Master Smoke: How to Save Our Civilization from Extinction

By Alfred Mielacher

A sci-fi story of enlightenment by a higher intelligence about the future of our current civilisation.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Dec 31, 2013
• ISBN: 9781491888001

Alfred Mielacher

Alfred Mielacher was born in 1956, the only son of an Austrian farmer. As a child, he was told that Gypsy blood ran through his veins. A century earlier, Gypsies on their annual return to help with farmwork during the summer months, had not only mended pots and pans but the daughter as well. After finishing his studies, he embarked on extensive voyaging to satisfy his inborn abenteuerlust, exploring what the big wide world had to offer in comparison to the small farming community he was born into. During his travels, he kept a journal of his experiences, which sparked a passion for writing. He currently lives near the Kruger National Park in South Africa.

Book preview

© 2014 Alfred Mielacher. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 12/27/2013

ISBN: 978-1-4918-8799-8 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4918-8800-1 (e)

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

Part One

First Evening

Second Evening

Third Evening

Fourth Evening

Fifth Evening

Sixth Evening

Seventh Evening

Eighth Evening

Ninth Evening

The Interim

Part Two

Prologue

First Evening

Second Evening

Third Evening

Fourth Evening

About The Author

PART ONE

First Evening

01.jpg

I t had been a dry summer, and an unseasonably cold, early winter was coming on.

I was sitting on the veranda of my guest house composing an email to a friend. As soon as I had sent my email into cyberspace, feeling rather chilled, I moved inside and decided to start the first fire of winter. In the lounge I had a Jetmaster fireplace that did its thing efficiently when the evenings grew too cold to sit out on the over-roofed veranda. I still had some firewood left from the previous winter. The hills surrounding the small town I lived in were covered in pine and eucalyptus plantations. Local sawmills worked the precious trees, which took about twenty-five years to grow to a sizable harvest, into floorboards and ceiling planks. The offcuts were freely available for the public.

Thawing in my high-backed grandfather chair in front of the fire, enveloped in Led Zeppelin ballads, enjoying a Milk Stout beer and smiling from the inside out, I suddenly became aware of a soft voice whispering, ‘I am here! Here I am!’

Oh shit! Someone had found a way in through the locked and chained back door!

Astonished, I turned to look that way. In nervous anticipation of meeting an intruder, I got up and walked to the back door leading out of the kitchen. But the door was solidly locked and bolted. Returning to the fire, I told myself I was hearing voices as a side effect of too much Milk Stout. I stoked up the fire and settled back into my chair again.

I pondered those words I thought I’d heard—‘I am here! Here I am!’—and wondered what my subconscious was up to. Then I heard the same whisper once more: ‘I am here! Here I am!’

Slightly freaked, I rose, saying to nobody in particular, ‘Who is here! Where are you?’ Then I started laughing. This was ridiculous! Nobody was here. I was alone in the house. I walked onto the veranda to make doubly sure that I was alone. And of course I was! Smiling at my own silliness, I returned to the fire and my glass of beer. I took a jovial sip—and nearly choked when those words knocked at my eardrums yet again.

‘Who is it?’ I blurted out, looking around frantically. Gosh! I had not consumed enough alcohol yet, nor any other voice-inducing substance, to justify hearing voices!

‘I am here right in front of you!’

‘What?’ I heard myself say, wondering if the email I had just sent was haunting me (not that it contained anything bad). I clearly and undoubtedly had heard spoken words.

‘Stop looking so worried and confused! Look into the fire and you will stare right at me!’

‘What? Look into the fire? Well, all I can see are burning logs!’ Who am I talking to? Who am I listening to? The last Milk Stout must have been past its expiry date and caused brain damage! This kind of ability to hear voices, causing me to imagine that the fire is speaking to me, only happens in horror films or children’s books, not in reality!

‘You are seeing right! It is I who is talking to you! And Milk Stout is not causing hallucinations!’

‘What? Who are you?’ I stammered, jumping out of my comfortable chair, stumbling.

‘Be calm, now!’

‘What do you mean, be calm now! What is this? Who is this?’

‘Is it true what we have heard the other day? Is that lovely lady really coming to live with you?’

I had to think hard what this meant, being spoken to by flames in the fireplace. As far as I knew, nobody ever spoke to fire, outside of books or movies. But I was not a key character in a novel, nor was I the main actor in the latest sci-fi production. I was a simple guy sitting in my lounge enjoying the warmth emanating from an open fire. Perhaps I should play along and see where all this was leading to!

Staring into the fire, I saw three brightly blazing logs on top of the heap of smouldering wood. Smiling to myself and relieved of any absurd pending danger, I replied, ‘Yes, Sir Log, it is a fact. Isn’t that just brilliant news?’

‘Sure is, because your home is in dire need of a woman. For one, this maid of yours is by far too lazy around our host, the fireplace; we heat-providers get too dirty before we are able to do our job!’

‘Hey, hey, hold on here!’ I interrupted. ‘The lady is not coming to live with me to clean your host, you hear?’

‘Well then?’

‘I know, I know! It’s my job. I’ll make you a deal. Your host will be dust—and ash-free before you guys commence doing your job tomorrow evening, okay?’

‘That’s my man!’ said the voice. ‘And you better get hold of many more of our kind, you hear? The storage area down in the garage looks rather bare,’ he announced, ever so stern and gruff. ‘Before the lady arrives, you understand?’

‘Yes, Sir Log! I will look into it tomorrow! At least I’ll try,’ I replied, feeling a tiny bit ridiculous conversing with a flaming piece of wood. ‘Now please tell me who or what you are. Having a conversation with burning logs only happens in children’s books and not in real life…’

‘And you are not dreaming or acting in the latest sci-fi production.’

‘That’s exactly what I was thinking before. Who or what are you?’

‘Master Smoke has chosen you to be enlightened about what is going to happen to you earthlings.’

‘Master Smoke? You are joking, aren’t you? Who the heck is Master Smoke?’ This is crazy! Chosen by some Master Smoke and talked to by fire in order to be enlightened about what is going to happen to us earthlings? This is crazy stuff!

‘No, it is not!’ I heard the voice say. ‘Trust me, you humans are in dire need of serious enlightenment! Master Smoke is the Superior Will and not connected to your physical world. There is a lot you Homo sapiens don’t understand. And trust me, it is not crazy stuff.’

‘Wow! Come on, give me a break, will you? Superior Will and such? What are you talking about?’

‘That’s for me to know and you to ponder over. The