《Naomi Mase: The Cosmic Explorer》


 Chapter 1 — The Publisher

    ¡°Hello? ¡®Dis is Lowell speakin¡¯. May I ask who¡¯s callin¡¯?¡± Even though he had a heavy Southern American accent, Lowell spoke clearly and articulately, though more slowly than most.


    ¡°Uh, yes ¡­ is this Lowell Sterling?¡± the hurried voice on the receiver replied. His momentary hesitation probably came from being taken aback by the archaic way the man answered the phone. With personal mobile phone numbers and prolific phone soliciting, it was unusual for someone to state their name when answering the phone. It made him wonder what manner of man was on the phone.


    ¡°Yes it is,¡± Lowell answered in his slow cadence, ¡°May I ask who¡¯s calling?¡±


    He was not being rude or impatient. He knew few people understood proper telephone etiquette of announcing one¡¯s self and properly introducing each other to the mystery voice on the other end of the line. Just because others felt it unimportant to keep with propriety, did not mean he felt it unimportant.


    ¡°Yes, sir. I¡¯m Steve Lewis.¡± He spoke quickly, though he would not have thought so. ¡°I¡¯m a senior editor with Future Time publishing. We¡¯re a speculative fiction imprint of Vitalis Librorum Publishers out of New York. I¡¯m trying to reach Mrs. Naomi Mase. Are you her agent?¡±


    ¡°Nope,¡± he replied, ¡°I¡¯m no agent, I¡¯m just ¡®er grandson.¡±


    ¡°Oh, fantastic,¡± Mr. Lewis replied excitedly, ¡°Can you tell me how I can get in contact with Ms. Mase? Or with her agent if she has one? I would very much like to speak with her.¡±


    ¡°Well ¡­, she don¡¯t have an agent, and I¡¯m afraid you¡¯re not gonna be able to speak with ¡®er.¡±


    ¡°I assure you sir,¡± Mr. Lewis interjected, not realizing that Lowell had not yet finished speaking, ¡°It would be in Ms. Mase¡¯s interests for her to speak with me. I¡¯m very interested in discussing a publishing contract with her. I think her science fiction story has substantial market potential. I think it will be a best seller.¡±


    ¡°If you¡¯ll let me finish, young man,¡± Lowell said in reply, ¡°I¡¯ll get to it. I may not move at the speed of a fancy New York publisher but I do have all the information you need.¡±


    Lowell did not really know Mr. Lewis¡¯ age, but he had a good idea it was more than culture that separated them.


    ¡°My apologies,¡± Mr. Lewis stepped on him again, ¡°please continue.¡±


    ¡°Naomah passed away,¡± Lowell answered.


    ¡°Oh, I¡¯m terribly sorry. I had no idea. My condolences to you and your family. Can you refer me to who¡¯s settling her estate?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m gittin¡¯ thar,¡± Lowell answered the question. He was actually growing rather impatient with the man¡¯s constant, hurried interruptions.


    ¡°I ¡­ I¡¯m terribly sorry,¡± the editor answered, ¡°please continue.¡±


    ¡°Are ya sure?¡±


    ¡°Yes. Again, I apologize. It¡¯s been a hectic morning for me.¡±


    ¡°I appreciate your condolences, but Naomah passed when I was a young man. That were about seventy years ago. Unless your fancy phone can reach into the hereafter, I¡¯m afraid you¡¯re not gonna be able ta speak with ¡®er. She got no agent, and ¡®er will executed long ago.¡±


    Mr. Lewis awaited an extra couple seconds before replying.


    ¡°I apologize, Mr. Sterling.¡± The caller spoke more slowly. Lowell didn¡¯t know if it was a conscious effort or confusion. ¡°I misunderstood the situation. I have a science fiction manuscript credited to Mrs. Mase. Did you write the manuscript and use her name as your own pen name?¡±


    Lowell chuckled across the phone, ¡°No, no, that¡¯s not the case. Naomah wrote the story. My grandaughter felt we should¡¯a try to get it published, so she typed id up and talked me inta sending it t¡¯ya.¡±


    ¡°She wrote the story? Seventy years ago?¡±


    ¡°No, that¡¯s not right either. It amuses me that city folk think us country folk are slow. I said that she passed about seventy years ago. She were too young, just sixty-two years old, when she passed, but she wrote most of her stories as a young lady. Best we can determine, she wrote ¡®em when she went away to that women¡¯s college. But she¡¯d been tellin¡¯ the stories even as a child. She were determined to get an education. Naomah graduated in 1899, so it were better¡¯en one-hundred twenty years ago she wrote those stories.¡±


    Though Lowell had finished, Mr. Lewis jumped back into his frenetic questioning.


    ¡°You¡¯re telling me that the original manuscript is more than a century old? This was before the Golden Age of Science Fiction, before Einstein published the theory of relativity! She was practically a contemporary with Laura Ingles Wilder, yet you say she wrote a story scarcely after H.G. Wells wrote his, that rival his best works? How much did you change it? How much did you edit the original story?¡±


    ¡°You ain¡¯t listen¡¯n young man. I told you, I didn¡¯t do no editing. As I said, my grandaughter were the one who¡¯d typed it up. If thar are changes, she made them.¡±


    ¡°Does she still have the original manuscript?¡±


    ¡°No sir,¡± has Mr. Lewis released an exasperated sigh, Lowell went against his manners and pressed ahead over him. ¡°These stories, that she used to tell us, became somewhat of a family heirloom. I keep it here, and I still got ¡®er.¡±


    ¡°You have the original manuscript?¡±This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.


    ¡°Well, if you were listening as much as you were talking ¡­¡± he slowly rolled out.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry. I¡¯m so excited. This could be the greatest literary discovery of a century. May I ¡­ may I please come see it?¡±


    ¡°Yes, you¡¯re welcome to come look at ¡®er, but it don¡¯t leave my house.¡±


    ¡°Of course ¡­ absolutely, Mr. Sterling. I can be on a plane as early as tomorrow. How¡¯s your week look?¡±


    ¡°Son, my week doesn¡¯t ¡®look,¡¯ it works. And it works during the daylight hours. You¡¯re welcome to stop by any evening. Be sure to close the gate after you drive through, so my animals don¡¯t go gittin¡¯ away.¡±


    ? ? ?


    If Steve Lewis had known how to impress Lowell Sterling, he would not have worn his Ermenegildo Zenga suit with his Salvatore Ferragamo loafers. If he had wanted to avoid getting mud on the aforementioned because of a vehicle unsuited to the muddy, unimproved roads of the old family plantation, he would not have secured a Mercedes-Benz SL Roadster for the last leg of the trip. On this trip, only his Breitling watch served him well ¡ª dutifully noting the very, very late hour he arrived. Remembering to close the gate was the only event this evening not a part of his misadventure.


    He had not yet knocked on the door; he was still staring at his watch when it opened. Lowell looked him up and down. For a moment, Lowell was disgusted. Then he supposed he¡¯d be as out-of-place in the Big Apple as Steve was in the Old Dominion. He was grateful New York offered nothing he cared to acquire or experience.


    ¡°The real estate developers only shew up durin¡¯ the day, so you mus¡¯ be Steve,¡± Lowell said, ¡°You can leave your muddy shoes jus¡¯ inside the door.¡± With the door open, he turned on his cane and tottered back into the home.


    After removing his shoes and brushing the mud from his pant legs, Steve entered the home.


    Steve figured this was the original plantation home, but it was clear there had be major at least one major addition and it had been modernized. There was electricity, for one. He realized, when his car got stuck, he¡¯d come to visualize ¡°Gone With the Wind,¡± and was surprised when he saw power in the place.


    ¡°I¡¯m terribly sorry,¡± Steve began, ¡°that I¡¯ve arrived so late.¡±


    Lowell motioned for him to sit, which he did.


    ¡°As you can guess, I¡¯m not much for navigating these roads,¡± Steve said, ¡°I guess Siri doesn¡¯t keep track of the muddy bits.¡±


    ¡°No, I don¡¯ s¡¯pose it does.¡±


    Silently, Steve was pleased Lowell knew Siri.


    ¡°I won¡¯t keep you tonight,¡± Steve continued. ¡°I decided to at least find your place, so that I¡¯d know the way. The light was on, so I decided to knock. I¡¯m hoping we can try again tomorrow? After, of course, you day is through.¡±


    ¡°I reckon da¡¯ll work,¡± Lowell said, ¡°I think it ¡®portant you see dah grounds. Dah home, dah barn, dah old slave house, and ev¡¯n the old family cemetery. Knowin¡¯ where Naomah growed up ¡®ill help ya.¡±


    ¡°Thank you,¡± Steve replied, ¡°I¡¯m very grateful for you accommodating my ¡­ challenges today.¡±


    Lowell regarded his visitor thoughtfully as the family grandfather clock quietly counted the seconds. He didn¡¯t care for people that grew up in the city. Their manners were all wrong. But this man, as important as he thought he was, came to the plantation, and even persisted through difficulties his city upbringing left him ill equipped to face. Lowell felt he owed this guest his courtesy.


    ¡°Are you an honest man, Mr. Lewis?¡±


    Steve opened his mouth to immediately assert his upstanding honesty. He paused. He¡¯d already been too eager when he first talked to Mr. Sterling.


    ¡°At times I¡¯ve ¡­¡± Steve started then paused, ¡°At times I¡¯ve taken advantage when I knew was being reeled into a bad deal.¡±


    ¡°Is this a bad deal?¡±


    Steve paused and weighed the risks of being honest. Yeah, he knew this was a bad deal, but something deep inside insisted he find out.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know. The adage is that if something sounds too good to be true, it probably is. This, sir, is so good it¡¯s off the charts.¡±


    Lowell nodded thoughtfully.


    ¡°I¡¯m willing to make you a deal, Mr. Publisher, if you¡¯re serious about this.¡±


    And there it was, Steve thought to himself, Mr. Sterling was a con man after all; the story was a fraud. Mr. Sterling knew he was about to lose his mark, and was about to sweeten the deal. Steve just nodded his assent to hear the deal.


    ¡°Come with me,¡± Lowell said with a groan as he pushed himself out of the chair with his cane, ¡°if you¡¯d please.¡±


    Steve patiently followed Lowell. It seemed every floor board creaked as they made their way up the stairs. The banister wobbled, and Steve wondered if the stairs could handle the weight of them both as they groaned at their combined weight.


    At the top of the stairs, Lowell opened the door on the left. He turned on the light. It was a bedroom, small by modern sensibilities, but would have been respectable in its time. Central to the room sat a single-person ¡ª even by former standards ¡ª four-post bed with a canopy. A nightstand, wash basin, chifforobe, and simple chair filled out the room.


    ¡°I don¡¯t e¡¯spect a couple hours ¡®morrow even¡¯n will be ¡®nough time for you ta figger out if this is too good ta be true,¡± Lowell reasoned, ¡°That¡¯s her book thar,¡± he pointed to the nightstand.


    ¡°As a matter of fact,¡± he continued, ¡°thar¡¯s her bed. Her papa made it from the old oak tree that his papa planted years before, jes a little ways over yonder.


    ¡°You can stay dah night, read dah book t¡¯morrow, and we¡¯ll talk over supper. So that we do¡¯in¡¯ misunderstand none, that thar book goes no further from dah house than dah stoop. The water closet is down the hall,¡± he pointed into what was clearly an expansion to the old plantation home, ¡°and thar¡¯ll be breakfast at five a.m. if yer up.¡±


    Lowell turned and walked down the hallway, cane in hand, presumably to his own room in the old, but newer, expansion of the home. He paused and looked back.


    ¡°Oh, and Mr. Lewis, you¡¯re about to do some¡¯em I reckon you ain¡¯t never done before in your life.¡±


    This suddenly had stopped feeling like a con and was feeling like a murder. He momentarily wondered how many things Paul Sheldon had never done before he met Annie Wilkes. Was he living a Stephen King novel?


    ¡°After ya get yer belongins, don¡¯t lock the front door,¡± Lowell said then turned back down the hallway. With the thump of his cane, and the creak of a step, he ambled down the hallway, ¡°It ain¡¯t necess¡¯ry here.¡±


    If this was a con, Steve didn¡¯t see the angle.


    It was late, and he was very tired, so he relented to his fate. Though by the time his mind caught up with the reality and was going to accept the offer, Lowell had already dismissed himself behind a closed door.


    After getting his suitcase, washing up, and settling himself in the room, he began reading the very old manuscript. He forced himself to stop late into the night.


    Uncharacteristically, once he laid his head down, he fell quickly asleep.

 Chapter 2 - The Explorer

    As he looked at the shape projected before him, he slid his long fingers under the stiff collar of his sturdy shirt. He wrapped them around his tall, thin neck. If he squeezed tightly his fingertips would almost touch, though it left him momentarily unable to breathe. It was a nervous habit. Both his birthing mother and his nurture mother would swat his wrist smartly whenever they caught him doing it. In their society, except for the barbaric period when weapons were common, strangulation was anciently and was now presently the most frequent murder. The long thin necks of their people were strong by their standards, but they¡¯d evolved on a smaller world. Their light gravity did not necessitate the strength found on stocky beings of other worlds. Thus, snarling aggressively while tightening one¡¯s own fingers around their own neck was regarded the most heinous of insults, even a legitimate threat of violent death. Perhaps for this reason tall stiff collars were the universal fashion except among the lewd.


    ¡®Do not trouble the child,¡¯ his father would project softly to his mothers. ¡®He is not an aggressive child. He has no demeanor of anger to frighten; he will grow out of it.¡¯


    Despite his father¡¯s assuring calm, they most certainly troubled the child. It was their right as the procreating pair ¡ª one who birthed and tended the egg, the other to nurse and nurture the hatchling ¡ª to rear the child. Outwardly, they disregarded his counsel. Inwardly, they heeded his authority and did nothing, aside from their words and occasional wrist-slap, to discipline the child. While the rights of parenting justly lay with the procreating pair, without their mate, they could no longer serve this calling and would fall to the status of honored drones. In his childhood, the Explorer had believed his father held influence over his mothers¡¯ power. He now understood it was they who influenced the power, and it was his father that held the power. The Explorer was grateful for that arrangement for selfish reasons. Despite being troubled often by his mothers, he never outgrew the habit.


    He placed the finger of his other hand into the ethereal object before him and turned it. He could see ¡ª rather, he could sense ¡ª its structure not only in the moment but also its structure at the time of its creation, through its use, and into its future. The image projected before his eyes did not change, its known history and predicted future instead projected into his mind. Just as an ancient petro-chemical engine is better understood by its emitted sounds , he better understood his engine by its emitted time.


    ¡®It will most certainly fail,¡¯ he projected to his companion, ¡®but I cannot feel how it will fail ¡­ or why.¡¯


    ¡®Neither can I,¡¯ his companion thought back, ¡®so I shall be unable to repair it before then.¡¯


    They both puzzled.


    ¡®Regardless, the Explorer thought to his companion, ¡®we continue as planned.¡¯


    ¡®I concur,¡¯ came the thought-reply, ¡®We must press forward in finding a home for the colonies. I shall rebuild the engine matrix when it reveals its failure.¡¯


    The small, one-man ship had been the Explorer¡¯s home for years. The opportunities to step out and set foot on a solid world were both rare and glorious.


    He walked far further along the ancient, dried riverbed, than their mission necessitated, but he would not deny himself the opportunity to walk such a linear distance unbound by bulkheads.


    ¡®You can see the water flowing through millions of seasons,¡¯ he said back to the ship, ¡®It was a glorious torrent, destructive ¡­ ,¡¯ he reconsidered, ¡®¡­ or constructive in how it shaped the land.¡¯


    He bent down and filled his hand with the powdery dust. It had a reddish hue, as the whole planet did, caused by iron. How could they free all the oxygen from the oxidized iron, he wondered? He looked deep into the dust he held, stretching his senses.


    ¡®There was life here, barely,¡¯ he projected to the ship. ¡®I can see it, but it vanished a very long time ago.¡¯


    Dozens of miles to either side of the dry riverbed canyon walls rose, they themselves climbing upwards of five miles. The canyon ran thousands of miles with innumerable tributaries branching as crevasses into the surface of the dead world.


    Far beyond one canyon wall rose the largest shield volcano he¡¯d ever encountered in all his travels. It rose more than thirteen miles vertically into a rarified atmosphere. Yet, the volcano was as lifeless as all else on this world.


    ¡®Are you ready to depart?¡¯ the ship thought to him.


    He ignored it a moment as he watched the dust escape between the fingers of his gloved hand.


    ¡®No,¡¯ he replied. ¡®What is the complexity of terraforming?¡¯ It was an honest, and appropriate question, but it was borne not out of legitimate inquiry but forlorn hope. He reviewed to his companion: ¡®Planetary mass is good; material composition favorable in metals; orbit is positioned in its star¡¯s green belt despite being outward of ideal; meteorite activity previously high but now stable; two captured asteroid-moons; ancient surface water activity and two substantial polar caps; atmospheric pressure too thin; composition toxic; temperature variability extreme.


    ¡®Hypothesize scenarios for me, please,¡¯ he thought out to the ship.


    He felt the mental surge as the ship¡¯s intelligence focused upon his proffered challenge.


    The Explorer continued walking away, looking closely at the ground, past and present, seeking to divine anything that would change the planet¡¯s barren future: a film of organics on stale water, a patch of lichen, a blade of grass, a woody twig, a bleached bone, or perhaps a plastic bag rising aloft in a dusty zephyr. He felt only rock and dust to its ultimate future ¡ª a time when its star would swell into a red giant and engulf the world into its fiery furnace.Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.


    ¡®Hypothetically,¡¯ his companion finally began, ¡®bombarding the planet with water ice could provide both the water for the environment and gaseous oxygen for the atmosphere. The poles are principally carbon dioxide, not water. However, this system¡¯s seventh planet is a gaseous giant with a substantial ring system composed in its majority of water ice.


    ¡®There are, unfortunately, additional element needs, particularly nitrogen and carbon for which I cannot recommend a remedy without further information. To terraform, I anticipate a substantial effort requiring centuries. Given the time we have remaining, it would not likely be adjudicated a candidate,¡¯ the ship concluded.


    It was hopeless, the Explorer knew. He was tired of the sterile worlds and the confines of his ship. He didn¡¯t know which of those urged him strongest to stay outside and neglect travel to the next dead world.


    He closed his eyes and let his head sink. With his long neck, his forehead touched and rested against the clear faceplate of his spacesuit helmet. He rested. He knew the emotions he radiated and knew the ship would feel and understand. It had always been upbeat and entertaining. Yet it was not without the foibles accompanying thought and emotion. At times torrential waves of emotion rebounded between them. He was glad this was not one of those times. He was grateful for their friendship.


    After the sun had risen and fallen a few times, he drew himself up, turned back toward the ship and began slowly walking back.


    ¡®What¡¯s the next stop in this solar system?¡¯ the Explorer asked through thought-speech as he walked.


    ¡®This is the outermost of the system¡¯s four terrestrial planets. The most logical course is to visit the third, then the first, then the second. The second is presently on the far side of the star. The first lies well before the green belt; I recommend we disregard it. The second and third are similar in size and are both high mass, being three times the mass as this present world.¡¯


    ¡®Ugh,¡¯ he groaned aloud in his mind. He despised the high mass planets. He doubted his people could tolerate such as world as their new home. Perhaps, if they did so as they waited to terraform this one? He morbidly wondered if they¡¯d prefer the extinction that continuously clouded the thought-voices of his people.


    It seemed to him the universe would not allow his race to outlive its own world. They had not realized it would be an impossibility to find another to sustain them. Their small planet possessed a thick, oxygen rich atmosphere. Its mass and atmospheric pressure were, as it turned out, traits at odds with each other in the genesis of creation. He wondered if that would be true of the worlds of other intelligent species ¡ª if any were ever found. Could such another even exist?


    They¡¯d completed two orbits of the third planet over the last few hours. At first, they¡¯d been very encouraged by what they¡¯d observed, both in sight and in time. From afar their initial spectroscopy threatened false hope. Their approach belied the falseness to true hope. Their naked-eye look and their reach into time could do nothing but vindicate those early readings. The world before them shone brightly in blue, green, brown, and white hues under warm, yellowish sunlight. All through its past, it felt changing and adapting. The planet seemed ¡­ alive.


    What concerned and excited them both were not only what they saw in the light ¡ª grey smudges along the shores of seas and rivers ¡ª but also what they saw in the dark ¡ª clusters of dim lights appearing in semi-regular patterns. They could not believe they saw civilizations, but they could not deny it.


    Of the two, the ship brightened with the most excitement. It jabbered away at the oft-debated and never implemented inter-civilization exploration protocols. Its glee rattling around in the Explorer¡¯s mind kindled happiness long forgotten. He¡¯d allowed himself only a moment¡¯s emotional revelry as he dreamed back to a mate-pair he¡¯d loved. Though promised, he bowed to them and was given release to embrace the loneliness of this forsaken journey for his people.


    ¡®So, we¡¯re agreed?¡¯ the Explorer asked, ¡®Set down near a remote habitation and assess the enlightenment and technology levels of this life? As they¡¯re likely diurnal, set down at night?¡¯


    The Explorer adjusted the ship¡¯s orbit as they passed under the sun¡¯s zenith. Over the next forty minutes, their orbit would slowly drop into the thick, oxygen rich atmosphere, and place them inland a short distance into a major continent, far from what would likely be major ports or rivers. They hoped to find a small, remote habitation of few lifeforms. The Explorer knew the gravity would be oppressive, but this discovery overpowered his fear with excitement, an excitement the two shared. Once landed, he didn¡¯t imagine he¡¯d likely stray far from his friend as he usually did.


    Minutes passed quickly. The force of their deceleration into the heavy planet¡¯s thick atmosphere weighed heavily on his chest. Though he didn¡¯t feel he was suffocating, nor that he was in any mortal danger, the labor to breathe unnerved him. He grew concerned with his ability to control their descent.


    ¡®Take control,¡¯ the Explorer projected to the ship with a groan. His mind let go the controls. He could feel the ship taking them gingerly from his mental grasp. He tipped his head back to stretch his neck and chest. He fought against the slowly-increasing force of the pressure against him. It had been a very long time since he¡¯d experienced an entry this powerful.


    ¡®I¡¯ve got control; everything is going fine,¡¯ the ship assured him, ¡®we¡¯re almost to the peak; you¡¯re almost there, then it¡¯ll start easing off.


    ¡®You¡¯re doing fine. We¡¯re almost there.¡¯


    At last, their planetfall ended. Though the forces of their entry into the atmosphere were gone, the oppressive force of this planet¡¯s gravity was not. His excitement gave way. It was as if he were recovering from a terrible illness. It was hard to breathe, and though he filled his chest with each breath, the air did not seem to fill him.


    ¡®There,¡¯ the ship told him, directing his mind toward a solitary cluster of small rectangular structures. It was ideal.


    ¡®Concur,¡¯ he thought back, tersely, to the ship.While he feared the ground, he no longer wanted to be in flight.He wanted to survey this world, execute the inter-civilization protocols, and return to space.The ship banked itself and set its glide slope to land within a couple hundred yards of the habitation, as it transitioned to landing.


    In the transition, in an instant, the sensation of fear overwhelmed them both. All thoughts of home vanished, their existential mission became a forgotten task, an urgency to grasp the controls seized upon the Explorer¡¯s mind. But there was nothing to be done. In that instant, their engine¡¯s near future, as well as their own, came into brilliant focus.


    The sensation of gravity vanished as the ship dropped. The Explorer took an easy breath. A sense of calm filled his soul as the ground rushed mercilessly toward them.


    ¡®Are you there? ¡­ My damage ¡­ my damage is extensive ¡­ my self-healing ¡­ it¡¯s not ¡­ it¡¯s not ¡­ Are you there?! I can¡¯t see! I can¡¯t hear you! Are you there? Help me! Talk to me!¡¯

 Chapter 3 - The Madness

    An oppressive haze in Steve¡¯s mind kept him from waking fully. He lay on his back. His spine ached from the long slumber. He wanted to roll on his side, and curl his back to relieve the strain. Each time he tried, he couldn¡¯t pull his left arm across his body to lift his shoulder and roll. Similarly, he couldn¡¯t lift his left knee to roll. He felt as though his ankles were tangled in the blankets.


    He drifted off to sleep.


    When his mind began crossing from the wild imaginings of an uncontrolled brain an into a world of conscious thought, he tried to order the events in his mind.


    He remembered crying out in emotional agony, holding onto the hood of his rental car. She lay there, her wheels splayed. The tow cable hung loosely from her front bumper, and her headlights drooped half closed, no light within them.


    He wound back and recalled the urgency as she sank into the mud, crying frantically to the tow truck. The truck had spoken comforting words to assure him everything that could be done was being done, as she fed out her tow cable into the deep mud. He remembered the horror of trying to calm his rental car, urging her to lay still, as she cried frantically and sank into the mud. He could still see the mud closing around her bright headlights, as it did to so many daring explorers who found the end of their fate in the deep Amazon.


    He sorrowed over his companion.


    ¡°What ¡­,¡± he mumbled groggily, pulling himself out of the deep slumber.


    ¡°¡­ the¡­,¡± he spoke as he opened his eyes, squinted against the bright, florescent, tube lights mounted to the ceiling. The memories were gone. Only the feelings of horror and despair lingered.


    ¡°¡­ hell?¡± he exclaimed full-throated.


    He pulled his left arm in toward himself, but it stopped in only a few inches. Something around his wrist held him fast. He pulled his right arm upward. It two was held. Trying to pull his knees inward, he found they two were secured about his ankles.


    He actually was, after all, living in Stephen King novel.


    ¡°Dammit!¡± he yelled as he pulled violently against the restraints. He expected to hear the sounds of chains rattling, but did not.


    He should lay quietly, feign sleep, and assess his situation. If he acted lethargic, perhaps he could surprise his captor.


    Apparently his thoughts lagged his actions by a half-second. He was panicking.


    A woman walked briskly into the room. She had long brown hair, pulled back into a pony tail. Though her movements were quick and suggested urgency, the expression she wore on her brown complexion suggested calm. Steve immediately saw the syringe in her hand. He followed her gaze to his left arm. Taped into it, a clear plastic tube with ports along it ran upward to a clear bag of intravenous fluid.


    He looked back at the woman. She wore a matching set of mauve surgical scrubs. She was not, however, gowned up to start carving into his body.


    He was in a hospital ¡­ or the demonic madness of a Clive Barker novel.


    ¡°What are you doing?¡± he demanded of her.


    She paused.


    ¡°Where am I? What are you doing to me? What is going on? Why am I here?¡± he fired off in rapid succession.


    She stopped and placed the capped syringe into the pocket of her scrubs.


    ¡°You sound like you¡¯re feeling better, Mr. Lewis,¡± she said calmly to him. ¡°Do you know where you are?¡±


    Steve was actually calmed by her incredibly stupid question. She had not been listening to him. Her¡¯s was a habitual response from much use. He was probably in a hospital.


    Steve said nothing. He stared brutally at her as he strained against the restraints, flexing his well toned, hard-earned muscles. He waited for her mind to catch up to their dialogue.This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work.


    ¡°You seem much more coherent,¡± said said, apparently ignoring his questions. ¡°I need you to remain calm, Mr. Lewis, or I will need to sedate you again.¡±


    He saw her pause and wait, probably trying to assess him. Again? He thought. He said nothing.


    ¡°I¡¯ll go get the doctor,¡± she turned and walked out.


    Yeah, Steve thought to himself, this was a hospital. Only under the weight of an oppressive bureaucracy would the one person who actually knew what was going on, the nurse, be silenced. Her forced deference to the doctor reinforced the facade of their superhuman capabilities.


    He waited.


    He flexed both arms inward, slowly increasing his force against the restraints. Mentally, he believed he lacked the strength to overcome them, but he needed to know whether or not he could. He heard footfalls in the hallway and slowly relaxed against the restraints.


    A woman walked into the room.She looked to be in her late thirties or early forties.She had black hair, cut in an A-line to the length of her chin.She looked to be of Indian descent and the hair style suggested she had long been in America.She to wore surgical scrubs, but her¡¯s were bright yellow.Over them, however, she wore a white lab coat.


    She walked to the foot of the bed, stopped, and regarded him.


    He stared back at her defiantly.


    ¡°You seem to be lucid this morning,¡± she said, ¡°can you tell me where you are?¡±


    ¡°Is this a trick question?¡± he replied, ¡°I¡¯ve been asking that very thing.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re in the neuropsychiatric ward of Mercy Hospital in Richmond. Can you tell me the last thing you remember?¡±


    ¡°Can you remove these restraints?¡±


    She paused, as if thinking. He wondered if that was a rehearsed behavior to make the patient perceive a better situation than reality. He knew the answer before he¡¯d asked.


    ¡°You ensured our orderlies earned their pay. We had to give one of them a couple of paid days off to recover,¡± she paused a moment, as if thinking, but his mind began reeling with questions, ¡°The restraints will come off once we¡¯ve determined you won¡¯t be a danger to yourself or others.¡±


    He laid there is silence, fighting against the wave of loss that filled him. During his silence, she slid a chair to the bedside and sat. She waited, with a relaxed attitude, seemingly for Steve to be ready to continue.


    ¡°How long have I been here?¡± he finally answered.


    ¡°I will answer all of your questions, Mr. Lewis. But it is going to take some time. I need you to answer my questions first, because I don¡¯t want my answers to influence your memories, but let me start.


    ¡°I¡¯m Doctor Samira. As I told you, you¡¯re in the neuropsychiatric ward of Mercy Hospital in Richmond. You have had a rather severe psychotic event. You will be able to recover from this, but there may be some changes in your lifestyle. Are you ready to talk, or would you like some time?¡±


    Steve didn¡¯t understand it, but tears welled in his eyes. He felt his throat choke. He nodded briskly.


    Dr. Samira pulled a tissue from the box, and dabbed his eyes.


    ¡°What is the last thing you remember, Mr. Lewis?¡±


    ¡°Steve,¡± he said, ¡°please call me Steve.¡±


    ¡°Of course, Steve.¡±


    ¡°I went to the plantation home of Lowell Sterling. I¡¯d had problems getting there and arrived really late. He invited me to use his guest room. I¡¯d gone there to see an old diary in which his grandmother had written stories. He had given me the book, so I was reading as I lay in this, old, beautiful canopy bed. The journal was captivating. I probably read to three in the morning. I used the bathroom then went to sleep.¡±


    He paused and thought, struggling to probe his memory for anything that might attach that moment to the present.


    ¡°And then I woke up here.¡±


    She waited a moment to ensure he had nothing more to add.


    ¡°Your mind might confuse reality as dreams you might have had; do you remember any dreams?¡±


    ¡°I ¡­,¡± he stopped for a moment, not quite sure, ¡°I think so ¡­ but I only remember despair.¡±


    ¡°Anything else?¡±


    ¡°No.¡± He fought for a memory but could summon nothing.


    ¡°You¡¯ll likely begin remembering,¡± she said sympathetically, ¡°but pushing yourself won¡¯t help. It will happen in its own time.


    ¡°Let me fill in the gap for you,¡± she began.


    ¡°The next day, Mr. Sterling became concerned for you. Late in the morning, when you didn¡¯t reply to repeated knocks at the door, he entered your room and tried to gently shake you awake.


    ¡°He says you shot upright, stood in the bed, crouched down below the canopy. He says you were screaming nonsensical things about getting back to a ship, that you couldn¡¯t find your companion. He wasn¡¯t able to calm you nor make sense of what you were saying. He couldn¡¯t convince you to get down from the bed.


    ¡°With nothing else do, Mr. Sterling called the police. The rural officers, unfortunately, don¡¯t have much experience with this sort of thing. They forcefully apprehended you. When you arrived here, you were very agitated, and raved unintelligibly. Despite our best efforts, our orderlies had to restrain you in bed, and we¡¯ve had you under heavy sedation. Each time we tried bringing you out, you were panicked about the ship and your companion. That¡¯s gone on for the last few days.¡±


    ¡°Few days?¡± Steve uttered in shock.


    ¡°Yes, I¡¯m afraid so. ¡­ Now, there are some unpleasant realities about your situation. By law, we will detain you for twenty-four hours to determine if you¡¯re a threat to yourself or others. That just began. We¡¯ll be running some tests, neurological scans and such. That¡¯s the bad news.


    ¡°The good news is that, if you¡¯re agreeable and when you¡¯re ready, I¡¯ll have the orderlies remove these restraints, and we¡¯ll get started.¡±


    That night, laying unrestrained in his hospital bed, images rushed into his mind. Steve remembered the vivid details of his dream about the Explorer. As the scene replayed, again and again, of the ground rushing up, he recognized the plantation home ¡ª before any additions were made.


    Having already agreed to a treatment plan that would set him free, he said nothing.

 Chapter 4 - The Plantation

    Chapter 4 ¡ª The Plantation


    This time, Steve checked the weather before driving out to the plantation. He almost rented a Jeep, but knew in dry weather the roads wouldn¡¯t cause trouble and he stayed with his old favorite. This time, however, he wore jeans, a polo shirt, and sensible shoes. He¡¯d not worn a watch since he¡¯d left the hospital.


    During Steve¡¯s recovery, his junior partner loosely coordinated with him on the publication of Ms. Mase¡¯s science fiction novel. After much back-and-forth over attributions of the manuscripts¡¯ authenticity, the lawyers of Vitalis Librorum developed language for the reader to interpret, that would support the mysterious hook while protecting them from embarrassment. Steve, believing the veracity of the manuscript, objected vehemently to the milquetoast lawyers. His absence overrode his objections.


    After closing the gate, he did during the day what he¡¯d done that night so many weeks before. He just stopped the car and got out. The absence of designated parking was as alien to his culture as not locking the front door every time you walked through it. Today, he didn¡¯t feel that. The hidden haunt in his mind, carefully concealed from his psychiatrist, weighed most prominently in this place where it had begun.


    From the vehicle¡¯s trunk, he removed the shovel he¡¯d just purchased from the mom-and-pop shop in town.


    He meandered toward the plantation house, ambling with the shovel as a walking stick. He stopped afar off from the old plantation home. He didn¡¯t approach it. He looked at it thoughtfully, and stripped away all but the original home. He scanned the whole of the property, locating the barn and what could only have originally been slave quarters. He turned, oriented himself, looked up, and followed the arc downward. He made his best guess, walked over, and started digging.


    Steve had dug two feet down, and about ten feet in diameter when Lowell walked up to him.


    Lowell said nothing at first, just watching Steve dig. With each shovel full, Steve carefully shook it out into the pile around the ring of the hole.


    Steve didn¡¯t acknowledge Lowell in any way. He didn¡¯t care that he was trespassing. He supposed that by the end of the day, he¡¯d be back in the hospital. Before that happened, he hoped to find evidence. He didn¡¯t know what he expected would turn up: nuts; bolts; a circuit board; maybe that tall, distinctive helmet; possibly a ray gun?


    ¡°It were ¡®bout twenty feet over thar,¡± Lowell said. He pointed with a nod of his head. ¡°I show ya where ¡®xactly. Yeh can dig if¡¯in yah want, but yah ain¡¯t gonna find not¡¯in.¡±


    Startled, the shovel fell from Steve¡¯s hands into his hole. He looked up, unbelieving, into Lowell¡¯s eyes.


    ¡°What did you say?¡±


    ¡°Dah ship, it crashed ¡®bout twenty feet over thar,¡± Lowell repeated.


    Steve continued staring, his mouth still not closed from his question.


    ¡°Yer not crazy. Well, maybe yah are, but dat makes both an us crazy.¡±


    Lowell looked down at his feet meekly and continued.


    ¡°I¡¯m mighty sorry ¡®bout what happen¡¯ to yah. It didn¡¯ happen to me like that.¡±


    Lowell used his cane to step into the hole from where he stood, and sat on the edge. He motioned for Steve to sit. Steve just stood there.


    ¡°Go on, sit down,¡± Lowell motioned to the hole¡¯s edge.


    Without taking his eyes off Lowell, Steve shuffled to the hole¡¯s edge. He put his hand out to find it, and slowly sat. He stared intently.


    ¡°I ain¡¯t got no granddaughter,¡± Lowell started. ¡°I¡¯m the last of my family. No kin, no heirs.¡± He paused a moment. ¡°I typed up Naomah¡¯s book. Cleared up dah confusin¡¯ bits from what I dreamed.


    ¡°I jes¡¯ wanted to get her story out. I figgered if I said it were¡¯ah true story ¡­ well, you know wha¡¯da happen¡¯.¡±


    Steve was still speechless. Lowell wasn¡¯t sure he was taking any of it in, so he jumped to the important bits.


    ¡°Dah ship crashed when my great grandaddy were¡¯in jus a little one. It were righ¡¯ before dah War Between dah States, in dah late eigh¡¯een fifties. Mah great great grandaddy died in dah Battle of Richmond. I think that were sixty-two, but tha¡¯h were victorious.


    ¡°As ya know, dah ship hit in dah midd¡¯lah dah night. Thunderous noise. Woke ever¡¯one up. Naomah said great great grandaddy said¡¯n it were mighty strange. Dah hole it made ¡­¡±


    ¡°A crater?¡± Steve asked suddenly, surprising himself. This part of the tale was not a part of the vivid dreams he¡¯d had.If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    ¡°Yeah, I s¡¯pose it were a crater, but Naomah said it wer¡¯ straight an¡¯ deep.¡±


    Steve hung on every word the old man uttered.


    ¡°It wer¡¯ lik¡¯n scraps o¡¯ tin in a crucible, she said. My great great grandfather said¡¯n id jus¡¯ melted away in¡¯tah a deep silver pool. But it weren¡¯ hot. Great grandaddy tried ta touch ¡®er, but great great grandaddy stop¡¯n ¡®im.


    ¡°Dah big sound caused quite a stir, as yah imagine.Folk were ask¡¯n ¡®round all ¡®bout town.Great great grandaddy didn¡¯ want folk thinkin¡¯ thar were evil in his land.He told nobody.He an¡¯ his son dug up a big saplin¡¯ put ¡®er in dah hole, and filled it up.He figgered¡¯ that¡¯d keepin¡¯ dah folk from thinkin¡¯ ¡®is land were cursed.


    ¡°And that were it ¡­ for many decades.¡±


    Steve relaxed. He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees and stared into his hole. Lowell simply sat there staring across the lands of the old family plantation.


    ¡°What happened next?¡± Steve asked.


    ¡°Welp, Naomah¡¯s stories, I b¡¯lieve. As yah know, she wrote dah stories in her journal at ¡®er school. That weren¡¯t dah begin¡¯n tho. As a child she use ta pretend her bed were a space ship. Can yah ¡®magine that: a little girl in the eighteen nineties pretendin¡¯ she were an astronaut? Can yah imagine?¡±


    ¡°How did you find out they weren¡¯t just stories? After Naomi, who else knew?¡±


    ¡°As far as I know, no¡¯one did.¡±


    Lowell looked down at his feet. Steve could tell, from his body language, that he¡¯d asked an uncomfortable question. He didn¡¯t excuse his impropriety; he just waited.


    ¡°I were not what you¡¯d call a good son. I left home as a young¡¯en. Thought I were all grow¡¯d. I couldn¡¯t ¡®ave been more than sixteen. I didn¡¯ come back until me pop died. It ain¡¯t right to speak ill of the dead, so I¡¯ll jes say he were a hard man. I came back ta care for me ma. It broke mah heart to see her joy when I showed up ¡®ere. She hugged me an¡¯ cried an¡¯ did¡¯n let go ¡¯til dah muffins started burnin¡¯. I ¡®spect after he were gone, those were ¡®er happiest days. She pass¡¯d ¡®bout thirty years ago. I been here that whole time.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Lowell. I can¡¯t imagine how hard that would be. My dad¡¯s a good man. I¡¯m ashamed to say I¡¯ve treated him no differently.¡±


    ¡°Son, that¡¯s som¡¯tn you gotta make right; yah need to be doin¡¯ it now.¡±


    Steve reflected for a moment. Lowell gave him the time to do it. Steve was a very successful publisher, but it had come at a price. Perhaps the price was too high. He knew it was, but at that moment, he couldn¡¯t admit it.


    ¡°The house were¡¯t well kept. I hauled all dah trash outta that place, ripped out dah sad kitchen and put ¡®er back to dah way she were. There were no sense updating dat kitch¡¯n with them metal cabinets. Damn foolery. There weren¡¯t life in that metal like there were in wood. I put ¡®er back to dah way she were.


    ¡°All dah nice stuff had been stored in dah old slave house. Guess I should¡¯a be glad he were a packrat, or he¡¯d ah get rid of it. I know he would¡¯a if it hurt people. Even da bed mama¡¯s daddy hand made for Naomah were out there.


    ¡°It were after dah house were all cleaned up, dah dreams started. I had da dreams fer years. Took me some time ta piece it all together.


    ¡°I figger¡¯d I made Naomah¡¯s ghost happy, an¡¯ that we¡¯re why dah dreams started. I think she were showing me ¡®er stories to thank me for cleanin¡¯ up ¡®er old home.


    ¡°Dah way I reckon it, you got ¡®er all at once.¡±


    ¡°Yeah,¡± Steve replied, ¡°you can say that. It broke my mind. I knew they were hallucinations, and I had to prove it to myself,¡± he motioned to the shovel then looked back to Lowell. ¡°I got my answer, but not but not what nor in the way I expected.


    ¡°I¡¯ve been rehearsing those images in my mind, over and over,¡± Steve continued, ¡°They¡¯re not like dreams, or memories of dreams. They¡¯re so vivid, and I can recall them at any moment. It¡¯s what I imagine photographic memory to be.¡±


    ¡°Yep. Same ¡®ere.¡±


    ¡°The ship was beyond intelligent,¡± Steve observed, "It had emotions. Was the ship some kind of cybernetic creature ¡ª half organic, half machine ¡ª or was it some kind of super advanced artificial intelligent computer? The ship and the Explorer didn¡¯t talk. How we would think an advanced computer would communicate with us? They thought to each other with some kind of spoken, image, and emotional telepathy.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, son, but I ain¡¯t followin¡¯ yah.¡±


    Having never voiced his thoughts, Steve could not hold back.


    ¡°Surely, if they could cross space between solar systems, they were highly advanced. And they¡¯d be highly ethical as well. The idea of cybernetics has always been an oxymoron to me. Other than prosthetics, I can¡¯t imagine a society advanced enough to develop them, immoral enough to use them. Just the idea of ripping someone¡¯s brain out to power a machine ¡ª it¡¯s repressible. Maybe, just maybe if it were necessary to save someone¡¯s life,¡± he thought for a moment, ¡°No ¡­ no. Death would be better outcome for someone that ill or that injured. It had to be a computer, a machine, built of nanites! That pool of silver wouldn¡¯t have been melted meta,l it would have been deconstructed nano-machines,¡± Steve rattled off excitedly.


    ¡°I¡¯m not sur¡¯ you¡¯an I had dah same dreams.¡±


    Steve was lost in thought. Lowell said something, a few somethings, but Steve did not hear him.


    ¡°¡­ an¡¯ that¡¯s why ¡­¡±


    ¡°The ship crashed over there?¡± Steve said, interrupting Lowell and pointing, very excitedly.


    ¡°Yeah dat¡¯s what I told yah.¡±


    ¡°Where¡¯s the tree; the tree your great great grandfather planted in the crater?¡±


    ¡°Well ¡­¡±


    Lowell¡¯s oratory cadence could not have been more infuriating to a New Yorker than it was at that moment. It took all of Steve¡¯s willpower to not cry out in urgency, ''Spit it out!¡¯ he wanted to scream.


    ¡°¡­ I told yah. Her daddy made ¡®er bed outta it.¡±


    In a moment, Steve understood as well as any modern human could understand. Lowell continued. Steve listened intently for any fallacies in his thinking.


    ¡°As dah story goes, thar were a fearsome storm. Howlin¡¯ wind, giant hailstone, terrible lightn¡¯n. Dah lightn¡¯n split ¡®er, and dah wind brought her down. My great grandaddy, who helped plant ¡®er as a young¡¯un, used dah wood from dat ole¡¯ oak, and made ¡®er four-post bed. She were ¡®is only child, born when he were old. He adored her, an¡¯ she loved that bed.¡±


    Steve started laughing out loud.


    ¡°The ship¡¯s computer broke apart and melted down with the rest of the ship, it had the ability to repair itself,¡± he told Lowell emphatically.


    ¡°As the tree grew,¡± Steve explained, ¡°it absorbed the computer out of the ground. The computer did what it knew how to do. It started repairing itself. The computer is fused in the BED!¡±


    Steve hopped up and began running toward the old plantation home.


    Lowell looked at him quizzically, convinced Steve had gone insane. And knowing, if that were true, he was every bit as crazy.

 Chapter 5 - The Host

    ¡°Ladies and gentlemen,¡± the show host said to his studio audience from the center of the brightly lit stage, ¡°please welcome Steve Lewis, of Vitalis Librorum.¡±


    The audience clapped fervently as Steve came out onto the stage.He was not wearing a suit, nor Italian leather shoes.He did wear a blazer and dress shirt, but no tie.He accented those with simple blue jeans and tennis shoes.He still had not worn his Breitling, nor any other watch, since it had been returned to him when he left the neuropsychiatric ward.He had changed.


    He walked happily up to his host, Max Agawa.They shook hands and took their places, Steve on the couch and Max behind his stage desk.As the applause began to die down, Max began the pre-interview.


    ¡°You know, Steve,¡± Max teased, ¡°you were our third choice.No, that¡¯s not even true.You weren¡¯t even on the list.They foisted you off on us because we couldn¡¯t get Naomi or Lowell.¡±


    ¡°Well if that¡¯s true,¡± Steve teased back, ¡°why did your studio beg me to change my vacation plans with my parents?Why didn¡¯t you just settle for some other behind-the-scenes talent?¡±


    ¡°Well, we get what we can get!¡± Max said with a big grin.Steve knew show hosts had no talent other than being boisterous before a crowd while on camera, well, except for maybe Carson.The remark made no sense, but he said it happily enough every one clapped.


    Max became somber for a moment, ¡°My condolences, by the way.I understand you and Lowell had become good friends.¡±


    ¡°Thank you.Yes, Lowell helped me straighten out problems I had been ignoring.He got me on a good path.¡±


    Steve would have liked to eulogize Lowell a little longer, but Max kept the conversation moving forward.


    ¡°So,¡± Max pulled out a copy of the newly-released book and placed it his desk where he knew the studio camera could grab a tight close-up, ¡°we¡¯re all dying to know¡­ fact,¡± he said dramatically, ¡°or fiction?¡±


    Steve smiled.


    ¡°I¡¯d love to give your audience a definitive answer, but the truth is ¡­ I don¡¯t know.¡±


    ¡°Come on, Steve, are you telling me there is even a possibility that this book was written by a woman in the early nineteen hundreds¡­¡±


    The crowd let out a cautionary bellow.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, I¡¯m sorry.That a person in the early nineteen hundreds could write a futuristic tale whose accuracy exceeded the scientific knowledge of the time?That smacks of a publicity stunt to me!And it¡¯s working.This book is flying off the shelves.¡±


    Steve chuckled.


    ¡°I¡¯m not that clever, Max.I couldn¡¯t have come up with something that brilliant.But you have no way of knowing that.You have to remember that Jules Verne predated Naomi Mase by several decades.H.G. Welles predated her by a couple decades.But that isn¡¯t going to convince your audience,¡± he looked toward the crowd, ¡°right?¡±


    The applauded enthusiastically.


    ¡°Shall I tell you what we do know, Max?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± Max answered exuberantly, ¡°illuminate the facts for us.¡±


    ¡°First off, we have the original manuscript, the one supposedly written my Ms. Mace¡¯s own hand while she attended college in Southern Virginia.That¡¯s pretty strong evidence.We¡¯ve handed the manuscript over to professionals.They¡¯ve determined that the paper and ink are dated to that time period, and the script matches the style of feminine writing of the time.¡±This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.


    Steve wondered if there were a large contingent of feminists in the audience.At that comment, they erupted into applause.Steve didn¡¯t want Max to take the moment into a new segue, which he knew he¡¯d do, so he continued atop the applause.


    ¡°But we have no other samples of her writing, so we cannot prove she is the author.There is also the possibility it is an expert forgery.Our loudest critics, mostly other publishers, make this claim.Some accuse me of being behind it.¡±


    Steve could tell Max had been patient enough.Apparently Max didn¡¯t like his guests speaking more than a few sentences before taking back the audience.


    ¡°Isn¡¯t it true that shortly after you met Lowell, you took an extended absence.It¡¯s been alleged you wrote the forgery at that time.Care to enlighten us on your whereabouts?¡±


    This was not a new accusation.To date, he¡¯d ignored it.He realized then, he could not allow it to take hold.


    ¡°Out of respect for Lowell and his grandmother, yes, I¡¯ll answer the allegation.¡±


    The studio became deathly silent.He knew the cameras focused tightly on his face.He tried to not move and ruin the shot.


    ¡°The doctors call it a psychotic break.¡±


    ¡°That sounds awful convenient,¡± Max accused.


    And that was the point at which Steve no longer liked Max.


    ¡°I¡¯ll tell you what, Max,¡± Steve began with a stern expression and a cold language.


    ¡°You name the psychiatrist of your choice, an independent third party.I¡¯ll release all my medical records to them, not you, and you can ask them if someone in my mental state could create what my critics are calling a ¡®brilliant forgery¡¯ in the course of weeks I was on leave and receiving treatment.


    ¡°That, or we can talk about defamation.How does that sound?Ready to lay this ridiculous accusation to bed, Max?¡±


    The audience let out a loud, ¡°ooooh.¡±Steve¡¯s anger at being accused of a crime, and his veiled threat in retort was not lost on them.


    ¡°Fair enough, Steve, you weren¡¯t the one who forged the manuscript.¡±


    It made Steve angry that he kept implying the manuscript was a forgery with no evidence.Max was shaping his audience¡¯s beliefs with no cause to do so.It was vindictive.


    ¡°Tell us why Lewis Sterling named Vitalis Librorum as his estate¡¯s executor.It seems ¡­ irregular that he¡¯d do that.¡±


    ¡°No it doesn¡¯t,¡± Steve shot back immediately.


    He didn¡¯t give Max even a moment to interject.


    ¡°We would be receiving royalties for his family¡¯s book sales from Vitalis Librorum.Lewis had no descendants, no heirs.He was very impressed with our literacy programs, and wanted that to be his family¡¯s legacy.Per his will, his estate was liquidated in its entirety.All durable property was auctioned by a licensed auctioneer that specialized in estate auctions.The real estate was sold; I understand a developer purchased it and plans to raze the buildings.The monies were used to establish an endowment at the college Naomi¡¯s attended in the early nineteen hundreds, and royalties would continue to contribute to it.One of the stipulations on the endowment is a scholarship program for black women in the field of English or literature.


    ¡°What¡¯s irregular about that Max; what¡¯s irregular about it?¡±


    ¡°It sounds to me like you personally benefitted as the executor of the estate.¡±


    ¡°Nothing you said is true.The attorneys for Vitalis Librorum executed the estate and a bonded auction house conducted the auction fully in accordance with the laws of Virginia.


    ¡°I did successfully bid for several items, including a beautiful four poster bed that had belonged to Naomi and had been handcrafted by her father.I disclosed the history of all the items to the extent I knew them, so I did not conceal their historic extrinsic value.It was a public auction, and I bid as a member of the public.¡±


    ¡°Even if you¡¯re a skeptic,¡± Max announced as he wrapped up their segment, again making a jab at Naomi¡¯s biography, ¡°Vitalis Librorum¡¯s The Cosmic Explorer ¡­¡±


    ¡°Naomi Mase¡¯s The Cosmic Explorer ¡­¡± Steve interjected.


    Max shot him an angry look.


    ¡°¡­ is a fascinating read.We¡¯ll be back after this break to visit with Bai Xiu, an expert in the field of document forgeries.¡±


    Jerk, Steve thought to himself as he smiled and clapped with the audience.


    He¡¯d been pressured to do this interview, which he didn¡¯t mind.He knew it would be a hit piece, but that was the way of popular media, including print books.No press is bad press, he reminded himself.Their sales ¡ª rather, Naomi¡¯s sales ¡ª truly were astronomical.


    If he had not experienced all that he had, he supposed he too would be a jealous publisher seeking the fraud.But, as it was, none of these things mattered anymore.


    He¡¯d learned how to communicate with the computer.