Grim Reaper

Riding in a triangle formation, Sunny, Nuke, and Voice rode off of I-70 onto Gage Avenue in Topeka, the capitol city of Kansas. Sunny laughed as he remembered participating in the annual Gage parade set up by NORML and the Kaw Valley Hemp Growers Association. It was in those days when all things seemed to be possible and little conflict arose as long as everyone stayed within the parameters of the situation. But nowadays things were different. The slightest provocation or deviation away from what was deemed to be “right” resulted in immediate reaction from the law and from the majority of the citizenry. There was no place in this Kansas society for anyone who wanted to do something out of the ordinary or different. So Sunny rode next to Nuke, the two of them following up Voice who was in the lead point position. They rode down Gage to 19th Street and then cruised leisurely East to Topeka Boulevard and then North toward the capitol building with the sculpture of the Kansa Indian atop the green patina copper dome. The Kansa would become the symbol of Kansas and Kansans in general within the next few years when the state was forced from the union after the Intelligent Design Act of 2006. For now, however, Kansans in general were merely passive-conservative in nature and gullible to some extent when approached by anyone who espoused conservative, religious idealism and were less than hospitable to those who would rebuke the political-cultural stagnation in which they thrived.
Nuke too, remembered the old days of dissension and strife and neither longed for their return nor wished them to be forever gone. Nuke Dimmitus was content. He longed for nothing actually and existed in what he thought to be an interdependent emptiness based on Buddhist teachings. He long ago had given up on formal religious studies but had retained the knowledge and the empowerments given to him in his earlier days of religious study. As he rode next to his friend, Sunny, he just let thoughts arise and disappear like smoke rings. He was conscious at all times of his existence and the relevance to his cosmic place. He still practiced T’ai Chi and Qi Gong meditation but had given up on formal studies of that also. As he followed Voice he did not question what had happened an hour or two earlier. He just let it flow. Rheology he called it. The flow characteristics between one element and another. Although this term was derived scientifically from fluid mechanics, Nuke had adapted it philosophically to include flow characteristics between humans and humans and humans and their environment. It worked out just fine with his easy going demeanor and enabled him to adjust to almost any situation without freaking out. But it was days like this one that would try his patience almost to the breaking point.
As they turned the corner at Topeka Boulevard and 10th Street and headed east, Nuke saw the gathering of people across from the capitol building. With bullhorns and signs, with chants and rude gestures, the Fronk Philps family lashed out at everything and anybody they deemed to be deserving of their wrath. The family consisted of about ten members and a half dozen or so hangers on. They were all in rare form on this day with their particular target being the scientific community in general and participants in the Intelligent Design discussions in particular. The Philps family was firmly entrenched in the ID philosophy and had adapted it to their own use to exclude anyone they wanted to from their ideological construct of society. They viewed their ideas as right no matter what. “Intelligent Design, Mighty Fine,” one sign read, and “Science Shmience,” another. As the three bikers rode by they caught the full force of The Family.
“Hey, you dike!” one of the Philps’ yelled at Voice, “That’s a man’s Harley you’re ridin’, get on home to your lezzy lover and get the hell out of Topeka.” Voice turned and looked at the menagerie of freaky looking members of the homophobic entourage. Sunny saw her eyes flare wide open and then she turned back to the road ahead. “You faggot maggot,” Fronk Philps himself yelled at Nuke, “You and your fudge packin’ friend get out of here, hell is too good for the two of you.” Nuke looked straight ahead and then watched as Sunny dipped out of formation and fell in behind him and Voice. Sunny gunned the Chief to drown out the filth they were spewing out. He looked right at Fronk as he cruised by and gave him the Easy Rider One Finger Wave. Nuke knew then that there would be trouble and there was. The Family surged into the street and blocked Sunny off, pelting him with their signs and spraying him with cans of soda that had been shook up for the purpose. Sunny nearly went down. He kept his cool though and, gunning the engine again, wove his way through the crowd. Speeding up he caught up again with Nuke. Voice pulled up at the on-ramp to I-70 and motioned for them to pull in beside her. The Philps family was hot on their heels, covering the two blocks quickly and closing the gap between them and the bikers.
“Who are these people?” Voice asked.
“They are the Fronk Philps family and they have persecuted everyone who does not believe as they do for several years. They are right-wing conservative, anti-evolution, creationist scum that will do anything to get face time on the local or even national news.” Sunny spat it out like venom. He didn’t have the control that Nuke had over his reaction to these people and he turned the Indian back around to face the onslaught that was soon to come. The Philps Family had murder in their eyes. They wanted blood and Sunny was ready to give it to them. Their own. Sunny had never given into his own emotions the way Nuke had. He let them ride at the surface and would fire off whenever provoked. He had never fully recovered from the time of the Viet Nam war and the things he had seen and done there. He considered it a sort of trial by fire that he had been through and didn’t really want to change. He had other feelings as well and he maintained his cool much the same way as Nuke. He just didn’t do anything to try to prevent what sometimes happened when he was faced with people like the Philps’. For Sunny, the Grim Reaper was a reality. He had seen it and had been a part of it and it was built into him. He gunned the engine and headed for the throng of craziness that was bearing down on him. Then he heard Voice.
“All our times have come, here but now they’re gone, don’t fear the Reaper.” Sunny turned around in the saddle and watched in disbelief as Voice pronounced the Blue Oyster Cult lyrics that Sunny knew well. She had taken on a different countenance. She was standing up on the red Harley that was now covered in flames. She was wearing a necklace of skulls and had a huge scythe in her hand. Her eyes were flaming red and the third eye blazed with a pure blue light that emanated in a beam and spiraled around her and Nuke and Sunny. Her blue jeans and Allman Brothers t-shirt had been replaced by a pure white gown trimmed in gold. Huge white wings spread out from her, tipped with flames. A two-edged sword stuck from her mouth and the words she said were written on the blade and were spoken by the sword in a ringing, melodious tone. The candy apple red Harley turned into a white chariot with wheels of fire and fiery swords protruded from the hubs. A red horse with blazing hooves pranced on the pavement giving off showers of sparks and melting the asphalt surface. Its roar cracked the air as it strained against the reins that Voice held in her left hand. She raised the scythe in her right hand. It glowed cherry red and lightning shot out form its blade. In another hand that appeared from behind her was a leather book that glowed in the pure blue, swirling light. Yet another arm and hand appeared as part of her body and opened the book. Looking with her piercing eyes at the book, she read aloud and the words appeared on the sword and were spoken by the sword. “Shar ain chelal, goko dar kaiin,” she spoke and the steed broke away, fire shooting from its eyes and nostrils and lightning flying from its hooves. Sunny and Nuke fell away and watched in awe. Voice stopped the chariot in the midst of the crowd that now converged on her spewing out their usual filth and trying to take her out. She swung the scythe and severed head after head from its body, collecting them onto her necklace. She dismounted from the chariot and let the brilliant red horse prance on the bodies as she made her way deflecting blows from the fiendish ghouls that the Philps Family had now become. This was the battle between Heaven and Hell. The fiends unleashed hyena like hell-hounds that jumped on her back and on the back of the horse. Making her way she headed directly toward Fronk Philps who now appeared in a black robe. Letting go of the scythe, Voice dislodged the golden sword from in front of her and severed Fronk Philps’ head from his body. Holding up the leather book she opened to another page. “Chear shor chaiin,” the words emanated from the sword and the body of Fronk Philps vanished. When the crowd saw this they stopped in fear. Without their leader they were nothing. But on this day it was too late for them to retreat. Voice remounted the chariot and went meticulously through the group, wielding her sword until the entire family had been wiped out. Then , when she was sure that none were left alive, she turned the red horse toward Nuke and Sunny and charged. They looked at each other and then at Voice. They were terrified as she rode straight for them, sword held on high. When she was nearly upon them, Voice, the horse and the chariot vanished.
Sunny looked around. No Voice, no candy apple red Harley, no chariot, no steed. He looked at Nuke whose face was almost pure white with fear. The two of them heard the police sirens and someone said, “There they are, those two guys! Get’m! Get’m!” Without losing a second, Nuke and Sunny turned the bikes onto I-70 and took off. They exited on California and shut their bikes down as they rode into a woods near Highway 24-40. The police screamed by on I-70 evidently not seeing where the two had gone. “You go one way and I’ll go the other,” Nuke told Sunny, “I’ll meet you where Coyas Castle used to be.”
“Got it, man,” Sunny eased back onto the street and headed for Kansas City. “What did we just see, Nuke?” “I don’t know, Sunny, I don’t know, let’s get to KC man and get outta here.” Nuke edged by Sunny and punched the blue chopper into action. Sunny roared off the other direction looking back once to see if anyone was following him or Nuke. Not seeing anyone or anything for that matter, he settled into the ride to Kansas City.

On Hearing the Voice

Sunny pulled out of Bramlage Coliseum right after the lights went up at the end of All Along the Watchtower, the encore performance of Bob Dylan and His Band. He was elated. Elated that he had gotten to see the man perform again, and elated because of the quality of the performance. Sure, he had seen Bob Dylan before and had heard the same songs played in many of the concerts. But just like the Grateful Dead, Dylan has a way of performing differently each time he does a song from his repertoire. This concert he actually pulled out right behind Dylan’s tour buses and followed them through “The Little Apple” to 177 Highway where he lifted his hand to wave as he rode by. It didn’t bother him if Dylan didn’t see him wave because he knew that Dylan didn’t care about stuff like that. He just waved a friendly wave of “thank you” and let it go at that. He crashed at his old haunt on Bluemont with a friend that got stuck in Manhattan after graduation and just stayed. It was one of those situations where genius overwhelms common sense and the guy, who was a Rhodes Scholar, ended up working at his favorite tavern in Aggieville. But that was ok with Sunny. He stopped by to see Dave whenever he could and they would have a beer and talk about old times. Dave told him this time that he had landed a new part time job mowing the cemetery. Sunny kind of chuckled to himself picturing Dave, a genius in mechanical engineering, riding a lawnmower in the Manhattan cemetery. Was it a waste? Sunny didn’t know, didn’t care. Dave was a good person and that’s all that mattered. They talked about the concert and Sunny crashed on the couch, telling Dave to wake him up at eight if he wasn’t already awake. All he told Dave was that he was going to Kansas City to visit another friend. Dave had that sixth sense though, and could tell that Sunny had something going on and that he just wasn’t being blown in on a cool breeze.
“Wake up, man, it’s ocho o’clocko,” Dave laughed and held a steaming cup of coffee under Sunny’s nose, “Time to get on down the road.”
“Yeah, man, thanks, and by the way su Español es terrible.”
“Sunny, I was going to show you the new project I’ve been working on. It’s this cool truck that I’ve hopped up with some super modifications. Lot’s of digital and mechanical shit on it. I was hoping you could see it but I know you and you are on some sort of mission, I can tell, you know,” Dave rambled on. “So, if you need me to haul that little bicycle of yours, just call this number.” Dave handed Sunny a business card that read: Dave’s Designs, From My Head To Yours.
“Thanks, Dave, I just may take you up on that number. I do have a little project I’m working on in KC but it isn’t anything to worry over.”
“Oooh, drama and intrigue, I’ll bet it involves Darjeeling, doesn’t it?”
“Everything involves Darjeeling, for better or worse,” Sunny Day pulled on his motorcycle boots and finished off the coffee. “Got to run, man,” and he was up and heading for the door. “Thanks for the hospitality, Dave.”
“Any time, Sunny, hasta la vista, amigo.”
“Right on, man..” Sunny tipped the Big Indian off of the kickstand and started the engine. He was off immediately, riding through Dave’s front yard and out onto Bluemont, through Aggiville and out to 177 Highway south to I-70. He pulled up at the outlook on 177 and sat on his bike and looked out over the Konza Prairie. It was one of his favorite spots on the Earth. He pulled out a copy of the long version of the Namgyalma Mantra and recited it out loud, letting the wind carry his words and the healing aspect of the mantra out and over the prairie. Om Dhrum Soha Om Amrita Ayur Dade Soha. He thought about the People of the South Wind, the true Kansa who once lived here and traveled to the bison hunts in the high prairie. He thought about how there are none of the Kansas left and how, in the future, there may not be any of his race left either. It didn’t matter to Sunny Day, though, he never tried to interfere or figure out the inevitable. His mission here was not to save the world, but to save some friends. The mantra would give him the protection he needed to carry through. Hi kicked the Indian to life and got back on the highway. Ten minutes later he was at the I-70 intersection. He turned on the Eastbound on-ramp and gunned the engine to get in front of the cattle truck as he merged onto I-70. One of the more unpleasant things in life is to be riding a motorcycle behind a cattle truck.
Sunny looked ahead on the highway. He saw the other motorcycle immediately and accelerated to catch up. Sure enough is was the baby blue chopper and there was Nuke with some girl on back. When he roared by them he gave the old Born To Be Wild Easy Rider One Finger Wave and went about a half mile up before pulling off on the shoulder. A couple of seconds later he was joined by Nuke and Voice. Sunny checked her out. The cattle truck shot by, swirling the dust and engulfing them in the scent of cows. Sunny heard the cattle bawl and felt sadness for them. “Don’t get out of the truck!” he yelled at them. He knew it would do no good but it made him feel better. He turned back to Nuke who was laughing and Voice who just stared off toward the direction of the truck. She looked around and got off the bike, walking off the asphalt shoulder and onto the flinty soil. She leaned down and picked a couple of the wild buttercups and smelled them then offered them to Nuke who turned them down. She pitched the flowers onto the highway and turned around, climbing to the top of the flint rock cut. She let the Kansas wind blow her hair in front of her hiding her face. Sunny walked up to Nuke. “Hey man, looks like you’re doing all right,” he said and high-fived his friend.
“Yeah, well looks can be deceiving, you know,” Nuke said, “I think this little gal is nuts.”
“Aren’t they all?”
“You old misogynist, you know they aren’t”
“Yeah, I know, I was just joking, so what’s the scoop on, what did you call her?”
“Voice,” Nuke said, “I nicknamed her that after I met her in the bar at Dreamland last night. She talks in rock and roll riddles. Just about everything she says is a quote from some classic rock song.”
“Well, she can’t be all that kookoo.”
“No, I guess not, anyway she’s here and wants to go to KC with us, ok?”
“Yeah, three’s company, no problem. Where’d she go anyway?”
“I don’t know, maybe she went to shit and the hogs ate her.” Nuke borrowed one of Sunny Day’s favorites.
“Crude, man crude,” Sunny replied looking all around to see where Voice had gone. They both heard the sound of another Harley Davidson and turned around to look. The two of them looked at each other in disbelief.
“What’s going on?” Voice looked at the two and laughed. She rode the candy apple red Harley up between the other two bikes and gunned the engine giving that unmistakable Harley exhaust pipe sound that echoed between the two vertical cuts on the highway.
“Where the hell did you get that?” they both asked in unison. She parked the Harley and got off, flipping her hair to the side and back out of her face. Her countenance had changed and she looked both of them squarely in the eye. She put her hands in the back pockets of her blue jeans.
“Somewhere over the rainbow.”
Nuke had had enough. “OK, Voice, cut the crap with the lyrics, ok? You,ve got some explaining to do and you better get started on it now.” He started toward her but didn’t get too far. A blue flame enveloped the three of them as they stood on the side of Interstate 70. It seemed to come from nowhere but then Sunny noticed that it seemed to be emanating from Voice’s forehead and swirling around her and the two of them. Nuke didn’t panic, he just stopped. Sunny didn’t move. Voice said something that sounded like “gocheedy chedal qodaiin” and suddenly the three of them were transported to the top of the vertical cut looking down on the motorcycles and the highway. Nuke fell down overwhelmed by what had happened. Sunny reached for him but before he could touch him, Voice said something else and Nuke was picked up off of the ground. Sunny heard a voice in his mind. “You cannot touch him when we are in the blue light,” he knew it came from Voice. He quickly responded mentally, “OK, Voice, no problem,” and he held his hands up palm out in the “I give up” gesture. Voice looked at him and smiled. “All will be made known to you and Nuke in due time.” Sunny Day smiled and nodded. He did not feel threatened or afraid. In fact he was very calm and watched as his friend Nuke came out of his swoon. Voice pointed to the other side of the highway. “We are going over there,” she said and in an instant they were transported to the opposite side of the interstate. This was just to accustom them to what had happened and probably what they could expect.
“This rock outcropping is part of the Nemaha uplift,” she said and pointed to the exposed limestone on the North side of the highway. “It is a place of great energy and power. I have used the gifts given to me to provide me with adequate transportation to help us on our journey to Kansas City and the fulfillment of the mission we are on.”
“How do you know what “mission” we are on,” Sunny challenged her and the blue light swirled around him. “Humania Terroirialis” both Sunny and Nuke heard the answer and looked dead serious at each other. “Who are you anyway?” Sunny asked.
“I am Star-Vocce,” she vocalized to them this time, “You can continue to call me “Voice” as that name fits my personality and my being. Now we must get to Kansas City.” The blue light swirled again and set them down on the shoulder near the bikes. She climbed on the red Harley and kickstarted it up. Sunny and Nuke looked at each other incredulously and shrugged, getting on their motorcycles and starting them, following the woman in front of them as she edged onto the pavement. Sunny looked at Nuke and shook his head. Nuke looked straight ahead, seriously focused on Voice and wondering if he had indeed lost his mind. Sunny pulled up beside him again and gave him the thumbs up signal. Nuke smiled and signaled back. Up ahead, Voice turned around to look at them both and laughed as she, too, gave them the ok signal. The three bikes created a harmonic vibration that they all soon settled into. “Next stop, Topeka.” Nuke and Sunny heard in their mind. “No problemo,” they beamed back. Voice smiled and they hit the road to Topeka.

A Concise Translation of the Voynich Manuscript

By

Stephen Darjeeling
March 21, 2005

Note: The following information has been derived from a translation of the Voynich Manuscript which was completed in the winter of 2004-2005 by myself, aided only by the companionship and advice of my cat, Bear. The translation was accomplished by entering into a transcendental state unaided by any type of hallucinogenic or psychotropic drug. The previous histories of the Voynich Manuscript, which is actually entitled Humania Terriorialis, will not be referenced here as they are readily available for study and comparison. SD

Preface to the Translation

In 1510 AD a German peasant ditch digger, Hektor von Graue (Hector the Gray), was returning to his cottage near Hanover. He had his bindlestiff with his lunch satchel tied to it. It was a fairly warm evening and an approaching thunderstorm was imminent. Hektor walked to within a couple of kilometers of his house when, all of a sudden, he found himself in a violent wind and hailstorm. Grabbing his leather vest close to him he put his head into the storm and hurried for shelter. Realizing that he would have to wait out the storm, Hektor headed for a small depression in the low hills near his home, a shelter he had used before consisting of an outcropping of rock near a creek. By that time, lightning was striking all around him and he was terrified. He was a man of consciousness and spirituality, with a firm belief in God, yet he still retained some of the old beliefs associated with the natural occurrence of things. Those old beliefs included forest spirits, sorcerers and witches, and the embodiment of spirit to all things in the world, including lightning and storms in general. Hektor was proud of his meager heritage. No son of a king, no relative of nobles, he would often proclaim that his surname was Graue and not Grau, a Prussian surname that he disdained. “We are not Prussians!” he would openly and loudly tell any clerk of the Church at Kierksdorf, where his family was registered, who made the mistake of misspelling his name. His opposition to authority often caused him to be ridiculed by others in the town and even his own family, making him an outcast of sorts. Hektor didn’t mind. He had his solitude and his family that he provided for and that was sufficient for him. He had friends, but not many, that would laugh with him and his occasional troubles with the town constable who knew his penchant for making wine. Hektor von Graue made good wine, very good wine and people in the town sought him out when they knew he had some available. The only problem was that Hektor, being a bit eccentric in his forty years of age, neglected to get the permission of the Baron or of the Constable to make wine and so was often at odds with both. Whenever he was confronted by the Constable as to the nature of his wine business, Hektor would quote the saying on the gate of the city, “Ergo Hanoverensis Sum,” (I am a Hanoverian), turn on his heel and head off much to the consternation of the town constable who, like the Baron, enjoyed Hektor’s wine.
And so it was on that day of the storm that Hektor found himself hurrying for cover to escape the hail and the lightning that was now falling and striking all around him. “Saint Ann, Saint Ann, save me!” he called out as he ran for the shelter of the rock overhang, jumping through the swollen stream and diving for cover as the storm strengthened. As his leather covered foot landed on a flat rock in the stream, a bolt of lightning hit behind him and propelled him into the cave. He landed and rolled further in just as a big blackjack oak tree fell across the entrance. He huddled in the cave, watching the strange storm of hail and lightning that continued in full force. The hail was backlit by the lightning making it look like fire was raining down on the Earth. Hektor thought it was the end of the world. He crossed himself and prayed. The roar of the storm was deafening as the high wind blew down the oak and linden trees which were set on fire by the lightning. The wild and ripping hail exploded on the burning trees throwing sparks and flames. “Doomsday,” Hektor thought, crossing himself several times. He heard a loud hum and the hair on his arms stood straight up. A bluish light filled the cave. It became brighter and brighter until Hektor could stand it no longer and lost consciousness as a thunderous wave of energy enveloped him.
When he woke up, Hektor knew immediately that he was not alone. He had sensed the presence of someone watching him as he lay there in the cave. The storm was over and the cave smelled sweet with burning oak which also warmed him. But there was another smell, too. A pungent spicy odor pervaded the inside of the cave and there was a glow of residual blue light on everything. Hektor sat up. “Wer ist hier?” There was no answer. Hektor propped himself on his elbow and looked around. “Ist jemand hier?” Still no answer. Hektor knew there was someone there with him. He looked around quickly. Behind him he saw a shadow and the hair on his neck and arms raised again, out of fear this time. He got up, bumping his head on the low ceiling of limestone. Turning around quickly he saw the fleeting shadow again but not the person making it. “Wo sind Sie. Zeigen Sie sich!” Hektor spun around trying to catch the person making the shadow. He thought it was odd that he didn’t hear them making sound on the rubble floor of the cave. Finally, Hektor decided that the best method was to stop trying and sit down. “Setzen Sie sich mit mir dann hin.” He held out his hand, palm up, offering whoever it was a place to sit. The soft glow of the blue light increased next to him and he suddenly perceived that there was a person next to him on the cave floor. It amazed Hektor von Graue that he was not afraid. He looked at the young lady who looked back at him. “Wer sind Sie? Sind Sie ein Engel?”
“Nein ist, Herr Graue, ich kein engel.”
“Von wo sind Sie und vas ist ihr Name?”
“Ich bin nicht von hier und mein Name ist Stern-Brinda”
Hektor von Graue’s life was changed at that instant. He was given a leather bound manuscript by Star-Brinda, a visitor from a world parallel to his. In the conversation that followed he was told to keep the manuscript until such time as he heard from her again. He watched as the blue light slowly faded and with it the lady who had visited with him on that stormy evening. Hektor vowed not to tell anyone of his experience and patiently waited to hear from Star-Brinda.

Several years passed and Hektor maintained his silence and kept the leather manuscript well hidden. He had looked at it several times but its contents of pictures of stars, odd drawings, and undecipherable language evaded his intellect and he finally gave up trying to make any sense out of it. Hektor von Graue died in his bed one winter night in 1517 having never heard from Star-Brinda again. The leather case along with the rest of Hektor’s meager possessions, were sold at auction to satisfy the family’s debts. The manuscript became lost until it resurfaced in the court of the Holy Roman Emperor Rudolf II of Bohemia.

Remote Viewing

Bernardo knew that Agent Linda Marble was a graduate of the Remote Viewing Academy. In fact, she had graduated with honors only two months after he himself had set the agency record for RV scoring, allowing him to add the initials IRV (for Integrated Remote Viewer) to his agent title. But this and everything else he had or did made little impact on her feelings for him. He could have been the head of the agency itself and she wouldn’t have given a rat’s ass for it. It could be a chemical imbalance. He had thought of having a pheromone analysis and implant to enhance his presence. If he could get a strand of her hair, a pheromone direct match would really improve his chances for attraction. It was true that there had been some problems with the implants in the past, like the fellow whose implant went awry causing him to be attractive all right, but only to female pigeons. “You get what you pay for,” Bernardo thought after reading that the poor bloke had surfed the internet for the cheapest and quickest implant fix and thought that the term “pigeon” was a reference to human females, just like the British use of “bird” for young lady. The first time he went to the park was a grand fiasco which made the national news. He heard that the man eventually had to volunteer for work in Antarctica where there were no pigeons. He dismissed the idea of his own implant on the grounds that he, Bernardo Limpio, would accomplish what he wanted to do in life on his own merit, and with all the natural gifts, appearance, and abilities which had been bestowed on him by the Intelligent Creator. Others argued that any enhancements were also bestowed by the IC but Limpio rejected that idea out of hand. Those were nothing more than vain attempts at Intelligent Personal Creationism, the philosophy which had surfaced after the Supreme Court upheld the Kansas Intelligent Design Act of 2006. The implications of that decision allowed for the extreme Christian Right to declare any action null and void that did not mention Intelligent Design. By default, any action that did reference the KIDA of 2006 was deemed righteous and lawful. This had thrown the entire political and legal system of Kansas into turmoil resulting in Kansas being declared a neutral territory, removed from the other states of the union, and placed under the direct jurisdiction of the federal government. Bernardo looked across the table at Linda and he laughed to himself as he felt the onset of her RV probe. “Don’t waste your time, Linda, you can’t get through,” he said it out loud rather than using RV Thoughts.
Linda gave Bernardo a Mona Lisa smile and flipped her hair as she turned to the Macrosoft Menu Screen. “Good Day, Ms. Marble, will you be having your usual?” the screen queried. “Chuck you, Farley,” she replied, separating the three words and emphasing the beginning of each. “I am sorry, Ms. Marble, but “Chuck-You-Farley” is not a screen option, please select from our delicious menu, may I suggest a Numero Uno today?” By this time, Bernardo was chuckling to himself and, reaching toward her, picked up the strand of her hair that had fallen on the table. She karate chopped his hand. “Don’t even think of a pheromone match, Limpio, I’ll sue your ass from here to hell and back.”
Bernardo didn’t even flinch. “Don’t worry, Agent Marble,” he said and offered the strand to her, “That ain’t my style.” He thought his John Wayne impression might impress her, but Linda was just too tough today. He stared at her and then spoke into the screen, “Numero Uno para mi, gracias.”
“Thank you, Agent Limpio IRV, your order will be right up.”
“Thank you, Agent Leeempeeo, your order will be right up,” Linda mimicked the screenvoice sarcastically, “Number Two for me, asshole.”
“Thank you Agent Marble, RV, your order will be right up.” She looked around at the gray lunch cube trying to find something to look at other than the person across the table. She reached into her daypack and brought out her “Cigareet” brand rolling machine and papers laying them on the table. Bernardo laughed again as she brought out the lid of grass. This was more fallout from the KIDA where marijuana was included in the Intelligent Design Criteria after insertion into the Act by the Kaw Valley Hemp Growers Association. There was absolutely nothing anyone could do about Linda Marble rolling her own on the lunch table at the Agency headquarters. She was, after all, a lifetime Kansan, or Kansa as she preferred and she exercised her rights as one regularly, disobeying nearly all forms of protocol. Bernardo, too was a Kansa, but a bit more modest in his own behavior. Linda finished rolling and lit up, striking a wooden match by raising her leg and dragging the matchstick on the fabric of her designer dress. She took a drag and blew the smoke in the air after holding it in briefly, then offered it to Bernardo who dismissed her offer with a polite smile and wave of the hand she had karate chopped a few minutes ago. “So what can you tell me about Darjeeling that I don’t already know?” Linda asked. “You know my background as a Remote Viewer and you know that I’m damn good at it, so I’d say that anything you know, I know.” She took another hit and put the rest of the number away.
“Not so, little lady,” it was John Wayne again and Bernardo told himself mentally to stop with the John Wayne impression now. “What I know is something that I alone know about Darjeeling, namely where he now is.”
“Everybody knows where Darjeeling is,” Linda replied, “he’s scattered to the wind and his ashes are floating down the Ganges River in India.”
“That’s what everybody else thinks but me.” Limpio sat back in his rocker as the food door opened and two trays emerged on the table. “I happen to know where he is and he definitely is alive and well.”
“You’re makin’ this shit up, Bernie, just so you can hit on me.” Linda put both hands on the table and glared.
“Don’t flatter yourself, Little Lady, or you’re dead where ya sit.” His John Wayne was perfect this time. Limpio laughed out loud.
“Prove it, Limpio, that’s all I’ve got to say,” Linda scooted her tray toward her and dove in ravenously, eating away at the Number Two and spilling food out onto the table all around the tray. Bernardo picked at his food and marveled at her apetite.
“I cross-integrated the Remote Viewing grid field and matched up with an old historical document referencing Darjeeling and his failed winery in Louisburg before the KIDA went into effect. I’ve got the legal description and the locale spotted and I’m going there, not by RV but in person and I would like for you to accompany me. Officially, of course, but also because I like being with you, Linda.”
She put down her sandwich and belched. Then, looking at him intently she answered. “OK, Bernie, I’ll go on official business only and you better not be horkin’ me. And quit with the John Wayne bullshit, ok?”
“OK, Linda, meet me at my office at 0600 tomorrow morning. We’ll go by helicar from the Agency garage. And with that, Agent Bernardo Limpio rose from the table and excused himself, leaving Agent Linda Marble to her thoughts and reveries.