DEM: Dark Energy Manipulators

By Thomas Szekely

Unfortunately, his talents surpass all known scales, attracting attention from all kinds of agencies. He has no idea how to protect himself and predictably, one of those shady agencies captures him.
Meanwhile, Sam his protector disappears into thin air, the only one who could save him.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Thomas Szekely
• Release date: Oct 30, 2018
• ISBN: 9783903287013

Thomas Szekely

I am a bit nerdy, love science, especially physics, and decided to write my own book after I read a particularly badly written book some years ago. Surprisingly, writing makes a lot of fun and I have a list of projects waiting to be finished. Those are: The Digital Supernatural (working title), will be published around January 2019. The Ultimate Virus (working title), will be published around autumn 2019. My left horn itches - again! (working title), will be published around spring 2020. My English is far from perfect and I apologize for my faulty grammar. Please follow me on https://xlmprz.com.

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DEM

DARK ENERGY MANIPULATORS

by Thomas Szekely

Dark Energy Manipulators

Published by Thomas Szekely

Distributed by Smashwords

Copyright: © 2018 Thomas Szekely

ISBN: 978-3-903287-01-3

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold

or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person,

please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did

not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your

favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard

work of this author.

Table of Content

Chapter 1 - Introduction

Chapter 2 - JJ

Chapter 3 - DEM

Chapter 4 - Interlude

Chapter 5 - TAL

Chapter 6 - ODEM

Chapter 7 - Exposed

Chapter 8 - Prisoner

Chapter 10 - Breakout

Chapter 11 - JJ’s Trip

Chapter 12 - Karen on a Journey

Chapter 13 - Kyla

Chapter 14 - Dream World

Chapter 15 - C’arrAk

Chapter 16 - A Fight within a Fight

Chapter 17 - Crimes and Consequences

Chapter 18 - Healing

Acknowledgements

I started writing this book - my first one - end of 2014. I started out telling a story and let myself surprise where it took me. Indeed, it took me on a journey I never expected to go, turning the story into more science fiction than fantasy and way more psychological than I could have imagined. Thanks to my friends, I finished the book, some breaks included, in 2018.

Couldn’t have made the journey without my friends: Christian who showed me the world of science fiction and fantasy books in the first place, and encouraged me to finish the book. He also helped me with the prologue. Nino who gave me invaluable feedback and Abel who is responsible for graphics.

Introduction

Steven looked at his wife and asked himself for the millionth time how he could have been so lucky to find such a beautiful, loving wife. A long time ago, he accepted that he wasn’t going to be the good-looking or special guy. True to his self-assessment, if anyone saw Steven walking by on the street a minute later nobody would recall any features about him.

At five-nine, sandy-haired, and average weight, nothing stood out… well, except maybe his loneliness and a heart-wrenching longing for a partner.

One lucky day five years ago in Phoenix, he happened to walk by a car accident, where a typical redneck at six-two with long greasy unkempt hair and attire to match stood shouting at a tantalizing, brown-haired woman with the bluest eyes he had ever seen. She stood proudly, her back was straight, and her demeanor showed a resolute and robust personality. She had a kind face with an energetic sparkle in her eyes. Those eyes bore into his heart and he felt a deep yearning.

She stood there looking slightly annoyed, trying to answer with gestures. Steven immediately realized that she had speech impairment and could not make herself understood. He walked over to the man, you know she can't hear you… so shouting is fairly meaningless.

Somehow that did not help and the guy continued shouting uncomplimentary remarks about women and driving. Steven asked in sign language, bothersome fellow, pointing at the guy, can I help you?

She smiled at him and the funny feeling in his guts turned into a furnace, oh, thank you for asking but I already called the police. The guy simply didn’t see the red light or my stopped car. He cannot accept his failure, probably something to do with males, she smiled again with a mischievous glint in her eyes as if she was testing his attitude.

Steven had to laugh. Unfortunately, I cannot disagree, even though it is treasonous. I believe it has something to do with testosterone or something… err, actually, that’s a poor excuse, I am afraid but the only one I can offer.

She gifted Steven with another knee-weakening smile and a coquettish turn of her head, "actually I am thirsty. Could you tell this idiot, I called the police and will wait at the booth over there? She turned around and walked the 30 yards.

Steven, never being the womanizer, did not even bother turning to the shouter and for the first time in his life, he followed a woman and offered to buy her a drink. One year later Steven and his Annabelle were happily married.

On the afternoon of September 2nd, 1964, Steven Moore stopped an avalanche to save his wife using only his mind.

In those few life-changing seconds preceding the incident, Steven saw their first encounter like a fast-forward movie in his head and the inevitable knowledge of losing her was simply unacceptable to him. He screamed his rage and helplessness at the avalanche and while doing so he pulled something into himself and pushed it at the avalanche. Annabelle was looking for some spring flowers one-hundred yards away and, of course, never heard the rumbling of the life-threatening avalanche.

A documentary film team happened to be on site and caught the drama. Having proven that the film evidence had not been manipulated or tampered with in any way, clearly, there was no arguing the incident away with a random rational explanation.

During the following years, first secretly in a military facility, the phenomenon was studied. Later on, in the nineties, information about this special talent crept into public knowledge and a civil agency was established to accommodate an organization for all those talented individuals who did not want to serve in the Army.

Public knowledge of the phenomenon enabled cross-studies and revealed a connection to dark energy. Later on, scientists named the talented ones Dark Energy Manipulators, immediately abbreviated by the people to DEMs.

JJ

I stood on a ridge looking at a churning sea of molten stone. The sun was red due to fumes rising into the atmosphere. I knew I only had a couple of minutes before the ridge I was standing on would be swallowed by this hellfire.

For humans, there was no breathable atmosphere. I was protected by a round shield, big enough to supply me with oxygen for hours. Slowly, I ascended roughly 500 miles away from this protoplanet to estimate the rotation speed. It was too fast and needed to slow down and I knew it would require a lot more water than there was now, a prerequisite for a fertile planet. There were two moons and a lot of asteroids circling the protoplanet. One of the moons, I would be sacrificing to slow down the rotation of the protoplanet and add a bit of mass.

I roughly calculated the angle and speed I needed for the bigger moon to crash into the protoplanet and pushed the moon at the right moment and ideal angle out of its orbit.

I looked down to the protoplanet thinking about the catastrophic impact the moon will have in a couple of thousand years, when all of a sudden, like a Rorschach, the shape of a man, hunched over, appeared in the churning lava sea.

Suddenly, I stood on a sidewalk and a paralyzing fear gripped my heart - I was looking right into his eyes. It was a brutal face carved by years of street fights. Tattoos covered his disfigured face, but his eyes, his eyes emanating from the malice and hatred were filling my sight and seemed to get bigger and bigger.

I woke up with a start, sweating and my heart was racing. Not again, I groaned. These eyes have been haunting me for a very long time. I got up groggily, still halfway caught in my nightmare. This fear and helplessness and this bottomless malice have been my companions for as long as I can remember. Every time I dreamed of this scene, I woke up grumpy.

My mind was exhausted as if I had exams in college for two straight days and nights. Years ago, I overcame the helpless rage I felt every time I had that specific nightmare but still, this is not a good way to start a day.

The first part was new though. It felt so real... the churning of lava and the roaring of continually tumbling rocks - half molten, half frozen - into ever new shapes, which compared to the hateful eyes leaving me unsettled. Somehow, I was the guy in the dream floating above the planet and I envied myself for my confidence and ease, something I’ve always lacked but continually strived for. I wondered if this was part of the old dream or some new story. Having new dreams would be nice. The one with the hateful eyes was getting old and it always left me unsettled. I sighed dejectedly.

Like I told myself so many times before, JJ, forget the whole thing and get on with your fucking life. But then I realized I needed something extra this morning to kick my grumpy ass into gear and I phased to my favorite mountain lake in the Andes at 12,000 feet altitude, a shockingly cold lake directly fed by a glacier.

Okay, I freely admit; I’m a romantic, loving this beautiful sight. Sam, my fatherly friend, instilled this love for serenity in me by taking me occasionally to trips into the countryside. He always found the moment when I needed time off. Then we made those trips into the wilderness, depending on each other, a team against all odds. Those trips soothed my tormented soul and restored the equilibrium I sought.

Just imagine the sudden change from city noise continuously murmuring in the background into absolute, deafening silence and a breathtaking view. On the other side of the lake, the mountain continued to rise to a peak, permanently covered by snow and ice.

There was a tranquility to this place, which always gave me strength and balance.

The lake mirrored the mountain and when I jumped in, it seemed as though I was jumping to the peak. A glacier feeds the lake, ensuring I could barely stay in the water longer than two minutes. I phased back into my bathroom and took a shower. First, icy cold, now hot water, my skin turned lobster red when the blood circulation started and I tingled all over. Such a good feeling!

Several years ago, we had an exceptional and grueling heat wave in California and after two weeks of heat, I needed a plunge into cold water badly, other than the sea. So, I had the idea to phase to a lake in a colder climate.

Apparently, it needed to be in an unpopulated area. I did not want to get caught by some nearby residents. I chose a lake in the Andes, which due to the altitude was always cold. A skinny-dip always translated into a feeling of freedom and raised my spirit every time.

One day, I phased to my lake, stark naked as usual. My mind was elsewhere, when I appeared in the knee-deep water about twenty yards from the bank, gazing at the lake. Unexpectedly, I got caught by women standing at the bank washing and chatting idly. When I heard their exclamations, I automatically turned around to face them and completely forgot I was naked in all my glory in front of them. One of the women, I believe it was one of the younger ones, ogled my private parts and me and commented, Bonito! Another one giggled.

I grinned at them, at 6"3’, blonde, shoulder length hair, green eyes, and a moderately muscular frame, I had nothing to be ashamed of and after the first shock wore off, I apologized for my sudden appearance but somehow the older women completely misunderstood my courtesy. When accusing me of being a pervert and calling their men, I decided a disappearing act was the sensible thing to do and phased back home, subsequently searching for a more remote lake.

After a nightmare, I usually looked like shit; feverish eyes with dark shadows gazed back from the mirror, underlining how much these nightmares put a strain on me. Two years with a bored therapist, Sam insisted on, gave me at least a way to cope. Now it took me one to two hours and I was my usual self, still not the easy-going Californian Beach Boy but good enough, I concluded.

My next important task was to get my neurons firing again - I needed my coffee - an espresso, of course. I’ve never understood how people can drink filter coffee they pour into a mug and run around with it. They even destroy any hint of taste by dumping sugar into the swill. On the other hand, sugar masks the taste of filter coffee, so it is understandable. I tried it several times but as a barista with refined taste buds used to Italian espresso, I never liked it.

I fell into my morning routine, reading the news on my terrace and enjoying my espresso. In the local news, I found an article about a shortage of DEMs in the area and even the Mayor’s inquiry into the local ODEM (Office of Dark Energy Manipulation) brought no response. Several dangerous accidents happened because no DEM was present that could have prevented it.

I felt a bit guilty and anti-social because I could have helped but then I would have to publicly admit that I have some unique DEM capabilities, following which, logically, some suits would then come along, looking somber and asking questions I did not want to answer.

My parents found out I had some very unusual talents when I was a kid. There was this incident one day when I was a toddler sitting in the food chair.

You know, those chairs, which are very convenient for parents feeding your child but for the child, it is a prison when he/she wants to get out and play with his/her favorite bear or doll and the silly chair will not let him/her get away.

I was precisely in that situation when I got mad but instead of crying and lamenting I told the bear to come to me. Very surprisingly for my mother, it obeyed and miraculously the bear appeared in my hands.

My parents told me much later, they were first overjoyed to have a child with DEM capabilities but then they realized my abilities were a bit unusual. Making an object disappear and reappear somewhere else is not the run-of-the-mill natural talent of DEM agents. My parents were children of the sixties; never trusting government officials and they kept it a secret. Consequently, they didn’t let me go to a kindergarten.

Several years later, one of my fathers’ close friends from his time in the navy, who is a DEM, checked on me. He did not detect any powers around me and said so to my parents. It was decided by the family council – being my mother and my father agreeing but me without a vote - that I could probably pretend to be a NOM when the agents performed the mandatory DEM test in school. Those tests started about ten years ago when it became public knowledge that DEMs existed.

I was early this morning and had a leisurely drive to Sam’s Café, where I work. Sam’s Café is like a living room and nobody has the urge to leave. Providing a homey feeling is the way Sam wants it. Jones, our chef, told me that when Sam bought this Café – I was still a little boy at the time – waiters wanted to throw out customers who did not place new orders after say, half an hour. Sam stopped this procedure and interestingly enough, we got more customers and they even ordered more.

The colors of the furniture in the Café are maintained in brown and red providing a warm and cozy atmosphere. Sam is a botanist at heart and the Café is full of flowers and plants. The front side consists of glass, which makes it a bright and friendly place.

The Café is in the middle of a busy street, highly frequented by tourists in summer and by business people in winter. Sam’s Café has a terrace, which is popular because the road runs to the sea, cooling with a light breeze. We are five people working with Sam as our boss. Jones, our chef and his help, two guys in the front serving our customers and me the barista behind the bar making the coffee everybody is so keen to have. Sam helps out if needed but mostly he’s in his back office doing the administration.

Jones, our chef is a gifted baker and the smell alone makes me swoon. So, when I entered, the first thing was the smell which hit me and triggered my work mode. Most people have a trigger which tells them to phase into work mode. Some have visuals like getting into a train station or their car and some need to see their workspace, for me it always was the smell.

When I first started working and had my first smell experience in the morning, I knew this would be my favorite place to work. Unfortunately, some days start bad, especially those when I wake up from a nightmare and find a dirty coffee machine.

Who forgot to clean the machine yesterday, I roared turning into the room. My coffee machine was the heart of the Café and not cleaning it came close to being blasphemous, in my opinion.

Sam appeared out of his office with an understanding smile on his lips. Sam was average built, about 5"7’ with deep blue eyes and dark brown hair. He wore his hair always short in a no-nonsense way. As long as JJ could remember, his hair style had not changed.

Sorry JJ, I let everybody leave early yesterday since our team lost its match against the Falcons. Everybody went home feeling sorry for our team and themselves. Sam tried to soothe my increasing grumpiness.

Apparently, I should have stayed in bed this morning, I mumbled to myself while cleaning my machine and filling up the water canister with my special water.

Sam came over to lighten my mood, hey JJ, it promises to be a wonderful day, the sun’s shining, and the first customers are waiting outside.

I’m not so sure about that, I grumbled. I had some bizarre dreams tonight of building a planet and again those crazy killer eyes on top of it; sorry if I’m a bit out of sorts today. I stood at my coffee machine polishing the chrome parts. These routine movements usually allowed me to find my peace after a restless night.

Sam looked troubled while he unconsciously provoked a slight tremor. It went unnoticed since this was an almost daily occurrence in California. Sam murmured to himself, this is too early - I need more time.

Sam’s comment and his tone sounded weird, so I turned back to him and asked, what do you mean?

Sam did not answer but looked at me frowning again, shook his head, turned, and walked into the back office. I followed him to ask what this was about but Jones shouted from the main room.

Shop is open, Jones called, at 6"1’, rail thin and no hair except extremely bushy black eyebrows, rushed to his kitchen to bring his goodies for presentation in the bar display case to go along with coffees. The line outside the Café was already impressive.

Our coffee is famous in the city. Many have tried to copy it or imitate it but nobody has matched our taste. There are some ugly rumors about me because when I am not there to make the coffee, it tastes normal and our customers complain. The taste of the water used for espresso has a significant influence on the quality and taste of the coffee.

Nobody knew that I did not use tap water, but funneled special water from miles below the surface into my espresso machine. The reservoir has been lying there for millions of years and was cleaner than anything you can imagine. On top of that, the water acquired its taste by an unusual mix of minerals, which had been washed into it and gave it a slightly salty and metallic taste. The water melded perfectly with our coffee beans to produce a rich and unique flavor. Thus, the legend of my espresso making prowess was born.

After the mad morning rush, I had some time to relax, brewed one espresso for myself and one macchiato for Sam. I took them outside – the sun was shining and warming our terrace - and sat with Sam enjoying the mild autumn weather.

We both loved and looked forward to our after-rush-hour breaks. It reminded me of my time when I grew up in Sam’s house. We always had these rituals at breakfast and dinner at home. After my parents died prematurely, I needed to feel I belonged somewhere and these rituals helped me a lot. I think Sam knew this and every time I felt the loss of my parents more keenly than usual, he was there like the proverbial unmovable rock.

Our Café is on a busy street with a lot of offices nearby and people were rushing to wherever they had to run. Business people always seem to be in a hurry. They are easily distinguishable from tourists by their speed if not by their clothes.

I wish we had a bit more space behind the bar, I told Sam for the hundredth time, watching traffic and