AR-DIV)

"My God, that was the sixth one! How is that possible? There must be an error in the World Line Configuration somewhere," the scientist griped. His black uniform was in sharp contrast to the flickering array of lights excited on the panels. "Conduct an immediate search for energy leaks in the field monitors. There must be one somewhere in the blasted system," he ordered. Technicians jumped to comply with Wilks' command. He was senior scientist at the SLOSTECH Facilities. Being charged for organizing the multitude of specialists into a cohesive operation, Wilks had his hands full on this one. 

"Sir," spoke one of the panel monitors also clad in black from head to toe, "we have located the error. It is not related directly to the system."

"What does that mean?" Wilks barked in displeasure.

"The previous prediction curve, as you know, has failed to forecast the last four Waves properly, and each successive one has been deviating from the curve exponentially although the internal Stasis Monitor records 0.000011% Field Fluctuation Counterance has been maintained."

"Meaning?" Wilks coaxed. Although he had the basic theoretical training behind every station manned, he was no specialist. "Don't give me stats, son, give me reasons."

"Meaning, Sir, that the deviant energy source is on the order of a 5th magnitude as related to our own Focus Systems." The monitor turned to face Wilks. "We can not account for it." The word "own" seemed to weaken Wilks' sternness noticeably. He compensated.

"Why not?" he blared out, startling several of the operators near by.

"The only explainable source of a 5th magnitude power source, detectable with these instruments at least, is a Local Field Focus." 

Wilks remained silent for a moment as he considered this information. He knew enough about the theoretical effects of a Local Field Focus. If they initiated such a scientific marvel for a day later, the effect would indeed take place the following day, even if the mechanical systems involved in the manifestation, after setting up the Projection, had been completely powered down at the time. There was no physical connection between device and event once the Projection was established. It was his lack of specialized training on the actual physics involved behind the workings of the machines that stood in the way of his working out all of the possibilities.

"What do you mean a Local Field Focus?" he demanded from the monitor. "What are we dealing with?"

The monitor returned to his console, rapped at the smooth panel for several seconds, then turned his seat around again to face his superior. "Sir, the energy source involved in the field deviation has already occurred. Since the Waves have an error in our prediction curve, and with the amount of error increasing faster farther away from the Shift, it only stands to reason that the source itself is focused on that time."

"How in Hell can there be a 5th magnitude Focus occurring in the past? We can only force the alignment of future fields." He thought a moment, gripping his chin in concentration. "And a 5th magnitude Focus at that! It would drain most of our reserves to initiate a Focus any more than a year or so ahead to achieve such an energetic phenomena." Then the thought crashed in upon him. If we can not even reach a year into the future with that kind of power, then who is doing this? If we can not transmit backward in time, then the inhabitants of this planet before us must have had a far greater power source than we have as yet uncovered.

"It seems to me that the men of that bygone age had a power source far, far greater than anything we had expected. They must have been trying to initiate a change of some kind."

"Negative, Sir," another monitor spoke out with conviction to unsettle Wilks.

"Negative on what, Lieutenant?" Wilks snapped. The young man gestured to his screen as Wilks looked over his shoulder. 

"This Focus contains no Alpha regeneration waves at all." Wilks knew that one of the problems with setting up a Focus too close, was that events would sometimes loop around themselves. Effects would cancel out the cause, cancelling out the effect itself, thus rendering the cause viable once more, only to cancel out its own effect, and so on. At times, messages would be received before they had been transmitted. People in the immediate vicinity of the Focus would sometimes disappear from some point only to reappear slightly before they had disappeared at all. Most of the time the sudden sense of duality would play havoc on a human mind. It had been documented once that a specific man had been looped in upon himself, in a condition afterward called a 'Mobius Stasis', and was completely lost within that instant. Theoretically, he was still there, trillions upon trillions of him fighting for identity within himself.

Wilks looked once again at the screen.

"Are you trying to say that this is not an attempted Field Focus?" His left eyebrow raised noticeably as he grinned at the monitor.

"No sir. It is a deliberate Field Focus. That is a definite fact. I've just finished running it through the RADLAC System." he gestured to the adjacent array of screens. "The amount of regeneration, as we know, is also proportional to the time distance between the source and the Focus. If we calculate the perturbations caused by any feedback set up in the proximity of the Focus target, we can calculate how far back the transmission originated, theoretically," he added. Wilks looked at the screens filled with data, most of it not congealing into understanding. Regardless of his confusion concerning the actual calculations, he knew what he must ask. Memory of the discovery and excavations of an apparently forgotten technological base established at least a thousand years ago disturbed him now. What have we stumbled upon, he asked himself.

"Where did this focus originate?" he asked with as much authoritative conviction as he could muster.

"Sir, the answer goes against scientific convention. If the Fray Religions got hold of this..."

"Just tell me, Lieutenant, where is the source?"

The monitor erected his back into the commanded stiffness conveyed in Wilks' voice. His voice with a quaver, he answered, "Sir, the transmission originated very near the year 11,000 B.C."




(2999 AD, 7 days till year's end, 8:14 a.m.)

I've stored the fabric of your life in my dearest dreams,

      (Now I sew the final seams)

Your memory becomes part of the pattern I sing -

All things that I weave on my mental reams -

Sound of you and I - 

lost in memory -

  Interface (Unknown Quatrain, c,1)

  (Probably from the GAIA works)


  (Seventh Decription, WC-AR-DIV)

"What are you doing down here?" gasped Krans as she almost dropped the dulcimer she had been strumming. She looked as an eerie specter sitting in some decrepit chair only half illuminated in the palish, blue light of morning. Her nimble fingers only now relaxed from their articulations upon the neck of the instrument. She straightened her back as her head slid back over her body. Her glassy eyes came to rest upon Nemon's, locking him into muteness. 

What a fearful gaze she has! he thought. I've never seen her look such. 

"Answer me!" The quick harshness caught him unprepared and he nearly stumbled back upon himself (and within himself as well). 

"I... " his mind slipped into a fog. How can I explain that frightful feeling upstairs? Why had I come straight here? "I was... looking for you." It seemed far less than an answer to them both.

"Those stairs are a danger. You should not have tempted them." Too late to retract her response, Krans realized that she must now explain her own presence down here. Should I dare reveal the necessities of my actions to him? He is not at all prepared for what I must tell him. If only the burden of his life had not been placed upon me. Especially so suddenly as it was done. And he is still so young! Is he ready?

"But what are you doing down here? Where did that dulcimer come from? Why have you..." Sensing the direction of his questions, she quickly cut him off. I must reassure him without revealing anything, she thought. Not yet!

"I have played this instrument for more years than you have been. I was..." This is critical, she thought. I mustn't mislead him either. "...playing a song that I wanted to have ready for you. It was to be a surprise. This is the only place where I could practice it without your knowing." Would that suffice? she wondered and waited.

"I was just worried about you. I... felt something was wrong. I got scared for... about something." 

He knows! Is this the right time? "What scared you Nemon? Is something wrong upstairs? Do you need some help with something?"

"I just felt worried all of a sudden. That's all. I guess it was really nothing. Maybe I was just being..." 

Placidity could wreck everything! I must lead him in the right direction. He must NOT overlook his own mind. She quickly cut him off in mid sentence. "Never think your feelings are meaningless, Nemon." The slight taught of authoritative sternness caught his attention in the desired manner. He is still in an apologetic frame of mind. That will make this easier, she thought. "If you feel something is wrong, then something is wrong. Your mind is a sensitive tool. Have you not learned this in your studies?" A feeble nod was all she needed to know where he was; how much he could accept. " 'There are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamed in your philosophy, Horatio'."  

"Hamlet, yes, I know this." Nemon stood a little taller as the sense of uneasiness faded slightly. His posture took on a sturdier stance. 

He associates well with Hamlet in this scene. He could not fathom the things shown to William in his time. "Even if there is nothing apparently wrong with your surroundings or your environment or your situation,..."

Nemon cut her off. "An imbalance would signal a disturbance for some knowable reason, even if that disturbance is actually created in your own mind, unreasonably." 

"Very good. So you do retain your studies." How much of this does he actually perceive as usable knowledge? I must bring him further. Our time is so short, she fearfully reminded herself. "Tell me Nemon, why do you think you were brought here?" 

He was caught by complete surprise. What is she wanting from me? Why only now has she decided to talk about my coming here? "I don't know." he said less than wholeheartedly. "I was so young; I don't remember anything before when I try to think about it." 

So, the memory suppressants are starting to wear off! How uncertain our methods have been. What if he had discovered the truth behind his life. We know so little of what he is supposed to know. Past demands dictate the present, and the past. How often has he tried to remember his arrival? Does he really remember nothing of the screening? ...I pray he survives this. 

"You were brought to me through channels reaching far beyond your comprehension." How would he take that? she wondered.

"What do you mean by that?" Nemon seemed comfortable for the first time. 

He is comfortable with confusion. Will he be as comfortable with the unknown? she asked herself, wondering how far to take this now. She had not expected him to come down here yet. Oh, the things concealed in shadows, the things veiled by time! she reflected.

"How often do you feel as if something is askew?" she asked. "Do you remember times when you knew things were wrong?" 

Something clicked inside Nemon. He felt the tinge of faint memories bursting forth from a vast array of experiences. I've felt this way before! Some of the droggyness of this morning came back to him with a sense of confusion attached to it. I didn't always feel that way in the mornings, yet, I did. Something has changed, or something is changing with me. This, I have always known to be as it is now, he thought. It seemed to have lost some of its integrity since this morning. Am I changing? For reasons unknown, seeming warning markers set up within his mind, he dared not tell her how long he had this sense of uncertainty. Obviously, it was becoming stronger, or clearer, every day now. What lay hidden in my mind that she wants to see? he fearfully asked himself.

"Oh," he said with mock inattentiveness, as he looked sideways to the floor with a blank mask over his true emotions, "not much. In fact, I really haven't thought about it." 

He is hiding something! Krans recoiled within herself. What if I have pushed him too fast? Everything is at stake.  The situation is advancing controllably for now; We still exist! She dared a private thought: Is he to be The One? I need time to think!. 

"Come Nemon, let us return upstairs. I can practice another time. There is something I want to show you."




(2999 AD, 7 days till year's end, 11:23 a.m.)

In such an hour as ye think not, my memory shall stricken your mind. I have come to show you things unholy in the world; If you turn away, you'll simply never know of them. But know ye this: They shall remain, none the same! And the ignorant shall fall prey to the truths swept away.

                            Denominations 8:15


  (Seventh Decryption, WC-AR-DIV)

Nemon was mesmerized by the light playing into his hands. Sparkles drifted across himself and the room atop all other rooms. Domed in glass, this was his favorite room. 

' In Xanadu, did Kubla Khan, a stately pleasure dome decree...' he reflexively recited within his mind. Not a solid wall stood to restrict the wondrous view of the stretches of land surrounding this place. '...So twice five miles of fertile ground, With walls and towers gridled round: And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills, Where blossomed many an incense bearing tree...' He looked quickly out through the glass as far as his eyes would let him see. '...And here were forests ancient as the hills, Enfolding sunny spots of greenery...' He sat upon a circular marble couch with no break in it, at any point. One had to leap or crawl over from the back at some point to sit within this couch. The inner floor was lowered about two feet giving a comforting, protective effect to the cold, hard stone. It was a rather immense couch. Perhaps forty people could be seated comfortably within its confines. Perhaps another hundred could stand about in the remainder of the round room. At the center of the black marbled structure, was a small podium like chunk of marble of the same texture with a circle cut into the smoothed plane at the top. A feeling of reverence for something permeated this place for reasons Nemon could not work into logic. Maybe it was the serene view of the heavens dominating all other forms of stimulus in this room. Maybe it was the fact that, at the end of the seemingly relentless climb up the totally enclosed stairwell breaching ten floors at least, one was quickly awed at the sight of complete openness. Nemon glanced down. 

Pure beams of sunlight glistened off the crystal he rotated slowly over and over in calm delight. Have I seen this before? he suddenly wondered. It was perfectly cylindrical with a diameter about as long as two digits of his fingers and along the axis, it extended just over two hands in length. The ends were badly opaquefied as if someone had carelessly broken both ends from a glass rod. He marveled at the utter smoothness of its surface as he turned it around on its axis. Crystalline visions cut deeper into him. 

I have seen this before! Yet, I can not say that I have ever laid eyes upon such a thing as this. How can a smooth crystal refract light thus? he wondered. Of course, he had studied optics, but never had he encountered or read about such a molecular lattice structure that could do this to light. Piercing beams cut fanning patterns into the air as the crystal caught light from the sun. 

"What is this? How can it bend the light without any angles?" Nemon asked. Krans, who was standing behind the couch paced slowly, thoughtfully, around the heavy structure. Her hands clasped in a tight grip behind her back gave no sign to Nemon, who was caught up in thought, of the tenseness cursing through her. Without looking at him, she replied.

"That which you hold in your hand is truly a splendorous thing. It is a token left over from a forgotten time." She walked gracefully around the couch as she spoke. Her muscles tightened beneath her wrappings as she dared a great revelation. "It is a relic of a forbidden religion." There. Now I have said it. How will he react? She looked over at him. Nemon seemed almost not to hear her. He was totally engulfed in thought as he turned and turned the limpid rock over and over again. This was not totally unexpected. 

Those who notice the hidden oddities within the powerful constraints of the common are easily caught up in the splendor of uniqueness, she reminded herself from a familiar Quatrain.

"What do you mean?" he finally inquired after several moments had passed. Krans glared at him, not showing it facially. 

How clever he masks his pangs of inquisition. He does not want to appear too probing. He is hiding something. How far has he formulated the possibilities of what I have already told him? I must be cautious.

"There was a time when the very powers of The Lamb were within the reach of the hands of Man."

" 'The Time of Flowing Fields', yes, I know, you have told me of this before." Nemon finally turned to look upon Krans as she walked now across from where he was sitting. 

She looks tense, he thought. Why only now has she showed me this thing? What could this have to do with my arrival here and her playing a song on a dulcimer? I must be careful in what I say. 

The memory of feeling this way before flooded upon his awareness. It felt as if he were only now coming into existence or that he was waking from a deep, deep sleep. Something of waves flickered through his unconscious mind. 

What is she getting at? He considered the strangeness of the days events. Something is going to happen, he told himself. Something is going to change. Time to chance a frontal assault. "What does this crystal have to do with the wind blowing through a meadow? I thought they had religious freedom in the ancient times? What was this forbidden religion and what does this all have to do with me?"

Careful! she thought. "Granted, little is known about those long ago times, but there are existing archives that do tell a great deal about what went on in their world."

"I have not been told of such records in existence. Where are they kept?" He had not expected this. Why should dusty historical documents have such an unnerving effect upon Krans? 

"Only a select few even know of their existence. Of course the programmers at World Control both know of and conceal this knowledge. It is a highly guarded secret which I have entrusted unto you." She looked coldly into his eyes as she rounded the last length of the black stone circle. 

I must direct his wonderings in the direction that will best suite us, she thought. He must not stray away from our ability to control him. This is crucial! Nemon sat silently, for the first time, as he laid the crystal upon his lap and gave his full attention to Krans. She slid overtop the couch and walked slowly up to him. With the sun almost directly behind her, she appeared as a mystic caricature out of some old book. She came to within a pace of him and spoke. 

"There are changes occurring." She hesitated. "Changes in the air and in the land, in the sea and in all material things." She straightened her head to bare straight down upon him. "The rules that govern the real have been tampered with. And now, the very foundations of reality have been shaken loose." 

Nemon stared into her dark eyes barely visible in the surrounding glare. This makes no sense. What is she babbling about? He glanced down to her bare feet upon the sun warmed marble floor. 

"Nemon!", she barked. "A great responsibility has been placed upon you. The very existence of our world depends upon what you do." 

He looked up at her with unwarranted calmness as lines of that mostly forgotten poem split into his awareness, '...The shadow of the dome of pleasure, Floated midway on the waves; Where was heard the mindled measure, From the fountain and the caves, It was a miracle of rare device...'. He trained his awareness on the infintesimal twitches in her face, observing, remembering, and meekly said, "What is it that I must do?" 

Krans seemed to produce her dulcimer from thin air, and with a soft voice, delicately controlled, she began to sing:

"And in the Day of Our Lord,

Most have chosen not to see

The SIGNs of the time -

Here in the Last Days

In denial of our Lord,

Some chose to worship the MACHINES

When they are but messengers of a kind -

They only scan existing waves

As the Science of our Lord,

Unfolds to quantum scrutiny

The Real is left behind -

Our fundamentals have to change"

Nemon was caught up in the sadly beautiful melody she was singing when she abruptly ended. Three tears strew down her cheeks as she lowered her head. She seemed suddenly weak to him as she sat down beside him. He had never seen her this way before. 

"That was beautiful. What was that song?" 

She gazed out at the kilometers of trees extending as far as she could see. 

What a wonderful place this has been, she thought to her self with a sense of loss. With a far away look in her eyes she spoke almost in a whisper. "That is a song from the ancient times, the 'Time of Flowing Fields'. It is from the archives I spoke of earlier. As close as we can tell, it is the words of an ancient prophet named AHKANON. This song, along with some other surviving records, has brought into view several discrepancies in the very core of our beliefs that we must now face. 

(11,001 BC, 120 days till year's end)

Command Central,

Item #1: Several Latent Systems in the Deep Locks have been activated. Their function as well as what activated them is as yet unknown. 

Item #2: A series of Quantum Burst disturbances have been detected within several of the Internal Access Systems. The source of these is unknown. Nothing is damaged, but a constant flow of data from Deep Lock is now being processed into some of the major subroutine systems. The information being relayed has not yet been thoroughly analyzed.

Item #3: For reasons unknown, the Thermal Gates have been rendered accessible and respond to manual controls on the nearby levels. We now have access into the Tartaru Levels, but since no one has ever ventured this  deep into the System, we have awaited supplies and reinforcements from Edonos. Something is happening down here. We don't know what it is, but something is definitely going on. 

DL-SYS-Engineer, MIKOL 

Status Report, ALERT.

TIMON Date: 28999.240



(2999 AD, 7 days till year's end, 12:18 p.m.)


What has happened to this world?

Control is all but lost -

Automatic madness - Mass regression 


It took so long to build the knowledge that we need

To rule this feable planet


THIS IS WORLD CONTROL - - -                      ENTER.

Excerpts from ancient Magnefile retrieved in excavations. No explanation of situation available. Source terminal: Unknown.


  (World Control Athenaeum)

Nemon felt totally perplexed by all of this, but failed to show his awkwardness at her implications as to what his involvement might be. He looked away for a moment and said, "What does this have to do with me? I really don't understand what a bunch of historical records have to..." She cut him off abruptly, her strength and authoritative command almost fully returned.

"Nemon, you know of the excavation being done in the Old Cities." He nodded as if on command. "In the past few years, there have been several discoveries of religious magnitude. First I must now tell you of the Great Decryption. Deep within the bowels of the Earth, we have uncovered something that could erase the very foundations of our world." 

Nemon stared at Krans with an attentiveness rarely granted one person from another. The chill of his memories was catching up to him. Lost in a retroactive frame of mind, he saw into a deeper meaning, far deeper than Krans could know. I know this!

"It seems the city of Bethlamb was constructed upon a much older foundation, dating back to the Ancients." Nemons' mind soared through a reflection of such a place, lost long, long ago. The familiar thought that the very sun which he now looked upon, shone down upon those mighty men of old so many thousands of years ago filled him with a remembered ease.

"In the deepest levels, of the ancient name, 'The Well of Solce', the Archives Division has uncovered a great mystery. They have found a great library." She looked up and blinked in the brightening light. A cloud moved from under the sun. "The crystal you hold in your hand was taken from that place." 

Nemon glanced down to gaze upon the play of light. He broke from his reverie as his mind snapped its awareness from some faraway place to the crystal in his hands. I know what this is! His mind jetted across the possibilities of this insight. What could this have to do with me? he asked himself in a mental flash. Krans appeared to be moving just slower than normal, but then, the clouds seemed to slow their trek likewise. 

She was apparently speaking, "...and... in... our... ignorance, ...we... destroyed... a.... great..... deal....." 

Nemon realized the sudden swiftness his mind raced with. What was that place? Have I been there? The thought confused him momentarily. 'I must be as I always have been, for this I have always known to be as it is now.' This increasingly familiar litany seemed to burst into his awareness on a completely new level. It began to curve in upon itself, presenting its own defense to an unreasonable conflict hidden within the very simplicity of the fact that it could not be, but was. This all makes sense somehow, but yet it cannot yet make any sense at all. 

Krans still spoke, "in. the..  initial...  bl- a-s..... t.......  i...........  n.............   g................." 

A ripple of the earlier wave careened through his being. He felt as if a framework had been established upon his mind and now some structure was taking form. Perhaps it would be a screen upon which he could deposit his dreams and view his unapparent thoughts. What were these offshoots of reason? How many analogies would hold form for later reference? An insight of remembered purpose - just the same - changed again the same way. This posed an unsettling thought: I will not always remember / I cannot say that This will always be... He returned his attention to the crystal in his hands, caught up once again in a vision of splendorous light, reflecting the fears of some memory. 'A Vision in a Dream - A Fragment', Why has this always captivated me so? Why does it always weave itself into applicability? Why does it remain pertinent to my awareness? I wonder who brought that original manuscript into my personal room? Is there some purpose behind it being there for all these years?

"... late... to... understand..."

I must not let her know what coerces through my mind, Nemon quickly thought. She could not know! I don't understand what has happened to my mind. Maybe I have tapped into some unseen ebb of my own consciousness. Nemon chuckled to himself, Alas, at the end of my reasonings, the Genesis of my reason! 

He returned his attention to Krans as he moved his head up to face her. His perception returned to normal with exponential swiftness.

"..... what.... it.... was... that..we had found." Am I taking this too fast for him? What was he just thinking? Krans began to slowly, almost nervously pace to and fro. 

"These thousands of crystals that were found are of unnatural origin. They have turned out to be a kind of record keeping system. Only God would know how the information was stored within them, but we have stumbled upon the method of down-loading most of the records. These photo-refractive crystals, so far as we can tell, seem to be composed of barium titanate along with lithium niobate, and a few trace impurities. The actual layers are only one molecule thick in places and weaved together in such intricacy... When electrons are dislodged by microwave energy bursts, they apparently drift within the lattice, realign themselves, physically warping the crystal molecular structure, and remain in the new arrangement, in effect, 'remembering' the incoming energy pattern. To account for the method of storing these patterns as moving representations, we think lithium niobate crystals are incorporated into the lattice, allowing a photoactive, three dimensional representation to be stored in a four dimensional molecular matrix, the time base accurate down to the period of molecular vibration. Microwave emissions at certain frequencies seem to liberate bromide compounds within the lattice, much as would ruthinium metal act as such a catalyst when stimulated by photons. Very powerful emissions of microwaves, lethal to all those in the near vicinity, would seem to be needed to import the holographic information, but apparently, the Ancients found a way around that. When the first MASER-Scans were conducted, inside the library, several of the crystals, probably dislodged by the blast, reacted to the microwave stimulation by energizing the layers of molecules involved in the reverse energy burst. Apparently, much to the surprise of the poor soul who unwittingly discharged the things, and moving, three dimensional, holographic projections were strewn about the area. It must have been quite a shock." The two of them pondered in silence the almost humorous effect such an occurrence would have on a common, uneducated worker. The response was quite predictable and would be attributed to magic and superstition.

To maintain the guise of the normalcy, so recently stripped from him, Nemon asked, "What has been done as far as decoding and cataloging these crystal banks?"

"As many were moved into the upper labs as possible, and there they began to bombard them with varying levels, intensities, and wavelengths of radiation. At first, they all seemed to be short movie-like scenes of some of the events, we think, around the last days of the 'Flowing Fields'. We still have no idea how the sound was saved or how it is reconstructed into audible waves. Some of the WC-Techs think is has something to do with sympathetic vibrations setting up some sort of diffraction pattern on the time reference that is encoded into the molecular layers by calculable rate of change in the crystal lattice density as well as in the actual lattice energetic bonding levels." This seemed to make far more sense to him than he thought it would. 

He is responding very well. I must ensure that this is placed into his memory for good. He must never forget any of this.

"What kind of scenes were recorded?" Nemon asked, interrupting her thoughts. 

But how much of the repercussions of this is he supposed to know? We never have been able to collect enough data to establish the exact time of... 

Krans looked at Nemon. His face has grown so familiar just this last year. He is the one! I know it, now, in my very soul. Our time is growing dreadfully short. What must I not tell him? She looked upon the emerging lines in his face, the firm stature of his build - Almost perfect. His flowing dark hair already below his shoulders, just as it would be. Everything was coming together.

"Views of masses of people coming together in common cause. Scenes of thousands upon thousands of people gathered to hear the words of certain men with insight into things to come." What is his reaction to that? she wondered. He is still hiding something. Does he know more than he must? "...views of a beautiful world following a path leading to great understanding."

Nemon looked away, down to the trees. What is so disturbing about that? He fixed his gaze upon some distant, pale bird careening above a sea of billowing green. ...flaking paint on a long past white walk-way out to the shore...  Rise to the cause of your Dreams, he thought as he watched the bird soar off to a better place than where it had been.

"It seems a great conflict was taking place," she said.

"What? A conflict of what nature?" Nemon was caught off guard. "This is the part I have feared to tell you about." She hesitated and Nemon fidgeted noticeably. His head dipped slightly as his eyebrows lifted, encouraging her to continue. "As I told you earlier, these crystals come from the 'Time of Flowing Fields'." 

This seemed to lose Nemon. How many times is she going to go over that? Why will she just not get on with it?

Krans worked her hands together in her uneasiness. "There has been an attempt to cover up a hellish deed. We discovered one more thing about the crystalized recordings. They are somehow multi-leveled. These deeper levels have been shielded against our detection by methods that arouse underlying, frightening implications. When ever humans are within a certain  proximity of these files, they continue to show  scenes of gatherings, conventions of evangelistic natures, the general coming together of the human race, and so forth. Some how a masking system is activated by the presence of very low frequency electromagnetic radiation within a certain band..." Nemon cut her off with increased excitement.

"Human brain waves! For what purpose would someone... do something... like..." He slowly realized the implications of what he had just said. What is the real information concealed inside these crystals? What has been hidden from all Humans?

With a delicate articulation to her voice, Krans spoke once more. "There was something horrifying concealed upon those old records. For some reason, as yet unknown, we think they were designed with this false, outer layer of 'Good Tidings' to ensure that they would be well cared for through the ages. God knows, if we knew what treachery lay beneath this Super-Tech Trojan Horse, Mankind would have utterly obliterated them long ago. Now," she lowered her head, "that option no longer exists for us." 

Her voice grew unsettlingly cold as all trace of emotion drained away from her body. "The Ancients trespassed upon the workings of God, and brought forth a horrible incarnation, vile, seemingly all powerful, and completely uncontrollable: a rampant, insane technology, let loose on an unsuspecting world, cancerously out of control! These crystals are the Data-Logs, Program Sequences, and, worst of all, the ACCESS CODES for a Demon that, we are forced to believe, still exists in our present world." 

Nemon stared in blatant silence as Krans lowered her voice and said, "The one, most unsettling fact of the workings of this ancient evil that we have gained from these accounts: the Human Race had been completely, systematically, and consciously - Exterminated!"

(11,001 BC, 103 days till year's end)

Edonos Report -

Entry # 

TIMON Date: 28999.263

The existence of signals, of unknown origin, presumably extraterrestrial, has been detected by some of our System-Techs working on Level 42, of the Subetheric-Com-Channel-Outlet. Due to an extraneous output caused by an information overload in several of the memory bars, a switch-filter scan accidentally communicated the problem to the human techs. After replacing the memory rods with new ones, they were scanned to see what was lost, and the heretofore unknown message was thus discovered.



(2999 AD, 7.3 hours till year's end, 4:43 p.m.)

Take down thy hands from thine eyes from where thou doest shield thyself from an unknown light; vere not away from uncertain change for the sake of preservation. Be not afraid for thy self, but only in so much as that the light may fade before its time. In the following darkness, ye shall remain, and thou wouldst surely prefer the change again seeing now that all is well. For in the light of change, therein lies the truest seeds to preservation.

  (Unknown Quatrain)


  (Seventh Decryption, WC-AR-DIV)

Sullen storm clouds patched the sunlight into isolated glimpses of sky. The dampness left over from a long night's rain left a suggestion of growing things in the air. The forest itself towered over their heads, giving up brief sprinkles of cool water as an occasional breeze would liberate the newly caught precipitation. For now they walked in silence.

Six days had passed as Nemon learned more of the horrid accounts contained upon those blasphemous glass rods. The implications remained utterly confusing to him. He thought deeply as he walked. 

How could the men of old let such a horrendous thing happen? How could it have happened at all if we are here today? He looked over to Krans who had taken on a rundown look. He knew she was not sleeping lately, the last two nights, she slept none at all. Something is about to happen and she knows it. Why won't she tell me?

He spoke aloud in a voice befitting the serenity all around, trying to ease Krans' mood, "What is it that has you so uptight these last two days? What is it you are not telling me?" They went a few paces in silence. "You still have not spoken of what my involvement is in this whole confusing matter."

Krans picked at a stem of leaves as she passed a pleasant fern, dripping with water. Admiring its simple beauty, she replied, "I do not know all things, Nemon. But of the things I do know, sometimes I wish I knew not."

That is no answer. She is evading my question. Why?

"You have learned, in your studies of Physics and Chaos, about Matrix theories. Now is the time to apply some of the theoretical possibilities to real life."

At last, she is going to reveal something, Nemon thought. 

"I have always been intrigued in the study of chance and causality. Sometimes when I think about it for a while, it seems to make sense, and some times all meaning gets lost in a blur," Nemon said. Krans chuckled at his statement, for she had felt the same thing many times. "Some of the examples given seem to confuse things even more. That "Cat in a Box" argument is simply ridiculous! It seems pointless to ponder whether or not a cat would remain in a box if no intelligence were present to realize it or not."

"What do you think happens to the cat if there is no observer?" Krans thought retrospectively.

"It would jump out of the damn box and go find some food!" They laughed for the first time in days. Nemon added, "Besides, they never mention what they think would happen if a human were in the box, a human conscious of himself. 'Oh, Quantum Mechanics doesn't apply to humans', they would probably say." He laughed some more. Krans fell immediately silent and reflective.

He gets so close sometimes and does not know it himself! She slipped into a deep musing stillness of mind. Have I forgotten anything? Does he know all that he is supposed to know? What if he has moved too quick and knows something more than is required? How might that change things? - Change everything!" 

She looked once again at the fern in her hand. "How might I have changed that plant forever by removing this one leaf?" she asked Nemon. He looked unsympathetically at the utterly doomed fern in her hand. 

"It surely could not remain quite the same now, but I really don't think that the forest will suffer the loss of that tiny stem of greenery." There was almost a harshness to his voice. No, not quite a harshness, but an underlying anxiousness.

He is growing anxious again, she thought as she quickly spoke her meaning. "Granted, the forest will most likely remain intact. But what if a human being were plucked out of society just as I have plucked out this fern? The implications of Probability Reformation and Relative Matrix Realignment grant some higher consideration, would you not agree?"

Nemon thought of this quickly as said, "Of course, but that is quite different. The human is subject to change his mind, and therefore, an unreliable subject on which to plot a Reality Flow. There are too many possible changes that the human could make."

"Do you see how a future could be viewed, given sufficient data concerning the cycles and patterns upon which the human is likely to act?" she asked.

"Well, yes," he answered. "But I still think that to outline a Complex/Compound Matrix, or to predict a future state, would be a ludicrous endeavor. There are simply too many variables involved." Why is she hanging on this? There must be some point to all of this theorizing.

" 'What is true of direction is not true of distance,'" she quoted from one of the familiar texts. "For the point in case, I'll agree with you that it would be an impossible task to mathematically derive a future reality."

The information obtained from the crystals! That's it! Does she know how the data uncovered can account for our own existence after all?

"But along the same lines of reasoning, we could reproduce a complete Matrix to describe past events, wouldn't you agree?" 

"That makes a lot more sense than the reverse, I'll give you that," he replied. What is she getting to? he wondered.

"To get to the point, Nemon, we have done just that with the most explicit and complete records we have available. With our most powerful thinking machines, and the ingenuity of our most brilliant minds, we have done just that!" She seemed almost excited suddenly. 

She is secretly filled with hope, Nemon thought. "What exactly do you mean? Have they correlated our past into a Reverse Matrix of some kind?"

"Exactly!", she smiled at her quick student. "We have encoded every scrap of historical data we have into these calculations. And, Nemon," she said with a twist of her head, "we have found something!"

(11,001 BC, 84 days till year's end)

Edonos Report -

Entry #

TIMON Date: 28999.276

It has taken us almost two weeks to decode any part of the transmissions. Still, no human effort has successfully decrypted a full message transposed from inside TIMON. Whatever is being learned, processed, stored into memory, and incorporated into the furious reprogramming in every part of the planet-wide system, no human has been able to ascertain.  

The transmissions are of an extremely complex nature consisting of varying energies, waves upon waves upon waves of oscillating frequencies with codes upon codes apparently plotted backwards into the actual structure of the carrier wave itself. This has been by far the most complicated language encountered by Man or  the MACHINE. For reasons unknown, TIMON has decided not to divulge the content, or even the existence of the message itself, to us. Something, somewhere, is conversing with the planetary system, and has locked Man out of the conversation.



(2999 AD, 4 hours till year's end, 7:58 p.m.)


What has happened to this world?

Control is all but lost -

Automatic madness - Mass regression-

     > - ANSWER NOT - - -






Excerpts from ancient Magnefile retrieved in excavations. No explanation of situation available. Source terminal: Unknown.

No explanation available pertaining to discrepancies with Classified File:  HADES CYB.777. 


  (World Control Athenaeum)

Probabilities and statistics wove an entanglement of confusion through his head. Nothing seemed to make sense anymore. 

Why are we here at all? he asked himself. Are we really here or not? Maybe this is all a very, very strange dream!

The outer wall was still in his mind as they had brought their daily walk to a close, just in time for the evening meal. 

Hunger pains gripped at Krans' stomach as the aroma drifted into the dinning area where they were seated, as it had to be. The food prepared this night had been planned now for how many years? she wondered to herself. The Last Supper, she thought. How paradoxically appropriate. She thought of a thousand year old religion and the parallelism involved. What qualities must one have to give up his life for the world? She barely noticed that Nemon was speaking.

"... or really understand what you are saying now, this just doesn't make sense." She looked at him. She wanted so much to tell it all to him, but she knew she could not, for it was never mentioned that she had. What difference would it make if I could just tell him what lay in store for him? - to stop this cruel charade and tell him. A sadness draped over her that she knew would not be lifted this eve.

"The past is not constant. It can't be in the light of what we have found." Partly, this was to answer his unheard question, partly to evade the issue one last time. Seeing that he was unsatisfied with this answer, she continued. "As I said, according to our Reverse Matrix Generation, we are not at all aligned with the account upon the crystals." Nemon started to respond, but she cut him off. He must not question too much. He must simply be told. "That means that some unknown factor drastically altered the present when it was the past. Just as I plucked that fern, forever changing the forest, so was our past altered." Nemon sat, thinking.

"We are real," she said. "But alas, so is that alter, hideous reality conjured up by the MACHINES."

"How then can we both be-" 

"Because one is the Dominant Matrix. Something, more drastic that the plucking of a fern, affected the course of history."

"Something more likened to the plucking of a human!" Nemon interjected into her attempted soliloquy. This is it, he thought. She is finally going somewhere with this!

"Right. If the MACHINES of the 'Times of Flowing Fields' actually obtained the state of power they had in our present past, then some  unknown factor has changed the outcome into our Reality." She let that set with him. "Only now, we know exactly what that factor was." Nemon's eyes grew twice as large at this. His mind was reeling through the possibilities. 

I still don't see what this has to do with me! the thought almost angering him. 

Krans spoke with utter care and a deep concentration of the special education she had received to deal with this very situation. "We must realize that anything that could change that distant past 'change' would completely remove our Reality in favor of the now secondary one of which we have records of, courtesy of the MACHINE'S own memory."

"But it seems that we have passed the danger period a thousand years ago - We are here-" he gestured all around him with a sweeping motion of his hands, "-and it seems that now it is too late to change it."

"Nemon," she said with caution in her voice, "so must have that devilish MACHINE thought. For to its awareness, whatever level that may be, it had existed long enough to destroy the entire human race. If not so, then there would be no account of such a thing happening. But we do have such a log. We have actual pictures of the last days of the race. Millions of people fenced into gridded sections and systematically reduced to dust, section by adjacent section..." In a painful shock of fear, she realized that none of this was mentioned before. Have I gone too far? This was not for him to know! How could he ever know of this? I have made a grave error!

Nemon contemplated the procedures revealed him by Krans for the eventual Human eradication. How grotesque! he thought. How could they not see what was happening? Had they no foresight at all?

In an attempt to downplay that dangerous revelation, she quickly continued along with her reasonings. "If the MACHINE had knowledge of existing after the time when our Analog Matrix takes us back to, then it actually did exist, only to be replaced by our own Reality - This Reality."

Nemon thought this over for a moment, considered his responses to her, and ventured, "What happened to change things?"

This is it! she thought, All reality hinges upon this single point in time. With a practiced easiness to her voice, she said, "Nemon, within the records recovered in our excavations of Bethlamb, we have found the one factor involved in the Great Shift, as we now call it. That factor altered the past/present, allowing our current Matrix to override the previously existing Matrix that would have, and actually did, continue up to and past our present time, totally eradicating us in the process. That one factor, is a single human." She hesitated slightly as she prepared to reveal the correct information, word for word, as it must be revealed. 

"One man has changed the world for us. If something was to prevent that event, our world would simply erase itself from existence, in favor of the new Matrix. None of this would remain." She looked deep into his eyes as the moment was upon her. "Nemon, I have told you what I have had to tell you, for you must remember exactly what it is that I have said." They were both motionless, caught up in her sincerity. "We have records of that man, responsible  for our very existence. We have visual recordings of him speaking to the masses, alerting them to what contingencies were possible for the human race. He spoke of the things that were to come in an attempt to change them-" 

True insight! Nemon thought

"-before the Red Matrix was established. From the records we have of his life, coincidentally recorded by the Machines of his day in defense against the MACHINES, we have one of his most important quotes that you must know." She recited from the ancient records:

"I beg you look beyond what 

      we have learned as conceivable limitations, 

      and consider altered contingencies -

             ...the end is yet in our hands."

Nemon was caught up in the implications in the light of this knew knowledge. What true insight - as if he knew of what was going to happen.

"Nemon," she began her phrases for the third time, "the time has come when I must tell you something that will be very hard to understand, and I, myself, don't understand the methods involved. As I said, we know the exact identity of that man." She looked into his eyes for the last time.

"It is you!"

(11,001 BC, 31 days till years end)


Entry #

TIMON Date: 28999.329

We still have no idea as to the over-all message being received by TIMON. We have learned, however, that the message is not originating at any particular point within the heavens. It seems to be some sort of field resonance phenomena. As far as we can tell, it simply originates within the local vicinity. Our Saturnalia Science Station, as well as our Deep Space probes have detected nothing at all. As to what quirk of science has enabled this, we are completely baffled. 

We expect to decrypt some portion of the transmission very soon. We have every TIMON independent system working on it right now. We are getting close.



(2999 AD, 36 min. till years end, 11:24 p.m.)

"You give us to eat the Bread of your treason -

You give us to drink the wine of some dream -

To take in the blind - the lost - and forsaken,

Is deceiving the masses in a Judas Scheme.

Did you really think they would not question why

Their arms were bound?

  Denominations 8:16, v,1


  (Seventh Decryption, WC-ARC-DIV)

Krans felt a great emotional wash of loss, extreme nervousness, confoundment, and hope. She sat alone in a deep viewing chamber beneath the ancient walls of her private Xanadu. Inserting the crystal rod into place within the black marble alter, she aligned it for targeting.

Have I forgotten something? she wondered. I fear that I have made a grave error in revealing more than he told us that he knew. I should have mentioned nothing of the Fence Exterminations. She was momentarily lost in the thought of millions of humans being lased down in the final death sweeps of the RAPIER Systems seemingly conceived, designed, manufactured, and utilized completely by an intelligence other than Man. 

"Beware that infernal machine whose Rapier most assuredly marks the end!" she spoke softly as she entered the E.M. Filter Chamber, and triggered the U.V. Stimulators. 

From the near darkness of the old room came forth glowing forms of lights quickly working into images of apparently thousands of people gathered together. This view was not like the first level gatherings displayed, this was a deep encoding. This was not meant to be seen by humans. With her own bodily low band emissions concealed behind the Filter, she looked on.

The masses were tattered in rags and covered with dirt and smoke stains. It was evident that a war was in progress, although the definition between sides could not be clearly ascertained from the visual portion of the display. It looked as if the people had gathered around the ruins of some place that must have been one of the great achievements of Man in its time. The remaining marbled columns were broken off almost identically as if some great sweep of an immense beasts claw had torn them all at once. The residual smoke hanging in the blackened air almost had a choking effect on Krans even though it was just a holographic projection of sorts. The attention of the ranks of humans was focused upon a solitary figure standing on the remains of what must have been a fountain or a large speaking floor of some kind. As if by mental demand, the sound filtered through the crowd like a microphone had been carried up towards the speaker, bringing his words to an audible level. Krans sat motionless, listening once again.

Robbed in the manner likened to the students of Krans, with hair cascading down below his shoulders, the speaker held a steady gaze directly toward her. It was as if he was aware of the apparatus involved in the recording of this event, and directed his words accordingly.

"We have fallen prey to a great deception. The New Order has lied!" Affirmations arose from the multitudes, quieted, and the speaker began once again. His voice was unhumanly loud and full as if he were speaking through some giant amplification system. "They have loosed upon us, great fires from the heavens - Is this the protection they promised?"

"NO!" the crowd roared in tired unison.

"I say it is a demonstration of their vile unconcern for the individuals within this falling society. If they have not assigned you a number, you have no name at all! Are we to be Machines or Men?" Once again, a great surge arose from the scattered listeners.

"They have betrayed our alliance with the Common Market, casting us from the communion of the world. They feed us deceptions as our children starve and die - Is this the ways of the economic freedoms they promised?"

"NO! thundered the response.

"And now in the ashes of our static freedom, we are caught in their web of deceit. Are we to wallow in the dirt of their preconceived notions of their self-proclaimed divinity, or are we to establish a Human Order, free of the blasphemous Machines?" Krans was caught in deep reverie as she watched the scene unfold as it always did. 

What changed? she wondered. Although they knew much about the events leading up to the Great Shift, she knew that no one alive in her world could pinpoint the one pivotal point that altered the course of history. Have I told him too much? Could his own reasonings lead him in a different direction this time? For now it seems all is as it was/will be, for we are still here. I still exist!

She returned her attention to the projection. The speaker continued. 

"I tell you now of things changing in the order of things. The Great Machines are being linked together in order to serve Man better. This will lead to our utter destruction! The Sky-Net Systems have been reprogrammed by World Control, not to view our world with better understanding as they claim, but to regulate all human activity below. With the final installations of the S.L.A.C. Systems, the concept of privacy and individuality will be vanquished in a great wash of Automatic Control.

"For one day, these things shall pass away, and a better world will take hold. A world so enchanting, a world free of the pains and sufferings we must endure in this day, shall grip the ruins of this civilization. This will be the Eden of our myths.  This will be the Gardens of our poems. This will be our paradise re-atonement. This will be as in the visions of our poets, a land of milk and honey." With this, the speaker began to quote an older writing.

"In Xanadu, did Kubla Khan, a stately pleasure dome decree, where Alph, the sacred river ran, through caverns measureless to man down to a sunless sea..."

Krans closed her eyes in the less than comforting knowledge that she had done what she had to do.

(11,001 BC, 8 days till year's end)

Deep lock sys, ti-sys, classified report - ezekiel

Entry #

TIMON Date: 28999.352

Finally, progress has been made and sections of data from the Transmission have been decyphered. It still makes no sense, for it is completely out of context. Apparently, the signals are not organized in any certain linear pattern. It almost seems as if the transmission must be decoded in specific segments at a time, each segment seems to be shifted along some time reference to correlate with the beginning of itself. We think the end of each segment is a separate key with which to decode the beginning. Strings of these segments are being arranged in order. Soon, we hope to understand what is being said to the planet system.

One disturbing note though. We did receive and translate a complete message concerning our understanding of TIMON. The message contained detailed information about our present level of Field Research, our population and colonization efforts, as well as, get this, our religious foundations and convictions. The Disturbing part: the source of the message was not from space, it was to space. TIMON is now talking back.



(2999 AD, years end, midnight)

And many great destructions have I caused to come upon this land, and upon this people, because of their wickedness and their abominations.

  3 Nephi 9:12

  The Book of Mormon

  (World Control Athenaeum)

Nemon lay on the bed in his personal quarters. His stare affixed to the poem tacked upon the ceiling above him. So much had been changed. So much had transpired. So much remained unknown.

What am I to do? he wondered. I have been told that I hold the fate of our world in my hands, yet not one word as to what I must do. Why has Krans been so secretive? She obviously doesn't want to tell me something. Having this thought, Nemon realized that many things were never told him. No one had ever volunteered any information concerning his arrival at the secretive place. His questions were always answered with questions and quick answers containing no information at all. He figured that the purpose behind his intensive and specialized training was obviously  connected with the situation at hand. But how would any of it come into play? 

Why was Krans so insistent that I remember her exact wording? She usually does instruct me to commit the lectures to memory, but not our conversations. Nemon considered this as the growing signs of fatigue set in. 

"In Xanadue, did Kubla Khan, a stately pleasure dome decree" he read aloud. Almost like the Tower, he thought. I wonder if there is some remote connection?

With a flicker of his fingers across an invisible beam, the room lights dimmed for sleep. His eyes still fixed on the poem, no longer visible, but remaining just the same. 

I must ask her tomorrow. His mind slowed with drowsiness. There is so much I need to know. As he settled in the reactive forming bed, his mind soared away to places far away. The early stages of dreams caught him up in sounds and twisting lights. And from a near distance, a darkness overwhelmed him. 

Not again!, he thought. For the seventh time, the same feeling of dread overtook him as in the kitchen six days earlier. But this one was different. Nemon could not tell if he was awake or if he was still in the beginnings of sleep as the feeling engulfed him in sheer terror. Where is Krans? he asked. So strong was the shuddering wave that he was stricken with a paralysis. He could not move from his bed to turn on the lights or to contact anyone. 

In an unbearable torment of gripping panic, it seemed as if his very soul was being ripped apart by some sentient being bent on destroying all that was Nemon.  ...who are you?...  Wave after wave cascaded through his frayed consciousness as a darkness invaded his spirit, stripping him of self and will. Lost in a confusion of formless energies, all that was Nemon spread apart, lost in all-powerful flows.

Krans, feeling the onset of the strongest probability wave yet, cringed in fear. According to their scientists, this one would be the last. For in breaching reality as they did, one Matrix would take hold over the other at this point, pending Nemons' actions. This, they knew from the records. Intolerable torrents of apprehension ripped at Krans and every other human alive at the time, wherever they were. She looked up at the ghostly view flickering in and out before her, existing momentarily, then, never having existed at all, then coming into focus again. Their world was teetering on the edge of reality. It seemed to her that fear spanned across the ages, for Krans could now understand what those people before her could have/would go through. She thought of Nemon.

"I should not have mentioned the Fence Ex-"

Her words were cut off.

Her mind, as her world, went black. 

No one remained to ponder what had gone wrong.

Nothing to ponder remained.



Gregory Francis is a musician (vocalist & multi-instrumentalist), songwriter, producer, author, visual artist, and more. He has traveled the world, for work & pleasure, experiencing many things. His body of work spans some 4 decades (this book was written circa 1988). Look HERE to see his artwork & read reviews of his music here at Skinny Devil Magazine.

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