And the Sun Taketh...

By Leo Lysucor

A hero's endeavor collapses into a terrorist's best-case scenario for the destruction of the earth. A cataclysmic event inadvertently causes a violent 1000 mph tornadic whirlwind from the sun evaporating water from the earth’s oceans and lakes.

This lust-for-adventure sci-fi book about climate change takes on some of the world's greatest modern-day threats and global environmental issues as nature retaliates against humanity’s complacent destruction of Mother Earth’s environment. Will our hero’s environmental project send him further into loneliness? Will he self-actualize the saying, “the road to hell is paved with good intentions?” Or will his project save humanity from its global environmental issues and restore our relationship with Mother Earth?

It’s one of those sci-fi books that tantalize the mature adult reader, but it’s not for the faint-hearted. It might be one of the best sci-fi fantasy books to explore climate change and global warming as our hero searches for a way forward through the malaise of despondency.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Aug 1, 2022
• ISBN: 9781665561921

Leo Lysucor

Leo Lysucor has been working on this first book of his epic adventure novel for sixteen years and has matured concurrently with the novel’s characters. Hopefully this novel’s sequels will be launched in the near future. Love, lust, religion, racial and ethnic tensions are all within the author’s troubled perspective. He has painstakingly labored on the development of his characters, male and female, so that his readers will experience the author’s love/hate relationship with each of them and feel their moral and physical conflicts, their agonies and ecstasies. His fear for the future of humanity is palpable. However, he inspires a way forward, not through science fiction, but rather through science probable. His writing rekindles our heartfelt quest for the freedom to evolve our minds so that we can combat the challenges of life’s bitter realities. The author wishes to remain anonymous as current reality has taught him that humanity is severely threatened by its inhumanity.

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© 2022 Leo Lysucor. All rights reserved.

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transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

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ISBN: 978-1-6655-6191-4 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-6655-6192-1 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2022910902

Published by AuthorHouse 07/28/2022

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CONTENTS

Chapter 1     Cessna

Chapter 2     A Tornado?

Chapter 3     June 21st

Chapter 4     Terrorist!

Chapter 5     The Whirlwind

Chapter 6     Esmeralda

Chapter 7     Thank You, Columbia?

Chapter 8     Tomas

Chapter 9     After Tomas

Chapter 10   The Valley Hacienda

Chapter 11   A Shot At The Whirlwind

Chapter 12   Professor Natzi

Chapter 13   The Three Stooges

Chapter 14   Attack The Sky

Chapter 15   The Equinox Approaches

Chapter 16   Equinox: High Noon

Chapter 17   Living?

Chapter 18   Fill Up My Senses

Chapter 19   Uncompromising Reality

Chapter 20   Shark Busting

Chapter 21   Esmeralda

Chapter 22   Ptsd Therapy?

Chapter 23   Mountain Peaks Farther Than Mount Everest From The Center Of The Earth!

Chapter 24   Ugly American

Chapter 25   The Crimson Flow

Chapter 26   The Big Picture

Chapter 27   Dreaming?

Chapter 28   North By North-West

Chapter 29   Virginia

Epilogue: Questions To Be Answered In Book 2

I

CESSNA

T he full moon, rising in the east, reflects on the desert sand below with a warm, glowing, but eerie light. Pretty enough to be relaxing, but scary enough to make the hairs on Jake’s neck stand up. Or is it the possibility of the impending danger? The occasional cactus plant, casting long shadows, barely interrupts the hypnotic glow. They are flying five hundred-feet above the golden sand, heading south toward the Mexican border. Jake checks the instruments of his twin-engine Cessna. The muffled roar of the engines through his headset is interrupted by Bernie, his cub reporter friend and business partner, saying, Shouldn’t we be seeing that huge tower by now?

"Yeah, it’s off to my left, south-east. See that dust cloud that goes up real high. Keep looking up, higher, you can see the moon reflecting off the top of it, above the dust storm." After a while Jake feels a slight tremor in the Cessna that reoccurs, for an instant only, every few moments. He looks to Bernie to see if he feels the tremor or if he hears the muffled whoomp. Jake has heard it and felt it before when he had made deliveries to the tower compound.

Bernie does not notice it but continues talking about the dust storm. Not much of a haboob, more like an overgrown dirt devil. It’s strange. I’ve never seen a dust storm so localized. I’m looking, but all I see is the dust swirling. Then slouching lower in his seat and stretching his neck backward, Bernie continues. "Oh, now I see it, I mean, the top of the dust storm, although I can’t see the top of the tower. It seems to go up forever!" Bernie reflects for a while then says, "The guy that works in that tower, Glenn, we call him Dr. Glennenstein. Like Dr. Frankenstein. He’s weird, like a mad scientist. Can you imagine he works all alone in that place? Except for the security guard that’s a mile away from him, at the gate to the compound. He built an electrified fence surrounding the tower. The Director and I went to visit him last year. I stayed outside taking video. The Director went inside and talked to him. He’s the one who named him Dr. Glennenstein. The Director became suspicious when he found out that this guy got a no-fly zone approved around his work area, the compound. You cannot fly within one-half mile of his fence! You know what, he threw him out, that crazy guy! Then he fired the security company for letting us into the compound. Can you imagine? Throwing out an FBI Director! ~ The only thing we discovered was that he installed solar-batteries all around his compound."

Jake replies, Yeah, I know. That’s when I first met you guys. That’s when you hired me to fly you around his compound. The Director wanted me to fly inside the compound, to get close to the tower so he could get a closer look at what was going on. I need my pilot’s license, and I wasn’t going to take a chance with the FAA by flying in a no-fly zone. Besides, I didn’t know at the time that he was an FBI agent.

Bernie replies, "Don’t forget, you still don’t know that he is the Assistant District Director of the FBI. He’ll kill me if he finds out I told you. He told me that he was running a cloak-and-dagger operation and that we had to keep everything top secret."

"Well, you didn’t have to tell me. But after we completed our first flight from Mexico, and the Director took us shooting; then he told us to keep the pistols with us on all future flights: I figured it was time for me to get out. If you had not told me that he was the District Director of the FBI, I would have left. But we got more important things to worry about. The border’s coming. Get the first money bag ready. Make sure it’s the smaller one! You got your seat-belt on? I am going to dive down close to that guard station. Open your door now and then throw out the money bag when I tell you to, not before!"

Jake is on the radio and turns the dial to another channel and says, Hey, you on the ground, are you awake? Coming in from the north, look for the silver bag. Spotlights illuminate in his direction from the border guard station. Jake steers the plane directly east of it and then turns the plane to the right so that the wings are straight-up and down, and the passenger door flies wide open. Then as the plane approaches within one-hundred-feet west of the guard station, he shouts to his passenger, Now! Then he straightens the plane out and begins to climb as he circles to the north. "Try and keep your eye on the bag, Bernie! We don’t want to waste an hour while they look for it." The small red iridescent parachute holding the silver bag is slowly gliding down toward the US side of the wall separating the Mexican desert from the Arizona desert.

Bernie’s attention is distracted by the uniformed border guard scurrying down the circular metal stairs and then coming out the metal door. I see it, I see it. This time we practically got it right into his hand. Bernie sees the guard jump and lunge for the little parachute. Just missing it, it falls at his feet. He bends over and picks it up, pulls out the $3,000 in cash and the throwaway cell phone, and throws away the bag. He jumps and waves his hands into the air toward the other two uniformed border guards in the tower affirming that everything is okay. They got their thousand dollars apiece.

Jake is climbing but is concerned about staying below five hundred-feet, below the radar. The border guards would have already shut off the video cameras, closed-circuit TV, and infrared sensors. They see the spotlights blinking on and off, assuring them that it is okay to continue over the border into Mexico to make their drug pickup rendezvous. Jake continues his complete circle and heads southeast toward Chihuahua, Mexico. Within a short time, Jake sees a crowd of perhaps twenty-five Mexicans, men, woman and children heading north toward the border station.

Look at that, Bernie, those guards will make some real money tonight. The one in the lead is probably the coyote. They got to be paying more than $200 per head to cross over. Of course, the guards have probably got to kick up, maybe half, to their superiors. The Mexicans also had to pay the coyote and the Mexican gang from Chihuahua that patrols this area. It cost them a fortune!

Those poor desperate families! They’re risking the lives of their young children, walking across the desert, trusting the coyotes, dealing with the drug gangs! How bad could it have been to risk all this! Bernie asks incredulously.

They’re not like us! They have babies indiscriminately. The men marry several different women, don’t bother to use rubbers, have children, and bear little or no responsibility, unless they are afraid of a male member of the girl’s family. Otherwise, the girls get seduced, or raped, before they even reach puberty. I spent some time in Mexico, running drugs, before I got my pilot’s license. Those Latinos are some hot chicks, and they can’t wait to get it. Jake smiles ruefully at Bernie. Believe me, I know!

They continue to fly southeast, quietly admiring the moon’s glow reflecting off the vast desert and occasional rock outcroppings. Finally, they see the lights of Chihuahua on the southeast horizon, and Jake picks-up the radio microphone again and says, Hey, are you awake down there? Mira Chico! Mira Chico! Apre suo ohoes!

A pair of car lights illuminates in the distant, and Jake steers toward them. He reassuringly taps the 9-millimeter in the holster under his left armpit. Bernie observing this does the same thing with an affirmative, confident nod. The car turns around and drives in a straight line away from them. Bernie tries to talk to him, but Jake shushes him by saying, "I have to concentrate now. Just get the big bag ready! Then open your door." Jake is analyzing his sandy runway that the car is marking for him, looking for obstructions that may damage the plane when he lands. He dives down toward the car, turning the plane on its side, and Bernie’s door flies open again. Now! Bernie dutifully throws out the large silver bag with the red iridescent little parachute. Spotlights from the car on the ground flash around and reflect off it. Jake turns the plane around and turns on his landing lights. Approaching the car again from the other side, he can see that they are picking-up his silver bag, examining the contents and then waving affirmatively. The car spotlights go out, and the driver blinks the lights repeatedly as the Cessna flies over the car and comes in for a landing on the desert runway behind it.

As the plane comes to a stop, he hears Mexican voice telling him to look for the blinking light on his left. The driver of the car had called the cell phone that activated a strobe light on his drug package. Jake replies into the radio, We see it! and the car speeds away. Bernie undoes his seat-belt then exits the plane running toward the strobe. Bernie sees a rope attached to a shovel. As he scrapes away a few inches of sand, he uncovers many boxes. Jake turns the plane around and then opens the rear doors and positions himself to receive the boxes that Bernie is handing to him. There are eleven boxes containing various drugs labeled 1 of 11, through 11 of 11. They climb back into the plane, and Jake reminds Bernie to fasten his seat-belt. The tension in his voice betrays his anxious fear, the most dangerous time. They have paid the money, but someone may come to steal the drugs. They could shoot the plane down as he tries to take off. Or there might be a hole or obstruction in the runway and crash. Or he just might make a mistake, and crash!

Jake’s gaze is fixed firmly on the sandy runway ahead of him as he accelerates the plane and finally pulls-up on the rudder lifting them into the air. Jake is glad to see the taillights of the car moving southeast away from him. As he swings the plane around to his left, the lights of Chihuahua rise above the horizon on his right. Then he comes about and straightens out, heading northwest, back toward the border. He continues to accelerate and climb. He levels off below five hundred-feet and sighs with relief. That’s the sign Bernie was waiting for; he too loudly exhales with relief.

"Another smooth run! Three of those boxes were pretty heavy, must have been all cocaine. That’s more than last time. They keep increasing the weight, we are going to exceed our five-hundred-pound limit and crash!"

I’m more worried about them ambushing us, or maybe even the Federales, Jake replies. We dropped about one-hundred pounds of fuel on the way down here, so that means we can carry that much more weight. But you’re right, the earlier runs were all marijuana. Now they’re sneaking in the cocaine. Maybe we should charge more! Talk to the Director about it and see what he thinks. Keep your eyes peeled on the desert below your side. I’ll check my side. You never know, with the crazy gang wars they are having here, one of these coyotes may decide to shoot us down. I would not be surprised if they had AK-47s, grenade launchers, or maybe even a surface-to-air missile. Whoever sees us must know we’re smuggling, or else they will think that we are the Federales. In either case, that would be a reason to bring us down. Jake concludes his lecture, kind of enjoying creating the tension in the mind of his younger companion with these unlikely events. He hopes to keep Bernie quiet so that he can enjoy the serenity of the desert.

"Okay, I’m looking, but I don’t see why we have to worry about it tonight. We never worried about it on other nights? Oh, that’s right, we have a full moon, and we can see everything. No sense looking in the dark when you can’t see anything anyway. Maybe we should get one of those infrared scanners. We should at least carry an AK-47!"

Jake just looks at him and rolls his eyes with a huff, silencing Bernie for the moment. They see the border guard parapet appearing on the horizon ahead of them, and before Bernie can warn him, Jake quickly reaches for the radio and alerts the guards below.

The familiar voice comes over the speaker saying, "Take your time. We got a party going on down here! I’ve got the youngest teenage muchacha to finish de-vaginizing, and I’ve still got two more ports to fill. The coyote is sending up a seventeen-year-old, a nineteen-year-old, and twenty-year-old. They all look good too! That is only one apiece, but we don’t mind sharing with you. We will be working on them for – oh maybe - the next three-hours. Why don’t you park that thing and come on in and join us?"

Not likely, we have a schedule to keep, Jake replies. "But maybe we can drive back sometime to join you, get my young friend’s cherry popped! You’re really doing a young teenager down there?"

Sensing disapproval, the guard retorts, As if you wouldn’t if you could get away with it!

Bernie and Jake exchange questioning, incredulous looks while each wants to repudiate and suppress the stirring in their pants. Jake thinks about that financial freedom versus the moral question raised in the movie China Town with Jack Nicholson, Faye Dunaway, and John Houston (i.e., questionable motivations to perpetrate sexual depravity).

Jake ignores the morality challenge and says, Make sure the sensors are off because we’re coming in.

The guard continues. "Coitis interruptus, now this poor young thing is going to have to start all over again. You’re interrupting her training! By this time tomorrow she will have had ten guys!" They hear him through the speaker laughing then yelling at the girl, "Prende questo, apre sua boca! Limpia, limpia buono, con sua lingua! All right, let me get my pants on. I don’t want to get a scorpion up my butt. Do you think that we would have any of the sensors on with this orgy we got going on down here? Just drop it close, on the state side of the wall, don’t make me waste time looking for it!"

As they approach, they see a ladder leaning up against the Mexican side of the wall, with the coyote helping/pushing/fondling the seventeen-year-old girl up the ladder to an already naked border guard; his bald head, bulging belly, and his erection glowing in the moonlight. The nineteen and twenty-year-old women are showering under a hose extended over the wall. They look up at the naked guard and then exchange meaningful glances with each other.

Jake swings the plane around to the left of the guard tower and then turns a hard right and shouts, Now! Bernie looks at him with a surprised expression. Jake’s frustration surges, and he angrily shouts at Bernie, "What are you waiting for, get the bag, open the door!" They circle again clockwise around the tower, and they see the guard has the seventeen-year-old naked and draped over the parapet, his hands squeezing her breasts, his hips slamming hard into her buttocks. The other guard is at the top of the ladder getting undressed while the coyote is pushing/fondling the nineteen-year-old up the ladder. Bernie is reaching for the third and final bag, but his eyes are transfixed on the scene below. Come on! Jake shouts at him. Do your job! They circle around again and drop the bag to the bare-chested guard at the door on the States’ side of the wall. It goes over his head, and he chases after it. As he circles around again, they see the third guard is now naked and mounting the naked nineteen-year-old. Then at the foot of the ladder, they see the coyote pulling the twenty-year-old down to her knees by her hair with his left-hand, while he pulls her dress and bra down from around her shoulders with his right-hand. Having her in position, he slides his own pants down, using his right-hand only, maintaining his dominant control with his left-hand pulling her hair. As the plane rounds the north side of the tower, they see the first guard has retrieved the bag and is waving his arms affirmatively. Jake straightens the Cessna out and heads north. Before they start to climb, he sees the rest of the Mexican party is running in every direction, probably afraid that the plane is after them. But an elderly man and woman, tears glistening on their faces, arms flailing and pleading with each other, are obviously distraught and don’t know what to do. Jake flies over them and then begins to climb.

That must be the parents of one of the girls, Bernie says sheepishly, "Why doesn’t he go back there and do something!"

What can he do? Jake says. They spent a fortune to get this far, risking all of their lives. The guards have guns, they can kill them and bury their bodies in the sand, and nobody would ever catch them. The best the parents can do for them is to wait and to try to stay together as a family when they get settled. Jake feels Bernie’s compassion for them. They’ll get over it. When they start to make some money, and see the daily condition of their lives improving, this will fade into the past.

"I could never forget this if I were the father!" Bernie says with a disgusted tone. "Could you believe a father would bring his child, his little daughter, to a place where she could be abused like this!"

The girls are probably excited just to get away from the boring routine of their empty lives. The father probably never admitted the possibility of it to himself. He knew his daughters would inevitably endure sex, and he knows that it’s not the worst thing that could happen to them. Soon they may learn to enjoy it. It’s part of life, and life goes on. The older and wiser Jake concludes his pontification while thinking, "If this is not too traumatizing for them."

They remain silent, pondering what had transpired under this inspiring full moon. After a while Jake feels that slight tremor in the Cessna that re-occurs for an instant only every few moments. He looks to Bernie to see if he feels the tremor, or if he hears the muffled whoomp. He instinctively looks toward the tower.

Then Jake says, Wow! That sandstorm has eaten up the tower. You can’t see it at all anymore!

Climb-up higher, let’s see if we can see the top. Bernie demands.

Jake notices that the periodic tremor from the tower has stopped. He replies to Bernie, No way! I want to see it too, but while I got these drugs on board, I’m staying below the radar! And remember, the area around the tower is a no-fly zone. We don’t want to give the law any reason to look at us, so we are going to stay far to the east of it. Strangest dust storm I’ve ever seen. It’s all localized around that tower? Jake continues. I know of your Dr. Glennenstein. He’s not so weird. He built that tower all by himself! Jake pauses, his eyes growing wider. "Look, look. I see the tower now. The whole thing is glowing in the moonlight. The dust storm, it left the tower. It looks like it’s coming toward us. It goes straight up, higher than the tower. It’s like a tornado!" Jake pulls back the throttle and elevates the nose of the plane so that he could look up higher. The full moon is now directly overhead. "My god, it is a tornado! But there’s not a cloud in the sky. It looks like it goes all the way up, past the moon!" Jake abruptly heads the plane to the east. "Let’s get away from that!"

Bernie looks with wide-eyed amazement thinking, What a strange night. Then he sees Jake reach for the radio and change the channel to 16, the emergency broadcast channel. He doesn’t hear anything on the speaker, though, at this hour of night, he is not surprised. Then he listens to Jake give a warning message in the best broken Mexican/English accent he can manage. Bernie, looking south, tells Jake, The tornado has already gone far south of us. Jake scowls at Bernie for speaking English while he was on the radio speaking in his best Mexican imitation. Bernie wonders if Dr. Glennenstein survived the tornado. Jake finishes his alert hoping that his message will get to the border guard station and any inhabited areas in line with the tornado. As he hangs-up the radio, he is also thinking of the isolated Dr. Glennenstein. He had almost let it slip out that he has some business contact with him. After Bernie relayed the story of the Director’s contact with Glenn, being the go-getting entrepreneur that he is, he drove out to the compound and told the guard that he would like to service them by purchasing and delivering essential goods. The guard relayed the message, and Glenn agreed to pay him what he was asking, plus expenses, to make bi-weekly deliveries. Between this, the drug flights, and the occasional parachute school flights that he did, Jake was making a good living. He was fearful that this tornado may have ruined that business. Besides, he genuinely liked Glenn, even though he was a little weird. Jake remembered that he was scheduled to deliver to him today. There was no sense in him trying to sleep. He would get started as soon as he finished the drug drop. Then he would load his Winnebago with the delivery items, pick up the bosomy Velvet, and go directly to the compound first thing in the morning.

Bernie wearily comments, Today is the Spring Equinox, March 21st . . .

II

A TORNADO?

S everal months earlier, Glenn had been marveling at the progress he had made on his prefabricated tower, assembled almost entirely on his own with the use of robotic mechanisms he had designed and programmed himself. That accomplishment alone was worthy of the Nobel Prize. Now he is finished, and he is successfully testing, using barrels of sand simulating toxic and nuclear-waste, launching them to the sun. He fantasized: How surprised they will be when the Nobel committee realizes that I am not a scientist with a degree, not even a bachelor’s degree, just high school, an ordinary schnook who actually did something with his life. A common workingman who got lucky and won the largest state lottery ever, then applied himself with that money to help mankind.

-    A Nobel Prize shines high in mind    -

Glenn got a call from his security guard telling him that he had a pleasant man there by the name of Jake driving a Winnebago house trailer. He referred to you as a Dr. Glennenstein. Is that your name, are you a doctor? When he didn’t get an answer, he explained, Jake wants to deliver whatever you may need to function out here in the middle of the desert.

Glenn immediately invited the man into his office and discussed delivery of food and water, dry-cleaning, the laundry, etc., twice a week. Jake agreed, but wanted what Glenn thought was an exorbitant price. Rather than dicker with him on the price, as Jake had expected, Glenn asked simply if he would also haul away the garbage. Jake readily agreed. Glenn said, You’ve got a deal, provided that you will also haul away the sewage. Glenn had several porta toilets lined up near the tower, and the company that provided them only come once every six months to swap them, as he was so far out in the desert. The stench of them was getting to be unbearable, and the toilet inside his house trailer was also full and stinking. Glenn was amused, anticipating Jake squirming and trying to save the deal while still getting out of this onerous task.

But Jake surprised Glenn. He immediately examined Glenn’s house trailer and determined that he could pump out Glenn’s sewage into his Winnebago’s sewage storage-tank, and then he would dispose of it at a pump-out station. He said he would flush it out with freshwater so that the house trailer would be bearable again. Now Glenn squirmed a bit as he realized he had committed to an expensive deal. You son of a gun, I never thought you could do it! Glenn said laughingly.

Jake joined his laughter and said, Just watch me. He pulled his trailer beside Glenn’s, immediately connected the two pump-out hoses together, slid under the rear of his Winnebago where the sewage pump was located, reversed two wires, then ran his Winnebago’s pump in reverse direction, sucking sewage out of Glenn’s vehicle into his.

Glenn was quite impressed with this, and paid him for a week in advance and gave him a list of purchases to make for him, reminding him to bring the receipts. He also gave him a bag full of dirty clothes and asked him to return as soon as possible. Jake said he would be back in two days with everything. Then Jake said that he knew an attractive young woman who could clean his office and trailer and do his laundry and cook for him. Glenn said that would take too long, and he didn’t want anybody hanging around there, distracting him. Then Jake said, Well, maybe she could just clean your pipes? Glenn agreed to give that a try.

Two days later Jake brought Glenn a big-titted, yet skinny hooker called Velvet, who was particularly attractive. She was tall with fair hair and complexion, a full-bodied woman of Eastern European descent. Glenn was always busy keeping his automated construction going and trying to anticipate problems, so all he would ever have time for from any hooker was a quick blow-job. Also, as long as the woman had no obvious signs of disease around or in her mouth, he felt safe from catching any venereal diseases. Even though he had heard you can get AIDS from a blow-job, he believed that the precaution of looking into her mouth was enough to assure safety. He had read an article when AIDS had first appeared, and it said that the disease was resident only in deep body fluids, and it could only be transmitted via blood to blood, or semen to blood. The article tracked the spread of the disease and found that it was transmitted via blood transfusions, shared intravenous needles, mostly between drug addicts, and anal sex that resulted in rectal bleeding, mostly between male homosexuals. The few other unexplained cases at that time included a small child who had not been exposed to these perils. Glenn had concluded it must have been from mosquitoes biting a diseased person then transmitting it to the next person it bit, as Glenn couldn’t see any contamination difference between a mosquito’s proboscis and a shared intravenous needle. Since that time, he took prudent precautions against mosquitoes feeding on him and avoided being anywhere that he might find both mosquitoes and homos. He didn’t believe that any deep body fluids from a prostitute licking and sucking his cock could pass into his body’s deep fluids, as there is no fluid absorption into a man’s penis. It ejaculates out fluid but does not take in any fluids. But he thought it prudent just as well to check out all the prostitutes’ mouths before agreeing to a blow-job. He said hello to Velvet, shaking her hand, and complimented her on her big tits.

You like them, she replied. They cost me plenty. Then she added, anxious to get down to business. What will it be?

She was immaculate, but he figured better safe than sorry. He placed his finger on her chin saying, Let me look in your mouth.

What are you, a frustrated dentist! she countered but then quickly opened wide.

Glenn, looking in her mouth, said, Very nice, then continued. No, not a frustrated dentist, but I do like to see where I’m going to be coming. Then as an afterthought he added with feigned passion, deepening his voice. It turns me on. He squeezed her titties and then immediately withdrew his hands; the implants felt strangely unnatural, and he didn’t want any distractions from his enjoyment. She only noticed his interest in her breasts, so she unbuttoned her blouse, revealing both of them defying gravity and pointing straight at him. Gazing at her tits defying gravity, he said aloud, "Antigravity, the solution to all my problems!"

-    That pensive glow returned, but then,

A plummeting to earthy again.    -

Velvet, appreciating his strangely intense gaze at her breasts, replied, That’s what I’m here for. So, it’s going to be a blow-job, money first.

Glenn dug out the money from his wallet and handed it to her saying, You wouldn’t quit on me while I was coming, would you? He had bad, terribly frustrating, coitus interruptus experiences before, and he didn’t want to spend all this money and end-up more sexually frustrated than before. He backed up and sat on the desk.

Of course not. I’m a pro! she replied, almost insulted that he didn’t recognize her professionalism. She grabbed the only chair in the office, rolled it between his legs, and slid his pants and underwear off one leg only. The floor was dirty, and she didn’t want to let his pants and underwear touch it.

For an extra $30, I’ll throw in a rim-job. Then she began licking the tip of his cock and up and down its length, then his balls, and then sucked it deep into her throat.

"What is a rim-job? I have heard the expression before but wasn’t quite sure I understood it. It can’t be what I think!" His voice was thickening, as was his penis, as Velvet plied her trade.

"That’s what it is; exactly what you are thinking."

What? His normal voice returned as he was somewhat shocked at being so blatantly confronted with this reality. But then he added. Aahh. Before or after?

She paused her activity saying, Usually before, but make it $50 and I’ll do both before and after.

"I don’t think so. Why would anybody want that anyway! And what about you catching a venereal infection?" Glenn inquires, genuinely alarmed for her.

I told you I’m a pro. I carry soapy disinfectant wipes. I don’t go there until I know it’s clean. I can tell you just took a shower before I came here, so I know you’re clean. If I smell anything bad, I clean it first. Otherwise, you could die in this business. After I tickle you there with my moist specialty, you will be ruined for those average women, and the hairs on your butt will be yearning for my return. As she says this, she smiles invitingly and tickles around his anus with the long fingernail of her index finger.

Glenn winces with agonizing delight from her expert touch, but says, No, I’ve given you enough money for this trip. He is thinking, "This beautiful woman - how could she be so gross! I should tell her how deadly E.coli can be, but she must already know that…surely, she does. I’m glad I won’t be kissing her."

How about I give you a free sample, she says then extends and wiggles her tongue while moving her head below his testicles.

Glenn grabs the top of her hair and redirects her back to the head of his penis, saying firmly, No, just a blow-job.

-    An intercourse not well designed,

For beings of a golden kind    -

He groans and finishes coming within one minute.

She walks to the bathroom and comes back. Glenn, staring at her tits, observes how they barely move, surprised that they have no bounce at all even though she is taking very prominent steps, as though they have a strategic mission of their own, separate from Velvet’s. Her breast implants must be made of that new lighter-than-air silicone the Pentagon developed, he thinks as she produces a warm washcloth and caresses his cock, balls, and ass with it.

"That was great!" he says aloud, the relief of sexual tension evident in his voice.

-    Whose urgent dreams must arch above,

The earth’s obscene corrupting love.    -

Again, she tries tickling his ass with her finger, saying, "You sure you don’t want to try a little after-sex delight, no charge!" He sits-up abruptly on the desktop shaking his head, no. She is helping him replace his underwear and pants. He was already thinking of the possibilities of lighter-than-air products in his endeavor as he turns his hands, palms-up, under her tits and lightly strums upward with his finger-tips. Now they respond, bouncing to his buoyancy test. He smiles with scientific gratification.

Seeing his obvious enjoyment playing with her breast, she is gratified with her investment. I told you that I was a pro. she says as Jake comes through the door carrying water to the water-cooler.

"Wow! Check them titties out! I got to have some of that!" Jake exclaims.

Can you afford them? Velvet asks, arching her back - proudly displaying her bare breast to him.

Glenn said, It’s on me, Jake. You can consider it a tip.

Well thank you, sir! Jake replied, mocking a subservient bow. "I do believe that this be the best-ist tip - I done ever had!"

They all laughed and Velvet said, Well, what will it be; a blow-job?

No, I’m going to suck those titties while I cum deep into your pussy! Jake boasted playfully. Then he added, looking around. Glenn, can we use your trailer, there’s no place to lie down here? I already have my trailer loaded up with your stuff. Glenn shook his head negatively. He didn’t want Velvet or any strangers in his trailer, or even out of his sight. They might be a spy, or a reporter, or whatever. It would be a breach of his security. Besides, he had $50,000 in cash hidden in there.

Velvet, happy to be making extra money on this one trip into the desert, said, Don’t worry big boy, I can take care of you right here. Just get your pants and shirt off, keep your shoes on, the floor is dirty. Then turning to Glenn, she said, Money first.

Glenn took out his wallet and gave her only half of what he had previously paid her, saying in response to her surprised expression, That should be plenty, after all I already paid you for your traveling time. She nodded, disappointed, and took the money and stashed it in her purse. She told the now naked Jake except for his shoes and socks, to sit on the armless chair, and she sat on the desk and took off her skirt and panties taking care not to let them touch the dirty floor. Then she straddled Jake on the chair placing her tits in his face and reached down between his legs and began playing with his cock. Glenn’s curiosity was satisfied as to how this professional had solved the problem, and he returned to his work. He checked the computer monitors to see that the automated tower construction showed no problems. He completely tuned out Jake and Velvet’s low sensual groans and mutterings. He checked the TV screens to see that the security cameras revealed no problems, remaining undistracted by the noise of them positioning on the chair as she got his cock into her. He phoned the security gate and inquired of the day’s scheduled deliveries of construction material, barely noticing the loud squeaking of the chair as Jake and Velvet violently bounced on it. He stood over the high table and looked over his tower’s construction plans while glancing out the window at his tower and began to calculate the progress made thus far and how many more deliveries of construction material it would take to finish. His eyebrows cocked, his gaze narrowed, and his shoulder hunched forward as he poured his concentration into the question of how many more orders he should place for next week’s deliveries. He thought, The tower, my ‘Big Straw’, could be finished in a few weeks. Then I can have the vacuum of space-suck-up the barrels of toxic-waste and propel them to the sun’s South-Pole.

Meanwhile, Jake and Velvet were going strong. The little chair was getting a workout, Jake grabbing under the seat to push up into her pussy, the heels of his shoes pressing against the dirty cement floor with each hip thrust; Velvet pulling on the back of the chair to lift up from his cock while pressing her boots to the floor to gain more lift; and the little secretary chair responding to this onslaught of activity by rolling first forward then sideways, then backwards and eventually navigating all the way across the office where it would bang loudly against the wall several times before it would bounce free and then proceed to the other wall and then back again against the desk, squeaking loudly as though it were being violated.

In spite of his intense concentration, Glenn’s subconscious mind couldn’t ignore the activity it picked-up from his peripheral vision. His shoulders straightened up and his eyes shifted back and forth with a look of even greater intensity; his forehead wrinkled severely. Glenn gave up. He turned from his concentration and gazed on this scene before him with a look of mesmerized incredulity. He couldn’t fathom what he was looking at: shoes and boots each struggling against each other’s efforts; the chair being pulled in and out, up and down; the springs and wheels squeaking and squealing like a frightened pig. This was a domestic chair, not some wild animal. It should have been protected from this sadistic, wanton ride! Jake struggled to breathe through his nose, with sweat pouring down his face and his mouth gorged with tit, as though it was about to explode in his mouth like a missile penetrating its target. His back was slamming against the back of the chair, and Velvet was somehow still able to maintain her professional, dignified air, with her hips orchestrating all this wild activity, with her one free titty aloofly pointed at some sinister spot on the ceiling, as though it had other coordinates in its guidance system. Glenn forgot to breathe. He was so absorbed into this quirky yet nightmarish scene. His heart stopped beating, yet the squealing, squeaking continued. Glenn’s eyes got wider and wider with this prolonged plundering of his hospitality, of this unending assault on his civility. The mounting tension, how could it go on!?! . . . Then it happened. Jake began to moan with the anticipation of that grateful anguishing release - - -

K A B L O O M ! ! !

The little chair exploded. The seat went one way; the wheels went another; the back went flying to that targeted spot on the ceiling. Velvet, screaming, fell backwards onto the dirty cement floor. Jake’s eyes were terrified as her tit fell out of his mouth; AAHHUUURR!!! He whined with a horrified expression on his face as he then saw his cock slip out of her pussy, . . . just in time for one little squirt of a miniature orgasm … before his ass hit the hard floor and he rolled onto his side crying, "MOTHER FUCKER - - - WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT!!!"

Glenn exploded with shrill laughter that came from some asylum deep within him. He laughed so hard his legs were getting weak under him. Tears streamed down his face. There was no place to sit, and he was unable to stand. He fell to his knees and rocked with laughter, pointing at Velvet and Jake, who were rolling from side to side on the dirty floor in shock, trying to understand what had happened to them.

"Where’s the fucking chair!" Velvet yelled, looking everywhere for it.

"THE FUCKING CHAIR?!?" Jake retorted in a sexual rage, "WHERE’S MY FUCKING BALLS!! HOLY SHIT! You’re worried about the chair! - YOU FUCKING CUNT! - WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO!!"

"ME?!? WHAT DID I DO??" Velvet angrily challenged Jake, "ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR FUCKING MIND!?!"

"The chair had an orgasm; and explosive orgasm!" Glenn managed to stammer between fits of laughter, She’s a PRO! Then he added the lines from Steinbeck’s play: Those well-laid plans of mice and men!

They gawked at him and then at each other quizzically.

What the fuck?!? Jake said in response.

This just tickled Glenn even more! He was laughing so hard at them he had to get-up and run outside. He just couldn’t take it anymore! They got up and followed him outside, as if the solution of the chair was out there. They were yelling and cursing at each other, obviously not hurt. Jake had found his balls right where they were supposed to be—obviously not hurt either, but seriously humiliated!

Glenn tried not to look at Jake and Velvet as he was in pain from his laughter. When he saw them hosing each other off with the garden hose, naked except for her boots and his shoes, and trying to dry off with paper towels, it sent him off into another eruption of painful laughter again. Jake and Velvet shouted epitaphs at each other; frustrated by their sexual debacle and Glenn’s incessant, maniacal laughter. They got their clothes on, climbed into Jake’s Winnebago and drove away without saying anything to Glenn.

It took Glenn a long time before he could concentrate as he had visions of their episode and it started his laughter all over again. He knew that people needed to laugh. That’s why so many comedians are successful. He obviously had an overwhelming, pent-up need to laugh, as his laughter had been hysterical. Velvet and Jake must have thought he was insane: "The mad scientist!" But it purged his mind, and he was able to re-dedicate himself to his experiments. Though Jake brought other women to him occasionally, Velvet was his favorite. He found out that she was a single mother of a brilliant twelve-year-old daughter; the result of an illicit love affair with a married Japanese man. So, she had to be cautious as to not make her daughter suspicious of her activities. She had been saving to buy a farmhouse in a better neighborhood where she could keep her daughter away from the gangs of aggressive Hispanic and black boys at the high school where she was living now. She had heard how they gather around the girls and feel them up. They even got the other girls (their prior conquests) to browbeat, threaten, then punch the new girls (saying You think your ass is too good for my friends) until they submitted to a sexual initiation.

As time went by, Glenn’s experiments determined that the vacuum of space would not be adequate to suck the containers up, so he decided to boost them up the ‘Big Straw’ using compressed air. He had massive cement chambers built underground all around the area. Then he installed huge air-compressors to rapidly fill these chambers by pumping and compressing the air, which would then be released with explosive force into the base of the ‘Big Straw’, propelling the container up into space, toward the solar South-Pole. Then he did some test launchings. He used barrels filled with sand to simulate the nuclear-waste. Each barrel had a unique radio transmitter signal and also had strobe lights on them. This way he could track their progress to the sun. He also had them equipped with an automatically deploying parachute in the event any would fall back to earth. Glenn saw that his testing worked, and then he decided to increase the volume of the compressed air, increasing the explosive force, to maximize their acceleration; the ‘Big Straw’ became his ‘Big Cannon’.

Anticipating problems, and taking advantage of volume discount, Glenn had ordered ten-thousand test barrels. To his surprise, he had only a few problems, and those ended when he gave up the Big Straw in favor of the Big Cannon concept. He tracked the launched canisters visibly with a telescope until they soon got lost against the sun’s brilliance. He then tracked them with the radio transmitter, which signaled each barrel’s unique identifying number, its celestial coordinates, and the temperatures it was encountering. Their radio transmitter and thermometer were packaged to withstand higher temperatures than the rest of the barrel was. Therefore, they would transmit info back even after the barrels had melted in the sun’s heat. He was able to determine that they were definitely falling into the sun and burning up before he lost the radio signal. The final highest temperature readings confirmed that the transmitter package was also burning-up. The barrel’s residual orbit speed (from the earth’s orbital speed of 66,000 miles-per-hour) would slow to 41,000 miles-per-hour as it passed far below the earth’s South-Pole, beyond the earth’s gravitational effect. Then due to the sun’s gravitation, the barrel would accelerate as it fell into the sun’s corona, which was about one-million-degrees-Fahrenheit. Using a sun blocker on his telescope, he could see in the south-western sky, the bright strobe on each of the barrels. They looked as though they were huddling together in a straight line at a point over a million-miles away. Then the leading ones would peel off, like fighter planes, and fall toward the Sun’s South-Pole with an ever-growing space between them as they accelerated under the sun’s gravitational pull.

Then it was time for volume testing, time to stress his Big Cannon to assure that it wouldn’t fail him while launching the nuclear-waste. He adjusted the automatic computer controls to slowly increase the speed of the whole system. When he got to one launching in every thirty-five seconds, he concluded that was fast enough. A week went by. He was getting bored with all this testing, and everything was working fine. Glenn had already contracted for the disposal of chemical-waste, and the shipments would be coming soon. He was anxious to finally get started. To further complicate things, the moon’s elliptical orbit was taking it too close to the barrel’s trajectory. Allowing a safe margin for the moon’s gravitational pull would mean he would have to suspend launchings, or figure out and test a different trajectory. Someone would surely notice if he accidentally shot them onto the moon, or if he got them stuck in an orbit around the moon. Talk about polluting. He didn’t want to risk polluting the moon with his barrels, or even outer space. He still had thousands of test barrels left, so he stacked them high on the automatic loader and resolved to send them all, for eighteen-hours straight, one after the other, beginning with the next launch period and continuing for four and a half days. He programmed the Big Cannon to gradually and continuously swivel and point from one extreme to the other, compensating for the earth’s rotation while continuously aiming into the earth’s orbital wake. He would only get five-hours sleep a day in the six-hour period between launching intervals. But he was excited to get past this phase and into the actual business of ridding the world of these forever-polluting contaminants.

He woke-up at 8:30 a.m. and started-up the Big Cannon. The conveyor belts hummed and automatically fed the barrels into the launch chamber and ‘boof’ it was gone into space. The compressor pumps chimed in, and there was a constant cacophony of whirring motors, rushing air, humming belts, barrels thumping into position, and the deep, rhythmic ‘boof’ of the Big Cannon, as though Mother Earth’s giant heart was marking time for this pulsating celestial vein: reversing nature, and feeding Re, the sun god. It was exhilarating for Glenn. When it stopped, seventeen-hours later, the silence kept him awake. When he finally did go to sleep, it seemed only minutes before he was jarred awake by the first ‘boof’. He had forgotten to shut off the automatic controls, and it started-up again without his watchful supervision. He quickly ran out of his trailer and into the office and checked on the computer monitors. Everything was fine. It was working like clockwork. He thought he might as well go back to bed. The test barrels were stacked so as to continuously feed the conveyor belts. The system would shut down in the event of a malfunction. He had nothing to do but watch the activity. He shook himself awake, deciding to stay involved. He checked the telescope and saw many more strobe lights than he had ever seen before. It excited him. He could follow them as they left the earth’s orbit and watched them bunch up into a straight column as they joined the barrels from the previous night’s launching, and then spread farther apart as they fell closer and closer to the sun. There were more than a thousand of them, like soldiers in a row, all dutifully following his instructions. The radio transmissions confirmed their strict compliance. Glenn was elated. Bring on the nuclear-waste! he thought. This was the culmination of his own single-handed efforts, the flowering of his own mind. He never knew such joy. He could only imagine (as he never would allow drugs to contaminate the functioning of his brain) that this must be better than any high that drugs could induce.

When it stopped after seventeen continuous hours at 3:00 a.m., he couldn’t stop looking through the telescope as the strobe lights had practically doubled in the visible sky. He was feeling so emotionally high that he had to force himself through yogic meditation to calm down so that he could fall asleep. He woke-up again to the automatic ‘BOOF’ of the Big Cannon, and again he hurriedly confirmed that all was well. He had forgotten to eat in his excitement in the two preceding days, and he was now ravenous. He ate happily, like a wanton pig, and listened to the music of his great scientific production. Such joy, it was beyond mortal feelings. Then he fell into an exhausted deep sleep.

When he awoke at 6:00 p.m. the next day, Glenn saw out the window that the barrel stacks were getting low. So, he casually strode over to the forklift, feeling that all was well in this brave new world that he was creating. Then he noticed that there was an unusual cool breeze blowing through his hair. It was pleasant and unlike anything he had ever felt there before. An evening breeze, he thought, created by the impending night’s cooling effect? Many times he had been out in the desert at this time of day and had not noticed anything like this before, certainly not to this degree. As he drove the forklift, the humming noise of its electric motor was lost in the whirring noise of the huge compressor pumps. Ah, that’s where the breeze is coming from. He now realized that the continuous operation of these huge pumps sucking down cooler air from above explained the cool breeze that he felt. Jesus! He guffawed. I’m creating my own weather pattern! Glenn shrugged his shoulders as his eyebrows lifted and his mouth turned into a guilty smirk, and he muttered through subtle, but fiendish, laughter OH WELL!!!

Glenn stacked the remaining barrels so that they would continuously feed the Big Cannon. He thought about getting on the Internet and renting time on one of the big telescopes in California, Chile, Hawaii, or maybe even the Hubble space telescope. He would really like to see them burn-up in the sun’s outer gases, if possible. If it were possible, they would certainly have the technology to allow for it. Perhaps the solar space telescope (SOHO) could see something. Also, Glenn wanted a spectral-doppler analysis done on the strobe light coming from the barrels to verify the rates of acceleration into the sun; just for the fun of it. He wanted to comprehend every aspect of their long plummet into the fiery abyss. But of course, if he got other people, astronomers, physicists, etc., involved, it could blow the whole project. At some point, when he could demonstrate that he had been successfully ridding the planet of the dreaded nuclear-waste, he would go public and inform the world. That would be another year at least. He returned to simply watching the Big Cannon work, not noticing that at sunset the wind was picking-up and drawing in even more dust off the desert.

Then Glenn was anticipating how he would celebrate his success the next morning when Velvet would arrive with Jake. He fell asleep at his desk before the seventeen-hours of launching had finished. When all the machinery had finally shut down, his subconscious mind told him that this quieting event was good and that he could climb deeper into the refuge of his body’s repose, deeper into his mind’s oblivion. He was unaware that the weather pattern he had created had enlarged. It had taken on a life of its own, even though the huge air compressors had shut off. The colder air from above had rushed into the partial vacuum his compressor was causing and started a low-pressure whirl around his two-mile compound.

III

JUNE 21ST

I t is now before sunrise, the night of Jake and Bernie’s drug run. Glenn wakes-up to his saliva on his cheek as he drags his head across the desk, responding to the first ‘ boof’ . Even with the cacophony of all the machinery commencing, his subconscious mind clings to the memory of the loud wind through his sleep and the sound of something like rain on the windows. He places a cup of coffee into the microwave and goes to the bathroom. As the last few drops of warm urine dribble-out, Glenn’s body gives that involuntary shudder in response to its heat loss. That shudder seems to alert him and connect his conscious mind to what he had heard during his sleep. For the first time he is consciously aware of the sound of the wind and the pelting noise on the windows. Is it raining? he asks himself. In the desert? Of course, he knew that it does rain occasionally in the desert, but he hadn’t thought about the possibility of it, nor had he thought about how it would affect his project. He might have to shut it down for now and then build an enclosure around everything to protect it from future rain. He was amazed at himself for thinking and planning for every eventuality and somehow being so stupid as to not anticipate that it might rain! Oh well. He shrugs. I’m only human. He walks to the window, thinking, That’s why I wanted to run this stress test on the Big Cannon, to see what could go wrong. Congratulating himself for anticipating that he would surely forget something, he dismisses his cold, lowly feeling of stupidity. Glenn goes to the window and peers through the glass into the darkness outside. He can barely see the lights around the nearby conveyor belts. He looks in the direction of the tower and can only catch a glimpse of the light’s illumination between gusts of wind. The pelting on the windows was not rain. It was dust. Well, a sandstorm, he thinks, feeling the isolation of stupidity again. I guess I didn’t think of that either. Now really angry with himself he shouts aloud, How can I spend a million dollars preparing for an earthquake where there has never been one and not think about something as obvious as a sandstorm in the desert! Criticizing himself he rants through clenched teeth, You didn’t even speculate that it might rain! He runs outside shouting at himself, " No , you stupid ass , you’re too busy to think that it might rain!" The sand blasting against his face replaces his anger with a stinging pain. The sound of a strangely muffled boof from the driven wind focuses his mind. Glenn, forcing his weight against the wind, with his head down and eyes shut, finds his way back into the office and closes the door behind him. He checks the computer monitors and sees that everything was still working perfectly. The launch display monitor shows the number of every barrel at each point throughout the launch, and the number of each barrel as it leaves the earth’s orbit. If any barrels were missing, it would flash a warning message, sound an alarm, and shut down the system. The tower monitors were showing a little shock-absorbing activity, stabilizing the tower against the wind, but it was as though the tower was in the eye of the storm and not really experiencing much stress. If this was a tornado, it certainly would have passed by now, and it would have wreaked havoc on the Big Cannon. "A tornado?" Glenn thought. Something else I forgot to consider . . . He was beyond humiliating himself. He phones the security office saying, Hey, what have we got here, a tornado? the fear apparent in his voice.

No,