Podcasts about developing world

The Cognitive Crucible is a forum that presents different perspectives and emerging thought leadership related to the information environment. The opinions expressed by guests are their own, and do not necessarily reflect the views of or endorsement by the Information Professionals Association. During this episode, Tom Kent returns to the Cognitive Crucible to share his concerns related to the United States recent withdrawal from international broadcasting. Topics include: US soft power, abandoning pro-democracy initiatives, impact on international relations, international broadcasting structure inefficiencies, and language services cost and logistics Recording Date: 25 Mar 2025 Resources: Cognitive Crucible Podcast Episodes Mentioned #10 Tom Kent on Striking Back #105 Tom Kent on Persuasion in the Developing World #177 Tom Kent on How Russia Loses US agency for Global Media (USAGM) Link to full show notes and resources Guest Bio: Thomas Kent teaches and consults on Russian affairs, journalism, and the problems of propaganda and disinformation. President of Radio Free Europe/Radio Liberty until 2018, he now teaches at Columbia University and consults for governments, NGOs, and news organizations. He is a senior fellow for strategic communication of the American Foreign Policy Council and an associate fellow of Slovakia's GLOBSEC. Previously, he was Moscow bureau chief for The Associated Press, head of AP's international news coverage, and editor for standards and ethics. His first book, Striking Back: Overt and Covert Options to Combat Russian Disinformation, was published in 2020, and his second, “How Russia Loses,” in 2023. He is now working on a new book, on the propaganda lessons of the Ukraine war. About: The Information Professionals Association (IPA) is a non-profit organization dedicated to exploring the role of information activities, such as influence and cognitive security, within the national security sector and helping to bridge the divide between operations and research. Its goal is to increase interdisciplinary collaboration between scholars and practitioners and policymakers with an interest in this domain. For more information, please contact us at communications@information-professionals.org. Or, connect directly with The Cognitive Crucible podcast host, John Bicknell, on LinkedIn. Disclosure: As an Amazon Associate, 1) IPA earns from qualifying purchases, 2) IPA gets commissions for purchases made through links in this post.

In PX129 our guest is Jeffrey Mason of the Charter Cities Institute. Jeffrey joined CCI as a Researcher in 2019. His research interests include urban economics, structural transformation, special economic zones, and technology ecosystems. He has worked on policy advisory projects in Nigeria, Tanzania, Zambia, and Honduras, among other countries. Prior to joining the Charter Cities Institute, Jeffrey worked as an MA Fellow at the Mercatus Center at George Mason University. He holds a BA in economics from the University of Maryland and an MA in economics from George Mason University. His writing has been featured in publications including City Journal, Works in Progress, Investment Monitor, Quartz Africa, and The American Mind. The Charter Cities Institute is a nonprofit dedicated to creating the ecosystem for charter cities, founded on the idea that a fresh approach was necessary to tackle humanity's most pressing challenges, such as global poverty, climate change and rapid urbanisation. CCI believe charter cities—new cities granted a special jurisdiction to create a new governance system—are that solution. By improving governance through deep regulatory and administrative reforms, charter cities can help accelerate economic growth in developing countries and lift tens of millions of people out of poverty. Details at https://chartercitiesinstitute.org In podcast extra / culture corner, Jeff recommends the book ‘Outsourcing Empire: How Company-States Made the Modern World' by Andrew Phillips and JC Sharman https://press.princeton.edu/books/hardcover/9780691203515/outsourcing-empire Jess recommends the TV series Ted Lasso https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ted_Lasso Pete recommends the book ‘The Diaries of Fred Williams 1963 - 1970' https://www.amazon.com.au/Diaries-Fred-Williams-1963-1970/dp/0522871208 Episode PX129 was released on 31 March 2025. PX is proud to be a member of the Urban Broadcast Collective.

In PX129 our guest is Jeffrey Mason of the Charter Cities Institute. Jeffrey joined CCI as a Researcher in 2019. His research interests include urban economics, structural transformation, special economic zones, and technology ecosystems. He has worked on policy advisory projects in Nigeria, Tanzania, Zambia, and Honduras, among other countries. Prior to joining the Charter Cities Institute, Jeffrey worked as an MA Fellow at the Mercatus Center at George Mason University. He holds a BA in economics from the University of Maryland and an MA in economics from George Mason University. His writing has been featured in publications including City Journal, Works in Progress, Investment Monitor, Quartz Africa, and The American Mind. The Charter Cities Institute is a nonprofit dedicated to creating the ecosystem for charter cities, founded on the idea that a fresh approach was necessary to tackle humanity's most pressing challenges, such as global poverty, climate change and rapid urbanisation. CCI believe charter cities—new cities granted a special jurisdiction to create a new governance system—are that solution. By improving governance through deep regulatory and administrative reforms, charter cities can help accelerate economic growth in developing countries and lift tens of millions of people out of poverty. Details at https://chartercitiesinstitute.org In podcast extra / culture corner, Jeff recommends the book ‘Outsourcing Empire: How Company-States Made the Modern World' by Andrew Phillips and JC Sharman https://press.princeton.edu/books/hardcover/9780691203515/outsourcing-empire Jess recommends the TV series Ted Lasso https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ted_Lasso Pete recommends the book ‘The Diaries of Fred Williams 1963 - 1970' https://www.amazon.com.au/Diaries-Fred-Williams-1963-1970/dp/0522871208 Episode PX129 was released on 31 March 2025.

In PX129 our guest is Jeffrey Mason of the Charter Cities Institute. Jeffrey joined CCI as a Researcher in 2019. His research interests include urban economics, structural transformation, special economic zones, and technology ecosystems. He has worked on policy advisory projects in Nigeria, Tanzania, Zambia, and Honduras, among other countries. Prior to joining the Charter Cities Institute, Jeffrey worked as an MA Fellow at the Mercatus Center at George Mason University. He holds a BA in economics from the University of Maryland and an MA in economics from George Mason University. His writing has been featured in publications including City Journal, Works in Progress, Investment Monitor, Quartz Africa, and The American Mind. The Charter Cities Institute is a nonprofit dedicated to creating the ecosystem for charter cities, founded on the idea that a fresh approach was necessary to tackle humanity's most pressing challenges, such as global poverty, climate change and rapid urbanisation. CCI believe charter cities—new cities granted a special jurisdiction to create a new governance system—are that solution. By improving governance through deep regulatory and administrative reforms, charter cities can help accelerate economic growth in developing countries and lift tens of millions of people out of poverty. Details at https://chartercitiesinstitute.org In podcast extra / culture corner, Jeff recommends the book ‘Outsourcing Empire: How Company-States Made the Modern World' by Andrew Phillips and JC Sharman https://press.princeton.edu/books/hardcover/9780691203515/outsourcing-empire Jess recommends the TV series Ted Lasso https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ted_Lasso Pete recommends the book ‘The Diaries of Fred Williams 1963 - 1970' https://www.amazon.com.au/Diaries-Fred-Williams-1963-1970/dp/0522871208 Episode PX129 was released on 31 March 2025.

The first Ishara open  House Challenge .Book 3 in 18 parts, By FinalStand. Listen to the ► Podcast at Explicit Novels.Odd Happenings{8:58 am, Wednesday, Sept. 3rd ~ 5 Days to go; the Final Salvo ~ at this time}I had deposited my Mother in the place I felt was safest for her   with OT (Oyuun T m rbaatar) at the Kazakhstan's UN mission. Her being my family was what mattered to them most. I picked her up on my way to work, which made my entrance into the lobby all that much more cataclysmic.I was traveling light with only Wiesława Živa providing me with security. Chaz, Pamela and Juanita were catching up with their sleep, with a promise of taking me out for a late lunch. That was really them telling me to not leave JIKIT until they came for me around 2:00 pm.So anyway, me, Mom and Wiesława walked into the ground floor of the Mil Ma Towers to find eleven people waiting on us. We were in downtown Manhattan in a part of town the NYPD paid particular attention to. What could go wrong, right? Two of the people were Amazons from Havenstone. With them were two fine young men from the US 'don't make me kill you' Department. By this time in my life I was sure they had one   which no one talked about.Five of my expectant visitors were of the same mold as those who protected Hana for me. Not the Ghost Tigers   that would have put me at ease. Sure, they were a gang of assassin and in this circumstance; I would have preferred them. As it was, ten sets of highly-trained Illuminati operative eyes kept me, my party and the four guardians of JIKIT in their overlapping fields of vision.The last two, were doing an impromptu family reunion. They were Aunts 'X' and 'Y', and neither of them smelled like fish, or crab."Aunt Deidre," I tossed out there. "What brings you here today?"It looked like clobbering time! No. Wait. Neither Mom, nor my aunts, were saying anything and they were normally so verbose."Sibeal.""Imogen.""Sibeal, you are looking surprisingly well for a dead woman," the other one said."Deidre, you are looking surprisingly alive for someone who deserves to be dead," Mom bantered back."How long have you known about this?" Imogen's eyes flickered my way."Not long, a while, more than a day, ah, take your pick," I mumbled. I decided to turn that frown aka 'my gut wrenching terror that my Mother was about to die' upside down aka ramped up my sexy, 'glad to see you in a totally incestuous way'."So, what brings you here today and why aren't you waiting upstairs with the rest of my band of cutthroats, malcontents and ne'er do-wells? Oh, and I'm happy to see both of you." Karma was about to bitch-slap the shit out of me and it was so well deserved."I'm pregnant," Imogen studied my reaction. Yeah, I had banged her after Deidre, but before Baibre because I am a fucking reprehensible human being and sometimes, I feel I am utterly irredeemable."Great news," I exhaled. I so wanted to ask 'so, who is the father?' except that was too cruel, even for an O'Shea.No one stopped me from stepping up and hugging her. Everyone in the lobby had heard her loud and clear. Anyone who knew me, or even about me, knew she wasn't passing on the information because Imogen liked sharing good news. I kept my hands on her hips while I leaned my torso back until we could make eye contact."Does Granddad know?" It occurred to me in that second that Pamela was going to kick herself for missing this and the opportunity to kick me as well."I told him over the phone. His reaction was neutral," she responded."Whoa, girl? Boy? How are you doing? When are we going to sit down and figure out a name? Is there anything I can do for you?""Come home with me," she suggested."No," Mom snapped. "Next time he steps into your custody, we all know you won't let him get away." She meant the plane trip to Ireland."No, Mom," I countered. "I'm a grown man now and I make my own decisions. That being said   no, I'm not going home with you.""Not only am I still in love with the concept of my personal freedom, I have important work to do. People are counting on me.""We are counting on you too," Deidre stated. "In fact, that is the other reason we came here. We need you.""Why do I feel that has to do with something besides sex?""Can we talk to you in private?" Imogen requested. There were a thousand and one reasons to say 'no'. Things like 'common sense', bad behavior   they had murdered my homicidal uncle   and the fact they were as morally twisted as their creator. Oh   and they were hot and I hadn't been laid in forever."Sure. Let's go upstairs. You can have your people sweep the room to ensure our privacy then the four of us can sit down and have a family chat," I offered."We don't want her in the room," Deidre indicated Mom."We are a package deal," I denied her. "Like her, or not, she is as much family to me as you both are."They consented far too fast. Either I was falling into their masterful trap, or something horrible had happened. Neither options was palatable to me. The bodyguards departed, Wiesława last of all."What's gone wrong?" Mom preempted me. Her sisters glared."Father's body is not his own," Imogen told us. I was trying to figure out the relevance of that when Mom gasped."Oh fuck," she said in a small voice. "No serum?" Oh yeah, the refinement of those addictive pheromones Grandpa Cáel had gifted me with. Whatever flesh-form he currently inhabited wasn't one containing his genetic make-up meaning,"Oh shit," I mumbled. "What can I do?""Yes," Deidre replied to Mom."Let them die," Mom insisted (to me). Less I forget, she was raised by Grandpa Cáel too. Her being a loving mother to me didn't translate over to her being a humanitarian of any kind."The Hell you say," I jumped up and stared down at Mom. "You hate them. I don't. Letting them die makes me worse than him." Grandpa."So you will help us?" Deidre moved to the edge of her seat."Okay. This is the point where I threaten you into making some concessions, we argue then you eventually cave in because no matter how terrible your futures look, you aren't willing to give up on living. None of that is going to happen. What do you need from me?""Come back with us to Ireland so we can finish our experiments," Imogen joined me in standing. Unwilling to give her sister any physical advantage, Mom stood as well."No. That isn't even a believable lie," I scolded her. "You don't need to blackmail me into helping you. I'll do it gladly. That doesn't mean I'll let you trick me into doing something stupid. I do 'stupid' all the time. I'm accustomed to it and I know it when its ugly head rises up before me. Try again.""We could pick a neutral location," Deidre suggested."How about Havenstone?" They didn't look like that plan was even worthy of their consideration. "Imogen, inside you is growing a possible heir to House Ishara. An attack on you would be an attack on Ishara. Barring you betraying the Amazons, you would be perfectly safe.""Wonderful," Mom's sarcasm dripped off every word. "I'm going to be a grandmother to my nephew while my son is bringing a child into the world that can double as his cousin.""That sound pretty horrible, Mom. It is the truth, but it still sounds pretty terrible."While those words tumbled out of my mouth, I did a little soul back-searching. How in the fuck was   outside of the actual fucking   was Imogen pregnant? My existence was a freaking fluke of nature. A few words were bandied about the room while I was lost in deductive reasoning and turning hunches into assumptions and turning those into reasonable mystic hypotheses.I created the Mojo-Little Engine that thought it could. Specifically, the legacy of Vranus. Legions of little Vranusian sperm had been jumping hurdle after hurdle to keep the faith alive   that Vranus would meet his Ancestors with his mission accomplished. I was already half way there.Still, the legacy of Vranus and the hopes of Dot Ishara hadn't stopped in their struggle just because I had been born. They were still trying to restore the mortal descendants of a Dead House. They were also still spiritually pushing me on to fulfill his last command   to save the Arinniti sons.I was halfway there by returning the offspring of Bolu, Vranus' fellow guardian, back to the fold. It remained for me to round up the purpose of the whole mission in the first place. My semen weren't taking a chance that I could get gakked before that was accomplished. Having knocked up an augur despite the toxic soup she called blood should have been a dire warning to me, I'm an idiot.When the curse of Sarrat Irkalli clashed with the actions of Dot Ishara, Ishara had won. Sarrat Irkalli sought to deny Alal any children of his own. Dot was insisting the male line of Vranus Ishara continue on. The end result was Alal received his long-denied grandson, who just happened to also want him dead because of a feud that stretched back over two millennia.As an added insult, his grandson then knocked up one of Alal's genetically manipulated daughters, again giving him something he couldn't accomplish on his own   heirs   grand-sons and  daughters, most who would also want to kill him, being Amazons and members of the 9 Clans after all. Why? Cause Goddesses are bitches, that's why.That got me to wondering when would be the next time I was going to meet Ishara. I hadn't suffered severe head trauma in while and she was overdue for some snuggle time, witty banter and a fortune cookie. I'd try to be careful. It wouldn't do any good, but I had to try."Why are you crying?" Mom touched my arm."No reason," I lied."Why don't we make plans for tonight?" Deidre insinuated herself next to me. "We'd like to meet Hana. From what I understand, Father likes her.""No can-do," I sniffled. "I've got an orgy with 159 women at 8 o'clock, except there won't be any sex, or fun of any kind. Basically, I have to convince a roomful of women to not beat me up and take my stuff.""You don't have to go," Imogen had finished boxing me in   I had a chair behind me and Momma-clones all around."For the same reason I'm going to take care of our child, Imogen, I have to go to this meeting. People are counting on me to do the right thing without telling me what the right thing to do is.""That's unfair," Deidre empathized by stroking my chest."Not so. This is just another day in the life of a new hire at Havenstone Commercial Investments. Every day is like this and in five more days, the real fun beings." That wasn't entirely accurate. I had one good, stress-free week. It was when Carrig put me in a coma. That week I had done pretty well for myself.{9:28 am, Wednesday, Sept. 3rd ~ 5 Days to go}I trundled my latest 'Assistant-in-Charge of keeping the hopes of future Isharans alive' (I didn't want to call Aunt Imogen, or any other woman, my 'Baby-Mamma'), along with Mom and Deidre, for a meet-and-greet with Buffy. I had spelled out in no uncertain terms that Buffy was the power behind the Ishara Throne and thus making 'her' believe they were playing on the up-and-up was their best hope for easing relations between the O'Shea and the Amazon Host.After they left me (with the assurance we'd be getting back together for lunch, with Hana), I made three calls. I needed to make a formal request to Katrina (any Illuminati member(s) entering any Amazon facility was her purview) and another to Elsa (as a sign of respect) that Aunt Imogen and two unarmed bodyguards, max, needed to see our medicos about a delicate issue.The third call was to Buffy to enlighten her as to both the arrival of another one of my aunts (so we needed to get along peacefully with her) and that Aunt Imogen was carrying yet another potential heir to House Ishara. I suggested it would be a symbolic gesture if a member of House Ishara could hang around for the visit, as it might impress upon Imogen our House had a vested interest in keeping her alive."Another one?" Buffy sizzled. "And this one is your aunt?""It is a date then," I stumped her."You are going to take your pregnant aunt out on a date?" Buffy's sizzle meter was rapidly climbing to Krakatoa proportions."Nope. I'm setting up a date for us. You, me and a quiet location at 12:01 am Tuesday morning, my First. Later in the morning, I'll be heading out to wherever they have stored Felix so we can work on some cooperative strategy.""And if I say 'no'?" She was terribly grumpy."Ugh, I guess I'll go bar-crawling with Odette and Timothy, Gay and Lesbian bars only. That way I know I'll behave.""And if they say 'no'?" she was slightly less hostile."I'll know you threatened their lives, and then you and I will finally find out who is better on the mats. Trust me, it will not be an experience you will enjoy.""I don't know. I think I'd like that.""No. You start threatening the other people I love and you will not be happy; I guarantee that, Buffy."She realized I was both serious and angry. She had stepped out of bounds, the 'bounds' I had set up two hours earlier during our elevator ride."Is the meeting still on for the night?" she evaded my disappointment."Yes. Will you be there?""Of course," she grumped."Buffy, don't bother showing up if you can't separate 'us' as friends, 'us' as Wakko Ishara and my First, and you as my apprentice."Making me miserable in the first relationship doesn't help the latter two one bit. I try not to be an irresponsible asshole as House Head. More than anyone else, you know what I will sacrifice to be Ishara and one with my Isharans. I'll also step out and be plain ole 'Cáel Nyilas' when events permit.""But I am sick and tired of people not taking my desire to be foolish and care-free seriously. Being a dogmatic ass-hat isn't in me, but if you can't work with that, from here on out we are Wakko Ishara and Buffy Ishara and nothing more. I will still trust you as an Isharan, but not as a friend. Your choice.""Don't be such an asshole!" she snapped."Screw you!" I fired back. "I made a fucking effort to plan out some personal time with you, disguised as a joke; you knew it and you still decided to be a ball-buster. Like I need another fucking ball-buster right now, with all the other shit on my plate. You know better!" I was screaming. The people in JIKIT were working overtime at not staring at me."I'm under a ton of stress here too," she snarled. "I have to deal with the Council, keep our House growing and fulfill my obligations with Executive Services.""Do you want to quit? No longer by my 'apprentice'? Go back to working for Katrina full time?""Really?" she whispered."Of course the fuck not!" I shouted. "I didn't pick you for the job because of your sterling personality, or your bedroom excellence. I picked you because I had, and still have, utter faith in your ability to do whatever is necessary to overcome the landfill-sized colossal ill-fortune the Ancestors have dumped in our lap.""I'm just asking you to stop being a whiny, over-sensitive cunt and remember: it was the psychotic bitch who I chose for the top spot," I rumbled."I'm going to kick your ass," she seethed."Nice to know. We on for Monday night?"Pause."Yes," and she hung up. Two seconds later my phone rang again. "Buffy?" I answered. "And don't be late!" she menaced, then hung up again."So," Addison turned my way, "are you praying for World Peace to break out, or Nuclear War?""Hardy-har-har," I griped."Now that your personal drama is temporarily derailed, we have something for you to look at," Mehmet motioned for my attention. "Ever heard of Kōfuku no Kagaku?" I shook my head. "It translates over as 'Happy Science' and it is a cult-like organization in Japan.""Cool beans. Why do I have a sinking impression it is not a front for the Ninja?""That is what we want you to find out," Addison took over. "Of critical importance is the news conference their leader, Ryuho Okawa, gave earlier this afternoon/morning (~ 3:17 pm Tokyo time = 2:17 am East Coast time ~), especially a very relevant part of his interesting public announcement."He claims to be the Earthly manifestation of the Supreme Being. That is old news. Today he claimed that Temujin of the Khanate was the reincarnation of the original Genghis Khan and, with him, Ryuho, as the unifier of theological forces and therefore serving as spiritual advisor to Temujin, they would usher in a new period of Peace throughout Asia.""I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop," I exhaled."He also claims that Japan is in the midst of an epic struggle, both spiritually and in the physical sense. The 'ancient guardians' of Japanese purity, the 6 Ninja Families, are at war with the depth of all Evil, the Chinese Seven Pillars of Heaven by name, who are determined to drag all of Asia away from the Light and into the Darkness of pain, degradation and slavery."In fact I quote: 'Alone among the nations of the Earth, only the Japanese cultural identity can stand firm against this global menace. Only the Japanese can keep the torch of true Enlightenment aloft. Only the Japanese can guide the development of the Khanate into the Supreme Empire it is meant to be'.""I'm going to go out on a limb here and say this guy is pseudo-religious, a Japanese ultra-nationalist as well as anti 'all things Sino'," came out of my mouth."Correct.""None of the Secret Societies would do something so public. Temujin's background is a mystery, but no one in the Khanate is calling him a reincarnated spirit, and they know the truth," I continued."This guy is pretty nutty," Mehmet confirmed. "He also claims to channel Buddha, Mohammed, Christ and Confucius. His followers worship him as the Earthly manifestation of the 'Supreme Being' named El Cantare, which is yet another name for any number of ancient supreme deities. And he claims to consult with the 'spirit guardians' of national leaders and aids in their mystic defense, with the aid of the Five Sacred Sisters' Spirits."Clearly this man was insane. Unfortunately, insane didn't make someone wrong,"Ah Hell," I muttered.Mehmet and Addison perked up; after all, figuring out the bizarre was my position on the team."He probably is insane, and I can't blame him," I sighed. "He isn't El Cantare; he is in touch with the Weave.""I have a feeling this is 'not good'," Addison murmured. "How bad is it?""The Five Sacred Spirit Sisters are most likely the five augurs who died in order to save Temujin, which, in turn, allies the 9 Clans with the E&S and Amazons to 'save' Japan, though it is not 'saved' yet.""Technically, the Weave IS the Supreme Being. It's largely indifferent, yet capable of doing both good and ill in response to outside (aka mortal) stimuli. If you can observe the Weave, you might be able to see the most likely path destiny is taking as well as the key players screwing with that destiny."That would include the Gong Tau sorcerers and the ninjas use of their own brand of magic; and God only knows what other mystic tricks the others have been attempting.""How do we get them to stop?" Captain Delilah Faircloth muttered."Not that easy Delilah. Everyone in this room has intersected because of a magic experiment that happened before any of us were born (Mom).""The fight at Summer Camp was flipped on its head because I saw the ghost the 7 Pillars sent to scout the area. My freeing of one of those trapped and tortured souls led to the calamity at the Barbeque Pit. I didn't use magic. I countered it. Still, my actions were interfering with the Weave."All four people the augurs, those Five Sisters, told me about had been dead at some point in time, some for thousands of years. Ajax didn't kill anyone using magic. Neither has Saku, yet both of them are products of disruptions in the Weave. 'Me' being alive and breathing is yet another disruption, since I shouldn't exist because of another mystic curse from five thousand years ago."Being alive and killing people means I've killed people who shouldn't be dead. Do we need to go into all the millions that have died in the Khanate war? Which was a combination of a resurrected Temujin and the 7 Pillars hunger for World Domination, if we do nothing, the rippled of those other disruption will still carry on."Except for me, no one on this taskforce has used an iota of magic, yet we are all dedicated to combatting mystical forces," I related to the group. I wondered where Rikki (Martin) and Beatrice (Ya Konan) had gotten off to. Lady Yum-Yum being absent only made my 'Scooby' senses tingle more."You use magic?" Agent-86 tilted his head in curiosity."I talk to a Goddess on a semi-regular business. I see ghosts. I've been the conveyer of messages from dead people and I've killed an un-killable man. Do we need to go back over my kidnapping by the 7 Pillars? The memories of my undead Grandfather floating around in my head?""I'm not calling thunderbolts out of the sky and shooting fireballs out my ass, but what I am doing is magical, nonetheless.""So, what do we recommend to our allies and benefactors (i.e., our sovereign governments)?" Mehmet inquired."Hmm, we tell our governments this crackpot is a Prophet of Doom who could be turned into an asset," I rubbed my brow with all four fingers and a thumb. Rikki, Beatrice and Lady Worthington-Burke quietly entered the room. They were all highly pleased in a 'I just won the lottery' kind of way. I was curious, but had to carry on with my train of thought."Quietly start seeking out other mystic societies, preferably low-key, quiet types who avoid the limelight, and start looking into other forms of magical insight and, quite frankly, protection. If the Weave has let this happen, we can expect worse. Lastly, I'll ask my 'Brother' to meet with this guy and get a feel for his personality.""That will only increase the believability of his ramblings," Addison protested."The boat called 'Denial' has already sailed. The World is in crisis. People are going to look for non-conventional answers. It is better to get ahead of this and bring Ryuho Okawa on board as a 'consultant'. Don't give him the whole picture by any means. The guy is definitely a loose cannon. Even worse, he is also a loose cannon the Weave has touched.""Besides, the Seven Pillars are going to figure this out pretty quick, their Weave sensitivity, ya know, and either kidnap him to be their own spiritual seismic sensor, or kill him for being both a loose cannon and yet another person screwing with their 'best laid plans'. Keeping him alive has the added benefit of making the Seven Pillars expend resources trying to get at him. Japan needs every bit diversion they can get."Let's not forget to tell our Secret Society allies of our plans, lest they kill him too. His babblings aren't going to make the 9 Clans or the E&S happy with him. They both have an established habit of making perceived enemies dead. Let's keep him alive and utilize this opportunity.""I like this plan," Addison nodded. Mehmet was clearly on board as well. Agent-86 clearly was playing the best on-line mystic MMORPG ever! (And with the added bonus that his team's action had real-world consequences.) The three 'ladies' new to the room received an abbreviated version of our discussion and my 'suggestions'. They weren't really suggestions. Barring a few insanely criminal endeavors, JIKIT treated me like a true asset."Something else big?" Addison looked to her British counterpart (Yum-Yum)."The Japanese Diet has voted for a public referendum on a Constitutional Amendment to repeal/revise Article 96 of the Japanese Constitution.""Oh fuck," was echoed, either verbally or subliminally, by everyone in the room except for me, Delilah and Agent-86.'Cáel' knew Jack and Shit about the Japanese Constitution. Hell, I barely knew about the US one and I was a native. However, Alal did know it, and knew both what Article 96 was and what its amendment really meant. Good-old 96 was the rolling dark cloud across the political Great Plains that heralded a swarm of tornados. Clouds were clouds and their arrival could mean anything.Article 96 dictated how the Japanese Constitution could be amended. The current process was a 2/3rd vote in both the House of Councilors (the 'Upper House', roughly equivalent to our Senate) and the House of Representatives (the 'Lower' House) followed by a public referendum. The proposed amendment to Article 96 would transform the process to a mere majority vote in both Houses.Imagine the shit-storm which would be unleashed if the US Congress tried to pull that shit. The biggest political issue was that the Japanese Liberal Democratic Party (LDP) held 294 of the 475 seats in the lower house (a clear majority) and 115 of the 242 in the Upper House (7 seats short of a majority). If the amendment passed next month (October 14th to be precise), the LDP could pretty much do as they pleased.And what was the first thing they were going to do? They were going to put to rest another part of the Constitution, namely the far more globally important Article 9. And what was that?Real World Stuff: WarningsArticle 9:(1)Aspiring sincerely to an international peace based on justice and order, the Japanese people forever renounce war as a sovereign right of the nation and the threat or use of force as means of settling international disputes.(2)To accomplish the aim of the preceding paragraph, land, sea, and air forces, as well as other war potential, will never be maintained. The right of belligerency of the state will not be recognized.If Article 9 was repealed, the Japanese nation could exercise diplomacy by military means, aka declaring an offensive war against a foreign power. Currently Japan had a modest budget military budget of $48 Billion a year (Earth's 10th largest). It was modest when you considered it was a mere 1% of the Japanese GDP. Great Britain, France and South Korea's smaller economies all functioned nicely with double that percentage for their military budget.Regionally, every other nation was increasing their military expenditures, except Japan's protector, the US and (perhaps) North Korea, who's spending on anything was a closely guarded state secret. Right now, China and the Khanate's military expenditures were running roughly even at $180 billion each, but this was an arm's race the PRC would eventually win, they had too great an advantage in the size of their workforce and a far larger industrial base.The truth was, if the PRC couldn't win this race fast, she was facing a long, grinding war reminiscent of the Communists' Long Rise to Power that wrecked their country a century ago. The monetary dynamic was shifting badly against them because the Khanate wasn't alone.India, Taiwan and Vietnam were also ramping up their war spending to a combined tune of $34 billion and now allied with the Khanate, equating to an additional $90 billion the PRC had to overcome. South Korea was already adding $8 billion to their military and Russia was taxing the fuck out of Manchuria to both pay for their 'Peaceful Intervention' and to increase the 'Readiness' of their other forces.All of this military spending was bad for both the regional and global economies (unless you were Israel who was turning out hardware 24/7/365 for the Khanate and Indian war machines). So at this point, Japan doing 'nothing' was possibly more disastrous than doing 'something' else.They were already spending $50 fucking billion on glorified policemen while the future of East Asia was being decided without them. Doubling the military budget would place a huge burden on the largely pacifistic population. It would also put Japan in the position of deciding the Fate of Nations.With the repeal of Article 9, Japan could utilize 'proactive means' to keep the naval supply routes to China open, not even the Indian's had the naval presence to confront the Japanese. Such a policy was a nice, friendly gesture to the Asian Colossus, who wasn't likely to show a shred of appreciation for their efforts.No, China had spent the last 60 years stoking the hatred of the Land of the Rising Sun among their people. (Many Japanese forgot current Chinese hatred was based on the Japanese butchering their way across China for nearly a decade between 1937 to 1945).(The Cornerstone) There was a truism which had guided American, Chinese, Japanese and Russian political thought for 150 years: 'There could only be one supreme power in East Asia and the Eastern Pacific'. Japan had followed the logical expression of that paradigm by invading Taiwan (1895), Korea (1910), beating up on Imperial Russia (1904), taking Manchuria (1931) and going to war with China (1937) while that country was trapped in a bloody civil war.To stop the Empire of Japan's rise, the US had attempted to cripple the Japanese economy before the Empire could harvest their just-acquired Asian natural resources. In response, Japan had thrown its soldiers and sailors into a futile effort against the British Empire, the United States and China and lost.With Imperial Japan crushed and the Soviet Union preoccupied in Europe, China had risen. The irresistible force of China's rapidly increasing population, natural resources exploitation and extensive land mass took hold. Japan couldn't compete in a 'fair' fight. Since 1945, the Japanese government had lived with the fear of aggression from Russia and/or China aimed their way.The US felt the same way, or they had. The fear produced by the broad acceptance of 'Only-One-Shall-Rule-Asia' had led to the Korean War, the half-century cease-fire along the Demilitarized Zone in Korea and the Vietnamese Civil War. The Communists in China and Russia had feuded until the Soviet Union collapsed under its own economic inadequacies.A reborn Russia, even with the ultra-nationalist Putin at the helm, couldn't stop China's growing domination. Asia was China's for the taking, until the Khanate rose up like some desert mirage in the Western Steppe, one that turned into the Mother of All Storms. So now, miraculously, the dominion of Asia was up for grabs once more.Japan could not overcome China; that was a given. The Dragon had more people, more resources and an almost three-fold larger economy. Given a decade, the PRC would grind the Khanate down. Once more it was the tyranny of numbers. Even India, Taiwan and Vietnam could only slow down the inevitable.India's subpar economic output marginalized the power of their citizenry. Taiwan had the proportional economy, but not nearly enough people. Vietnam had neither and had always had a rough time defending themselves, much less been successful confronting powers beyond her homeland. Putin's Mother Russia had a host of other problems, internal and external, so she had already contributed as much as Putin dared.Until Thursday morning, Tokyo Time, the undeniable Destiny of Asia remained in the hands of those men in Beijing. The dominoes were falling in a way those rulers had not foreseen and now fumed over. But on Wednesday night, there was no industrial power (with the population to back it up) which could threaten the People's Republic of China.Europe and the US wouldn't intervene. Much like the leadership in Japan, the Communist Chinese Politburo believed Putin had wagered as much as dared. No other nation on Earth mattered. Japan? That was laughable. Their Constitution bound the hands off their military behind their backs with a pledge of eternal pacifism.The Chinese weren't blind to the 250,000 men and women of the Japanese Self Defense Force. Without the political will, those troops might have well have been in Brazil. A hostile Brazil was actually a greater worry because Brazil was the powerhouse of South America, a G-8 economy and hungered for a Permanent Seat on the UN Security Council. The PRC was dedicated to denying their desire as it would have diluted the PRC's burgeoning diplomatic power.Japan? Ha.Thursday morning, in what was essentially an undetected (by anyone except the Ninja and JIKIT) coup d' tat, pacifism was sacrificed on the Altar of Nationalism. Article 96's demise was pre-ordained. A poll taken on July 1st, 42% of Japanese felt positively about the repeal of Article 96 while 46% opposed it.The same agency took a new poll on August 28th. The economic-political situation of Japan was going through a titanic tidal shift. If Buddhism moved you toward devout pacifist, the Khanate had liberated Tibet and was clearly withdrawing as the UN troops' boots hit the ground.If you were a Nationalist of any kind, you were seeing a whole lot more people at your rallies, accessing your websites and signing up to join your formerly fringe parties. If you were a Socialist, you were scared. Why? The PRC was in the process of nationalizing all of Japan's (and South Korea's and Taiwan's) business interests in China, for the 'Duration of the Emergency', or so they said.That meant plenty of Japanese workers were losing their jobs and looking to blame someone. You couldn't blame the centrist LDP. The LDP had been working alongside the Japanese Communist Party for months. They had done nothing wrong and had worked tirelessly for a peaceful diplomatic solution. It was their 'comrades' in China, their Marxist confederates, who were costing the hard-working Japanese workers their jobs.If you were in the Establishment, all of the above worried the crap out of you. Japan's economy had been limping along at barely-positive growth for a decade. Your aging population needed more and more from their public services and, worst of all, you had nothing in your political and economic tool box to escape the obvious oncoming national catastrophe.The possibility of a Global Recession loomed on the horizon, if they were lucky. Highly respected economists in Japan and elsewhere were examining all the key indicators over the past three months and were suggesting hording as a viable policy for middle class households to consider. If you were in the Developing World, worse was heading your way.The word being bandied about on those esteemed academic internet websites wasn't 'recession', it was depression. Global prosperity thrived on nations investing in both their own economy and the economies of other nations. The governments representing a third of the World's population were not investing in their economies.Unless you were a war profiteer, you could expect fewer consumer goods on the shelves; and what was there would cost more. Your income wasn't going up; your expenses were. If you were an Atheistic homeowner in the Western World with a secured 3.25% fixed rate home loan, you took up religion. The prime interest rate would be racing for the 20% mark and that was only if your economy was stable.If you lived in a country in the Developing World, your trade goods didn't compete with those created in the G-20. Your competition was with other Developing World businesses and the prize was the pocketbooks of those consumers in the G-20, which was a shrinking purse.It wasn't like you were being paid all that much to begin with; and now those once poor-paying, but at least plentiful, jobs were drying up. You needed your government to help you out. It wasn't like those governments could raise money by taxing the unemployed and under-employed. They didn't have money. And the rich in most of those same nations had a long and successful legacy of avoiding paying.Those growing economies had a few tried and tested 'solutions' for getting their countries through these rough stretches.The IMF? 'We are out to make 'positive' capital investments and your economic outlook doesn't look promising. We suggest 'austerity'.'The BRICS? Since India and China were basically in an undeclared state of war: 'we won't be loaning anyone anything for a while.'The BIS? 'As soon as the People' Bank of China, the Reserve Bank of India, the Central Bank of Ireland, the Bank of Israel and the Central Bank of the Republic of Turkey get back to us about their sudden, serious lack of transparency, we'll call you back.'World Bank? Holy Shit! 'The world's going down the toilet, we will do what we can.'F Y I, I (as in Cáel) had been wrong. The 6 Elders of the Ninja families didn't talk to Japanese Prime Minister, Shinzō Awbee. They talked with another, far more immediately important man. So sue me (Cáel) for not knowing the inner workings of various world governments, and creatively interpreting events surrounding all those people I (Cáel) didn't. I'm a freaking Liberal Arts major with a fertile imagination, not a superspy, or even a competent Intelligence Analyst!}The Japanese government had appealed to the U.S., U.N., P.R.C., A.S.E.A.N., India; and (through back channels aka JIKIT) the Khanate for an end to this madness; all with typical results:The U.S.A: We are working on it (without letting them know what precisely they were working on)Japan: Well, do something fast. Our Government Bonds are about to be more useful as wallpaper.The U.N.: We are working on it (with their long-established tradition of not doing anything until the crisis had passed)Japan: You are preparing to pass a Resolution to move this matter from the First Committee to the Fourth Committee, gee, thanks guys. Will they be meeting sometime before Christmas?The PRC: We are too busy right now, so shut up, keep the trade lanes open, and was that your submarine we detected sneaking into our territorial waters?Japan: What? What do you mean you are 'too busy?' You are one of our biggest trading partners, your economy is going down the toilet, and, No! That was not our submarine in your territorial waters. That accusation is absurd.(Note from Japanese Prime Minister, Shinzō Awbee, to Admiral Katsutoshi Kawano, head of the JMSDF {the de facto Japanese Navy}), The PRC has made this outrageous claim that one of our submarines has been sneaking around their territorial waters. There is no truth to that rumor, right?Kawano: Which time?Prime Minister: Oh My God! What have you people been doing and why is this the first time I'm hearing about it?Kawano: Sir, if you are just now getting around to asking us, you don't want to know.Prime Minister: What do you mean 'I don't want to know?' I'm the head of the damn government and, you are right. Fine. There is no way I'm going back to the Chinese Ambassador and apologizing for any this. Is there any way this can come back to screw us over?Kawano: With all these US and British submarines helping us out, not very likely, Prime Minister.Prime Minister: Oh, very good. You are correct, I don't want to know what you 'haven't' been doing. I am ordering you to destroy all transcripts and recordings of this conversation.Kawano: It has been my distinct honor not having this conversation with you, Prime Minister. Sayōnara.ASEAN, What do you expect us to do about this? Have you seen the unimpressive combined sizes of our members' air forces and navies? Did you see the smack-down the Khanate has inflicted on the PLAN's South China Sea Fleet?Besides, the PRC is claiming that the Khanate launched covert attacks against the Parcels and Spratly islands which originated from Indonesian and Filipino waters. We are investigating the issue. If you are asking us for help, you are truly screwed. Don't call us. We will call you.Japan, {muttering} Investigating the attacks that came from your territory, bullshit! You are covering your own asses, damn it!(Note from Prime Minister, Shinzō Awbee, to Shotaro Yachi, Japanese National Security Advisor), I've heard an ugly rumor that the Khanate has forces secreted in the Philippines and Indonesia. Do you happen to know anything about it?Yachi: Yes Sir. We had advance notice of the organization, composition and destination of those forces.Awbee (while muttering 'no one tells me anything anymore'): What the! Would you please tell me what is going on.Yachi: We have made critical steps toward future alliances which will guarantee Japanese security for decades to come.Awbee What does that mean, and since when have you been creating and implementing foreign policy? We have a Minister for that, in case you somehow over-looked him at the last cabinet meeting. Wait! Does he know about this too?Yachi: No Sir, Foreign Minister Kishida is currently unaware of the Kinkyū tokushu sakusen tasukufōsu (Emergency Special Operations Task Force). Admiral Katsutoshi knows the basics of our operational policy, since we need to borrow some of his assets from time to time. Director-General Kitada (of the Public Security Intelligence Agency) and key personnel from the Foreign Ministry's Intelligence & Analysis Service and Security Bureau make up the majority of the task force's operatives.Awbee: What have you been doing?Yachi: You don't want to know, Mr. Prime Minister. It would make things, awkward.Awbee: 'You don't want to know', of course, I don't. I'm only the elected head of this government. Why would I possibly want to know what acts of espionage and war my deputies are executing?Yachi: I am glad we are on the same page, Sir. Will there be anything else?Awbee: No, wait. Do you have any intelligence on what the Khanate is up to?Yachi: Yes Sir. Is there anything in particular you want to know?Analysis Services: Can you contact someone in their leadership willing to discuss regional affairs?Yachi: I can put you in touch with the Great Khan himself if necessary.AS: What!Yachi: Sir, I would hardly be acting in our nation's best interests if I couldn't divine the intentions of the key players on the stage. Shall I initiate the necessary communications to facilitate that level of clandestine diplomatic contact?AS: No. Yes. No, I need to think about this. Hmm, have you been conducting any domestic espionage missions?Yachi: You don't want me to answer that, Sir.Awbee: of course I don't, I'm only the damn Prime Minister. Shotaro, I'm still Prime Minister, aren't I?Yachi: Yes Sir. We have been working overtime to ensure that. We've foiled two enemy assassination attempts and one attempted kidnapping so far. We remain vigilant.AS: How come this is the first I'm hearing about it? Is the head of my security in on this conspiracy of yours too?Yachi: No Sir. These particular guardians wish to avoid notoriety at all costs.Awbee: Okay. Good to know. Ah, keep up the good work and destroy any trace of this conversation.Yachi: Way ahead of you, Sir. Have a good night.India, Yes, we are more than willing to work with you toward regional stability. Care to acknowledge the Khanate's legitimacy first? We'd really appreciate it. Sure, get back to us when you've done that. Until then, the South China Sea Awaits! Yes, we plan to keep what we've earned. Later now. We think there is going to be further instability in Southeast Asia.Japan, Ya think? It is your damn warships sailing around the freaking South China Sea enforcing your utterly un-secret alliance with the Khanate. Why are you doing this to us? What have we ever done to you?The Khanate, We are not out to damage your national interests. We apologize, but there is now way we will call off this war with the Communist Chinese. It is them, or us, to the death. We have already received and agreed to your request to allow all Japanese flagged ships safe transit through the South China Sea. We really wish to be your friends this time, to make up for those two invasion attempts seven hundred years ago.(Note from  Prime Minister to Self) Great. The only reasonable people who aren't out to kick me in the nuts are also the ones I can't acknowledge talking to. I've got to do something a

EV sales in the US continue to grow. Learn what needs to happen to spur further adoption.     Roughly 20% of US passenger vehicles sold in 2024 were battery electric or hybrid vehicles. What's next for the EV industry, especially in the face of a changing regulatory environment and tariffson key materials such as lithium?     Join Steve Odland and guest Dr. Alex Heil, senior economist in the US Economy, Strategy & Finance Center, to explore the future of EV growth in the US, whether EVs are price competitive with fossil fuel vehicles, and what's happening in countries such as Norway, China, and India.    (00:29) Understanding Electric Vehicles (02:15) Trends in EV Adoption (03:47) Challenges of Range and Cost (06:27) Impact on the Electrical Grid (09:10) Charging Infrastructure Developments (14:06) Commercial and Freight EVs (17:33) Global EV Market Insights   For more from The Conference Board:  Charging Ahead: Taking Stock of the Electric Vehicle Market in the US  Global EV Insights  Charging Ahead: Is India's EV Adoption Plan a Model for the Developing World? 

The Global South is a term that covers a broad swath of developing countries and emerging economies in Africa, Asia, Latin America, and Oceania. It is a grouping of over 130 heterogenous countries that is pushing to enhance its voice in global decision making. China, which self-identifies as a leader of the developing world, has a long history of engaging with the developing world. Under Xi Jinping, Beijing has deepened its ties with Global South countries through economic investment, diplomatic engagement, and security cooperation.  Meanwhile, developed countries from the wealthier and more industrialized Global North are stepping up efforts to counter Chinese influence and win support from Global South countries.  What are China's interests in the Global South?  What are the key strategies and tactics that Beijing utilizes to influence and engage with those countries? How have countries in the Global South responded to China's influence?  And how will intensified Sino-American rivalry impact developing countries in the future? To discuss these issues, host Bonnie Glaser is joined by Mr. Masaaki Yatsuzuka, Senior Research Fellow at the China Division of the Regional Studies Department at the National Institute for Defense Studies in Japan (NIDS).  He is the co-author of the recently published report titled “The Rising Global South and China.”  Timestamps[00:00] Start[01:55] Resurgent Interest in the Global South [04:28] Engaging Developing Countries[06:51] Economic Tools and Mechanisms to Exert Influence[08:55] Motivation for Expanding Military Presence [12:33] Perceptions of China in the Global South [15:07] Why does China's involvement in the Global South matter? [17:39] US-China Competition Impacting the Global South[19:00] India, Brazil, and Other Rising Powers[20:35] Tokyo's Concerns Over China's Influence [22:41] Response to Increased Attention Paid to Developing Countries[24:37] China's Reaction to the Trump Administration 

President Cyril Ramaphosa has signed the Global Minimum Tax Act into law. This groundbreaking legislation enforces a 15% effective tax rate on multinational corporations, ensuring they contribute their fair share. The act targets tax avoidance by closing loopholes that allow companies to benefit from low-tax jurisdictions, potentially raising R8 billion in revenue by 2026. Rooted in the OECD's global tax reform framework, it applies to firms with annual revenues exceeding €750 million. While some organizations applaud the move, critics argue the threshold is too high, leaving many companies unaffected. Implementation begins this year. Bongiwe Zwane spoke to Executive Director at Firstsource Money, Redge Nkosi

President Cyril Ramaphosa has signed the Global Minimum Tax Act into law. This groundbreaking legislation enforces a 15% effective tax rate on multinational corporations, ensuring they contribute their fair share. The act targets tax avoidance by closing loopholes that allow companies to benefit from low-tax jurisdictions, potentially raising R8 billion in revenue by 2026. Rooted in the OECD's global tax reform framework, it applies to firms with annual revenues exceeding €750 million. While some organizations applaud the move, critics argue the threshold is too high, leaving many companies unaffected. Implementation begins this year. Bongiwe Zwane spoke to Executive Director at Firstsource Money, Redge Nkosi

Promises To Keep. In 25 parts, edited from the works of FinalStand. Listen and subscribe to the ► Podcast at Connected.. Note to readers: There is a bit of mangling of the Iliad going on. My apologies to Homer and the countless singers before him who carried the Iliad down through the dark centuries until the Greeks figured out how writing works. “Never judge a friend by what they give, but of how much of themselves they give.” (From the floor of Katrina's office) First thoughts,  I was on the floor where I had fallen, surrounded and being manhandled in the tenderest way. That was a romantic means of relating to my mummification. Those little Band-Aids that had been applied when I woke up from my coma had failed the 'Cáel is a Smeckle-head' test. All the crud they had pumped into my system and amperage they had channeled through my muscles was not the same as eating and exercise. Having a sexual romp with two ladies? My Goddess made plans for my body that my caloric bank account couldn't afford, thus me passing out. Unlike my time with Miyako and Estere, I had a feeling my two sofa-buddies were ovulating. Fatherhood was on the way. How my infant would survive the continuous poisonous assault on the augur's lymphatic system was beyond me. Her guardian, let's just say I dealt with sneaky bitches/Dot on a regular basis and leave it at that. "He is awake," Tadêfi alerted the room. "You must leave so I can deliver my message to him in the privacy he requested." "I am almost done," a different Amazon voice stated. She was the medico dealing with my wounds. By the aroma, she had slathered on two coats of the healing goo that was becoming as comfortable to my nostrils as my soap-on-a-rope. A few more rounds of adhesive tape and the exodus from the room began. I hadn't opened my eyes because I was unprepared for the looks of anger, disappointment and concern surely leveled my way. The door shut and my eyes opened. "The Conqueror, the Champion, the Friendless and the Foe have all escaped the Land of the Endless Black Sands and returned to the Sunlit Realm," Tadêfi whispered upon my lips. Huh? That was it? Seriously, four freaking titles without, And here came the rest, faces. Faces with eyes and eyes with a purpose. Names, not names I wanted to hear at the moment. Bad fucking news all around. It couldn't be something helpful like the identity of the next High Priestess, No, that would be good fucking news. Okay, time to turn this frown upside down. I could make this work for me. How, I wasn't sure. "Thank you," I responded to Tadêfi's plea of understanding. Outside of having impregnating sex with me, the Sex-Master, Timothy was going to Nerf-shoot me for that, she'd endured spiritual, mental and physical grief and torment to be with me here today. She waited, kneeling beside my head. "Kiss me," I requested. It was a moist act, full of compassion and understanding. I racked my mind for the names and their importance. "Who was Shammuramat?" "I don't know, but this helps, right?" Tadêfi expressed her need to make the reward for the sacrifices to make sense. Five dead sister-augurs. They had to find that son-of-a-bitch! "Tadêfi, we are back in the fight," I grinned. "You and your sisters have given the Host a mighty weapon in the upcoming struggle." I knew that to be true because I knew who and where the Conqueror was, I knew he wasn't ready to be revealed, his enemies were closing in and he was ignorant of that fact. I was going to have to rain on his parade to save his life. The five augurs hadn't died futilely. The Weave of Fate had shielded the man and it took the augers' fanatical devotion to cut the threads and expose the truth the Host needed most. The Champion, hell, I knew who he was. I chuckled. Tadêfi was confused. The Champion was coming to kill me, me and a bunch of other Amazons, because blood feuds tend to run both ways. The Foe. He was easy enough. Granddad. The Bastard just wouldn't stay dead. I had a clue to what was going on now. I wasn't sure how useful that knowledge would be. Still, knowledge is knowledge. That thing crawling around inside my brain? No help there. That left Shammuramat. That name was familiar. Even when I finally placed it, I didn't understand her role in things. Why her? "Krasimira," I called out. I struggled to sit up and with Tadêfi's help, I did so. The Keeper and two guardians entered as well. One, Sikia, hovered over her companion/augur. "What is the link between Shammuramat and the Host?" I inquired. I saw no recognition in the Keeper's eyes. "She was the first ever "independent" queen of a nation-state, Assyria." Krasimira sat on the sofa and retrieved her tablet from inside her robes. She began working with the electronic history of the Amazon race. "9th Century BCE," I added. Slowly others migrated back into the room. Buffy, Katrina (not good and not happy), Elsa (really not good) and Desiree. Pamela leaned against the door sill, neither in nor out. Katrina sat behind her desk. The phone came out and whispered conversations began in earnest. I had shoved us straight into a war which looked like a free for all at the moment. No one trusted anyone. No one could afford to. I had to change that. The only saving grace was that it appeared no Secret Society had planned for the Protocols to abruptly end a week and a half ago. "Ah, I found it," Krasimira spoke up. Because I'm me, it was at that moment I finally realized that someone had put me in my biking shorts in an effort to provide me a modicum of modesty, with the benefit of blood being smeared on the inside. "She abandoned the Host, she was put under a death sentence for killing her twin sister who was chosen to lead House Anat over her." "Anat?" I queried. "The other dead First House," Krasimira sighed. "They were renowned for their berserkers. Some would drape themselves in the entrails of their enemies in the midst of battle to increase their ferocious appearance." "Oh, how sweet, what was Ishara known for?" I was surprised I'd never asked. "Ishara were the emissaries of the Host," Krasimira informed me. With the Amazon practice of killing embassies sent their way, the extinction of my house made much more sense. "What does this mean?" Desiree took charge of matters since Katrina was still busy on the phone. In a few short weeks, Desiree's prestige had definitely increased. Katrina was her sister in more than name now. "Where to begin,  Fine, why don't we refer to the Mycenaeans by their proper Amazon name?" Everyone but Buffy was glancing about nervously. "You used the name, didn't you?" Elsa rubbed the bridge of her nose, dreading the response. "Yes, " I answered. "Because no one warns him of shit," Pamela huffed. "You assume an Amazon education with no basis in reality. You act like he grew up with our fairy tales and phantasmal histories. Everyone in this room, but Buffy," she acknowledge my First, "knew he spoke our language and the accompanying risk. Still, no one warned him." "You didn't warn him," Desiree skewered Pamela with a glance. "Not my job, Buttons," Pamela chuckled. "I relish the rest of you being made to look like idiots too much to be useful to Cáel unless it really matters. So he invoked an ancient malediction. What is the worst that could happen?" "I'm going to make a huge deductive leap, am I the reason the Achaean hero Ajax and his boys are back from the dead and coming after us for some Ako-level vengeance?" I groaned. (That's the 47 Ronin for us Westerners) Silence. "That's not your fault, Sport," Pamela snorted. "Mano-man, was I a dumbass for doing nothing. I'll take the blame for that one ladies. Damn Cáel, you would have to pick the Unconquered One, wouldn't you?" "Who is this guy and why does he hate us?" Buffy interjected. Pause. "Our ancestors poisoned his wine so that, in his angry haze, he mistook his own men for his enemies and slaughtered them all, back during the Trojan War. Afterwards, he committed suicide in anguish over his crime, Death opened his eyes at the last, he saw our treachery and managed to curse us as he died," Krasimira informed the lot of us. "And my using that word brought him back? That sounds, weak," I grunted. "The word would not have been enough," Tadêfi comforted me. "There must have been some sort of rift in the curtain of Reality that allowed the others to slip through. I don't understand how, oh no," she gasped as the pieces came together. "I'm willing to believe that was the price of doing business," I petted Tadêfi's cheek. "Please enlighten us," Elsa grumbled. "I need to find the Earth  and  Sky ambassador and set up a new meeting. Using what Tadêfi has gifted me with and the sacrifice of her fellow augurs, I can secure an alliance for us if only I can make up for the whole stunt Troika played," I grinned. "Any ideas?" "We could call them," Pamela produced my phone. "Seems some lady named Hana Sulkanen has been trying for days to get in touch with you. She hunted down the owner of the necklace, they talked about your current physical state, courtesy of Odette, and the owner of the necklace has expressed a continued interest in meeting you, and only you. It would appear that they really don't trust the rest of our merry little band since your first disappearance." Hana, and here I had killed her step-brother, the one she despised. An unexpected benefit of civil discourse, my People's chance of survival had doubled. Pamela lobbed my phone and I caught it. "What of the other two?" Tadêfi pushed down on my euphoria. "Was the Foe dead as well?" A quick look at Pamela told me she knew the answer to that. "The Foe is complicated," I lied. "His return was an inevitability, so we count that as a draw. The Champion, bad news. Let's put Shammy in the 'maybe' column and the Conqueror is a win for our side." A Berserker Queen, fresh from the Underworld, who we were honor-bound to kill,  or the 'other lost heir to a dead House' that was going to make us cobble together some nonsense to bring her back into the fold. If I wasn't the male leader of a spiritually significant All-Girls social club/paramilitary outfit, I might have been daunted by my prospects of achieving the latter. "The thing going on inside your head?" Elsa asked. That explained her presence. My mental capacity was still suspect. Was I still me? Could I flip out with no warning? "It is still there. I still have no idea what happened to me, or what the results might be. This means I'm going into battle wounded and that's that," I stated. "Are you acting in the best interest of the Host," Elsa studied me. "I am not sure," I confessed after half a minute's introspection. "So many of you are fuck-nuts; I'm not sure what acting responsible is for this set," I added jokingly. "As it stand, you lack the authority to pass judgment on me, Elsa. I promise you that if I feel I'm losing control, I will turn myself in." "Saint Marie would feel better if you stayed here," Elsa insisted. "Is the SD declaring war on House Ishara?" Buffy rose to the challenge. "We (by that she meant my fellow Isharans) have discussed the matter and talked to our best neuroscientist. She cannot definitively tell us Cáel isn't Cáel, so there is no reason to constrain him." Whoa. In our best prospect's educated opinion I was not-not me. Legions of English teachers weren't going to like that. "I have the answer for that," Katrina spoke up. "I owe Cáel and I would pay that debt now. He expressed a desire to see my niece, Aya. Do you still wish that Cáel Ishara?" "More than ever, but the Council is meeting," I sighed. "Buffy is your (dead word spoken), your apprentice," Katrina suggested. "Appoint someone to stand with her." That was more than good advice. Buffy was a woman and, to those who knew of her, as fierce an Amazon as ever lived. That was what Katrina was telling me without telling me. "I choose Daphne Pile, if she will accept, to stand by Buffy's side," I announced. Buffy would need someone who was passionate for my cause and who spoke Old Kingdom Hittite. Buffy still didn't, and the chance of the Council speaking English on her behalf was non-existent. "That is Daphne of House Cotyttia," Pamela corrected me. Who Cotyttia was? I had no idea. I was stupid to think Daphne's actual Amazon surname was Pile. Daphne wasn't even around. Executive Services was functioning fine without me and that meant Daphne had a work queue. "The Thracian Goddess of Sex, Orgies, War and Slaughter," Krasimira gracefully filled in my ignorance. Another whoa, why wasn't she my matron goddess? Tadêfi hauled off and slapped me. The action seemed to take everyone, Tadêfi included, by surprise. "I don't know why I did that," Tadêfi wailed out in despair. I did. It didn't take telepathy to figure out what I had been thinking. To prove my point, Pamela laughed. I cupped Tadêfi's jaw. "Worry not," I cooed. "I had that coming, Dot Ishara," I dodged another one, "isn't happy with me right now." Recall, Tadêfi was hooked up to an old-fashioned party line with the Beyond. "Animaniacs," Pamela snorted. "I so love you. It is my deep and abiding pleasure to have you as my Grandson." "I'm not your grandson," I countered. "Well, I say you are. Now be quiet and accept the shame," Pamela's eyes danced with amusement. "That makes me, Daphne and Brielle incest," I pointed out. "Amazons don't have an incest taboo," Pamela retorted. Duh. They are all women, no chance of seven fingered, Cyclops babies. "Ah, women, misunderstanding and pain, Buffy, would you check out Quebec and see if I'm still wanted in that province for bestiality. It could be important later," I commanded. "Bestiality?" only one woman failed to mutter, sputter or exclaimed. "The complainant in question is not that pissed at you anymore," Katrina's rolodex mind kicked in. "I believe she expressed a desire to question you about some missing accoutrements though." My splitting headache meant I had to think about that, ah yes, her dress uniform. It was/had been Canada Day, thus her having an official function and thus me cheating with the girl from across the hall in the Mountie's bed. I'm an idiot alright and my ability to keep an eye on the clock needs improvement. My last image of her, frothing at the mouth (she was a tad more possessive than I had anticipated) as she screamed out insults in Quebecois French concerning my lineage, personality failings and the treasured parts of my anatomy. She punctuated various parts of that deranged episode by hurling articles of her clothing over the border at me as I turned (once I had good Ole US soil/pavement under my feet) and tried to get us back together. Yes, I had them, just not in my Box of Failed Romances. Acting on hopes of reconciliation, I had the uniform dry cleaned, placed in a dress bag, and the boots polished; both currently occupying space in my closet. At least the Alburgh-Noyan Crossing guards (it is a dual Canadian-American post) appreciated me evading/begging forgiveness long enough for them to see her in only her bra and panties. I imagine they didn't normally get much excitement there. "Katrina, " I began. "Yes, Maya forgives you too, though she scored an 'At Risk' for reliability. Anais sounded genuine," Katrina related. Anais was the Mountie. Maya was the Guyane Française university student from across the hall, the one I was caught cheating with. I had told her I was Anais's brother. Maya was also a super-exceptional cook. "Cáel Ishara, who are these women we are talking about?" Sikia demanded. 'We', that didn't take long. We were now a 'we', which in Amazon meant 'male, you're my property'. "I have a sideline job as an Amway distributor," I replied. "I give crappy customer service." "You give awesome customer service," Katrina riposted. "That's the problem." "Sikia, you are not the first Amazon Cáel has stuck his dick into. You are probably not the tenth," Elsa dripped with frustration. Quick count: Rhada, Buffy, Oneida and Gael, I was only going to count the penile-vaginal penetrations. "They are only numbers five and six, thank you very much," I defended myself. "So much for your 'intern, no sex' policy," Desiree muttered. "Cut me some slack, I work with stone-cold, Olympic level athlete foxes 24/7," I griped. "I am a sexual being too, I have needs." "What about the 'End of Internship' hunting shindig?" Desiree pulled a flawless 'Katrina'. "Oh, it is still on. With my 'do or die' learning curve, it is going to be so much more fun," I grinned. "And, okay, no more Amazon sex until then, sorry Rachel." "Except for house members," Buffy insisted. "No exceptions," Elsa demanded. "I'll keep an eye on him," Pamela resolved the issue. "No more Amazon boinking for him." She was such a liar. She was also a highly accomplished liar because everyone bought it. On with my life. Stage one: exit Katrina's office. Done deal, no problems. Stage two: set up meeting with the Earth  and  Sky. They wanted to meet on their ground. Since I was the uncertain factor in these negotiations, I agreed. I was bringing one, Pamela raised four fingers, four people with me. Who? Outside of Pamela, I had no idea. Stage three: going to medical and putting on my business suit, it was a new one and very, very nice. I was moving up into serious majestic magnate territory. I also picked up buddy number two, FBI Special Agent Virginia Maddox. Why had I chosen a federal agent to accompany me to a meeting between two secret societies? I hadn't a clue. Sometimes you have to roll with these things. In the lobby, I picked up number three, Delilah, Mom's MI-6 operative/baby-sitter. Compassionate, caring people were surrounding me all the time. It gave me this sensation of a 'down home' environment no matter where I went, if down home was Gaza, or Donetsk. I think my entourage/lifestyle observation teams had grown to encompass six cars. I was in no condition for riding my bike, so that recourse was denied me. Taxi? One, most were hard-working stiffs like my family who didn't deserve to be caught in a noontime, drive-by assassination attempt. Besides, with my luck I'd meet the guy from Qatar again, the one with the sister with cute eyes. That reminded me, I gave Nicole a call. "How are you doing?" she quickly inquired. "Good," I lied to a past master of shattering perjury. Pause. "I'm surrounded by girls with guns, tailed by your clients, some part of a Federal Task force and some people who I don't know yet. Hold on." I put my hand over my phone. "Delilah, are you packing heat?" I asked softly. She opened her jacket revealing paired revolvers in shoulder holsters. I didn't recognize them so the Brit gave me the 4-1-1. "Ruger Alaskans," she grinned. Bing! Now I recalled them. The girl who taught me to shoot once read some reviews of that beast on her laptop while I gave her a slow, passionate screw from behind. She became all hot and bothered, wiggling, squirming and generally having a grandiose time with my cock deep within. I repeat, this girl really loved guns, a huge cerebral G-spot for her. Oh yeah, the Ruger Alaskan is what you get if you are worried about Grizzly bears popping their heads through the tent flaps late at night. Delilah was probably packing 4 80's. Her guns would turn 250 kilograms of pissed off ursine into an excellent throw-rug in about two shots. In an urban environment,  well, maybe she thought the New York Giants were actually giants, or something like that. Two were overkill, unless you expected someone needing to borrow one. "Just checked. I remain the only one unarmed in my personal carnival of carnage, " my words trailed up to an unintelligible mumble. I was mumbling because suddenly four handguns were casually offered up for my use (Tiger Lily was holding one over her shoulder as she drove), in the same way you'd offer up some Nicorette to a man jonesing for a smoke. Rachel was kind enough to hand me my familiar Glock-22 and Ruger 38 caliber with their accompanying holsters. Two spare clips followed, then I stashed the lot. I scratched my calf. It took me a second to realize I was reaching for my pistol. No, not the one at my hip, or my ankle, but the one, in my boot? "Now that you've been handed firearms of dubious origin, can I get back to questioning you," the FBI agent intruded upon my ruminations. "We were discussing that list of people that are visiting a morgue instead of a court room. What can you tell me?" "Bye Nicole. Miss you. Being interrogated by a blonde FBI lady with a whips scar on her eyebrow and eyes that could scare a badger back into its hole. Later," I cut of my lawyer's fierce demand that I keep my mouth shut. "Nothing useful that wouldn't implicate myself and others in a criminal conspiracy," I answered her. "There is no way I'd name anyone else I suspect of involvement. I feel no guilt over what has happened, so no remorseful confession, and that is based on my belief that cosmic justice has been achieved." "You can't create lists of people for execution," Maddox persisted. "That negates the whole justice system and the principle of innocent until proven guilty." Wow! Except for the two of us, every other person in the car snorted their derision of Maddox's presumptive naiveté. "Do you even believe the tripe spilling from your pie-hole?" Delilah mocked Maddox. "I'm in law enforcement. That means I enforce the laws, not interpret them, or choose which ones I want to obey and which ones to ignore," Virginia fought back. "Love, that's crap and you know it. You are an agent of the US government. You bomb, drone-strike, overthrow lawfully elected governments and assassinate in your nation's best interests," Delilah countered. "You selectively enforce your Constitution when it suits you." "I'm law enforcement, not the military or foreign affairs. Know the difference," Maddox glared. "The pay master is the same,  you willingly collect your thirty pieces of silver; get off your high horse because you are in the shat now, Agent Maddox. I haven't known this crowd an hour and I know for a fact that you are the only US citizen onboard," Delilah chortled. "I don't know their bleeding nationality, but I doubt it is on the UN Charter." Maddox turned to me. "That was succinct and rather accurate," I murmured. "Special Agent Maddox, I have the sneaking suspicion that you are with us because FP (federal prosecutor) Castello feels you can handle this, Umm, unusual set of circumstance. I promise you this, it is going to get worse." "Why don't we test this quaint theory?" FBI Lass challenged us. "Jail, bail, and I'm waking up in Rio de Janeiro in two days," I sighed. "I have a few thousand in the bank, live in a hole and own my father's home, when it clears probate. Only you know I'm flight risk. A dozen people will vouch/lie about my character and that's that. All you've succeeding in doing is making enemies when you need friends." "There is still a matter of multiple people dead under suspicious circumstance," she said. "Imagine for a second that Cáel admits to creating a hit list," Pamela began. "He would never give up the names of the other people involved. He didn't kill anyone, or say 'kill them'. Now what? You still have an abysmal case to put before a judge. Add to that, the mitigating factor of a raped girl. You get to break her down until she's a cooperating witness because she's the only one who can provide you with Cáel's motive," my mentor continued. "Good for you and your team. She gets to betray the man who tried to save her. Cáel promised horrific retribution if any of those in the now-dead crowd hurt her. That is rather unlike him, he normally forgives when given the least excuse. I don't give a damn about women's rights, or the rights of rape victims. I really could give a shit about human rights for that matter. Wronging me is the surest way to early retirement. It is not a matter of strong versus weak, or right versus wrong. What matters to me is who I can trust. I don't know you, thus I don't trust you. I trust your government to be so much chicken shit. I base this on the lack of public torture and execution. I want the families of dying criminals paraded in front of those cock-suckers before the condemned finally perish in agony. I want to see thieves get their forearms hacked off, trial by combat, and respect for your elders. I want to see public officials being sacrificed upon the altar of Jehovah when they leave office. I want to see a system of justice with a soul, not law books thicker than an aircraft carrier's hull. A government 'of the People, by the People, for the People' should be the sole guiding force for your culture and we both know that's never going to happen. I admire your soldiers; not because they are brave and combat effective, they are. I admire them because they are fighting and dying for elected officials and a population that can't locate Afghanistan, or Iraq on a map, can't tell the difference between a Sikh and a Muslim, and thinks 'Pashtun' is an exotic piece of furniture. I admire them because they are better human beings despite you, not because of you," Pamela was coming to her crescendo. "Basically you people, by that I mean most of the human race, are dangerous in your idiocy, arrogance and pride in your ignorance. Not one of you should be allowed to use weapons, or play with fire. For you, unrestricted voting is a crime right up there with inventing, disease prevention, bilingualism and anything that perpetuates your educational system." "Lady, why are you so angry with the world?" Maddox studied Pamela intensely. I wished her luck with divining and then unwrapping that lady's mind. "I hold dear to my heart anyone's hunger to learn, honesty when it hurts and love no matter what the cost, so I find myself alone most of the time," Pamela grinned. "Above even those, I adore humor in the face of ridicule, condemnation and adversity. You can dodge bullets and parry knives. Humor always strikes home," she finished. "It is the perfect weapon." "Liar," I smiled. "You like high performance automobiles too." Did she? I didn't know. "Only with a 2X4 pressing the accelerator as it races toward the lip of a canyon," Pamela bantered back, "with Ursula K. Le Guin strapped in the back seat." "Who?" I inquired. "She's an author. I take exception to some of her work and unwillingness to appreciate the fusion of exceptional feminine characteristics with power positions," Pamela answered. "And your critique of her life's work is an exploding car at the bottom of a cliff?" I smiled. "Starting uncontrolled wildfires and littering, two of my favorite activities," she laughed. "I'll stick with blondes and brunettes, and red- and raven-haired, bald has its own appeal, green and purple have their own kink going on, " I joked. "Wait! We were talking about people being murdered and you two are cracking jokes?" Maddox rumbled. "I had a dream about tying them together with nylon cord and tossing them off the back ramp of a transport aircraft, and watching them fall, and fall," Rachel sighed dreamily. "Atta girl," I play-punched Rachel's shoulder. "What is your part in all of this?" Maddox turned to Rachel. "I'm the head of his bodyguard detail," Rachel gave her confession of the damned. "And you want to kill him, " Virginia struggled to keep up. "Given time, you will too," Rachel promised. "According to his pre-employment records, only one woman he's had a sexual relationship with hasn't wanted to at least hurt him," glaring at me, "badly." "The nun doesn't want me dead!" I vocally protested. "It is so wrong that you are proud that of over 200 women you've slept with, TWO have not, at some point in knowing you, wanted to maul you and one of those is in the 'forgiving' business," Rachel chastised me. Virginia had an answer for my madness. Her phone came out and she hit speed-dial, work. "Ms. Castello, this is Special Agent Maddox, do you have a moment?" Virginia calmly asked when she finally wrangled my current-favorite fed's attention. "You do now? Thank you. I'd like to know what the fuck have you done to me? This assignment is nuts. Either I'm part of some elaborate prank, or I'm in an S U V with escapees from the looney bin." Ten seconds later Maddox gave me the phone. "Stop it. I've upheld my end of the bargain, so behave," Javiera ordered. Man, she'd shot me straight to the core and we hadn't even slept together yet. Clever, clever girl. "Yes Ma'am," I swore. "I'll do my best to buffer Special Agent Maddox from the truth." "I'll have to accept that," Javiera conceded. "Give Maddox the phone back." A brief conversation later and Maddox was no better off than when she started. Thankfully we parked in front of the Kazakhstan Consulate in New York, giving us all an excuse to face facts. Maddox was feeling compelled to ask questions she didn't want the answers to, and that we didn't want to answer. Saved by work. "Kazakhstan Consulate? Why are we here?" both Virginia and Rachel asked. "Oh! This is going to be good," Pamela leaned forward excitedly. "Change the course of human history," I answered with a great deal of confidence I didn't feel. See, I had knowledge critical to the Earth  and  Sky. That knowledge was also something they wanted kept compartmentalized, so they might take exception to it being possessed by an outsider. Oh,  so that's why Pamela earlier insisted on four ladies being with me, so we could shoot our way out if things turned ugly. I hugged my mentor. "Thank you, Pamela." "You are coming along nicely, Mr. Potter," Pamela patted my cheek. "Your praise leaves me suspicious, Professor Snape. Besides, if I'm going to die, it helps me to know you'll go first ." "That was uncalled for," Pamela chided me. It was the 'Snape' role she rejected. "Snape gave up his life for Harry, Dumbledore died for Draco," I countered. "Well, let's hope it doesn't come to that," Pamela shone with joy and pride. "You act like I have a choice," I sighed. "Touché," Pamela nodded. "I see what you mean about these two," Maddox addressed Rachel. "Oh my God," Delilah laughed. "You wove Harry Potter into a life and death conversation and it made sense. I am probably going to die, but I'll die knowing I have lived." "Not you too?" Maddox glared at Delilah. Rachel just shook her head. We exited the car, settled ourselves out. Rachel took point, Delilah took one flank while Pamela took the other. By happenstance, I ended up in the middle, yeah right, with Virginia covering my back. "You stay here," Pamela put a hand on Rachel's shoulder. "You'll need to lead the team in if someone 'pumps up the volume'." Interesting euphemism for 'when people start killing people'. "What are we doing today?" Miyako 'appeared'. She'd been walking down the sidewalk toward us, the Kazak Consulate was a townhouse, but her presence hadn't registered. "I require your pledge of silence on what is to transpire. No death is intended," I stated calmly to Miyako. "I didn't know you were versed in ninja contracts, much less spoke Japanese?" Miyako responded. Blink. "I didn't know I spoke it either, " I mumbled. "No sweat," Pamela tried to hustle us along. "He's a quick study." Yeah. I didn't feel it apropos to point out I hadn't heard myself speaking Japanese, or understood that my words had some secret meaning. "How important is this to my people?" Miyako asked. Now that I was paying attention to it, I could make out that she was speaking in her native tongue. "If they don't think we can be trusted to not speak of what is to transpire for a week, they are going to kill us," I related my suspicions. "My mind and heart are joined in this decision." "I give you my pledge," Miyako nodded. She looped her arm in mine. "Does anyone care to enlighten me?" Maddox prodded. Whoa. It seemed that, beside me and Miyako, only Pamela spoke Japanese. "Special Agent Maddox, no matter what, don't give up your gun, when we say run, run, and shoot to kill because they will be trying to kill us," I informed her. "Does the term 'extraterritoriality' mean anything to anyone here?" Maddox snapped. Her nervousness was totally understandable. I stopped at the top of the steps, looking over my shoulder. I nodded. Pamela, Delilah and Miyako nodded as well. "Hold on, I can't believe I'm saying this. Does anyone have a back-up I can use?" Maddox groaned. Rachel quick-stepped forward and handed over a 22 automatic pistol then a spare clip with a smooth, practiced motion that suggested that SD swapped weapons all the time. Maddox didn't miss the casualness of the gesture. The firearm and magazine disappeared. "Fine, we will never discuss the laws we just butchered, ever, and if I die and any of you make it out alive, I will seek revenge at whatever cost FROM WHEREVER I AM," FBI girl growled. "One of us," Pamela smirked at me as I touched the doorbell. It opened promptly. We weren't on a crowded street, we were on their stoop and a security camera was pointed right at us. We were invited in and two rather Caucasian-looking gentlemen (Kazaks are a mixed bag of Turks and Cumans) were waiting with the doorman. They looked tough in that they took personality lessons from saddle leather. "You will place your weapons there," the more charismatic of the two spoke up. He was pointing to a side table that looked large enough for the task. "No," was the most courteous response I could muster. He didn't look surprised. He didn't look much like he was breathing, or blinking either. "Go," he pointed to the door. I looked to Pamela. "Well, that didn't take long," I grinned. I felt out the necklace under my shirt and pulled it over my head. "Please return this to its owner in the spirit it was given." He took it. The doorman opened the door and out we went. Rachel was back in our GL550, using the door as possible cover. She said we could take our seats and away we rolled. Maddox looked apoplectic. She had prepared herself for the Wild, Wild West, not a doe-see-doe at the door. In her mind, I had wound her up for nothing. My phone rang. "Cáel Ishara, there seems to have been a diplomatic miscommunication," a male native Turkish-speaker said in heavily accented English. "The person you are meeting must be approached in the spirit of peace." "No, I understood you perfectly," I assured him. "We aren't the Brownies, or the Girl Scouts, Buddy. I don't know, or trust you and you don't know, or trust me, yet. I will compromise though. I will respect your traditions. I will enter your home unarmed. In turn, everyone in the building will line up outside on the street except for the person I'm supposed to meet. Is that acceptable?" Pause. "Do you hate these people, or like them?" Maddox grumbled. "With you, I can't quite tell." "That would not be acceptable," the man finally responded. "Perhaps an alternative. You come in, alone yet armed." "Nope. Due to the efforts of people far smarter than me, I know pretty much who I am meeting, so I am either very rude, insane, or bear a message that is worth my life," I countered. "Your personal safety is guaranteed," was the counter-offer. "That is a false promise, not because you lack honor, or respect for me, but because you are from a wise and noble lineage with a historical propensity of cutting to the heart of any problem." By that, I meant they'd cut my heart out. "What I expect is for every one of you to hold the future of the Earth  and  Sky above any such concepts as personal promises, hospitality, and honor. I am even putting my faith in your willingness to put the survival of the Earth  and  Sky over your own well-being," I riposted. "If the message is so crucial, you should be willing to come alone," back at me. "It isn't important to me," I stated. "Listen, a war is about to break out. Unless we both want to be found all alone in the outhouse masturbating when the headsman comes, one of us has to blink. Today, it is you. Tomorrow you may be able to return the favor and mess with my head." Pause. "Your koumiss is getting warm." "We'll be right there. We apologize for the delay. Traffic is murder these days, or a close facsimile thereof," I gave a little back in the humility department. "Tiger Lily, " "On it, Ishara, Wakko Ishara. I've been circling the block," Tiger Lily had anticipated my antics. Sure, I acted like I had no game plan, but I never wasted people's time. Maybe if I developed an actual game plan I could do even better. "Wakko Ishara?" it was Delilah's and Maddox's turn to share a 'what the?' moment. "May I explain the sacred names?" Rachel requested of me. "I have a feeling these two might become a fixture." "By all means, Rachel. Our trust runs deep," I trusted Rachel with more than my life; I trusted her with my future. "Wakko, as in you're the nutty one?" Delilah made a stab at our arcane nomenclature. If you use small words does that make it gnomenclature? Pamela winked at me, psychic twin grandmother powers activate! "We need complementary rings," Pamela remarked. Sweet! "Cáel Ishara is differentiated as Wakko Ishara, Ishara, first of House Ishara, is Yakko Ishara, and, " Rachel began. "The Animaniacs? Your code names are the Warner Brothers and their sister Dot?" Maddox gasped. "You are beyond nuts." "And the Goddess Ishara is named, by House Ishara and House Ishara alone," Rachel made some warding appeal against divine punishment, "as Dot Ishara." Maddox's face shown with disbelief. "Following Cáel Ishara into battle has been one of my greatest pleasures," Rachel stared at Maddox. "I never knew insanity could be so liberating, or that laughing at death could be such an aphrodisiac." "When did you two go into battle?" Delilah wondered. "In a morgue, fighting to retrieve the body of his fallen father so that our enemies could not desecrate it," Rachel explained. Ah, the walls of Troy, fighting over the spoils of the dead. "You mean when I face-planted?" I grinned at Rachel. "Even without a weapon, your instincts were good, forcing our enemy to commit to multiple angles of coverage even though your efforts were foiled by a footing failure. Your rushing their leader was even more heroic in that you were unarmed and using your body as a decoy, knowing your enemy's superior skill would stop him from shooting you," Rachel smiled my way, sex. "Let me get this straight," Miyako finally spoke up. "You charged an enemy unarmed then stumbled and failed. They were armed?" "Yes, with a 3 57 Magnum revolver and a 10 gauge sawed-off automatic shotgun, in tight confines and close range, oh, and no cover." Maddox replied, then to me, "I read the report." "Then you repeated the action a few minutes," Miyako. "Less than a minute later," Maddox clarified. "A minute later, wow! You are as fearless as we've heard. Please don't die before we have a baby," Miyako gave me a quick hug. If you cover a zeppelin with uranium paint, can it still fly, or does it sink to the center of the Earth? Ninja babies, We had returned to the stairs at the Consulate. This time the door swung open upon our approach. "Is there some drug you are all taking to bask in this shared fantasy life?" Maddox mumbled. "One of us," Pamela retorted. "One of us." "One of us," I joined in. It helped cut the tension. The bodyguards were present right where we'd them last time. They ushered us up the stairs to a second floor sitting room that ate up half the floor. There were two men there; radiating that subtle assurance that a half-dozen killers were close by. The man standing was Iskender, the E and S emissary from Dad's funeral. I broke all decorum, strode to the man, locked arms, hugged him tight and patted him on the back. "Thank the spirits you are here," I whispered, "all this lack of dick is making me a bit stir-crazy." "Ah, yes, it is good to see you again too," Iskender imparted as we broke our embrace. His boss, the guy on the sofa, shot me and my Kyrgyz buddy a sharp look. The Main Man was clearly Mongolian and must have thought blank, white walls exhibited too much empathy. "Koumiss," the boss offered. I sipped it from a simple, yet regal drinking mug that probably hit the kiln 200 years ago. "Mare, or yak?" I inquired as I handed the cup around. Iskender came first, but it was clearly my intention that we all partake. It was more a matter of the host's pledge of sanctuary than me wanting to share the koumiss. It tasted like thin, lightly chilled, bitter beer with a vanilla-almond milk shake-chaser. "Mare, of course. Please sit," he offered. He defined the suggestion by slipping off the sofa onto the layered carpet rug. He was semi-reclined, so we followed suit. "We should pray for the protection of the spirits," was the suggestion that wasn't a suggestion. It was his itinerary. He clapped his hands and from beyond a curtained partition came this really sensual Mongolian chick carrying a large brass bowl. She flicked her eyes at me and an instant connection was formed. She liked to bark like a dog under the full moon, okay, I'm not sure where that came from. "Nice woman," I told the leader. "She looks like she has seen many winters." Whoa! Where the fuck did that come from? I got a shocked reaction from Iskender. The Leader looked pissed, if a flake of paint on the white wall indicated anger. The girl blushed like what I said was an incredible turn on. "She is my daughter," the Leader pointed out. Way past swallowing my foot. My ankle was tasty. "My name is Oyuun Tömörbaatar. My faithful Iskender, you know. This is my daughter T. Sarangerel. She is studying at N Y U and is not entertaining marriage proposals at this time," he slapped down his boundaries. Somehow 'I only want to sleep with her' didn't sound like the right response. Wait! Saying his 'daughter had many winters' was a marriage bargaining opening move. What the fuck! "What I meant was that surely many men have died trying to come before you," I back-pedaled. More happy looks from the daughter. More paint peeling from the dad. Pamela made sure more koumiss was going around. Getting drunk could hardly hurt at this juncture. Sarangeral placed the bowl between us. It was filled with clear, cold water undoubtedly collected from a mountain-fed glacier. "Let us cleanse our hands in the water so that we may speak with clarity," O. Tömörbaatar said. We dipped our fingers and, for a second, I saw him. Not 'O', but HIM. "It is good to finally meet you Ferko Ishara Cáel Nyilas," the man said. My Spidey senses told me he was feeling less 'good' about this meeting every second. "How can your people and mine better get along?" 'Let me impregnate your daughter', would probably get my skull split open. "No time for that," I replied. "I know where HE is. The Seven Pillars have found a way to search the Weave and are closing in. You must act with haste." Whether it was disbelief, or old schooled Ku Chun in the art of gambling, the older man gave no outward reaction. "Where is he?" O. Tömörbaatar asked in a gentle tone. "I can do you one better," I steeled myself for the unknown forces I was invoking. I put my hands on the bowl's lip and looked in. Several seconds later, he did as well. For a moment, nothing. It was like a ripple in reverse. The first earth tremor I barely noticed. The ripples grew and grew until I felt the whole row of townhouses would come crashing down. Wind snapped the locks on the windows, flinging them wide open and tearing at the curtains like streamers in a hurricane. Then we saw HIM clearly. HE stopped driving this old, beat-up Peugeot and was pulling to the side of a desolate stretch of highway. HE could sense something yet couldn't pinpoint the source of his unease. We definitely got the impression this wasn't his first taste of this experience, the Seven Pillars. He was young, maybe my age. He looked like an educated man turned vagabond/boundless traveler. HIS eyes, his eyes had a depth that were a microcosm of what I'd glimpsed in Ishara, Dot Ishara's unshielded glance when we first met. All lingering doubts vanished in my mind. "I know that place," O T muttered, his eyes fixated on the only feature in the vacant expanse, a road sign, in Chinese. Yikes. "I know that place." The image faded. Our meeting venue was intact. Whatever I felt transpire, I had shared with O. Tömörbaatar alone. "You have work to do," I stated as I cleared my throat. "I will leave you to it." I stood. "What do you wish for this gift?" O T reached out and touched my sleeve. "When the time comes, maybe you can help us," I replied. "A man who asks for nothing can expect anything," O T smiled for the first time. "Go." I did not take a fear-free breath until the cars started up and we pulled away. He'd let us live. Even with that priceless piece of magical insight, he'd let us live. "I'm still stunned we got out alive," I sighed. "I wasn't really sure he'd take the news as well as he did." No one said anything for a minute. "Why would he have killed us?" Delilah inquired. "You, I understand. I don't know what you communicated to that young lady, but the old guy wasn't happy about it. He was going to kill us over that?" Pause. "What did the rest of you see and hear?" I looked around the cabin. Pamela appeared worried. "I didn't know you spoke Chagatai," Miyako smiled at me. "You are full of surprise. I only caught a word, or two, and none of it made sense." "MRI," I groaned. "Magnetoencephalography," Pamela said in the same breath. "Mine is better, Boyo." "What is going on?" Rachel upped her alertness level. "We need to take Cáel to a hospital that has a Magnetoencephalography device," Pamela insisted. "He's spontaneously speaking languages he didn't know moments earlier, " Maddox put things together first. The rest nodded at her assessment. "We'll need to have his records from Havenstone sent over as a baseline." Poor Virginia, the absurdity of my life was sucking her in. "I'll call Katrina," Rachel informed us. I was a mental case once more. At least my input was still being solicited. "How many guns do you have on you?" Pamela zinged me. The answer was obvious, two. My Glock and my back-up. That didn't seem right. "Ah, two?" I responded. "Yeah, something is happening to your muscle memory as well," Pamela shook her head. "What exactly does that mean, and what's wrong with Cáel's brain?" Delilah studied the group. "It means he could spontaneously pull out his gun and start shooting us?" Pamela confessed her uncertainty. "I don't know. We'd better figure out which impulses are his guiding light right now before that happens." "I don't even know how to begin reporting this," Maddox muttered. "Cheer up. Our Cáel is still currently in charge. Did you appreciate how he lured in that young Mongolian girl? That's classic Cáel," Pamela comforted the crowd. I was saved from a straightjacket because I was a 'Playa'. (Meadowlands Medical Center in far off New Jersey) I'm not political. For me, that means I am completely and utterly dedicated to whatever doctrine that the cutest political campaigner in front of me endorses. Fifteen minutes on the internet and you can fake it like a pro. Be careful to be with the winning team when the results come in. Nothing makes a political chick go wild like sneaking into the candidate's office and screwing her on the newly elected/re-elected figure's desk. Let her scream out her idol's name. Odds are neither of you will be welcomed back afterwards anyway. Why politics now? Javiera called some people. I had a sneaking suspicion that someone I knew and trusted got in touch with my 'Aunts' as well. All I knew for sure was the Hospital's Administrator's phone began ringing off the hook and I'd become the hospital's number one priority. The hospital staff was visibly irritated with the clout raining down on their heads for about an hour. Once they digested my Havenstone records, all of that changed. Holy 'Published in The New England Journal of Medicine', someone had drilled a micro-surgical hole in my skull in the middle of a wrestling match with no resulting cerebral scarring. THEN this unknown device shot into my skull with pinpoint accuracy and pumped a ghastly amount of energy into my cerebrum. They were fascinated. They were so fascinated I heard two medical technicians mutter about where the Zombie Survival Guide could be found. They triple checked my vital signs, again. I was still as much alive as when I checked myself in. There was a rumor that a fire ax disappeared from a stairwell close by, but not one confessed to the deed. I was speaking in languages I had no reason to know? They were surprised I could contain my mouth drool. It was somewhat disheartening to hear three seasoned physicians discuss what probable scenarios could explain me still being in a non-vegetative state,  or alive for that matter. Some poor nurse had to ask. "Do you feel an unnatural, interest in human brains?" she whispered when she though no one was close by. "I'm not sure what you mean," I whispered back. "I always respect a woman's intelligence. Sex is a cerebral passion. What's the point if you can't communicate with your partner?" Pamela slapped me upside my head. That disturbed just about everybody else in the vicinity and my mentor was promptly exiled from the room. I was curious about what havoc she was perpetrating on this establishment. My condition had gotten her past all the heavy security and I knew without seeing that someone high ranking had misplaced their ID badge. Maybe Pamela was the love-child of Batman and Cat woman. Before you think that's comic fanboy talk, recall what my life was like at that moment. Tests ensued. The staff decided that Havenstone employed a bunch of quacks and snake charmers. Two hours later, they found out they were wrong. Larger battery of tests, same results. I was the second coming of Christ, back from the dead, or a zombie living in a convincing state of denial. Some folks wouldn't let that go. Pamela had proved to be prophetic. Her pet gizmo finally provided a new picture of what my neural pathways were up to. If there is any doubt, 'I've never seen that before' is not what you want to hear one of North America's experts in the field of neuroscience say. The first educated opinion was that I suffered from chronic traumatic encephalopathy, that meant I was hit in the head a lot. Normally that diagnosis comes in the midst of an autopsy. I was having paralytic seizures. They had me juggle a squeeze-ball, then two and finally three. My perfect performance frustrated them. Women find relatively simple carnival tricks to be seductive. Pluck a card from a girl's bra gets you both to some dark corner, hungrily looking for the rest of the deck, I speak from experience. Next up at bat: 'I was possessed', I shit you not. Holistic medicine was right on board with the team. Was I influenced by a supernatural power? Yes I was. So claimed the majority of people on Earth. Did I receive specific instructions? Yes, and so did practitioners of Voodoo/Vodun on three continents. I added that I attempted to evade said instructions when I could. Did I have 'evil' impulses to hurt myself, or others? Huh? For starters, my matron goddess was more of a 'fucker' than a 'fighter' and her instructions were always suitably vague, the same way a Philosophy professor would give you a ten word pointless sentence on Friday and expect you to have a 250 page doctrine on Monday morning. That hit home. Too many normally smart people take a philosophy class in college hoping for an easy-A. Some teachers love dissolving those delusion, sitting back and watching your hopes and dreams of task-free weekends go down the drain. The more obscure the discipline, the more perverse the desire. That is why you always pick a teacher of the opposite gender (if in doubt, use a gay/lesbian test) and keep 'sex for grades' on the menu. Was I suffering from optical illusions, or phantom noises? Straight to the point, yes, I saw and talked with ghosts. So did the Long Island Medium, the casts of Ghost Hunters, Paranormal Witness plus George Anderson and Chip Coffey. To my credit, I didn't do it for profit, or in order to influence people. Was I seeing ghosts now? I was in hospital, so odds weren't bad. I had every non-ghost raise their left hand. No ghosts. Was my paranormal dementia pre- or post-brain trauma? Did seeing a college student being called before his class and successfully accused of plagiarism on his senior thesis, turning him into one of the Restless Dead count? No? My 'disputed' abilities were all post-college employment, thank you very much. Did the ghosts possess me/tell me to do things? I was not possessed and, discounting sexual bondage and my current work venue, had never been possessed. From my limited exposure, ghosts wanted to not be alone in the afterlife, to be guided to a final resting place with others of their kind/family/friends. None had taught me languages, asked me to steal something, or kill anyone. Had any done so, I would have denied them. Such actions were immoral and I could still freely differentiate between right and wrong. I preferred to commit wrong on my own initiative and making me do good was a chore most sane people abandoned after a few days. I took a Rorschach test. The results were predictable because I had taken old 'R' several times before. Just like every other time, I'd mixed up sexual innuendo with a psychological test to seduce the test-giver,  everything reminded me of intercourse. I changed it up with this girl. I gave her numbers. Sometime after I was long gone, they were going to figure out the ink blots were numbered after whichever erotic positions from the Kama Sutra I was reminded of at the time. I knew that wasn't being helpful and I was certain I wasn't a brain specialist. I also knew Rorschach wasn't the key to solving my woes. Final remaining hypothesis, I was utilizing 30 % of my brain capacity with three independent patterns emerging, not the usual 5 %. For that to work, my brain had to be oozing out my ears because brains generate a terrific amount of heat. My temperature was a steady 37.3 C (99 F) and my ear channels were free of obstruction. Hey man, cleaning your ears is quick and easy. Don't risk turning off a date with misfortunately located ear-hair and wax. How was my brain shedding the heat? Their solution, let's do a Spinal Tap. No way. I'd seen that band and they were all extremely fucked up, even for old guys. I wasn't going down that road. They insisted. I suggested that I consent to the procedure with the condition that I received no pain killers/sedatives of any kind and I got to grab and hold onto the testicles of my two, current, least favorite doctors. When they realized I was deadly serious and immovable on the issue, they came up with a new plan, no Spinal Tap. Gutless sissies. Into this vacuum of information, a brainstorm emerged (besides my inexplicable one). They would talk to me, no more interrogations, an actual verbal exchange. They couldn't come over and start flapping their gums like some punk rock band with no talent. They were suddenly worried about 'concerning' me and 'agitating my unstable state'. I pray to Goddess Ishara that one day soon they play back the tapes of their early hours working on me and pay close attention to my facial expressions of shock, horror, fear and depression as they clearly and openly talked about me as if I was the Fiji Mermaid. But hey, a few of them were kinda cute, so in the final analysis all that emotional trauma worked its way out. Hospital highlights: (Understand, I was lying on a table while various specialists prodded and talked about me as if I wasn't there. To strike back at reality, I throbbed my penis every time this cute Parasitologist looked at it. Finally ) Female Chief of Neurosurgery: "Did anyone think to study changes in is body's nervous system?" (Guilty looks all around) Neuro Surgeon: "What are all these needle marks?" Havenstone Medico, "Those are muscle stimuli insertion sites. They kept his musculature from atrophying while he was in a coma." Neuro Surgeon: "Let me get this straight. This man had a lightning bolt go off in his head and part of your healthcare regimen was to run a constant current of electricity throughout the rest of his body." (Scathing looks at the Medico from everyone else, jackals) HM: "He has retained excellent muscle tone." Neuro Surgeon: "Have you even taken the Hippocratic Oath?" HM: (offended) "Of course not, he's Greek." Neuro Surgeon: "What does my patient being Greek have to do with anything?" HM: "Not him (pointing at me). Hippocrates, he was a Greek. Cáel is Magyar/Irish Gaelic." Neuro Surgeon: "Helpful, that's not. He seems to have a great deal of bruises and scarring, some of it certainly received over an extensive period of time. Is this your work?" HM: (in a positive note) "No. It has not been my pleasure to spar with Cáel yet." Neuro Surgeon: "Isn't he a bit, big for you?" &

Back with Libra; but first some nonsensical news. In 25 parts, edited from the works of FinalStand. Listen and subscribe to the ► Podcast at Connected..  “Just as echoes pollute sound, the echoes of our histories pollute our view of the World.” Katrina Explains the ‘Ash Men' "Amazons keep rather accurate histories, basing everything on lunar cycles. Our records, with minor gaps, date back to the Great Betrayal," Katrina began. "By modern parlance, around 1000 BCE, our ancestors stopped a millennia of a nomadic existence to settle in the land between the Váh, Hron rivers and Danube rivers." "You bitches know who the Magyar are," I interrupted abruptly. Sure, that region was in current day Slovakia, but it bordered Hungary, my ancestral homeland, even though our residency was separated by over 1500 years. "Of course I know who the Magyar are," Katrina shook her head mirthfully. "I simply can't resist busting your balls." I muttered angrily while avoiding using actual words. "Our numbers were enough to seize and hold the land," Katrina continued. "For centuries before that, we raided for men from tribes whose land we were moving through. After a few seasons, we disposed of the men and took some more." "When we chose to settle down, our Council decided to raid distant tribes and steal boys to be raised among our people. At first the males were virtual slaves yet in three generations, our people began seeing males as fathers, brothers and sons. We trained them in crafts. A few generations later, we voted to train them to be guardians; protectors of our hearths while the Host made war." "For eighteen generations things went well. We prospered, grew rich and strong. The tribes around us feared our wrath which made us proud yet was our undoing. New, stronger tribes migrated into the region from the West; we now know them to be Celts. The genesis of House Epona is from those first meetings. Many Celtic women embraced the Amazon lifestyle." "Though they knew of our strength, the first of these new tribes quickly went from peaceful coexistence to warfare. The Host crushed them. The problem was that new tribes kept coming and coming. Dirges of Mourning replaced the sweet taste of victory around our fires. We were always winning the key conflicts but our numbers were diminishing." "The males came to the Council and begged for the opportunity to join the Host in battle. Twice we rejected them. The third time, we relented and allowed a select few males to join us in the fight and for a time the balance was restored. Our doom crept upon us. More conflict resulted in more men taking up arms to fight." "What the Council could not perceive was the insidious influence of our enemies and it swept upon us on the wings of ravens by night; druids. Masculine deities, ethos and egos combined with our own blind arrogance to bring about our downfall. Constant contact with the Celts brought a different cultural view to our men. They began to question why women should rule." "Somewhere around the year 680 BCE, it began. It was not a calamity over in a night, or even a week yet once it began there was no stopping it. Most of our males, never fighters, were taken as slaves by their former brothers and their new Celtic masters. Not all fighting males betrayed us. Those males risked their very lives to sneak into fallen towns and villages to rescue their daughters." "The penalty our enemies exacted on our remaining fighting males was meant to keep the rest in line. They burned those brave men alive, in public. They burned them slowly, in much agony; the druids showed them how it was done. There is no record of any of our fighting males switching sides, or failing to undertake any mission for the Host. We survived as a people because of them." "When all hope of remaining in our new homes faded, we fled east into the mountains. My ancestors were furious, frightened and shamed. They decided they had let down their guards around men and swore to never do it again. The only obstacle to this way of thinking was the handful of men who risked all for the Host's survival and still lived." "They sent those male survivors on one last, suicidal mission. They were to return home and incite the Celts' wrath against the traitor males. For the Hell they unleashed, the druids were chosen for this final act vengeance. Amazon males slew the druids. The angry Celts fell upon their former allies, slaughtering the lot. "Somehow, a tiny band returned to their mistresses. Their return was unexpected. In their absence, the High Priestess and Council decided to rectify their centuries' old error in judgment. Only a few Houses; Arinniti among them; knows how each Council member voted yet the final decision is something we are dealing with today." "The 'valiant' Host went to their defenseless sons and butchered them. When the last Amazon males made it back they were rewarded with death as well. It is recorded that they didn't even resist, loyal to their last drop of blood. In less than ten minute's time, the last of the male line of Amazons perished." "These are the 'Ash Men' Oneida mentioned. Burned to death by our enemies for their devotion to us, burned to ash by the Host to hide our shame after we killed them for the crime of never betraying us. All full-blooded Amazons are taught about the Second Betrayal; except that last, pathetic and tragic addendum," Katrina educated me. "Oh shit," I interrupted. I was sure Katrina had more to tell me but I felt the hideous weight of this; now shared; past. "You believe that when this gets out, as all secrets do, it will undermine everything you have built. You did more than utterly betray those loyal brothers, you murdered your own sons." "That is one of the most serious issues the Council is dealing with," Elsa finally spoke. "That makes sense, but you are forgetting something," I shook my head. "Times change, people change, circumstances change. The Host misses the point." "That point would be?" Katrina studied me. I believed this was more of a case she wanted me to make the logical next step. "You betrayed us," I stated. "The lesson is not that men were lured away from the Amazon cause, it was that despite every reason to save themselves, men stayed loyal to the grisly end. If the Host is mindful and respectful, we males would rather be 'Ash Men' and safeguard our sons and daughters." "Men volunteered to fight, they did fight and fought well yet the Host refused to acknowledge anything had changed," I then paused. "Which is why I'm learning how to shoot, and knife-fight and why Elsa is here. Katrina, with the upmost respect; you are a manipulative bitch." "Cáel, I let you get away with a great deal," Katrina smirked. "Don't take advantage of it." "You seem to forget that I consider being murdered by your ilk highly more desirable than slavery," I retorted. "I hope it doesn't come to that, but if it does, you know you can't win," Katrina pointed out. "I have more invested in the fight than you do," I stated. "I'm fighting for the future of my people. You know that," Katrina bantered. "I'm fighting for my sons to be allowed to live free of bondage, or thrown from the cliffs, and for my daughters to not be a plague on the human soul," I grinned. "You would turn my daughters into Fabiola and; you can't even agree on letting the other half of your own offspring live, as if that was something 'normal' mothers would ever discuss." "Fabiola? Not Aya?" Katrina prodded. "I ignore the reality of Aya because I love her. There is no saving her. Your reach makes it hopeless, she wouldn't understand and she is already too poisoned by the rest of you anyway," I explained. "Watching her inevitable slide into madness is another reason for me to seek death in battle." "I enjoy these chats," Katrina smiled as she stood up. "You are a very complex individual and crossing wits with you has been an unexpected pleasure. Good night." Elsa moved to follow Katrina to the door. "Elsa?" I called out. She half-turned. "Try going with French cut instead of boy shorts tomorrow." There was a fey light in Elsa's eyes. I continued to creep closer to having status in her eyes. Not a sentient; I was that already. Amazons didn't have a glorious rival. Strong rivals you killed as soon as possible. Cáel Nyilas had become a nebulous entity treading down unexplored pathways in her until-now internally consistent World. "I won't let you win," she gave me a molten, hungry look. "I bet you say that to all the guys," I shot back. "Only the ones I care about," she gave me one more promissory fuck-note, turned and left. I didn't have time to mull over my bleak future forecast. Yasmin was coming over and we were definitely not going out to eat.  (Wednesday Night) Yasmin had a kink I hadn't really had to deal with before. She liked having sex standing up; anywhere. Sure I had made love in hallways, showers and against a refrigerator once, but Yasmin took this to a whole new level. The most horizontal I got her was fucking her on my bedroom dresser. She was also an aggressive nibbler which is a kind way of saying she bites down hard without breaking the skin. The scars would fade by morning, but I was going to catch Hell from Timothy and Odette later tonight. Our experience was; enhanced by yet another reality I was unaware of. Yasmin's ex was an 'intellectual'. In Brazil that must translate as a small penis with limited stamina, but don't hold me to that. Since the birth of her son and the 'incident' with her husband, Yasmin hadn't much 'personal' time; read: not much finger, or vibrator usage. Yasmin was tight, famished and extra aroused by me kicking Felix's macho ass an hour earlier. I ushered Yasmin into my place, she was looking smoky yet contained, so I gave her the ten cent tour. When I turned around, her sandals, pants and shirt were off. Silky violet was a good color on her. Yasmin didn't rush the removal of her final items, using their skimpy allure to draw me in like a striker to the goal. My Brazilian MILF loved being appreciated for every nuanced curve, scent and taste. She let me slip off her bra first then she pulled off my shirt. She didn't let me get behind her. This allowed her to pace her own aggression. Cáel was along for the ride. This wasn't fem domination, just a very hungry lady looking for some first-rate sportsmanship. Lucky for me, I was a full service arena with overtime expertise. Every little 'Give and Go' and 'tackle' was received, or dodged to keep our game in play. Here I was thinking of swinging a little more upper body workout later tonight. Yasmin's gymnastics made that redundant. My first insertion was welcomed by her. Yasmin repaid my diligence with lip services, strong hands massaging my back and arms, plus timely input concerning what was good and bad without running over the passion. Yasmin was not at Buffy's level of competition. Instead she brought her own torrid spirit that was new and exciting. I had no idea how Yasmin's husband ever found the energy to cheat on her. Yasmin would seek breaks in our activities. The rest of the hour-plus she was either at a vivid simmer, or a full-on blowtorch. Half the time I didn't even have to direct our intimacy; Yasmin was happy to manage all of the movements using her thighs, stomach muscles and arms to make it a highly memorable performance. As we staggered down from the peak of my climax, a sweaty, panting Yasmin informed me that she was glad she had started doing handstand push-ups once more. For those not in the know, imagine doing a handstand facing a wall. Now push your body up the wall which is occasionally done with your fingertips if you are a true bad-ass; like Yasmin and Timothy. That is another exercise I'm going to have to work on. Jacking-off and squeezing stress balls wasn't going to cut it anymore. "Ora, ora, meu bombom precioso ;  muito bom," Yasmin purred as I put her legs down; I had been holding the back of her knees with my elbows. "I'm the bomb? Sweet!" I sounded as energetic as I was able. My Brazilian Nitro-girl began laughing. "What did the rest of it mean?" "With every orgasm you give me, I'll give you a word," she taunted me. I looked at the ceiling. "I'm looking for a downside to that challenge," I met her gaze. "I can't see one." "We'll see about that when I leave. I have a sitter until 11:00 p.m. so you have good deal of bravado I want you to back-up," Yasmin looked carnivorously-aroused. We did get around to getting cleaned up then hoofed it to a local Egyptian cuisine eatery. On the way back, I screwed her against a streetlamp with the light burned out. You see a good deal of humor about girls in super-tight pants and all the contortions they go through to get into them. Peeling them out is much, much easier. Maybe it is the inspiration that makes the difference. Best of all, the reactions of people walking around us, or across the street. Overt disgust, ignoring the whole situation, and, my favorite, the running commentary. (First couple) #1 Girl: "Why don't we ever do that?" #1 Guy: "Do you bend that way?" (Second couple) #2 Girl: "Do you think she's hotter than me?" #2 Guy: "Let's go down to the next lamppost and find out." (Third couple) #3 Guy: "Don't they have a bed, or are they homeless?" There was no way we were dressed like homeless! #3 Girl: "You have all the romance of a rhino." Somebody wasn't getting some tonight. And because we were in a major metropolis, (Fourth couple) #4 Girl (1): "Are you practicing safe sex? If not, I have a condom," she touched my shoulder. Me: "We are good. I use Durex normally, though I'll use Trojan too." #4 Girl (2): "Are you okay, Miss?" Yasmin: (unhappy): "I'm fine. Now either let my man get back to slaking my every lust, or join in." #4 Girl (2) "Are you serious?" to Yasmin. #4 Girl (1) "Are you okay with this?" she addressed me. "She's my girlfriend." A few seconds of grunting, gasping sex ensued. Yasmin: "Yes, I am serious and you two are killing the mood. Mount up, or get off my horsy." The two ladies looked at one another. #4 Girl (1): "She's very ho; attractive. What do you say? It is safe sex," hint, hint. And thus I had a lesbian four-way. The first girl, Evie, was bi- and worked at Planned Parenthood, explaining the condom lore. Girl two, Samantha, was a lesbian, but having a strong sex drive, decided that Yasmin was as luscious as I thought she was. Back at my place, it took Samantha thirty minutes to get used to sharing her bed with a man. By then she decided I wasn't the enemy, despite my penis and hunger for the female form. Evie and Yasmin had zip inhibitions and let the lesbian and the straight guy work our differences while they basked in each other's femininity. Yasmin insisted she wasn't a lesbian, or bi-sexual. She had no sexual hang ups and found American's confusing because they did. We had wrapped up the first round with Evie giving me a quick blowjob because I had been a good boy and kept my sperm holstered for the entire encounter. Samantha threw on one of Odette's t-shirts (I didn't explain) and went to the bathroom. I got washed up; Samantha gave me a dirty look from the toilet then I reminded her I'd just seen her naked. We both exited to the living room and took up spots on the sofa as we waited for our prospective partner. I heard my roommates keys jingle in the lock. He walked in, taking in the now familiar scene of me with a new girl on the sofa. "Timothy Denver!" Samantha squealed when my roommate showed up. "Sammy; what are you doing in my apartment; with him?" Timothy meant me. They (Timothy and Samantha) hugged each other, Timothy lifting her off the ground. "Me and Evie are sharing his girlfriend," Samantha explained. "Which one?" Timothy put her down. Samantha shot me a semi-hostile look. Yasmin and Evie came out of the bedroom; having found Evie's clothing. That was their story and I wasn't going to argue with it. "Hi Timothy!" Evie ran up and hugged him too. Up she went. "Timothy, this is Yasmin," I made introductions. "The Brazilian Hottie," Timothy noted. "Yasmin, is Cáel sleeping around you on you?" Samantha inquired. "No. Cáel has sex with far too many other women to cheat on me," she informed them. Samantha didn't know what to make of that. "That means she's aware that I date a lot," I explained. I would have asked how Samantha, Evie and Timothy knew each other except now all their body art made sense. "Timothy, are you and Cáel;” Samantha asked. Timothy rolled his eyes. "God, I wish," Timothy sighed dramatically. "The dick on this guy is phenomenal." "Sammy, I know you would never, ever, ever go that way, but if you did, do it with Cáel here," Timothy told her. "He is the most sensitive, skilled and empathic lover I've ever seen. He's not at all possessive and totally confident in who he is." Sammy didn't look like she was contemplating a gender-preference switch. She was getting between me and Evie. "As long as you understand you, me and Evie," Sammy warned me. "Sadly, fidelity is not one of my virtues," I shrugged. "I could lie to you about it. You seem to be Timothy's friend, so I should treat you better than that." "You can trust me around Cáel," Evie insisted. "No, we can't," Timothy, Sammy and Yasmin all spoke simultaneously. I wasn't trustworthy, but at least I was consistently untrustworthy. "Listen to your friends and the woman you barely know," I met Evie's gaze. "I know I couldn't control myself around you and we'd both regret it." No we wouldn't. I could see that fire deep in her eyes. We were going to have sex again, just me and she. I was a lowdown dirty dog who gave an incredible dicking and I'd already made an insertion into Evie's body and mind. Not that it was terribly important to me; she was okay at sex, though not great. My words were for the listening audience. Timothy knew me better. "Cáel," Timothy stated firmly. "For me, man; don't fool around with Evie." I'd lied to roommates all the time. Like the women in my life, I wanted to keep them happy, or happily neutral. That attitude suddenly didn't work for me. "How?" sort of spilled out. No one expected my plaintive cry for relationship help. "What?" Sammy gulped. Yasmin snickered. She knew the score. "Sammy, Cáel's nailed a girl who was making a food delivery to us. In around an hour and a half, a waitress he met for a minute and gave his number to, will be here. She moved into his room. They are not a couple," Timothy tried to explain. "She lives here to hang out with me and bangs Cáel when he doesn't have anyone else over, yet, I swear on Buddha's Belly, I've never seen him abuse a girl," Timothy continued. "It is the strangest damn thing I've ever seen. He's stacked them up like jets at LaGuardia." "He's a shit-head player," Sammy glared. "Do you feel used?" Yasmin pointed out. "You don't because you weren't. He's not trying to out-dick your vagina. He's not out to steal Evie. He is admittedly hormonally unbalanced. That doesn't make him a bastard. I'm not here looking for a boyfriend and if I was, it would never be Cáel." "If you can get past the fact he might have sex with your girlfriend from time to time, he's really a great guy," Yasmin added. "Cáel is fearless and as long as sex is not involved, completely reliable." Sammy was clearly not believing any of this, finally turning back to Timothy. "He gives an incredibly good dicking, he's a dog, and he's one of my best friends," Timothy shrugged. I had been 'one of the guys', a 'buddy' and 'dude'. I had never been considered a man's best friend before and I had never heard Timothy toss that term around about anybody. I went up and hugged him. "Dude, you have lousy taste in friends," I patted his back. "Cáel, I have plenty of friends who wouldn't abandon me in a fight. You are the only person I know who took an arrow for a little girl you barely knew," Timothy patted my back. "You don't find that dedication often. In the past two months we've been through more freaky shit than I've experience in the past ten years. Faults and all, this has been the best time of my life." I stepped back until we were at arm's length. "I take that back. You don't have lousy taste in friends; you are delusional," I blinked. "He got shot; took an arrow; for a little girl?" Sammy gulped. "How come this is the first I'm hearing about it?" "That would be the bandage on your leg?" Evie pointed. "I have a dangerous job," I regarded the new girls. "I test poultry for signs of intelligence. Let's just say that a sleeper cell got past me and chaos ensued." "Translation: he can't talk about it," Yasmin smirked. "What do you do you really do?" Sammy pressed. "I'm working on a special project. We are taping strobe lights to Garden Gnomes then, using hobby store-bought rockets, my corporation is going to sell them as a Developing World-friendly alternative to the current GPS system," I looked grim. "Really?" Sammy looked uncertain. "I work for a really sleazy corporation," I confessed. "There is nothing they wouldn't do for a buck." "That's heartless," Sammy protested. "Men like that are raping the planet and exploiting the poor." "Sammy, I work for Havenstone Commercial Investments. I am one of three men in the entire workforce; that is well over 10,000 women; undoubtedly more," I smirked. "If it is any consolation, I am treated as little more than a pin-up model by my co-workers." "Oh wow," Evie snickered. "Were you hired for your looks?" "Hardly," I declared with authority. "I majored in Business with a minor in Philosophy from Bolingbrook College in New Hampshire, an institute of higher learning renowned for its 70% female student population and nothing else. Still, I am working for a Fortune 500 company at a job I am totally unqualified for, earning an unheard of starting salary and constantly required to work shirtless, or naked." "Personally, I think it was my creative writing skills that won them over," I nodded sagely. "You are a jerk," Timothy snorted. "I hate it when you tell the truth and make it sound unbelievable. It is a skill I've never seen wielding so cuttingly." No one said anything for a few seconds. "It is really annoying that no one believes I earned my position because I'm actually intelligent and hard-working," I grumbled. "Welcome to the world of a Carnival dancer," Yasmin laughed. "I was going 'a blond bimbo'," Sammy agreed, "but that works too." That broke down the social ice. Letting yourself soak up a bit of ridicule can pay huge dividends. I was going to be back in bed with every single woman in the room; even the lesbian, though I'd be sharing a girl with her, wait and see. For some reason, Sammy remained convinced I was an asshole, so she dared me to kiss Timothy. I shrugged, Timothy shrugged, so we kissed. Seriously, I have no clue what I Won't do for sex. When Timothy slipped me some tongue I nutted him. As he doubled over, I told him I wasn't the kind of guy who went beyond second base on the first date. The group informed me that second base was touching my cock; whoops. Then Evie reminded me that I had sex with her within fifteen minutes of our initial meeting. I replied I hadn't had anal sex with her yet, but if that was the case, I was sure Timothy would be a good sport about it all. Timothy had finally gotten back to his feet. Again, he nodded. This time he snatched me up, bench pressed me over his head (man, we need to re-spackle the ceiling) and bounced me off the sofa. Timothy is really strong too. I hit the floor, face down, but with my knees and palms catching my weight. I quickly summersaulted and regained my footing. I trusted Timothy. Still, talking about anal sex with a big, buff gay man then assuming the doggy-style position; let's not tempt fate. My antics earned me another round of sex. After Evie exploded (figuratively) all over the place with her; third euphoria, I looked over Yasmin's shoulder to Sammy, who was sexing up my Brazilian from the other side. "I have totally and completely re-evaluated having a lesbian in bed with me, Sammy," I testified. "You rock!" Sammy shot me a look, realized I was expounding true praise and picked up her ravishing of Yasmin. After we demolished Yasmin, Sammy mounted me. She wanted a 'test drive' more than anything else; the experience of feeling the differences between the masculine and feminine skeletal and muscular textures and nuances. "Can I touch your breasts?" I requested. Sammy thought it over, eventually giving me an 'okay' look. She had those nice, banana-cone shaped breasts with huge areolas and sizable nipples. I started off by lifting and weighing each teat, taking it nice and leisurely. Sammy decided I was doing a passable job so she stopped studying me and got into the sensation of the moment. That little gasp cued me in that I had earned the right to move a little farther. Her nipples were already engaged. A half-dozen grazing passes and they were definitely joyous. Lesbians, bi-sexual and straight women all have the same physiology, yet different visually, audibly, and olfactory stimuli were specific arousal cues. Most lesbians didn't like Old Spice, The Firemen of New York calendars and Enrique Iglesias. At the very least they aren't throwing their panties at Enrique. Touch and taste tend to be unisex. Baring you having big, calloused man-paws, fingers are fingers and hands are hands. Taste is taste and more individual specific than gender-related. Sorry ladies, your sweat can stink as much as a men's does. It is more a matter of diet. Both sexes should clean up 'down there'. It is common sexual courtesy, so use it. When I can, I use a subtle cologne though I've used women's Secret deodorant on rare occasions. It earned me curious looks every time, but it never stopped them. Sammy was already taking quick gulps of air when her worried eyes looked down at me again. She wanted to tell me to stop. She was caught in a double bind; she was getting gratification and the only reason to refuse it was because I was a man; a man she had allowed to touch her. That would make her either sexist, or a bigot. Never ignore the allure of the female orgasm. Add to that, never ignore the power of friendship. As Sammy struggled to master her 'lesbian outrage', Evie sneaked behind her, wiggling two fingers. "Evie," Sammy moaned in protest. "Sammy-love, he's not trying to fuck you," Evie murmured to her companion. "You are liking what he's doing and you know you have dynamite nipples. Let him have a sample." To me, "She likes a whole lot of suction and a tiny bit of teeth." Sammy attempted some kind of protest. Yasmin stroking Sammy's upper thigh, hip and stomach breached the dam of her inhibitions. So, I had a lesbian lowering her body toward mine. First her palms rested on my shoulders. Sammy's body flowed up mine until her elbows replaced her hands. As advised, I applied a wet vacuum seal. I twirled my tongue around her savory flesh, bringing Sammy to the point she embraced her tantric titillation. "You should have longer hair," she purred as she ran one hand through my locks. "I don't normally go for butch girls." You guys go be indignant if you wish. These were some sweet teats I was indulging in and I had zero regrets about 'girling-up' for a lesbian. Sammy finally climbed to the mountaintop of her orgasmic quest and howled out her victory. She cascaded down on me, my lower stomach syrupy with her juices and her bosom muzzling my face. Yasmin went to her knees, leaned over Sammy's prostrate form and began seriously making out with Evie. I lived in a vortex of unexpected pleasure and fulfillment. I had taken part in making a lesbian sexually complete. "You are the best guy I've ever been with," Sammy murmured. "He's the only guy you've ever been with," Evie teased. "Fine. He's still the best. Cáel, have you ever thought about becoming a post-op transsexual?" Sammy giggled. "No!" Yasmin protested. "That's where I draw the line. Cáel keeps his tender bits." "Mmm Mmm," I added my voice against that proposal. To punish Sammy for even bringing that up, I latched onto a breast like a starving lamprey and went to town. Damn right that put her in her place. Fifteen minute later, she finally let me come up for air. Ten minutes after that, we stumbled out of the apartment. I was going to see Yasmin safely home; she snickered then, seeing my hurt feelings, told me I was very brave and could take her home. Evie and Sammy lived close by. They had known Timothy from his days working at an ink place in Queens, but had lost touch when he opened his own place on the East Side. They promised to stay in touch. Sometimes I don't even have to try. Maybe that's why Timothy got so pissy with me at times. As for Yasmin and me, I fucked her in the hallway right outside her domicile because she still had twenty minutes left on her babysitter and there was a convenient vertical surface. We both went home with smiles on our faces. I met up with Odette walking up to my; now our; place. She wanted all the juicy details, helped me change our sheets, promised to do our laundry tomorrow morning and then we had sex. I was set up on my feet, shins and knees, Odette facing away from me and grinding her lush tight end on my rod when the door opened and Timothy Nerf-shot me; cause I definitely deserved it. (Thursday) Thursday was good. I inspected artificial wood products for artificial termites. Actually, I started out with Constanza; really Naomi and her Merry Band now; and learned how to actually fire a personal defense weapon. No more 'spray and pray' for me. They told me they had a special surprise for me on Friday. Color me concerned. According to Medical, I was a lousy lab monkey. Then Katrina informed me it was Brian's turn today to get poked, prodded and forced to cough up millions of little Brian-lettes for Havenstone's perverse pleasures. I e-mailed Brian my best wishes. I was seriously starting to question those 'so-called' medical experts ethical integrity. I worked with Buffy, teamed up with the Daphne/Desiree combo. Why? Because there was an emergency board meeting on Friday. I wasn't told this, but Daphne and I figured it out. To put some extra butter on my hell-bound soul, an agent of Rhada's gave me a private note informing me she wanted to talk. Keeping to Amazon Princess Rape Fantasy Bondage protocols, I ate the message before Buffy could pry it from my hands. Bad enough was all these crazy females trying to kill me, I also had to keep track of which ones hated the other ones. It reminded me of dating sorority sisters, except this time out, I could never leave the sorority house and they almost never went to classes. Oh, and they are all related to Jason Voorhees (that's the maniac from the Friday the 13th movies for those who had lived constructive lives) and we were adjacent to an Ace Hardware store. Plus I had a date with Libra and I was dedicated to 'tapping that ass' at least once more before I died. And, there was more! Deena, the swimming, 'fingers in her cunt' buddy dropped me a line telling me she was 'expecting' me this afternoon. There was no way I could swing that, despite her request that could be only construed as an order. I simply didn't have the time. I e-mailed her back, pleading for her to be in a bikini with several suggested sites for her to visit. Before my designated knife training, I had a fucked-up brainstorm about what to do with Rhada. I wrote a letter in Old Kingdom Hittite, sealed it in wax with the imprint of the symbol 'Lowest' on it, representing me, though Rhada's submissive side could easily misinterpret that. To get it to her, I went to the only one who could meet her face to face who I could trust. Katrina? Laughable. She could do it but she wouldn't touch this disaster with a three meter pole made out of male vertebrae. The only other person who met all the criteria; Oneida. Yes, I was a fucktard, fuck-nut and a waste of human potential. "Oneida, I need a favor," I asked the moment I hunted her down in Acquisitions. "Of course," her eyes lit up, her lips moistened and breathe quickened. She wasn't wanting a quick tussle in a side room. The chick wanted to be held closely while I whispered love poetry into her ear for her to hear alone. I was letting her down abysmally. "I need this message hand delivered to Rhada," I pressed the missive into her hands. She didn't know how to wrap her mind around that. Rhada? She knew we had fought, but what contact had we shared since then? She made the sane 'girl-logic' assumption. "Cáel, are you in trouble," she worried. Oh, I wish it was only trouble. "Not that you can help me with. If you can't do this, I'll find another way," I sighed. Yes, I was playing her. Oneida would run over hot coals for me. "No, no; I'll do it; why? Why Rhada?" Oneida pleaded. "I can't say and you cannot look at the message. It is critical that she, and she alone sees this," I impressed on her the importance of saving my life without saying 'please save my life'. By asking her to not look at the message, I increased the odds she'd look. I had no choice. If I didn't say anything about it, she'd make an excuse to look and tell herself that I hadn't forbidden her to look. Add to that, she was my racial superior. In her case, this meant she had to look out for my best interest. Oneida nodded and watched me leave. Training with Pamela was hands on this day. I had a wooden blade with a lead core to give me a better feel for the proper weight. Pamela had a meter long wooden rod. She had a miraculous ability to move her baton in a blur yet not hurt my fingers, hand, or wrist. It was very instructional. I was practicing stabbing and a bit of slashing. I left with a sense I'd added something useful to my repertoire. I wasn't calling out Elsa anytime soon; heck, I wasn't calling out Europa, Aya's 13 year old sister either. As we were cleaning up, Pamela noticed my uncertainty. "What is it?" she asked. "Oh, it is that you've resisted the urge to cause me pain," I mused. "Normally, I find Amazons to be very harsh." "That is certainly a common training style here," Pamela nodded. "I chose showing a student how to do things right as opposed to reminding the student what they did wrong." "Good enough. Thanks for treating me like I matter," I grinned. "What makes you think that?" Pamela and I started to leave the little dojo. Note, she didn't say 'assume'. "Trust me, I'm a sperm donor with sex appeal to virtually every other screwy dame in this place," I smirked. "I know the difference between what I see in their eyes and yours," I winked. "Ash Man," Pamela remarked. She zinged me, alright. "My granddaughters talk of you and not in a way I would expect Amazon women to talk about a male." "That and an Egg McMuffin;” I shrugged. "Means you won't die hungry," Pamela shrugged along with me. "This is why I volunteered to teach you; you deserve every chance to go out unconquered." "Do you think I have a chance; of that?" I questioned. "Not really. I didn't think I would ever be talking to a man in my native language again either, so who knows," she added. "Do you think I'm an Ash Man?" I wondered. Male; OKH; again? "I haven't a clue what one is," she rolled her shoulders. "I am neither my House Leader, nor its Keeper of Records." "Oh; what are you then?" I asked. The response she gave didn't make sense. "Cliff-walker? I don't know;” I furrowed my brow. "I am past my useful life yet refuse to take myself to the cliffs," Pamela told me. "I have unfinished business to attend to in this World." "What is that; if that isn't too rude?" I inquired. "A dead man spoke to me. He told me I would never find my way to the halls of my ancestors until I replaced a life for a life," she related. "That's; umm; odd," I suggested. "Cáel, I severed his throat to the spine. Even had he somehow been alive, he could not have spoken. Then there is the matter of speaking the Amazon tongue," Pamela continued. "Did he tell you anything else?" I played along. "No." "How will you know what life you should save; to replace a life for a life?" I searched her out. "He had the most unforgettable emerald green eyes," she filled me in. Just like my eyes. We had stepped into the elevator when she told me that. There were five other Amazons with us. I didn't know any of them. I reached out and put my hand on Pamela's stomach. "Whatever happens to me, and I don't want you to die, or anything; I want you to know you've done what needed to be done," I assured her. Pamela's laugh was so loud, deep and resounding, I was stunned that it came from such a thin frame. "That, my friend, is what being an Amazon is all about," Pamela slapped my back. What she said was wrong in so many ways and the Amazons around us knew it. I wasn't an Amazon and equating me to one of them was insulting to their feminine martial ardor. Also, no Amazon had ever called me a friend and meant it in a non-sexual manner. Things were getting uncomfortable. "Matron," one of the Amazons spoke up, "are you feeling well?" That was a polite way of saying 'have you lost your mind?' "Do you know why there are twenty 'First' Houses?" Pamela addressed me and ignored the others. "Not really. It wasn't in the Havenstone Handbook," I tried to sound innocently curious. "The first Amazon to escape capture came back for the rest," Pamela related. "She was free and if she was recaptured she would have certainly been raped again and most likely killed. She came back because no risk is too great for one's family. Like the first of the Unconquered, you risk everything for the spiritual and physical safety of your sisters." "He is not one of us!" a different Amazon insisted. "How bizarre that none of these crazy bitches can see it," Pamela smiled. "Who are you again?" I gave Pamela a worried look. "A discarded heroine, Cáel," Pamela answered. "I am an embarrassment, an anachronism and an arrogant warrior humbled." Clearly this was part of Havenstone's history I wasn't supposed to be privileged to hear. "You don't date much, do you?" I changed things up. Pamela snorted. "This whole scarred scholar-warrior with a tragic past works better with your moping, 19th century literature-reading college types. Cavemen like me prefer slinky clothing and feigned idiocy." "I'll keep that in mind," Pamela snickered. By the bug-eyed expression of our fellow travelers, Pamela was indeed some kind of heroic figure. She held no position, but her status was undeniable. "How about this: I will forgo taking myself to the cliffs until you give me my first great-granddaughter." "As long as we agree that I'm never going without a condom for the next five years," I counter-offered. "By the way, which two am I going to be surreptitiously avoiding?" "Brielle and Daphne," Pamela appeared amused with my expression. "Holy crap!" I exclaimed. "I really like those two. This is going to be tougher keeping you alive than I thought." "How many more days?" Pamela teased. "67," I groaned as we stepped out onto the Executive Services floor. Technically, I had an hour left of my work-day. "Look on the bright side, our first great-grandchild could be a Son," Pamela joked. Pamela clearly enjoyed 'freaking out' the Normals; the normal Amazon population that is. "That would truly suck," I remarked. "You ladies have zero experience with male names and no boy of mine is going to be named Shirley. Picking the baby boy names is going to be all on me." "How about Augustus?" Pamela suggested. I looked stunned. Buffy, having heard my voice, hopped up from her station and came blazing my way. I hadn't done a damn thing wrong yet she was angry with me. She didn't know Pamela and I hoped to hell I wasn't hitting on; okay, Pamela was a bit odd-looking. I'd still do her. "Cáel," Buffy snapped. "What is going on? Don't you have a job to do; with me?" "Buffy, this is Pamela. She's my knife instructor," I said. "Pamela, this is Buffy DuBois, my (dead word spoken)." Literally in Old Kingdom Hittite that meant 'mountaintop'. Pamela clearly got the implication. Buffy's fury about me slipping into OKH was mitigated by Pamela's appraising look. "Okay," Buffy grumbled. "What was that?" "Pinnacle, peak, highest point, mountaintop," Pamela answered for me. "I would wager it is a term of endearment and praise, but feel free to be offended despite him using the word for my benefit as opposed to yours. He might have incorrectly thought you knew how much he cared for you." Verbal beat down! "Who are you, anyway?" Buffy struggled to be polite. "Pamela Pile," my instructor stated. "I am not employed by Havenstone anymore." "That's not; possible;” Buffy questioned. "She is Brielle's and Daphne's Grandmother, Buffy," I explained. "That's nice," Buffy was less than impressed. "Cáel, take care. Buffy, I know nothing of men, but I know camaraderie and I know you can throw that away as quickly as you earned it," Pamela gave an even stare. "By the way, Pamela, you clearly have never been a kid on a playground," I joked. Buffy was irritated while Pamela was amused. "With a name like Augustus, he's either going to toughen up really fast, or get flattened. Trust me. My name was Cáel aka Cabbage Head all through elementary school." "What did they call you in; middle school? It is middle school, correct?" Pamela inquired. "Yes; middle school. By 6th grade, I was firmly a 'nobody'," I enlightened her. "Hell, my teachers could barely recall who I was. I stayed that way until I graduated high school." "I had asthma as a child," Pamela related. "I barely made it through my 12th year." "What did you do when you; is the term 'casted', or 'choosing a caste?" I posed. "It varies. Sometimes we choose and sometimes the caste chooses us," Pamela answered. "I ended up here, in what is now known as Executive Services." "Great," I grinned. "I bet you were enticed by our intensive training in marshmallow juggling. Am I right?" "Not really," Pamela grew serious. "I came here so I could build obstacle courses for kittens. It is an unappreciated melding of animal conditioning and engineering." I was really liking Pamela. She was like a kindred spirit in this madhouse. "Speaking of 'animal conditioning', Cáel, we need to get to work," Buffy huffed and off I went. We finished up, had our after-work meeting and began to head-out for the day. "Daphne, I met your grandmother; nice lady," I told my 'new hire' buddy. "Really, what was she doing here?" Daphne smiled affectionately. I need to wear a dead rat around my neck; the deader the better. "She is teaching me how to knife fight," I told her. Her not knowing that was odd. "Oh; I didn't know she did that," Daphne frowned. "She worked in Executive Services," I said. That appeared news to Daphne as well. "I thought that was why you joined." "Katrina," Daphne looked to our boss, "was my grandmother in the (dead word spoken) service?" That word roughly meant 'darkness of night' in OKH, but like so many things in a 'dead' language, interpretation could be sketchy. "She was before my time," Katrina nodded. "I do recall her legacy though." "What did she do? Normally I wouldn't care, except Pamela is a laugh riot," I smirked. "She was the most lethal Amazon assassin of the 20th century," Katrina stated deadpan. "Grans?" Daphne gasped. "She's always been so odd; I mean nice." "What happened to her?" I muttered. "I don't know," Katrina mused. "She came back from her last mission then took herself to the cliffs. A few weeks later she returned with no explanation for that either." "Well crap," I groaned. "She's never going to forgive me for that 'wet willy' (getting a fingertip slick with your saliva then sticking it in an opponent's ear). I'm a goner." Daphne play-punched me. We all heard the subsonic rumbling from the door. According to Buffy, she was the only one allowed to cause me physical discomfort and resented Daphne horning in on 'her turf'. Buffy had a new weapon in her arsenal this afternoon. "Your (dead word spoken) wants you to come here," Buffy snapped. Even Katrina looked at her in some confusion. "I was told that was a good thing," Buffy sizzled. "It most likely interpreted as 'most prized', or 'most esteemed'," Tigger translated. "Precisely it means 'mountaintop'." Buffy stuck out her chin proudly. "Cáel, I believe I made my desire clear," she commanded. "No can do McGiggles Sissy-pants," I grimaced, "I have a date tonight that precludes me from me being overly bruised; again." I was heading for the door, leading the 'new hires' out of Katrina's office. "I know you like laugh at death, Cáel," Dora snickered, "but I'm not sure the rictus of death counts." "I've got that covered, Dora," I actually brushed up against Buffy. "I'm having a laugh track installed in my urn." "Who says they'll ever find your body?" Buffy moved rapidly at my side. "Whoa; cannibalism. Where I come from, normally the guy eats the girl," I joked. "With you, Buffy, I'm never quite certain of our gender roles. I'm still terrified of letting you snuggle up from behind." "I hate you," Buffy growled. She wasn't upset. Her eyes were dancing with laughter. "What are you going to do when he is relocated?" Fabiola murdered the mood. "Blame you," Buffy glared at Fabiola. "I'm so scared," Fabiola mocked Buffy. "Fabiola, don't be like that," I moped. "You have such full, plump lips that clearly know how to take hold of a problem and work it through. Your thighs are the product of diligent effort on your part and I'm sure that when you grapple with an opponent, no one can break that fearful hold." "I'm sure anything your hands touch, you don't release until you've milked every ounce of life out of your target. You are truly a complete woman," I concluded. The elevator doors opened and we flooded out. Oneida was waiting for me. Buffy began laughing so hard she couldn't keep up. "What is it?" Oneida looked to Buffy. "That is the most obtuse description of fellatio, fucking and a hand job I've ever heard," Buffy wheezed. "Fabiola, he called you a whore and you can never prove it." Okay, I didn't call her a whore; money was never mentioned. Oneida looked distressed. "Oneida, Fabiola insinuated that Cáel would be relocated soon," Daphne came to the rescue. I still had something to take care of. "I knew I forgot something," I realized. "Buffy, can you hold my jacket?" I handed it to her. She examined it then dropped it to the ground. I shrugged then kept stripping. "Cáel?" Oneida worried. "I don't have my biking clothes on," I pointed out. "We can't go biking unless I'm dressed in my biking clothes." Was Oneida still upset about me stripping in public? No. She was about to spend time with me because she mistakenly perceived me to be a good guy. My bike trip with Oneida to a neutral halfway point proved that while Oneida was in good shape, she wasn't a cyclist. Cycling emphasized an unusual muscle sequence, so if you don't cycle much, it shows. I stuck close to her. Not only did it endear me to Oneida, it kept our two shadows at a safe distance so they didn't impinge on their princess's joyful mood. I sent Oneida on her way, got home and immediately started making adjustments to my night's plans. First I had to deal with Libra. I got into an argument with her. I insisted she should wear only jeans, a t-shirt with no bra, and comfortable shoes. Libra was furious. She wanted to go clubbing and look hot; preferably enticing some guys to make me jealous. She certainly wasn't going to come giftwrapped for an easy screw. She wasn't that kind of girl. She didn't like that I was that kind of guy. I insisted that I was the kind of guy who was fascinated with her. I was also happy that Brooke had gotten us back together; you know Brooke, the girl I had fucked to help her get over Felix then refused to sleep with so I could be with Libra. I was blistered and lambasted. I also got my way. I also got to see Libra embrace the ogling her attire earned her in my working class neighborhood as we walked around and talked. "Everyone is staring at my breasts," Libra whispered to me after a bit. She wanted to make me think she was unhappy while her nipples were excited and she was relishing the turning heads. Brooke was better looking, in my opinion, but Libra was definitely a girl who shouldn't walk around without a bra. Her breast are really shapely, large and firm, possibly her best attribute. We were hanging around an authentic Italian pizza joint, Libra against the wall, face to face with me. Without warning, I slipped my hand down, popped her jeans button open and unzipped her pants. "Cáel!" she hissed. Yum, Libra had gone panty-less as well. "Cáel," she repeated. Libra tried to stop my fingers from exploring. She was hampered by her desire to not make a scene while I was insistent. Nice sexy jeans are not only nice and sexy, they hug the hips. This meant I could peel the front of her pants open and work two fingers past her pubic hair to her puffy lips. "Stop," she whimpered. I didn't. I slipped a finger between her labia and she was moist and steamy. I wiggled a finger inside with no effort. "No one will see us," I murmured into Libra's ear. I wiggled my finger in deeper. "You are horrible," she moaned quietly. Her hands started out on my shoulders. A few seconds later, she migrated her arms down. I wasn't positive where she was going with that until she hooked her thumbs into her pants and slid them farther down. "Get it over with," she mumbled. She followed that up with tender kisses to my neck. Her moving her pants down allowed me to move a second finger in. All of that was a prelude. With my two slick fingers, I searched up for her clitoris. She (a clit is definitely a 'she') was hungering for my contact and offered up her tenderness to my attention. Libra's hand began clawing my abdomen through my shirt. Her nasal breathing was becoming ragged, so I eased off on the tempo my stimulation. I wasn't going to bring Libra to an embarrassing public display of sexual release. It took her a few seconds to figure out I wasn't teasing her, but shielding her from an uncontrolled release. "You are mean," her eyes blazed with lust as I sucked my fingers clean of her vaginal secretions. "Kiss me, or I swear to God I'm going to take you on one of these tables," I referred to the small tables the pizza parlor had for diners. Now Libra looked sultry and in charge. She rubbed her hips against my erection, appeared to contemplate her options and deigned to give me a kiss. It was barely a French kiss. Just enough to remind me I had taken advantage of her person and was being punished with pleasure. The box with the pizza slices barely made the toss to the sofa as Libra and I grappled with one another, yanking off our clothes and staggered to my bedroom. "You are going to fuck me so good for all the hell you've put me through," Libra erotically demanded. Ma'am, yes Ma'am. Prepared to do my duty, Ma'am. I decided to do something new for Libra. Trust me, you develop a sense for what sexual deviancies your sex partner has broached. This helps you figure out what they'd like to explore. That leads you to worrying about your partner's sexual history, but is a story for another time. "Hey!" Libra squawked as I handcuffed her left wrist. I wasn't done. With her right wrist beside her left, I looped the chain around a bar in the headboard and snared her other limb. "Motherfu;” she got out before I smothered her with a lip-lock. She put her teeth on my tongue then decided not to chew it off. I broke off the kiss. "Now you are going to do whatever I want you to," I gloated. "Scream, the cops come and you end up splashed all over the society page." Most likely a lie. "I'll never," she snarled as I rammed my dick in to the hilt. "Ah; you bastard," she grunted. Now I picked up my pace. Except having her hands bound, Libra was clearly getting into it. Right before climax, I eased off. Libra whined piteously. "Not yet," I murmured. When I repositioned her in doggy-style, my cock got back to work. This time, I alternated seriously deep cock-thrusts (not pounding) with spanking. Libra went wild; one of her most intense orgasms yet. Libra should have realized two things: my neighbors knew by now and the screams my bedmates generated, and Libra herself was truly an Angelic choir of erotic gratitude. "That; that; that was intense," Libra gasped. She was all sweat and electric; tired yet begging for more. "It gets better," I promised her as I freed her up. Given two minutes to rebound, I rolled over onto my back at her side. The cuffs were handed over and I placed my hands over my head. Libra's countenance was an explosion of thermal desire and numerous unanticipated opportunities. She straddled me, strung me up then; left. Huh? Libra didn't go far. She noticed my 'goodie' box which I had left nonchalantly available when we first tumbled in. What she pulled out didn't make me jump for joy; an ostrich feather, lube and a body wand (imagine a small mace, except the head is actually a vibrating ball). "So, you've done this before?" I questioned. "There is a ball-gag in there. Shut-up, behave, or I'll put it on you," Libra gave me a saucy threat. I nodded. Libra settled in beside me, worked the wand controls then rolled it along my stomach. "To answer your question; no, I've never used anything like this before, but I've wanted to. Now I have a delectable, helpless male with tons of stamina laid out before me." "This is going to be so much fun," she squealed with delight. "Maybe I should call Brooke?" She wasn't soliciting my opinion, just thinking aloud. She called Brooke who begged Libra for the chance to come over and help out. Libra promised Brooke could 'next time'. After that came the feather tickles, lubing up my cock, a hand job and finally using the wand on my cockhead until she shattered my resolve and I ejaculated. Libra licked all my creamy cum up, keeping eye contact through most of the process. For thirty seconds she left me with the sneaking suspicion she was going for round two. She freed me, gave me a good series of kisses then dropped down to bring my penis back to attention. That accomplish, Libra rolled my condom on, mounted me and slowly squirmed down my rod while mesmerizing me with her eyes. "Oh," she purred, "you are so, so bad." I sat up so that I was eye-level with her chin. Libra laid her forearms languidly over my shoulders, while mine deftly cupped each ass. "Does this mean you are breaking up with me?" I gave her my best puppy dog eyes. Libra made that squichy-angry play face. I was teasing and she knew I was teasing. "Do I have to hand-cuff you again?" Libra snickered. I slipped my right hand farther back and down. Using the liberal amount of lube Libra had lavished on my penis, I slicked up my forefinger and picked her sphincter. Libra gave a quick intake of breath. "For the sake of your backside, that might be wise," I teased right back. Libra pouted. "Are going to ream my poor, abused Henie?" she moped deceptively. Rule One plus the addendum; make the girl happy. If you make the girl happy, she'll figure out what makes you happy and do it for you. I lifted Libra up until my cock flopped out of her. It didn't take her two seconds. Her hand found my cock, pointed it up and steered it into her asshole with zero need for encouragement. "I can't believe you are making me do this," she groaned as her sphincter parted and my glans slipped in. I wasn't rushing things. I certainly wasn't coercing Lira in anyway either. She certainly relished my upper body strength that allowed me to match her pace in penetrating her. Once Libra was fully impaled, I rocked us over so that she lay on her back with her knees touching her breasts. A casual, relaxed screw followed. Yes, I could have pounded Libra and she would have loved it, except she was here for more than a series of orgasms. She wanted some kind of confirmation there was an 'us'. She hadn't wanted a relationship when we first met, or even after our first fuck. I was a hook-up; nothing more. The post-Felix episode with Brooke had changed that. I was far from acceptable, but more than a random fuck. Our status had become an enigma to her thus my approach with the soft anal fuck. I could certainly be a late night booty call, salvaging a bad night and making it good. This was a 'take him out for a weekend as a friend' change of events. I was still not in the clubhouse. Thirty minutes in bedroom while 'changing to go down to the pool with her other friends' they'd all know why she'd brought me along. Had Libra forgotten I was a Pound Puppy of the worst sort? Yes, but I felt no desire to remind her. We'd revisit the issue during that first weekend; guaranteed. Libra kept up a quiet bit of banter for a few minutes. Her words were meaningless. Her tonal quality was what I was paying attention to. I kept up a conversation which I would never recall. It is an art form; coherent babbling. My partner's words faded away into groans and grunts. "Ready?" I rumbled my hunger for her wantonness. Libra nodded once, hesitated then nodded several times vigorous

Cáel's tombstone: For the love of women, women put him here.In 25 parts, edited from the works of FinalStand.Listen and subscribe to the ► Podcast at Connected..