Jesus the 15Th Messiah

By Charles Spellmann

On another planet, more advanced than Earth, it is discovered that a star appeared above a young planet, Earth. Legend has it that such a star signifies the selection of the planet for a visitation of God’s presence incarnate. Wanting to know more about how this works, and expecting their own visitation in a few years, two men are sent to Earth to observe how this business of a messiah plays out. They want to be ready when their own appears.

The two observers are sent incognito and manage to follow Jesus and assess his ministry. Satan’s agents appear and attempt to sabotage Jesus and his disciples. The observers follow Jesus and his band closely. There are many close calls for the two, as well as for Jesus.

Finally, after Jesus is crucified, the two return to their home planet. They bring with them three survivors from Jesus’ followers. They will become an integral part of book 3 of the series.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: May 10, 2022
• ISBN: 9781665559188

Book preview

© 2022 Charles Spellmann. 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 05/06/2022

ISBN: 978-1-6655-5919-5 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-6655-5917-1 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-6655-5918-8 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2022908558

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

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

Preface

On the planet Bigor

Bigor

The Warning

Ahna

Departure for Earth

Enroute on the Sprint

30 A.D. Pews

Lybur and Sathel

Temptations

Derxter the Dreaded

Jerusalem

Masada

Masada 2—Arie

Arie

Pharisees

Star Arrival

Sarn’s Past

Aleah

Wagon

Lish

Healer

Gaoll

Lish 2

Ticol

Derxter

Pigs 1

Pigs Two

Thomas

Derxter Again

Sarn Returns

To Gennesaret

Derxter Recruits

On the Run

Last Leg

Lish and Mary Magdalene

Sarn Lost

Find Aleah

Look for Derxter

The Decision

Lish Looks

To the Cave

Summing Up

Home Again

Final Scene

47174.png

PREFACE

Once Planted…. a seed will grow

T he seed of this idea, that God places messiahs on different planets around the universe, was planted on Christmas eve of 1944 in south central Texas, in the living room of my grandparents’ farmhouse.

The mesquite logs burned and crackled in the fire place. Embers glowed and sparks leapt into the air like drunken fireflies looking for a place to land before disappearing up the chimney, or swirling into the living room. None of the adults paid any attention to the glowing ashes, as they flared out before they hit the floor, or the lap of anyone sitting that close. The family was used to grampa’s fires; the aunts and uncles had grown up with them during the cold winter months in central Texas. Now the grandkids were experiencing these memorable—and thought provoking times of the year. The mesquite logs burned a little cracklier and faster than oak, but grampa was always trying to thin out the pesky thorny mesquite trees from the pasture; they didn’t make good shade and just took up space where the slower growing oaks wanted to be.

Several of the adults—children of grampa and gramma—now grown and with kids of their own, sat back in their rocking chairs and enjoyed the heat from the fire. Others spread blankets over their legs for additional warmth.

A few of the older grandkids were sitting on the floor trying to find that place which was not too close to the fire and yet near enough to be warm. None of them said much, as children of that day were expected to be quiet and wait for cues from the grown ups before they spoke. Back then kids knew their place when in the presence of adults: be seen and not heard. Besides, sometimes the adults said wise things which helped the younger minds integrate lessons into their own evolving understanding of life.

Uncle Bart broke the silence. Do you ever think of what heaven is like? We knew that he wasn’t trying to gather information on the afterlife—no one knew the answer to that for sure. But it was fun to share different ideas of what it might be like. Perhaps in the past year someone in the family had learned new information on heaven and hell and would now share it—how fascinating that would be! It was one of those topics of utmost importance to anyone who thought about the afterlife, but at the same time it remained a nebulous subject, as if the details were based on rumors. Or hadn’t been released yet for public consumption.

Rudy, my dad, wanting to show off his kids, looked at me and said, Charles, what do you think heaven is like? Everyone knew what I would say, as this was a favorite and regular topic when the family convened at Christmas time. There were no televisions or I phones or video games to take away one’s attention, and so the children—the cousins, we called one another—always listened closely to the stories and history and wisdom of the adults, filing away the details for future reference. After all, those stories, some of questionable authenticity, were nevertheless important lore of the family!

I sat forward on the stool at my father’s knee so that I could speak clearly. There are three parts to the world, I said. One, the most important one, is up in the clouds. That’s where God and the angels are. They sit around and watch us and keep score on how good we are. When we die, if our scores are good enough, then we get to go up there and live on the clouds with them.

There were silent nods of agreement from everyone.

What is it like in heaven? one of the aunts asked.

The grownups continued their slow, quiet rocking, their gazes locked on the fireplace, so I knew they wanted me to go ahead and tell the full story of heaven, as the family clan had been telling and retelling it for generations. They have golden streets on the clouds. Everyone wears white robes and halos float above their heads. I think to get in there, after you die, you have to wait in a line at the Pearly Gate and St Peter goes through his grade book to see if you were good enough to be let in. I glanced up at my father and said, You’ve got to be good to get in heaven! I knew that parents liked to be reassured by their children that we knew there were strict rules. There had to be, my dad always said. How else could people get along with one another? They couldn’t!

Aunt Marie spoke up. We know what it is like here on earth—not always so easy—but what is it like in Hell? She looked directly at me, indicating that I still had the floor.

The Devil is the boss, I said. Many times us kids had talked about what hell must be like, and we believed that we knew all the details, many of which we made up on the spot. The Devil is red and has horns and a tail and a pitchfork. He has helpers. They get the bad people after they die. If St. Peter turns them away from the pearly gate, then the Devil gets them. They are put in a burning river and punished forever with fire. One of my cousins couldn’t help but shudder at this image.

There was silence other than the sound of a few rocking chairs and the popping of the fire.

Gramma, wanting the exercise to be instructive, asked, What do you have to do to get in heaven? Maybe she thought that we had forgotten since last Christmas.

She looked at me, inviting me to give the answer. Everyone in the room had been through this exercise many times, but still enjoyed hearing it said again. Well, you have to love God. Lots. And you have to love other people. I shrugged and looked at gramma. That was all I knew to say.

Uncle Homer murmured, That’s the hard part! There were a few snickers of agreement; everyone knew how hard it was to love others all the time. And some people were so mean that maybe no one could love them for even a minute!

All were silent for awhile as each pondered their thoughts of God and heaven and loving others. Nothing new here. They were the same beliefs these good Christian people had been holding onto for as long as anyone could recall.

Finally uncle Arthur, who was perhaps more interested in religion than anyone else (and would eventually become an ordained pastor), spoke up. Can you think of anyone not worth loving?

I reflexively shook my head, as did my cousins. You had to love everyone, we had been taught! After all, that was what Jesus did!

Come on, you guys! said aunt Annabelle, a school teacher. She was the one who always appeared determined to remind the family of the down side to any proposition which seemed too positive. The room was quiet as we all waited for her to elaborate her statement. Are you seriously going to love Adolf Hitler?

The war was recently over and my dad had come home from the conflict but wouldn’t say much about it. He had been stationed in the Pacific, but everyone knew about Hitler and his evil ways. Although further horrible details would come out in the months ahead, we all knew that Hitler could have been the devil himself!

And so there was silence, just the rocking of the chairs and the crackling of the mesquite logs.

Well? Annabelle said. When no one answered, she said, I thought so! There are some people who don’t deserve to be loved. She scanned the room and no one met her gaze; how could they dispute what she had said. Even if we wanted to, we couldn’t do it!

Then why does God tell us we have to love everyone? said Arthur, his voice strained.

I have a better question, said Annabelle. The Good Book says that God made man in his image. Why didn’t he do a better job of that? When no one replied, she added, What happened to Quality Control?

There was a long pause while everyone puzzled the queston. I opened my mouth to offer the logical question, Can’t God make good people if he wants to? but I knew better. Of course God could—if he wanted to—couldn’t he? But why wouldn’t he want to? Intuitively I knew that no one had a convincing answer for that puzzling question, and no one wanted it put on the table; the easy answers to such large questions were always preferred. Everyone wanted to be in agreement and not have to deal with any conflicts of opinions. If we couldn’t share the same explanations of the big mysteries of how God made us humans, then …well, maybe the rest of what we believed about God and his intentions was on shaky ground. And no one wanted any doubts about the power and motives of the God who made us all!

The silence continued, indicating that no one had anything more to say on the subject. Someone yawned.

Grampa leaned forward and rustled the logs in the fireplace with his iron poker. A spray of glowing embers swirled up into the air before being sucked up the chimney. It reminded me of stars in the sky. How many times had I sat on the porch or on the limb of a tree and found myself captivated by the wonder of the night sky with its seemingly endless number of blinking stars!

I wanted to say something like, If God can make all those stars, why can’t he make people be good enough to treat one another nice? But I knew better. The evening was over. Grampa had called an end to the discussion; I guessed he figured that it was best to avoid doubts and arguments about God at Christmas time, the birthday of God’s Son, Jesus.

Nevertheless I remember being disappointed that the issue had not been put on the table for discussion. It seemed to be a simple question, and a most important one, too, as it went to the heart of God’s abilities. Could God not make everyone loveable? Of course he could, I reminded myself. God can do anything!

But then why didn’t he do it?

I lay awake that night, listening to the occasional owl or coyote, sounds of the rural nightlifeI Then, when we went home to the city I could replay the sounds of the wild animals, as well as the conversations about God and …the question of love?! The image of sparks flying up the chimney like stars in the night sky, and our family view of mankind as living on a planet which was the middle tier of a three layered cake, wouldn’t leave me.

There had to be more than that. A lot more! There just had to be, or there really wasn’t much to get excited about!

Those early years of simple theological discussions by my aunts and uncles around Grampa’s fireplace at Christmas stirred my imagination and left me hungry for more detailed knowledge about God and his intentions for the people he created. As sincere as the adults were, I had come to believe that they simply did not know much about God and his plans (assuming he had some). When I asked how I could learn more about God, there seemed to rise an air of resentment. Why wasn’t what I already knew not enough? After all, they had grown up with the same theological framework, and they had done alright with their lives. That’s all you need to know, they seemed to be saying. Why did God let monsters like Hitler kill innocent people? Don’t worry; someday we’ll know. Maybe. The important thing for us is that we be good and responsible people and love our neighbors!

I had just turned eight years old that December, and it would not be too many months before I discovered science fiction magazines. I found one lying on my dad’s night table one Saturday morning. I studied the cover, a picture of a rocket ship zipping between planets and other heavenly bodies. The scene reminded me of the embers floating up the chimney at Grampa’s house, and I experienced a sense of wonderment: did God make all those stars in the sky? And if he made enough of them, wouldn’t there be other worlds with people on them? I studied the cover picture more closely, and yes, there did seem to be planets scattered around stars, evidence of the cover artist’s idea of the universe; his painting of the universe was simply not complete without the suggestion of faraway planets! With people on them!

The next school day, in science class, when everyone was busy with their paper work, I stood by the teacher at his desk and tentatively asked the question, Do people live on other planets? Like Venus or Mars? I knew those were the two planets closest to Earth.

He seemed unsure as to what to say, as if he had not heard this particular question in a long while. He looked past me and his mouth worked as if his tongue was searching for the right words. Then he said, Good question, Charles. I have wondered that myself. I think they have new telescopes now, and they are looking for signs of life. The clouds on Venus make it hard to see what is happening on the ground. He smiled approvingly. Glad to see you with your thinking cap on!

I felt like I had been given a green light to keep asking questions about the way things were out in space, and how God fit into the equation, but no one seemed able to give me answers. I wondered if I could read well enough to understand Dad’s magazines. When I had asked my father about the stories in the magazines, he seemed indisposed to speak about them. Rather than inviting me to a discussion of other world possibilities in space, he seemed disinterested, as if there really wasn’t much to talk about, and shut the discussion down by reminding me of chores I needed to do. I never did have a good discussion with my father about the topic of other worlds in space.

We were regular church goers. The teachings were simplified lessons on loving everyone and being good, and didn’t seem to go much further than the lessons shared by my family at Christmas. One Sunday the pastor visited our Sunday school class and said a few words about being good for Jesus. He was about to leave when I threw my hand in the air and waggled it, the way you do at school when you have a question.

Yes? he said, smiling broadly.

Are there people living on other planets? I mean, if there are, does God look after them? I felt clumsy and realized that my questions probably sounded stupid! Does God send Jesus to other planets to teach people what he wants? Like he did here?

The pastor was startled by my inquiry and stared blankly at me as if I had been speaking in a foreign language.

Apparently he had not seriously dealt with that question and had no ready answer. He rubbed his chin as if that would stir his memory, for surely he had heard such a logical question before. Hadn’t he?

Hmm. Well, that is an interesting question. He thought some more. I don’t think the Bible mentions anything about other planets. He pulled on his ear as if that would further clear his memory. Then an answer came to him and he smiled brightly.

I think God is so busy here on our planet that he doesn’t want us to worry about other worlds! We’ve got our hands full here, don’t you think? He gave his bright pastorly smile and rose to go.

The Sunday school teacher flashed her church smile and nodded as she rose with the pastor. Thank you for dropping by, Pastor! she said. He waved in his friendly preacherly way and left the room.

Now where did you get that question? she said as she turned to me. I never heard of such an idea! She did not seem angry, just perplexed. She waited for an answer, and when I said nothing, just shrugged, and went on with the lesson.

What I learned that morning was that no one had any answers to the questions stuck in my mind. Furthermore, it seemed that no one had any interest in life beyond our own planet, Earth. Maybe that was the way we handled questions that seemed to have no conceivable answer. Oh, writers used their imaginations to create stories about space travel and strange planets and conflicts between other worlds, that was true enough. But no one wrote stories about where God was in all this. And that left a big hole in my personal theology.

Was God’s power simply not great enough to include other worlds? Did he have no interest in those other planets? Were there other Gods, each one in control of a planet, or an entire solar system like ours? That seemed important if there were people on those other planets, because we all knew that humans needed lots of help to get along with one another. I mean, you couldn’t turn a bunch of kids loose on a play ground without adult supervision! And grownups could be meaner and stupider than the worst of kids, one of my history teachers once said!

When I thought of it like that, it just seemed necessary for God to be supervising any and every planet that had people living on them. Actually, it didn’t seem to work too well on Earth because there was still plenty of hatred and meanness around. But if God did not set out some playground rules for humans, then things would be a lot worse!

And what about the other religions here on Earth? Like those in China and India, Asia and Africa? My friend Gene and I had discussed that one day and decided that those people had religions, too, which were supposed to make everyone act better. But, did their rules work any better than the rules we learned here at home in our own churches?

When we discussed the topic long enough, we always arrived at the same dead end: If God is all powerful, then why doesn’t he do away with the bad people? Or at least the bad ideas people have? We had no clear answer for that question, but we did agree that if humans lived together without argument and conflict and even fights, life could be boring.

Although uneducated, my grandparents were good honest hard working people. Once I asked my grandfather if he was satisfied with what he knew about the world and people and God. He studied the question awhile and than answered in this way.

I read everything I can get my hands on, he started. The full book shelves in the house confirmed what he said. Grampa was known for his insatiable appetite for knowledge, even though the printed supply was scarce for poor farmers in rural Texas. No, I guess I’ll never be satisfied with what I know. There is too much to take in and understand. He paused, wiped the sweat from his forehead and continued.

When we get near the end of our lives, we want to go peacefully. So we arrange our thinking and what we believe about things so that it fits nice and neat in a box, or suitcase, or whatever you pack away as you get ready to pass on to your heavenly home. Once you get it all packed in there, it feels comfortable, and you don’t have to wonder about all those things you never understood. Or torture yourself with doubts about things you did, things maybe you were not too proud of. But you make peace with yourself, and pack your memories and beliefs in the bag. And it is a great comfort to know you are ready to go when the Lord calls you!

He no doubt sensed the questions I wanted answered, my need to gather more information about God. Perhaps he, too, had struggled with those same issues as a boy, and was disappointed that there were no satisfactory answers to be found. So he said, When a person gets his bag all packed up, neat and nice, then he doesn’t want to have to repack it if someone asks him something he doesn’t know. So I quit asking those kinds of questions when I got old. I sure don’t want my bag to be messed up or still open or half empty when I go!

I nodded, the kind of movement which said I sort of understood and knew better than to ask for clarification. I sensed that a fuller answer was not available, and asked no more questions of my grandparents. I had no desire to mess up their packing jobs; I figured it took them all those years to finally get it just right.

What I did know was that my bag of beliefs was a mess, and only half full, if that. And still subject to question and change!

I did hold onto one belief which was consistent with my own personal theology: Different solar systems throughout the universe each has its own god. And because humans are so imperfect, a Messiah, a master teacher of good behavior, is sent to the planet by the god in charge of the solar system to explain how the humans should live together! And maybe each god had his own favorite brand of Messiah who brought his own favorite blend of rules!

That made sense to me. What didn’t make sense was why a God would bother making such troublesome humans in the first place!

I finally concluded that any alternative would be boring to God!

47174.png

ON THE PLANET BIGOR

F ar away, on Bigor, a large planet in another part of the universe, many Earth years ago, Sathel, another preadolescent boy, stared into the night skies and waited for something to happen. What he was waiting for he did not know. But there had to be something. Somewhere. Sathel knew much about the activities on his planet, as did any school boy with good intelligence. Lots of good things—and bad—were always happening around him and across the land!

Sathel wanted to have a more positive opinion of Bigor and its people. He had heard his parents express their dismay with the ethical condition of their fellow citizens. It was so easy to be disappointed –even angered--by the destructive choices made by humans! At times it seemed that no one cared what happened to anyone else, and few made an effort to change things for the better. His mother once exclaimed in dismay, People are so selfish and mean!

And stupid! added his father.

The boy turned around and passed his gaze across the expanse of night sky as seen from the roof of his home. He remained entranced by the beauty and mystery of all those twinkling stars, as if they were candles fastened on the front of a large dark curtain. And maybe, he sometimes mused in the magical way young and innocent minds do, the curtain would be opened one night! Wonderful and strange and magical places and people….and who knew what else…might then be revealed!

Like everyone else, he had been told there was a God, a magical being who created all of this vastness—including Bigor and himself and his parents. And all his buddies. Probably girls, too.

And the question was inevitably asked by nearly anyone who had a normal curiosity about the ultimate meaning of life: What did this Creator want for the people of Bigor?

Some said that God wanted his children (the humans he created) to behave better, for they were often uncaring and even cruel to one another. Sathel didn’t know of anyone who was proud of those human traits, but reports of cruelty and crime and war—and deaths—were in the news every day.

If God created all of the humans on Bigor, Sathel sometimes asked, as if it was a new question, then why didn’t God make them with some kind of built in guide or set of rules for getting along better with one another? There was too much meanness. Not that he himself had seen much, if any, but he heard about it all the time. And everyone knew that the leaders of the country were often frustrated and angry about their inability to change the many hurtful ways citizens treated one another.

Sathel asked many questions about the nature of God and what he wanted humans to be like. His parents, after awhile, told him to be quiet about the subject, because they sure didn’t know what God’s plans were. His father once exclaimed in frustration, after hearing about an act of cruelty in the community, that everyone would feel safer if they believed that God cared about what happened to the people of Bigor! But if he cares, muttered Sathel’s father bitterly, why doesn’t he show people how to get along with one another better?

And so Sathel, and many others on the planet Bigor, grew up hungering for a practical and meaningful creed of caring, a set of guidelines which would ensure more harmony and fewer fights. Most humans were not satisfied with whatever the self appointed theologians came up with, for it varied endlessly, depending on the vested interests of whoever was explaining things. And most everyone had at some time expressed their frustration with a Creator who had made people capable of hurting one another, sometimes for no good reason at all!

One morning in his classroom at school, the teacher brought up the report of a strange star observed the night before by several astronomers located around Bigor. They said it was a strange star, extra bright, and its beam seemed to point directly down to our planet.

The students were not particularly interested in this kind of vague information and looked bored.

One student, a bright girl, asked, Is the star dangerous to us?

The teacher hesitated, then said, There was nothing mentioned about danger.

The students politely waited for their teacher to say more about a star in space and then go on to more interesting subjects.

I don’t know what—if anything—it means, the teacher admitted. But some professor made a statement this morning on the early newscast about such a star being a good omen. The students stared blankly and waited for their teacher to give them something that could be of significance for their lives on Bigor. The teacher, her own excitement dimmed by the indifference of the pupils, let the subject drop.

After a few minutes, the teacher was surprised to hear Sathel, one of her brighter students, ask, Did that ever happen before? I mean, did a star ever show up anywhere before now?

The professor didn’t say. I don’t know how he knows that an unusual star is good, but I thought it was an interesting bit of information—the kind you don’t hear every day.

Sathel nodded and decided that he would do some library research. Can you spell the professor’s name?

The teacher did so, feeling some satisfaction that this bit of strange information had piqued at least one student’s curiosity.

Later in the day Sathel went to the library. He pored over the article about the strange star. For many people of religious faith the star is a sign that God has chosen to send a teacher to Bigor, a personal emissary of the Creator himself. The article gave more information about how the citizens of Bigor had mixed reactions to the news.

A follow up article described another star, the same kind of signaling beacon, which had shown over another planet five years ago. At the time there was curiosity among many of the religious peoples on Bigor, but nothing was ever done to find out more. There was some talk about sending an expedition to search out the possible meaning of the star, but no government funding had been forthcoming. It was not precisely known just where the star had appeared, and where it had pointed. After awhile, like most news, the story faded away. A few people still pondered the mystery of the star, wondering if it was indeed a good omen as some of the philosophers of the day espoused, or just a quirk of the universe.

Sathel was fascinated with the possible meanings of a signaling star, perhaps sent from God, the creator of Bigor. And Maker of the Whole Universe, if the broader explanation had any credence.

His family wanted to know how come he was so fascinated with such a vague and unverifiable idea. He couldn’t explain it. He just knew that he had to find out more about this star and its meaning. If in fact there was a God– and everyone believed that—didn’t they? If you didn’t, then it made a person wonder just what was really good in life, and why we should care about others, and how life began on Bigor.

47174.png

BIGOR

A nd so Sathel, the bright and talented young man, had gone through school with honors, and demonstrated good leadership qualities along the way. He could be shrewd and convincing with others who might believe differently than he. People liked Sathel, and his well established and respected family made him an excellent candidate for public office!

Within a few years Sathel had worked his way up in the government, and was promoted as the director of Human Safety and Security, a high office responsible to insure the general well being of the citizens of Bigor. When interviewed for the position, he did not mention the scope of his plans, which included gathering information about the possible significance of strange stars. He was sure he would be laughed at and probably immediately dismissed from his new job for not having more serious plans. But Sathel had no doubts about the importance of the signal stars placed around the universe. He felt an obligation, a compulsion, almost a sense of urgency to find out their meaning for the people of Bigor!

On the day Sathel was sworn into his new position and congratulated by his many friends and well-wishers, he was elated with his plans for improving the quality of life on Bigor. He did not tell anyone about his extraordinary, and yet tentative, plan to reach far beyond the physical comfort of people, and explore a spiritual realm. If that is what it was. He still wasn’t sure about the details of his idea, but deep down, for some reason he did not understand, he was utterly convinced that the star, which had appeared above his planet when he was a child, would provide a needed elevation of the morals of his people. How? He didn’t know. Nor could when be predicted. Not even ‘if’ was for sure. He had never before invested so much of himself into such an idea! However it ended, the outcome for himself would be major. He could be publicly ridiculed and removed from office, or if it went well, as he optimistically believed, Sathel would help provide something for his people which could raise the quality of their lives to a higher level than anyone would have previously imagined!

The public reception of Sathel’s election to high office went well as these events usually do. The government wanted credit for selecting such a qualified candidate, and Sathel wanted to present his best face and wisest words to convince people that he knew what he was doing to improve the quality of life for all. Most people thought the title and goals of the Human Safety and Security office were vague and invited very subjective interpretations by the director. Yet, the goal sounded good enough, and the budget was not that much. And besides. Who knew? The government program might get lucky and actually deliver something worthwhile!

And so the Star Bright Program was publicized as one of the first projects of the Human Safety and Security Agency, and a public reception was announced. The offices were full of milling, handshaking, smiling people. And then Sathel, bored with shaking many strange hands and murmuring thank-you over and over, recognized one of his oldest friends.

Toler! Sathel exclaimed. What in the world are you doing here?

Toler blinked in surprise, not expecting the question. I came to congratulate you, you old fart! Never thought I’d see the day when you had an office nice enough so that they let you hand out fancy cookies and watery punch!

Sathel grinned. You never know what is going to happen next, not when you work for the government. He gave his old buddy a hug.

By the way, how is your transporting business getting along? asked Sathel.

Toler nodded. tt’s hard work. There is lots of competition for those deliveries in space. He put on a smile and said, but I wouldn’t do anything else!

You always were the hard working adventurer! Sathel said. That’s one thing I liked about you. Still do!

It’s an adventure if you can earn enough money to feed yourself; otherwise it is a drag!

Are you and Ahna still together? Haven’t seen her in awhile.

Toler nodded. Yes. We are sharing an apartment. Still not sure if we want to marry and have children. But the conveniences of having a partner are mighty good!

Sathel spotted other smiling guests moving up behind Toler, so he whispered into his friend’s ear, I’ll call you soon. I have an M-15 contract for you! Includes a healthy bonus if you leave soon, as we talked about!

Thanks! I owe you one! Toler said, and with one more clap to his friend’s shoulder, moved to the refreshment table. He had not been sure if Sathel’s earlier mention of a possible contract was serious, and was now elated at the confirmation.

Unnoticed by Toler and Sathel, a man closely watched them as they spoke, a dark expression on his face.

47174.png

THE WARNING

T oler left the building with a lightness in his step. A contract with a healthy bonus? He needed all the business income he could muster if he was going to make the payments on his ship, the Sprint, and pay his share of the living expenses with Ahna. He had invested all of his savings, as well as mortgaging whatever possessions he owned in order to purchase the Sprint. He had committed everything to the dream of owning his own business!

He wasn’t sure he could afford to make the payments and pay for his living expenses. Initially Toler had seriously considered using the ship as his living quarters. And then, his friend Ahna generously invited him to move in with her. She paid all the everyday bills of food and lodging and covered whatever expenses that Toler’s few contracts did not. Toler felt guilty about taking this financial assistance from Ahna, but she loved him, and often added, It’s not just a business for you; this is your dream! And she added with a smile, And I’ll invest in your dream, because you are My Dream, and someday we’ll be able to marry and have our own Dreamers!

Ahna and Toler had never been happier!

Lost deep in thought, Toler did not at first realize that the sun had dipped below the horizon. He glanced quickly around and was surprised to see that daylight had passed and he was entering dark and foggy streets only partly illuminated by street lamps. Where had the day gone? He had not realized that the welcoming reception for Sathel’s appointment to his new job had lasted so long. Would Ahna be impatient? Worried?

A sudden noise startled Toler.

Frozen in his tracks, Toler attuned his senses to the night. There was the incessant hum of power feeding the city and gently vibrating the pavement beneath his feet. The street was lost in the deep shadows. The sound was foreboding and Toler froze and listened.

Suddenly there was the crunch of a heavy footstep.

Then the sound of another boot on the loose gravel, and again silence. The eerie lights played with his vision, and suddenly he thought he could make out a shape. Then the form dissolved in the mist, and Toler refocused, creatively—and increasingly in desperation—to identify a form in the dark roiling fog!

Who’s there!? he called out, now alarmed. He forced a shrug, as if that gesture would warn off any possible assailant, and walked on, imitating a casual saunter while his body remained tense like a coiled spring.

So attuned was he to the shadows behind him, that he did not notice the soft, muffled ka-thumping of paws on the pavement directly ahead! Toler didn’t have time to throw up an arm before he was knocked backward by the leaping creature. His head snapped back against the curb and all went black.

Toler regained consciousness with a throbbing pain.

A rough hand grabbed his head while another pulled open an eyelid.

Hey, you! Wake up! Wake up! The voice had a foreign sound to it, but Toler at that moment didn’t particularly care where the man came from.

Wake up or I will have Artha eat your belly! You hear me? Artha recognized her name, rumbled deep in her throat, and sidled closer to Toler, who could make out the vague form of the beast against his leg. As if on cue, Artha placed a large paw on Toler’s stomach, spread its long claws, and slowly flexed them, leaving four thin crimson lines on Toler’s white shirt

Two yellow eyes sat atop a reddish head. A mouth slowly opened to reveal double rows of razor sharp teeth; hot, foul smelling breath rolled down a rough tongue and into Toler’s face. The creature was intentionally frightening Toler.

You see, we’re not kidding around! Artha would love to eat your inards! I’ve seen her do it before. How she likes to crush human guts with her big jaws! The man chortled while the beast continued his grumbling, terrifying sounds.

I am to deliver a very important order to you, and I want to be certain that I have your attention!

I—I’m listening, said Toler. His stomach quaked and burned and involuntarily lurched, seeking an escape from the hot sharp claws.

Then here is the message, and hear it well! Do not accept Sathel’s contract! Forget the M-15 assignment! If you disobey this order, we will know, and you will die. Painfully! The man laughed while Artha, caught up in the excitement of the hunt and the smell of blood, flexed her paw again, this time causing a deeper wound on Toler’s belly. Toler could feel blood running down his sides. He dared not move, in spite of the sharp pain, for fear that the beast would be excited even more, and with a simple twist of his paw, disembowel him!

Toler was still cringing and holding his breath when he discovered he was alone.

47174.png

AHNA

W hat happened to you?

Ahna, eyes wide in alarm, reached for Toler as he stumbled through the doorway, grimacing in pain. Without waiting for an answer, she helped him to a couch and pulled his bloody shirt back to reveal the claw marks. Her face showed shock, and then her expression knitted together in concentration as she examined the wounds. Within a short period of time she had cleansed and closed the wounds with glue. Ahna sat back and regarded Toler.

The wounds aren’t deep, but they must be painful!. She sighed. Her mask of professional concentration faded away and traces of concern, even fearfulness, appeared.

What happened? Ahna gasped, revealing the first signs of fear. Toler could see her change emotional gears, leaving the mind set of the competent nurse to that of the concerned and frightened girl friend.

He told her what had happened. I don’t know how anyone knew I had been offered the M-15 contract. I just recently found out myself! Toler frowned. All I knew for sure was that the pay was more than good, and I was to leave soon. We agreed that I would be ready to blast off early tomorrow and that Sathel would arrange for my crew and any passengers to be there at the ship.

Sounds like someone on the inside found out, and didn’t want it done. Or maybe somebody else wants the contract! Is it a good paying amount?

Toler shrugged. Didn’t get to the details. He grimaced. He probably knows I’ll accept just about any contact if it pays more than my expenses. He recalled Sathel’s words at the reception concerning a bonus when the mission was done.

Just then the phone on the table next to Toler rang. He and Ahna exchanged quizzical looks.

Sarn picked up the call. Hello.

Toler? This is Gen. I’ve got to talk to you! It’s urgent!

What? Gen? What’s going on?

Tonight! In 30 minutes!

What? But…

Don’t argue. I’ll see you at Dak’s. Gen hung up.

Toler leaned back in his chair and tried to make sense of everything that had happened in the last two hours. First, his old friend Sathel, now head of a government agency, had offered him a business contract, one with no mention of the amount of pay. Maybe offer was not the right word. Maybe it should have been urged. Or commanded. Toler shook his head in confusion; he didn’t understand any of the details of the nature of the contract, or why it had been handled so secretly. Then Toler had been threatened with death if he did accept the contract. And next he was told that he must meet with another old buddy at a bar! He had best start keeping notes of what he had been told he must do!

Years ago, while still in school, Gen and Toler had been best friends. And each had followed his own dream in life; Toler wanted his own business, one associated with space travel, his childhood fascination. Gen became an editor. He gathered news from around the world and organized it for distribution to civilian news agencies.

Who was on the phone? Ahna asked, bringing a tray of food and a bottle of wine.

Toler’s face twisted as he strained to form a sensible context for all that was happening tonight. Gen. He insists on a meeting. At Dak’s Bar. Now!

She raised her brow in question. Does it have to do with what happened to you tonight?

Toler shrugged and stiffly pulled himself up. I’ll tell you later. I don’t have time to eat, but I’ll take a glass of that wine.

Before his second sip of the dark wine, Toler thought of his relationship with Ahna. She was an outstanding woman, and he loved her deeply. Ahna was an employee of Xerxes University with a degree in anthropology. She often helped evaluate ancient ruins on newly discovered planets. She loved her work but complained that the travel time was often a terrible bore.

Ahna was in her middle thirties and her parents had given up on their daughter marrying and having children. Although they had encouraged her to think for herself, that didn’t seem like such good advice anymore. So, they called Ahna their professional daughter, and tried to be pleased—or at least noncritical—about her untraditional line of work.

Sarn finished his glass of wine, kissed her on the cheek and left, feeling a sense of genuine gladness for having friends like Gen and Ahna. And Sathel.

Jo Dak was a tall, thick man known best for his burly strength and his body hair. Twenty-two years ago Jo Dak made the migration from Alker to his home planet, Bigor. He spent two weeks looking around the city for employment, and then decided to buy the bar.

Gen and Toler were drawn to Dak’s for the confidential atmosphere and the variety of its customers—which provided a most interesting setting. Besides that, Gen often picked up news from the colonies, bits and pieces of information which could form the basis for stories; he had made more than one news coup by haunting Dak’s bar.

Toler stood at the door and looked for his friend. Gen was easy for him to spot, sitting in the shadowed booth which he and Toler (and sometimes Ahna) often occupied.

Coffee, Toler said to the waiter as he passed the bar. A big one. Black.

Toler slid into the booth beside a grim Gen.

Are things really that bad, or do I not know despair when I see it?

Gen said nothing, waited for the coffee to arrive and Toler to take a sip of the hot brew.

Well? Toler said, looking at his friend. Here I am!

Gen leaned forward on the table. Tell me about your mission to Earth!

How did you know about that? You rascal—you’re not supposed to know about that project. It is classified! Toler sounded more exasperated than he really was. He rather enjoyed Gen’s ability to ferret out classified information and make it public, often to the embarrassment of government officials.

I’m scheduled to leave tomorrow. He glanced furtively around the room. That is, IF I go.

What do you know about the mission? M-15 is its official code name. Right? What is its purpose?

Toler studied his cup of coffee while his gaze carefully swept the dining room. This is a scientific-cultural mission, orders say. Should be routine, probably boring. Those sorts of trips usually are.

Think carefully, Gen said. Is there any reason why this mission would be of importance to the Internal Control agency?"

Toler tried not to appear startled. He sipped his coffee, paused. No, not that I know of. He shook his head. The mission files give no reason to expect any problems.

"What would you say if I told