Pilgrim’s Vision 2050 Chapter 3

“‘What is truth?’ Pilate asked. Then he went out again to the people and told them, ‘He is not guilty of any crime.’” 

John 18:38  NLT

Earth, Sector 8.4 2070 A.D.

The alley spilled out the putrid mists of the city block’s waste.  Chase put all his confidence into each forward stride, whatever scrap of confidence he could muster.  The fog snaked around him, and suddenly there was the body.  It appeared as if a large bolt of lightning had directly struck this poor person, tearing and charring it before tossing it aside.  With a broken plank of wood, Chase cautiously turned the disfigured head, then suddenly fell back in surprise.  Was that-?  Was that an alien, or maybe a dinosaur?  No, no, no.  He shook his head and laughed at his own folly.  It had to be a costume.  Some poor idiot had gotten himself drunk from a wild costume party, and the guy ended up here.  His chuckling had a therapeutic effect, relieving the stress and fear that had built up ever since he had turned the corner.  In the fading of laughter, Chase thought he heard clattering at his six.  The fog had a bad habit of thickening when nothing was moving too quickly.  Chase panicked when he saw what stood over him.  It was another dark reptilian figure.  

“Listen, I’m not in the mood for jokes.  Take the costume off, and we’ll talk about your friend here.”  

Slowly Chase got his legs underneath him, reaching for his pepper spray, but instead pulling out of his pocket a blanket, as if he were some sort of magician.  “Whaaa?”  Chase swung out the blanket as if brandishing a shield.  An idea crossed his mind – This is a dream, a very vivid dream.  The costumed stranger was getting closer now, available for closer study.  Not quite serpentine, nor alien, more of a dragon-like humanoid, or was it human-like dragonoid?  Dragonoid?  Did it matter?!  Its gaping, venomous mouth proved there was nothing human inside it, nothing human about it.   As Chase froze in terror, the dark creature slunk around, disappearing into the dark fog.  He felt a cold, damp, pulsation on the back of his neck, spinning only to see a handful of claws poised to strike.  “Sssleep, sssleep…”.  As the would-be victim raised his fake shield, it became heavier, as if his blanket had transformed into an enormous sponge. The claws, sheathed by obsidian scales, swung along a path as a hypnotic pendulum.  But just as the blanket was about to fall into the dark abyss of swampy landscape, the dragonoid itself gasped, shivered, and slumped into a pile.  “Ssstop!” was the faltering scream.  Its fall revealed a small but certain shard of light, this silhouette most certainly human, and female.  What was she wearing, some kind of metallic hoodie?  Chase could see the glint in her green eyes and the clenching of her pearly teeth.  Her eyes, intense glimmering emeralds.  Behind her, bright rays of light.  Andrew bolted up to sit in the simple studio apartment he called home, now shielding his eyes from the reality of daylight.  Wait!  That dream!  That girl!  As he wiped the damp sweat from his forehead, the one vivid image lingered.  Her eyes.

***

Nausea swamped the lungs of Xink as he struggled to maintain a solid stance.  Even as his oxygen ran low, he dared not remove his mask for thought of the stench, using his laser blade as a balancing bar.  The plague of zombies refused to relent for a second.  “Jugger!  Jugger, where are you?  Back me up, now!”  Xink almost regretted his desperado crusade, forging ahead into a quarantine zone without his partner.  But he had almost reached the coveted Terran Ranger status, and no number of zombies could stop him from slashing his way there.  Well, he might need just a little backup, or at least a hideaway for a short rest.  

“Sorry, I’m out of credits,” came the delayed response.

Xink sighed with mixed emotions.  He was a sliver away from reaching his goal, and yet quick math told him he had less than a sliver of health remaining.  In the Synkros, an avatar’s health depended mostly on the synchronized gamer’s credits.  

A floating bubble expressed more bad news.  “Your monthly credit limit has been reached, as universal credits are rationed.  Your Synkros experience may be unreliable due to these limits.  If you would like to purchase more bandwidth, you have options.  Would you like to choose option A, participate in a survey? …”

Xink switched Synkro modes from Ficto to Facto.  He knew the deal.  Information, even demographic info, was a valuable commodity.  Sharing info while his headset scrutinized his face for signs of honesty, this would earn him decent credits.  Maybe just enough to reach Terran Ranger status.  After that came the rewards, upgrades, celebration parties.  There was a rumor that some gamers who reached the status became enrolled in a special program, where one gamer actually became a Terran Ranger in real life.

A loud but monotonous voice warned him “You are now switching from Synkros Fictitious mode to Synkros Factual mode.  Everything you see here has been verified by the diligent work of Synkros Mind Wizards.”

A row of curved vistas encircled Xink.  The global suggestion was an “Inspiring Speech of New Sapiens”, which he had already watched and earned the credits. The breaking headline banner announced the tearing down of a statue of Steve Jobs by FAIR, Freedom for Artificial Intelligence Robotics.  No one could quite explain why Steve Jobs, but no one except the FAIR planned on being outside, so no conflict expected there.  Besides, the Mind Wizards had discovered precious fertile soil beneath the statue.  He brushed away a story about the growing number of exile fatalities in some Southern sector.  The exiles were allowed a chance to be a part of GlobeSys or not; Xink didn’t care as long as they kept their assigned distance. It was safe in the GlobeSys but even safer in the Synkros.  Sure, forecasters assured him there were no zombies within 100 miles, but with a 0.1 percent chance by afternoon, that was a chance 0.1 percent more than he was comfortable with.  He removed his headset, rubbed his eyes, and scanned his small cube of a room.  Despacing was conserving the great resource of space, data storage space and cubic storage space.  A pro at 13, Xink knew exactly how far to push the reg line and still get ahead – grind away in every corner of both Ficto and Facto.  A flat rectangle slid under his door, precisely on time.  It unfolded into the canine shape of a K3-mech.  This newest model boasted higher sensitivities.  A replacement for his lost biological dog Zed, Zed 2 could sense nervousness and fear.  These signs of human weakness were prime hunting grounds for information gathering.  More often than not, valuable information could be retrieved and sold to the Data Sifters.  A tray popped out of the K3-mech offering edible food strips. Xink briskly enjoyed the processed jerky as he hooked Zed 2 to the Synkros and donned his headset.

***

Chase was among many D-Sifters, “D” for data, who began their shift at home.  His headset simulated a myriad of ancient square TV monitors, while the welcoming voice stated “Thank you for synching with Synkros.  As D-Sifter Chase Quinis, you are granted unlimited access today.”  A few inquiries popped up, lighting up the associated monitors while the others faded into the distance.  He smirked at the familiar crown curse gesture.  Four fingers pointing down represented an upside-down crown, cursing the Cloaked Kings, also subtly rebellious towards any overbearing government.  Xink and Chase had a streamlined flow of trusted information.  He pointed at the monitor and started the informal inquiry.  “You know, I really wish I could send credits directly to your K3-mech.  He does all the hard work sniffing out good trails while you kill time in Ficto land.  Keep him hooked up and I’ll feed him the newest updates.”

“So it’s been awhile , but I have put time into his special training and bonding exercises”. Xink turned to pat and praise Zedtoo.  “Okay, give him his due credits’ worth of upgrades.  He reports no signs of zombies for 200 miles, AQI at 190 within the same range.  Looks like he found some skells in the 50-mile range, targeting healthy humans.”

“Exactly what kind of skells? And did Zedtoo get a trace?”

“Skeeter models, and no.  Just imagine a real dog chasing a real mosquito.  Based on flight range, this could be anywhere within a 10 mile radius of Zedtoo’s coordinates.”

“One specific question for you, Xink, and it’ll count as five surveys.  You’re familiar with some of the hidden signs within Ficto that later translate into real Facto events.  I’m looking for a realm with a dragonoid character and a sword-slashing person in a silver hoodie.”

“You’re personally looking for?” He smirked.  “Didn’t know you were into Ficto.  Well, whatever you’re looking for, I haven’t seen it… him… her.  Ahhh, it is a her that you’re looking for, can see it in your eyes.  That good, huh?  I’ll keep an eye out, but no not yet.  Maybe there’s new characters in the Medieval realm; I’ve been hanging in Apocalypse.”

She had the most amazing green eyes.  Chase thought it but didn’t say it.  He examined the intricate design of a skeeter model displayed.  For all the diseases  a mosquito carried, the proboscis design had long surpassed the hypodermic needle.  Being a D-Sifter and not a surgeon, he focused on the more valuable facts.  What information was worth keeping, taking up memory space, and what information needed to be sifted away – trashed?  There was one anomaly that stood out within a ten-mile radius.  It was a cube that exchanged minimal credits and used barely any energy.  That meant three possibilities.  An elderly person who actually had rare physical books, or a roamer (someone who was crazy enough to spend most of the day outdoors). Both were rare. The third possibility was someone running an unauthorized power-gen, thus hiding a power surge, thus hiding something, something like a bio-hacking operation.

Copyright Tim Wilburson

Pilgrim’s Vision 2050 Ch. 2

Is it your wisdom that makes the hawk soar and spread its wings toward the south?  Is it at your command that the eagle rises to the heights to make its nest? 

Job 39:26-27 NLT

Earth, Sector 1.1 2070 A.D.

Adwon’s left eyebrow was frozen lower than his right as a result of constant thinking, and yet it would be an understatement to call the young man a sage.  He pressed the laminated fragment between his fingers.  An ancient sketch of a bird, a piece of history – better yet – ancestry, tied this man to a distant destiny.  Adwon Vinci knew in depth the complex bio-engineering that lay beneath the surface of a bird’s flight.  There weren’t enough papers among all Leonardo’s famous Codexes to describe it.  Stroking his blonde beard, Adwon wondered just how much envy stirred within Leonardo Da Vinci when studying the spectacular design folded within the sea bird’s wing.  In fact, Adwon himself was tempted towards self-praise upon completing his own great masterpiece, a robotic duplicate of a flapping, dynamically soaring, AI-driven bird. Smerle seemed a fitting name for the grey dove.   Except that Adwon had an “ethereal experience”.  He hesitated to associate this adjective with his experience, since Adwon himself had never been at all religious.  And yet he could not shake the spooky feeling, that an otherworldly engineer of sorts, had all the while watched admiringly over Adwon’s progress of biomimicry.  Smerle had been missing something that proved to be a rare substance on Earth.  Adwon had scoured through simulations upon simulations, ultimately finding the missing piece: genuine purpose.  Hunting down purpose through the soul’s eye of a mechanical bird, the quest had led the maestro to a living dove whom he fondly named Pearl.   Softly, Adwon spoke into Smerle’s ears, “Go, find your lovebird.  Find your Pearl.”  Smerle tilted his head with inquisitive eyes, then answered the call with flapping wings and a swift exit through the window.  

The arched open window staring into the sunset belonged to a beast of an ancient, proud chateau.  Within the castle walls, the legendary Da Vinci had walked and pondered, and so Adwon drew much inspiration by literally walking within those footsteps.  Beside a glowing fireplace, two mechanical lions curled together in yin-and-yang fashion.  More brute than brain, these had been experimental stepping stones towards the grey dove.  The maneless female version turned her head and emitted a grating rumble.  Adwon turned his attention to the door, while tapping and swiping swiftly across his computer display.  No need to freely share the latest updates on Smerle with colleagues.  The lazy male lion huffed in protest as the female began her prowl, now crouching at the door.  The intruder never had a chance.  The male lion proudly strutted, as if to take credit for his partner’s attack.  The victim, a middle-aged woman, screamed in frustration rather than terror.  “Adwon!  Would you please remember to reprogram these things!”

“They do not need any adjustments, Miss Pelton.  They need you to knock, wait, and enter calmly.”  He stroked the lioness and remained calm. “Now, now, Kinna, come leave the poor woman alone.”

Standing proudly, Pelton composed herself neatly, battling wrinkles in her suit and stray brown hairs upon her head.  “That would be Vice President Pelton to you.  As much as I – we all – admire your genius, your distractions have robbed you of a few promotions.  Outside of this grand castle lives a world of shrinking land, slices of crowded masses piled within narrow towers of precious clean air.  The mission of this company is to optimize such precious space via origami robotics-”

“-Thus the name, R.O.C., Robotics Origami Corp.”  He cut her off with his own shortened version of the company mission, then proceeded.  “The problem with folding a robot into a neat little slab is that you leave empty space, a soulless, purposeless, vacuous space.  There is no opportunity to bond with the owner.  This lioness has exhibited a high learning curve, all due to a core targeted at finding purpose.  Artificial intelligence is stagnant without this artificial purpose, thus AI with AP-driven core.”  The lioness purred as Adwon stroked its synthetic fur.  “ The laws of robotics can be better programmed as the purposes of robotics.  The male lion is programmed with the laws of robotics, the female with the purpose of robotics.  Her purpose is to protect life, and yet she knows my life the best.  I’ve even taken the lengths of implanting memories, to the effect she believes I am a member of her family.  She’s not just protecting some carbon-based object, she’s protecting a family member.  And she will not harm another human, since she contains an empathy algorithm, but she will certainly immobilize any perceived threats to me.  This purpose of maintaining human life is built in as a desire, a fuel.  Without it, she has no purpose, and she will be a bit more like her dull male counterpart.”  He motioned towards the moping male lion.

“Adwon, we’ve been through this.  This purpose has unpredictable tangles that create risks for the company.  A structured hierarchy of commands is the tried and true method.  Besides, the origamech do have a trained ‘purpose’, to scout for information, to discover useful and life-saving facts.”

“A set of programmed commands is not the same as purpose, commands no doubt sponsored by the Mind Wizards.  They prize information higher than human life, if you ask me.  Purpose comes from the human soul, expressed and reflected onto devices ever since the archaic cellphone.  And yet purpose is more dynamic than linear code, something that cannot be cramped into 2-dimensional space.  The AP is a 3-dimensional code language, inspired by the genome structures of DNA.”

“That’s unfortunate. Until this ‘purpose’ folds up in the palm of my hand, it provides no market value to ROC, and so neither do you. If you can take this lion or lioness, provide a structured presentation, and fit it into a foldable space, then maybe I’ll let you keep this spacious solitude.  Your parents’ wealth brought your prodigy to light, and yet their fondness of their precious child effectively spoiled you.  A fancy dream carried above the ordinary life of cramped quarters in the real world, here in Adwon’s stately room.  Would it be a shame if we were to crowd this room with a team of programmers, or would it serve to wake you to reality?”

A storm flashed across Adwon’s forehead, until his peripheral vision caught the lioness pouncing at the ground.  A centipede?  He tapped at his wristwatch until a Dro-mech, dragonfly robot, swarmed in on the Centi-mech.  “A fine attempt at rousing my emotions, but you well know I am the master of insectoid mechs.  What is this – a spyworm I’m guessing!  I’m flattered that you truly want to know the inner workings of the lioness, and yet insulted that you suspect I’m hiding something from you.”

“Wake up from your dreams, Adwon!  The alarm clock is screaming!”  The slamming door emphasized her words.  

The door echoed behind her, as she sailed down a long corridor of majestic architecture.  She stopped at a wall panel for identification, a wall panel that used to be a secret passageway, but less secret to most ROC employees.  From the opening of the sliding panels escaped a symphony of mechanical sounds, the massive underground operation of robotics manufacturing.  After ascending the dim stairway, Reese Pelton paused to compose herself.  Then she burst into the brightness as if she owned the underground cavern.  A few scattered humans kept the helm of stations run by various production mech.  A single shape stood unmoving, a tall dark man with square shoulders, but not the man Reese would ask out on a date.  Brilliant, imposing, and yet as soulless as an origamech, Derek’s presence commanded immediate respect.  His back turned to her, he palmed a sleek pedestal until a camera view filled the large monitor before him.  The camera view consisted of a large floating sphere connected by streams of wires, in a room Reese did not recognize.  She joined the side of her superior and dared not even utter the first sound.  

“Probability is the swift child of knowledge.  I have already run the most probable turn of events in my mind, no camera needed.  Vice President Pelton.”  He spoke as if stating conclusive facts, abruptly cutting off her response.  “Your conversation with Vinci veered away from the company vision and towards a sentimental philosophy of a childish prodigy.  He thinks he can put souls into mech, and yet mech are simply tools.  Highly advanced tools specialized for economical and intel gathering objectives.  They may entertain, but they are not soulmates.  Your failed attempt at gathering Vinci’s intel is to be expected, considering his skillset.  You suggest sending in a team of our best programmers, which I agree should be done immediately.  That is all for now.”

“All – all that I can say, sir, is that your reputation as a Mind Wizard precedes you.  Yes, sir.”  As she once again composed her stature, she secretly wondered if Derek had not set up some kind of spying device in Adwon’s room.

“No, I did not,” he stated as if reading her mind.  “No camera, listening device, nothing of the sort.  Remember, we need to build a bridge to gain Adwon’s trust.  You can start by knocking on his door next time.  Consider this bridge of trust as you hand select your team of programmers.”

Reese picked up her pace and headed for the stairs.

Copyright Tim Wilburson

Continue to the next chapter with early access and support a great cause at buymeacoffee.

Pilgrim’s Vision 2050 Ch. 1

Image: Sketch of Joma and Doctor Paul Orvisan

This book contains apocalyptic elements which may not be suitable for children.  All names are fictional except some historical names, and any familiar names are purely coincidental.  It’s sci-fi! For William, who truly fought the great fight and Diane, who taught me to never give up. To get early access to new chapters and more, please support me at buymeacoffee.

Chapter 1

Earth, Sector 1.4, 2049 A.D.

“That is why your land is in mourning, and everyone is wasting away. Even the wild animals, the birds of the sky, and the fish of the sea are disappearing.” 

Hosea 4:3 NLT

A colony of shadows haunted the jagged landscape, remnants of an ancient cave city.  The dry heat of the wilderness served well to distract from the hidden gem.  My armed guide Joma scanned the landscape, and our RS3-mech carried provisions for a small army, assuming the worst in this abandoned sub-sector.  The RS stands for Rover Supply, and the trundling robot conducted atmospheric readings.  

“Aster, halt!”  He could have just called my name and I would have stopped, but being ex-military and experienced security, “halt” was Joma’s favorite word.  For a long, breathless moment, a small dust storm blinded us.  Joma wanted to have a clear line of sight before advancing. Through my helmet visor, my focus switched on the air quality index.  He nodded, and we both removed our helmets with sighs of relief.  The tower of smoke became visible before any other signs of life, and we proceeded with caution.  The smell of roasting meat was a welcome change from the recycled air of my biosuit.

“Friend!”  A dry voice bleated in the common tongue.  “For a sip of water, I shall gladly share my story.”

Trembling in disbelief, I nearly tripped on my own feet.  “Paul?  Paul Orvisan?”  The dancing campfire authenticated the face of the old recluse.  Except that the body did not move for a long minute.  Then gradually, the head bobbed and hands surfaced in surrender.  My guide, Joma, had his finger on the trigger of his blaster rifle, his eyes squinting in suspicion. “It’s – it’s some kind of S-mech”; he peeled a mysterious gob off the robot’s face.  Not missing a blink, he riveted as a new shape emerged from the shadows.  “Halt!  This B17 is wired into my exosuit”, Joma warned. The emerging shadow slowed to a crawl.  “Hands up!  This blaster does not miss.”

The real Doctor Orvisan revealed himself.  Nodding at the cleverly designed sapien-mech beside the fire, he explained, “My stunt double, made mostly of clay. Had to be sure you weren’t here on a bounty mission.”  He studied my guide as if doing a full-body weapon scan.  “Kinemortophobic?”  

“Kine-what?”  The guide stuttered.

“Do you have a fear of zombies?”  The doctor spoke slowly, clearly, sarcastically.  He seated himself on a makeshift seat, and I followed suit.  After draining most of our canteen water about his gaping mouth, the disheveled man continued. “Everyone thought it was the zombies that were gonna do us in.  Nah.  Nobody goes outside anymore.”  Bolting up, he echoed “Noone goes outsiiide!” Then twirled in freedom under the purple open sky, his wild movements keeping my guard on edge.  After regaining his bearings, the doctor continued.  “There was that one zombie, but the robots took it out in a matter of minutes.”  His arm mimicked a firing laser. “Sorry, is ‘robot’ old terminology?  Some prefer to call them mechs or sikes.”

“That would be whatever you prefer, Mister Orvisan.  You are the genius who created the first revolutionary Mech models.  So zombies, huh?”  I exchanged glances with Joma.  My doubts of gleaning a trustworthy story were growing like weeds in section 2.3.  “What is your source on this zombie incident?”

“Genius? No, no, I am simply a pilgrim, passing through this wilderness.  Da Vinci is the robotics genius, the Da Vinci of a future history.  A master craftsman, he truly brings them to life. Have you invested in robotics stock? Definitely do so, but only for a few decades.  Ah, I suppose I have a great deal of explaining to do.”  The doctor proceeded to reach into a nearby backpack, cautiously under Joma’s watch.  It appeared to be a pair of cyber-shades, this one not as neat or slim as a Kruzer brand model.  Naked wires and chips swarmed the goggles, making it almost appear more steam-punk than cyber.  “I dare either one of you to try it on, though I must warn you that it will dig into your medulla.  You will see things, unspeakable things, future, otherworldly…”  Seeing that he could not sell us on the idea of strange technology piercing the brainstem, he drew in a long breath.  “Then I shall just have to tell you the things that I have seen.”

“Wait!  Are you saying you can see the future through those shades?”

“Not the future, a possible future, as no particular future is set in stone.  Now, no need to refer to my titles, just call me Paul. And for time’s sake, I will keep it simple, as much as possible.  The occurrence of the zombie incident is in sector 1.1, in the year 2068, a year when mech population approaches human population.  Then comes the Great Revelation the year after, the discovery of an elite group known as the Cloaked Kings.”  Paul fiddled with his goggles. “ The Mind Wizards, in their thirst for unlimited knowledge, uncovered the elitist identities one by one.  Nobody imagined the extent of the Cloaked Kings’ power and wealth in their lust to become gods, at the expense of the remainder of humanity…” A howling animal, a coyote I guessed, interrupted him.  The doctor turned as if addressing the animal.

“Right, that’s right.  Every animal species aside from humans and some insect species had fled away from civilization.  The incessant howling of dogs had announced the desire of nature to depart ways.  Many a heart-broken pet owner relented to the call, watching as the tails of their loved ones faded from view.  Among the human counterparts, some followed their scattered paths, fearing it to be an omen of coming disaster.  Poverty, disease, calamities, famine, much could be traced back to these ‘kings’, the ones holding the reins of worldly powers.  This is the cause for constant curses rolling off the tongues of many.  Cursed kings indeed!  The motto ‘pax et immortalitas in terra’ – peace and immortality on Earth – is that of the Mind Wizards, whose goal it became to restore human hope.

“It started with the threat of Parasitoid Z3, a supposed zombie parasite that infected humans.  Para-Z1 showed promise in a private lab, if monitored in a therapy setting, to rejuvenate dying organs.  Some rare parasites can actually be genetically modified to benefit the host.  Para-Z2 became the link between human and machine, creating a generation of cyborgs.  In a move of unwarranted greed, the Cloaked Kings pushed for Para-Z3, the key to human immortality, a flesh-restoring, machine-compatible ecosystem within a new breed of cyborgs.  Fictional results were promised via corporate advertising campaigns.  Unbeknownst to the masses, Para-Z3 was just another grand experiment upon the human population.  Only one subject actually behaved like a zombie, most simply stayed dead.  The most fortunate survived, gaining a mechanical limb but losing one of the five senses.  Backup to the year 2045, I threw away my ownership of Kruzer Global to pursue another set of visions, visions found within this pair of shades, and yet visions found outside of the strappings of human sight”. The shades held some irresistible draw on him, first lifting his arms with imaginary strings, then forcing him to shake his head to snap back into alertness.  “My son, Doctor Ian Orvisan, is destined to become a Mind Wizard.  He is the one who will improve these visors to give sight to the blind”. Paul’s eager smile caused Joma uneasiness.  “For I also was blind, but now I see.”

“Okay, great, sounds like quite the story”. I had entered a few notes into my e-log, mostly followed by question marks.  Not a story to thrill my boss.  “Found Famous Doctor But Lost His Mind”. 

Doctor Orvisan grabbed my arm in an effort to prevent my departure.  With a blaster held against his skull, he blubbered in agony.  “Noooo! Wait, wait, bibenbroba!”  

“Biben-what?” we replied in stereo.

“I can prove it!  Look, these shades generate a tesseract bridge. The highly sensitive gravitors connect to quantum strings”.  He lifted the device above his head, flipped a switch, and I was sure a sonic boom had hit us.  “Oops.  Did I forget to mention it pulls energy from nearby inorganic materials?  Ha!  That blaster is drained!  Say, you do know Adwon Vinci, do you not?  Then you can judge the future I foretell of him.  He is where the real story begins.”

Knocked backwards, my guide struggled to escape his useless armor.  Surely we had both witnessed advanced technology, emitting a flash of iridescent strings.  The fire pit actually had ice beneath a puff of smoke.  “Aster, you okay?” I slowly nodded.  If Joma read my face correctly, I displayed more curiosity than fear.  Adwon Vinci, the prodigy child, this was a name shrouded in mystery, perhaps even a story I could glean facts from.  My focus returned to Paul.  “I’m more interested in Adwon’s present,” I ventured.  

“Oh, no you’re not.  Not after your tender ears hear what these traveling eyes have seen.”

Copyright Tim Wilburson