Chapter 5
A day later, questioning continued. Preston got up from his meditative pose and joined Holk at the table without being asked to do so. There was evidence he still hadn’t eaten or drank. Holk seemed unconcerned. If someone was in his inner ear about it, he made no outward signs. His female attendant was the same as last time. Her collar had upgraded and Preston recognized one of the symbols. The boy soldier was gone, replaced with a more experience soldier. “Are you a telepath?” Holk asked.
“Not by nature, no. I have an intimacy bond with a telepath,” Preston said. “I am receptive and sometimes know things I shouldn’t, but no more than chance, explained by a deeper understanding of context and social trajectories.” “Tell us about the Grays,” Holk said.
“I don’t know anything about the Grays,” Preston said.
“Why are they kidnapping and raping humans?” Holk asked.
Preston blinked. He had an answer that he didn’t understand. “Bridge building.” “What does that mean?” Holk asked.
“They can’t or won’t communicate with your species directly,” Preston said. He was looking at something distantly, not visible through the walls of his room. “I don’t get the sense that the barrier is physiological, but the metaphor I access is human and dolphins trying to speak. You need more than new language to bridge the gap, you need an intermediate species capable of speaking both languages; an intermediate species who has a history and cultural paradigm that includes living in both worlds. You’re afraid of them.” Preston tilted his head as if seeing something else. “They consider you wild, but wild differently than wolves. Breeding programs made dogs. This metaphor fits as well. Mere cats. You’re mere cats. Communication with you through telepathic means results in an exaggerated fear and or hyper-religious response. Bridge metaphor makes the best sense.”
“One of the Gray guests suggested they were us,” Holk said. “Is that true.”
“That he was your guest? I doubt it,” Preston said.
“Was he truthful? Is his species our species, only from the future? Is that why they time travel back? Are they influencing history?” Holk asked.
“I am not privy to their agenda. I suspect you guys really fuck things up for everyone,” Preston said. “This might be an opportunity for you to mend your ways. Maybe you should listen.”
Holk touched the desk. Images of Yeti and Sasquatch appeared.
“Are you familiar with this species?” Holk asked.
“Oh!” Preston said, suddenly happy. “Some of my best friends were…” His improved mood faded. He recovered, returning to his neutral face. Death was a part of life. “I knew them well.”
Another photo came up. “We call her Mona Lisa. Do you know her species?”
“Intimately,” Preston said. He touched the image as if he knew her personally. “Is she still alive?”
“You don’t know?” Holk asked.
“I can’t ask myself questions and get answers, too,” Preston said.
A new species came up. Reptilians.
“The Others,” Preston said. “These are the ones that will come for me.” “Why?” Holk said.
“They believe a Waycaster will right the wrong done to them,” Preston said.
“Wrong?” Holk asked.
“This space station was once a weapon, capable of destroying planets. In fact, its destructive capabilities were first demonstrated in this solar system. There used to be a planet between Earth and Mars. Now it is rubble. This weapon was also used to destroy the Reptilian stronghold. Contrary to popular belief, it was not an asteroid that took out the dinosaurs,” Preston said. He folded his hands in his lap, looking distantly, sorting something only he was privy to. Holk tapped his fingers on the table rhythmically, intentionally drawing Preston back. “The ‘Others’ had colonies on other worlds. They rallied the colonies and an alliance of aliens to disable the weapon. Here it remains. The humans involved in the genocide were stranded on the surface with the agenda to re-establish the ecosystem and pay retribution in the form of gold. A contingent stayed behind, occupying inner earth, and a strong hold on the moon. This station was left in Earth’s orbit as a reminder to all who would use weapons of mass destruction against planets. Earth’s present fallen state is a reminder to all as to what happens when peace fails.” “That’s some story you have there,” Holk said.
“Yeah,” Preston said. “But even your own people refer to Earth as a prison planet. You certainly run it that way.” “What do you know about the Andromedan species?” Holk said.
“They are not a threat to you,” Preston said.
“What is their agenda?” Holk asked.
“If you want conspiracy theories, watch the original episodes of Star Trek,” Preston said.
“‘A Rose by Any Other Name.’ Star Trek had such great titles. ‘For the world is hollow and I have touched the sky.’ Not my favorite episode, but I do so love the title. I wonder why.”
“I don’t want theories,” Holk said. “I want the truth.”
“I so want to quote Jack Nicholson. Can I quote him here?” Preston said. “Would that violate your copy right laws?”
“Are you playing with me?” Holk asked.
“So many ways to respond to that. Not a set up at all,” Preston said, amused. “Again, I recommend Star Trek, the original series. It has it all. The Talosions? They’re really the Grays. The myth is they can’t breed so they need humans to repopulate their planet. Did you ever wonder why helping Talosians results in a death penalty? Seems a bit extreme, helping a people out in exchange for tech and a new life. Anyway, the Man Trapp creature, always reminded me of a deformed Yeti. My favorite episode, the Arena. It explains your relationships with the Reptilians. The First episode to air, the galactic energy barrier that encircles the galaxy, penetrates the galaxy, turns people into gods when they pass through it. Sounds like Vril to me. The amoeba episode, Spock having a heart attack on the Bridge because a hundred Vulcans just died remotely? Vril! Plato’s step children. Vril. Plato’s Step children were looking for truth, too.
What happened to them? Really, Sir, watch more Star Trek.”
“Roddenberry was a perverted whore of a sex addict,” Holk said.
“That is actually the most common side effect of accessing Vril,” Preston said. “And why so many cults insist their apprentices swear to celibacy. They mistakenly think by avoiding orgasms they increase their Vril energy. Unfortunately, one does not get it by holding it. You get it through flow. Through genuine flow, not coerced, not forced, not rape. That will cut you off from Vril. Waycasters don’t require celibacy. If harnessed correctly, sex can be used to help someone Travel, or gain knowledge and insight. It easier to access this than to meditate, and likely another explanation as to why Earth cultures tend to promote abstinence over true sex education, or any sort of sexual liberation. Your people are perverse. You would rather have an increase in violence in popular media and games than love. The ‘Make Love not War,’ that’s the essence of the Waycaster’s message.”
“Must be why you lost the war,” Holk said. Preston bowed, amused.
“Why can’t we time travel into the future?” Holk asked.
“Your visa has expired,” Preston offered.
“Ha ha,” Holk said. “Why?”
“Seriously, you lack the maturity to get pass the guardian of time,” Preston said. “Oh!
Another Star Trek episode. That was a rather good episode.”
“Were you spying on Earth as a ghost? Or did you incarnate?” Holk asked. Preston bowed. “Great question. I assume it is one question, and not actually two questions. They fit as one,” he said, musing. “I don’t know how to respond to that in a manner you might understand.”
“You believe in reincarnation?” Holk asked.
“Yes and no,” Preston said. “All incarnations are simultaneous from the perspective of the One. Past, present, and future incarnations are all singular events. A person may be born in the past, and the amnesia prevents extreme temporal deviations. Mature souls tend to be born further into the future, regressed souls tend to get placed further back along the continuum. He who is first will be last. Again, metaphor, not an absolute, literal understanding. In the strictest sense, space time is an illusion. It is all One. We are all impoverished and advanced at the same time.”
“That makes absolutely no sense,” Holk said.
Preston offered empty hands in apology. Holk clearly was receiving requests for questions. Preston answered one.
“I am not in a hurry to leave and I will honor my declaration not to escape. When you have been stone as long as I have, you learn a bit of patience,” Preston offered.
“You hear the conversation in my uniform?” Holk asked.
“No,” Preston said. “I intuited the question, but not as an auditory event. Not telepathy. The transducers in your uniform that result in sound conduction are cool toys, but there is a greater sense that hears better than and more than the ear.” “What else have you intuited?” Holk asked.
“Easy stuff. Some are worried I haven’t partaken of food or drink,” Preston said. “Toril, here…”
“You know her name?” Holk interrupted.
Toril was smiling, not hiding it by biting her lip.
“What you watch also watches you,” Preston stated. “Read more of the Persian poets.
Read Whitman.”
“It bothers me you know so much about us,” Holk said.
“Even stone cannot contain a fully trained Waycaster. In truth, it contains no one. Stones dream,” Preston said. “What was I saying? Oh, Toril has asked to dine with me, and you’ve refused. Whether you allow her to eat with me or not, the more she studies me with her inner sight, the more entrained we become. One of your scientists is worried I haven’t eliminated or urinated.” It seemed obvious that Holk hadn’t even considered the matter. “More likely because he is anxious for samples. You should listen more to your scientist, the ones not motivated by profits, the ones that are genuinely curious about things. He has been trying to get this to you. What did we eat so long ago? Well, better than the Earth people eat presently. Did you ever wonder why some people can eat whatever they want as much as they want and they never gain weight? Maybe a Waycaster can take food right from their stomach to theirs. Maybe I can teleport my own waste away without going to a toilet. Once you’ve mastered teleportation, the body does what it needs to do automatically. The lungs could draw air from another solar system’s planet, if the urgency irritated them enough. Even if I consciously held my breath, the body would not faint. The immune system can capture invaders and send them away. And yes. I don’t have to orgasm to get someone pregnant. Individual sperm just teleports to where it needs to be. If I were less disciplined, or crasser, even being on the moon would not be far enough away to prevent random pregnancies on Earth. Like an alpha in a lion’s pride, other offspring would be terminated in favor of my own. Waking a Waycaster from stone into a social environment that hasn’t evolved the natural defenses to thrive alongside one, or the appreciation of the potential consequences for living alongside an advanced being, is a true danger, from your perspective. Just hearing this has stirred primal fear in you and most of the men listening, titillated some of the women who desire a true alpha male, not these pseudo alpha male, control freaks that your society turns out, a result of living in the severest patriarchy for so long. In the days of matriarchy, all men were encouraged to partake of the priestesses, and all offspring were the product of the society, not individual families. You own what you cannot own. Even the air you breathe is not yours. Your paradigm has skewed your perception from right thinking. It blocks you from a greater social engagement of the galaxy at large.”
Silence followed this. Preston offered an empty hand. A fruit appeared in it. Holk pushed back. Preston took a bite. It had the texture of potato, but bled honey.
“From an orchard… somewhere, out there. From my personal home world. Seriously, the Mormons are closer to the truth than you think. If you had a Jewish Mormon Buddhist, now that would be a great paradigm to live under,” Preston said. He relinquished the fruit to a guard that came to get it. “Your food is crap. You serve things that fool the body into thinking it is eating healthy, but keeps the body weak. You even have the knowledge that this is true and that it causes health problems and shortens lives, and yet, you do nothing but put up more billboards subliminally directing people to eat more crap! All in the name of profits and continued slavery.
Take down the billboards, grow more forests.”
Holk smiled. “You’re one of those.”
“Because I want people to be healthy and live longer, and commune with family and friends, I am one of those?” Preston asked. “Even without your medicines, people could double
their life spans by just eating better, by eating with loved ones, without tech.” “And double their harm? As it is now, they take life for granted,” Holk said.
“No, they don’t. They don’t have enough information to take life for granted. The reason they’re so caviler with life is because of their shortened lifespan and their ignorance of the possibilities. Double their life span and they will live to see the consequences of their actions. Only then will they begin to learn how important it is to live in harmony with each other and the environment,” Preston said.
“There is already a population problem. You want us to give them immortality meds?” Holk asked.
“There isn’t a population problem. There is a bad thinking problem,” Preston said. “One doesn’t need meds to live indefinitely. I complained about your food, calling it crap, which it is compared to what I have eaten, but the truth is, if you improve your thinking, it doesn’t matter what you eat or drink, one can sustained the body indefinitely with proper thought. In that sense, the witches and metaphysical magicians that rise in your population are true wizards, distinguished by their unprecedented health and success. Placebos and nocebos work. They work because they mind tells the body its truth. The body accepts the truth and responds accordingly. Your media teaches death is a foregone conclusions, just as much as fast food encourages participation in death. You see aging, and so you follow this path because it is the paradigm you want to follow.”
“Where do you come from?” Holk asked.
“Your language and paradigm doesn’t allow for this conversation,” Preston said. “Another universe is the closest I can come. From another galaxy, beyond infinity. Down a wormhole, from the heart of a black hole. We are the fallen who seeded this universe.
Technically, fallen describes the process of arriving here, not a moral state of being. Your stories are intuited through remote viewing, and people have pushed their own emotional spin. Most people access these stories see the perceived truth and push the same story or variations. All fiction is truth, from a certain perspective. All authors are remote viewers, tuning into frequencies and windows that allow them to see. Sometimes the windows are big enough to allow beings from those worlds to crossover into this world. The author of the fan fiction who used my name is a remote viewer, untrained. He has written some truth, but his personal bias has added spin. He is not the One you are looking for.” “We are all the One,” Toril said.
“What does that even mean?” Holk said. He was irritated by it.
Preston shrugged. “Even I have not matured enough to respond to that without bias. I think Carl Jung was close. Maybe the One begat all souls. Maybe all souls become the One. We are all interconnected. All matter is interconnected. Space-Time is one and everything contain in it is connected and one. Separation is an illusion.”
“We live in the matrix,” Holk scowled.
“Modern metaphor,” Preston agreed. “I find myself attracted to the philosophical underpinnings which coincides with Karl Ernst Ludwig Marx Planck. Max for short. A really nice man, by the way.”
“Which brings me back to my earlier question. You’re a ghost spying on us? You incarnated?” Holk asked.
“I did not incarnate on Earth. I have seen things through remote viewing. I have also manifested in person. I am capable of bilocation,” Preston said.
“Bilocation…”
Preston closed his eyes. He manifested on the ship in orbit. The people at the conference table viewing the interview didn’t see him right away. He even managed to touch the Admiral’s shoulder, startling him. He reached over and picked up the Admiral’s hamburger and took a bite. He put it back on the plate. People stood. The Admiral paled. An alarm klaxon went off in the ship and guards were scrambling to get to the conference room.
“If I wanted you dead, you could not prevent it,” Preston said.
He dissipated, his body becoming smoke. The doors swished open like elevator doors and guards ran in, weapons drawn. The event was over just as fast as it had happened.
Holk was confused. He was being directed out of the room. He got up and departed, his attendants following him. The guards inside the room were alarmed, but didn’t understand why they should be alarmed. They held energetic rifles, and were instructed to power them up. They were told to be more alert, but they didn’t know how to be more alert than what they were. Preston spit out the hamburger bite.
“I will not harm you,” Preston assured them. It was the first time he had addressed any of the guards, as making nice with the guards could put their lives in jeopardy. He stood and looked at the camera. “I don’t wish to harm any of you. Even though I am opposed to your paradigm, it is not my intent to interfere. Interfering is counterproductive. So is death. It simply interrupts the maturation process. It keeps the cycle going. I can almost hear the one you call Mona Lisa saying you are dabbling in things you don’t understand. I am not she. She is not a Waycaster. She participates in a different order, a more secretive society. I encourage dabbling. How else will you learn if you don’t engage?”
Preston return to his preferred corner and took up a meditative pose.
“We request you don’t do that.” The voice was the admiral’s.
Preston stood back up. “You understand, whether I close my eyes or not, I am operating on multiple fronts all the time. I am a Waycaster. It’s what we do.”
Chapter 6
Müller, Erika, and Emily arrived by a tram that took them to a distant place across the moon, crossing over craters, rising above the surface and back into the moon through a tunnel large enough for two cars to pass and allow pedestrians to walk a center bridge, or ride a bike. They arrived at a station and went up into a large open space that felt like a cathedral, with amphitheater like seating descending into the moon. There were plants here. There were trees here. There were redwood trees here, easily a thousand years old, if size was the measure. The ceiling was domed. From the top level, the dome met the surface and one could look out over the moon. The dome was so perfectly transparent, it was if it wasn’t there. The sun was up. The sky was black. No apparent stars, but the stars she saw moved. Spaceships! Ships hovered above the dome. They were huge ships, larger than aircraft carriers. There was one style of ships that looked human enough that she could imagine it being from Earth. The size and the proximity to the surface bothered her. Even on the moon, things still fell. Contrary to fiction and popular belief, things didn’t fall in slow motion. The formula for acceleration didn’t change because of change in gravity.
The upper level was like being at bazar. Commerce was held here. Trade, bartering, exchanging recipes, and sharing foods and drinks. The smell of it all nearly had Emily vomiting. She now understood why Müller had instead she carry the sickness bags, all attached to her belt like a string of ammo. It was decorative and functional and reminded her of the oversized, but still folded female condoms. Around her was an appreciable din that was the Cantina scene in Star Wars times a thousand.
Some in attendance arrived by shuttles, arriving on one of a dozen landing pad that circled the amphitheater. Some arrived instantaneously on teleportation pads, hurried away by attendants. Some arrived through portals. One of the landing pads was designated as being under human control. Looking down on the total structure, the human pad was at the six o’clock position. She saw the tube running back to human territory. She saw ships unloading crates, and fork-lift bubbles brought crates and took crates.
There was a musical ensemble, acapella, on the center, circle stage. The melody was old, with overtones of Gregorian chant, Native American beats that would allow mystics and shamans to travel, but also a woven ballad with enchanted rap; a complex but simple piece. Their angelic voices carried even to here. She could not make their faces out from top level, but they looked like angels. They had wings like angels. Her knees felt weak. Müller led them to their seats and had her sit down. A wave to no one in particular resulted in someone being suddenly there, taking an order for a drink. She hugged Müller and Erika, and nodded to Emily.
“First time, eh?” the woman asked. She sounded Canadian. She chuckled and went back. “We could have teleported?” Emily asked. “Like Star Trek?”
“You can barely contain yourself now. You’re not ready for that,” Müller said. “Survive your first exposure and you will be tested further.”
“Survive?” Emily asked. “This is dangerous?”
“Don’t touch aliens unless invited to touch aliens,” Müller said. “Good rule of thumb, don’t touch anyone, unless invited to touch.”
Müller excused himself to go speak with a friend; his friend held the rank of general. Emily could barely focus, there was so much to see. People talking too loud behind her kept drawing her back. The Canadian brought two beers. She thanked Erika profusely. If money was exchanged, it was done electronically through means Emily could not discern. Erika smiled at her, the movement of freckles on cheeks and around the eye seemed to float off her face, the illusion that sometimes comes from staring at tiles too long.
“Have you teleported?” Emily asked.
“I love transporters,” Erika said. “It’s absolutely orgasmic. I float in a euphoric high for a week, better than any drugs I have ever taken, and then I crash and sleep for two days. I am told it’s the closest to feeling manic one can get without actually being Bipolar. People with Bipolar diagnosis can’t use transporters. The Stargate portals, they make me nauseous. Not the travel itself, but the arrival is too disorienting for me.”
“Teleporting results in orgasms?” Emily restated.
“For many,” Erika said. “It kind of feels like falling. You get this weakness in the knees, and then suddenly you rebound in strength elsewhere.”
“You actually fall, like through dimensions?”
“Oh, no. We have dimensional boxes that move people. They’re called Schrodinger cages. They’re kind of spooky, but it’s the fastest way to go from Earth to Mars. Beyond the solar system, they’re not that reliable,” Erika said. She pushed Emily’s beer towards her lip. “Drink up. It helps. Anyway, the teleporter literally designates the body and makes a duplicate elsewhere. The rebound is the actual soul bouncing back to the newly created body.” “Seriously?” Emily asked.
“It is the explanation of the Sisterhood,” Erika said. “The men tend to not accept our metaphysical explanations of the science. They don’t want to believe they are killed and reincarnated elsewhere. No one would use the teleporters if they believed that.” “But…”
“You soul identifies your body though your genetics and memory resonance,” Erika said. “We can clone your body and leave the clone suspended in cryogenics, and if you were to die, we would wake you up inside your clone. Even if we didn’t have a clone, we have your genetics