Malum Prohibitum

Knights Templer

September 7th, 2022

“Sir William, I have something I desperately need to tell you.”

“Pierre, there’s never been anything you’ve brought to me I ‘desperately’ needed to be told. Will this be a repeat? Something which could’ve waited for next week?”

“No, sir. I promise. It’s far more important.”

William drew a hand to his forehead and after rubbing his temples a few times finally conceded. “Go ahead, Pierre. Tell me what’s so important.”

“It’s the knights templer, sir.”

“You’re telling me about my own order? You have to be joking.”

“No, sir. Not the Knights Templ-AR, the Knights Templ-ER. It ends e-r. They’re impersonating our order. They’ve gone all over the place demanding money and obeisance. They’ve collected payments for some of our largest loans. In England, they even participated in the Baron’s War and helped to force King John to sign Magna Carta against the wishes of His Holiness.”

“Why am I just hearing about this now? The Baron’s War ended two years ago.”

“Well it turns out that no one liked King John very much so they let it go. But once these Templers began demanding money, people started taking the issue seriously. I received three letters this morning and they all corroborate each other. King Phillip’s court sent one. Another came from William Marshal. The final came from Margrave Herman in Baden-Baden. They want accounts for our actions and to be paid back.”

“That’s nonsense. They can’t expect us to pay for their mistake.”

“They have letters which bear your seal, my lord.”

“I—How?—Odo!”

“Sir?”

“I have that seal to Odo and the dolt lost it. He said he lost it in the Mediterranean, so I didn’t worry about it, but he was either wrong or he lied. This is a nightmare.”

“Sirs?” said a page who ran up to them with a piece of parchment.

“Yes?”

He handed the parchment to Pierre who hurriedly read it. “Sir? This is from His Holiness. He demands an explanation. The Templers took four thousand silver pieces from the treasury.”

“This is too much. I need to participate on the assault on Damietta. I’ll deal with this when I return. We’ll stop these Templers.”

—

William of Chartres was wounded during an assault on Damietta and never recovered. He died of typhus related to his wounds. He never had the opportunity to stop the Templers. By chance—or subterfuge—Pierre passed the same night. None were left who knew of these fraudulent Templars.

The Templers would continue to defraud, interfere, and scam their way throughout Europe, using the similarity of their name to enrich themselves. It was in this way their dishonesty went undiscovered and all of their sins were placed on the legitimate Templars.

Nearly one hundred years after the events I recorded here, the Templars were destroyed by Phillip IV of France, and many of the Templers sins were used as justification. You see, the evils of the Templars you’ve seen in movies were all true, but they were conducted by the Templers.

The truth was discovered too late to save the Templars from dissolution and infamy. Fortunately, the modern idea of trademarks was created to prevent this from happening again once the truth was discovered in nineteenth-century France.
Guardians

July 21st, 2022

Ages before any human set foot in Oregon or Washington, the guardians shaped and tended the land while towering over it. What is now the Willamette Valley was barren and dry, but the Guardians reveled in creating life and order.

Their two-hundred-foot stone bodies were powerful and over many years they perfected the tools of their trade. The mother went to the distant Rocky Mountains and dug a massive trench from a spring high above sea level south and then west until she reached the pacific. The flow began with a gurgle but over the months it built to a strong flow. She sent her children, still in their adolescence, to Eugene and Wyoming and ordered them to dig new rivers to join the one she’d made with her own hands.

These became the Willamette and Snake rivers who joined their flow to the original. With so much more water, the strong flow became a mighty roar. The Columbia was born, a swift and tempestuous river that would one day help create the Graveyard of the Pacific which every sailing vessel would fear. It split what became Oregon and Washington in two and destined them to separate fates.

Perhaps more important, the Willamette brought irrigation to the Willamette Valley and turned it into some of the best agricultural ground on earth. First the American Indians, and then those who killed and displaced them, found bountiful soil and created a land of plenty.

Content they brought life to a barren land, the three mighty guardians lumbered off and found a gap in the Cascades. There they lay down until they’d fused the with the earth they tended. There they still stand watching over us and all who come after.
Domestic Violence

July 4th, 2022

“Hello, my name is Ava and I was a victim of abuse. My ex-husband, Steven, always seemed high strung, but after we got married he lost control of his temper. It started with snide comments to me and our daughter. That progressed to open verbal abuse. He began calling me ‘bitch’ and ‘whore’ instead of my name.

Then the first time I threatened to leave him he slapped me. The next time, he grabbed my throat and held me against the wall until I finally passed out. The final time he beat me until I couldn’t move. I laid there, bloody on the floor, until our daughter woke me the next day. He was out, and I decided to just run. I didn’t take anything with us: not a single dollar or article of clothing we weren’t already wearing.

I went to a shelter and they really helped me. I have a job now and I believe we’re safe, but I just live in constant fear. The therapist at the shelter says I need to let go of the fear, but he’s so possessive I don’t feel free as long as I know he’s wandering around. Thank you for listening to my story, ladies.”

Alexa loaded her S&W R8, snapped the cylinder shut, and put three more speed loaders into her right pocket. Finally, she slipped the R8 into her chest holster and put on a heavy winter coat to cover it.

She left her house and took a cab to the offices of Strunk and White, Attorneys at Law. She paid in cash and then sat in the cafe across the street for several hours. Finally, Steven left the office for the day. He exited and then went right.

Alexa ran across the street and then followed him from half a block away. She followed him first to a bistro where he got a sandwich for himself and then to the bank. Finally, he began walking back to his garage. Jennifer slipped closer and closer as Steven remained entirely oblivious. Right as he extended his ticket to put it in the garage’s ticket machine she drew her gun and in one smooth motion, fired the gun right into the back of Steven’s head. She fired twice more at his motionless body on the floor and then walked off into the crowd.

Halfway down the block she heard a shriek she turned in mock astonishment and then ran away with the rest of the crowd.

Half an hour later she was at home taking a shower and then sipping a cup of tea. She cleaned her revolver ‘til it looked as if it had never been fired. She locked it back in her desk and went to sleep.

First thing in the morning she searched for more women’s and domestic violence support groups. She selected a new one in the city next door and drove forty-five minutes there. She silently took a seat on the far side of the circle and didn’t speak before the meeting began.

Most of the group was divorcees who had safe but unhappy relationships with their ex. Many had sad stories, but none seemed to be in danger. Finally, the last woman began speaking.

“Hi, everyone. My name is Mary. I’m not sure why I’m here today. I’m still with my husband, but I don’t know what to do. He’s never hit me, but he treats me like a lesser being and he comes close to hitting me. It’s almost like he just wants me to know it’s possible. We don’t have any children. I just know I can’t escape. He’ll hunt me down. He’s a Marshal and he handles fugitive hunts. There’s nowhere I could to he can’t find me. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come here.”

Suddenly she turned and knocked over her chair sprinting from the school gym. As she stood, Alexa surreptitiously took a quick photo of her.

“She’s my next project,” she muttered to herself.

Alexa drove back home and began her research. She took out an old laptop, plugged in a prepaid cellular data card, and booted her VPN. She uploaded the picture she took and did a reverse imagine search. It brought her to a Facebook page, set to public helpfully, of Mrs. Mary Corrigan. Most of the pictures were just of her or close family, but one had a picture of her and one Martin Corrigan. She took a screenshot and began researching him. He was a US Marshal working out of Chicago on the Fugitive Task Force. He was also a member of the Special Operations Group.

“Damn this guy will be a hard one. I have to be careful here. But Mary needs help. She’ll never get out on her own. I’ll watch him tomorrow. Maybe I can find a weak point in his routine.”

True to her word, Alexa woke up at 6:00 and drove to 219 S Dearborn St in Chicago. She sat behind her tinted windows with a camera and telephoto lens. That was her living space for the next three weeks. He didn’t keep much of a schedule. He left the office at different times of day, sometimes for work and sometimes for lunch.

For a while she couldn’t see any discernible pattern. But then he went out of town for a second time, presumably on a fugitive chase. Both times he went to dinner right after coming back. Both times he went to an Indian restaurant around the corner, ate a long meal with a beer in hand, and then walked back to the office.

“He does this every time. It’s his comfort food. I’ve got that Sonofabitch.” She kept up her surveillance to recognize the next time he went out of town and two weeks later she was rewarded. He came back after three days out of town and walked right back into the office. She immediately got out of her car and walked quickly to the restaurant to snag a table before he arrived. She ordered a Sambar sour cup and waited patiently. Half an hour later he came in, strutting like he was on top of the world. She ate fast and sat at the corner of Adams and Dearborn ready to hunt.

Forty-five minutes later, Corrigan walked past her on the nearly empty street. She let him pass a respectable distance and then started after him. She slowly crept closer until she was almost within arm’s length. She reached into her coat, smoothly drew the R8, and pointed it at the back of his head.

Corrigan whipped around right as she fired and pushed her hand down. The .357 bullet went straight into his thigh and through the femur, but he kept fighting. He pushed the gun back at Alexa until it discharged, grazing her cheek. Her left hand snapped to the wound instinctively and Corrigan ripped the gun from her hand. He pointed it at her and pulled the trigger, but he wasn’t used to the heavy, long double-action trigger pull so he wasn’t able to discharge the revolver.

Alexa grabbed onto his hand with both arms and wrestled over the gun. She slammed his hand hard against the brick wall and then bit it with all her strength. He instinctively recoiled and dropped the revolver. She crouched for it immediately and grabbed her gun. By the time she rose, it was already posted at his chest. She fired five shots into his shot and torso. He stared with surprise, shock beginning to overtake his senses, but then she fired the final shot straight between his eyes and his body became motionless. At this point a large crowd was staring but at a distance because of the gunshots.

She quickly pushed her hood all the way forward and sprinted down an alley. She took many more turns before returning to her car and driving home. She sat on the shower floor for the better part of an hour. The rhythmic pattern of the water and her bathroom fan soothed her anxiety. Once the water ran cold she got out of the shower, but she wrapped herself in a bathrobe and laid down, curled up on her bathroom mat. She stayed like that through the night, worrying she’d be discovered and contemplating her near failure.

Her eyes snapped open and she grabbed her phone. 7:00 AM. “No one’s come for me yet.” She knew she should’ve gotten up, but she laid her head back on the tile and fell asleep. The next time she opened her eyes it was right before noon. She picked herself up put on sweat pants and a sports bra under a light sweatshirt. Alexa spent the next three hours wandering slowly through town, not even noticing when she passed the same location.

She looked on each new face that passed by with suspicion. Were they cops? Were they witnesses who recognized her? Was she just making herself look guilty by behaving strangely? “Uuggghhh I’m driving myself mad. No one saw me. But maybe a camera. Or maybe I just missed something.”

Alexa kept wandering for another hour, but it started to get cold, too cold for a light sweatshirt at least. She decided to head home and take some Ambien. Maybe everything would look better in the morning.

She woke up early and decided to head to a new support group, find a new target. She actually found two, and she repeated the process several times over the next few weeks. Eventually she had a list of ten targets she decided needed to be taken out, but she was too paralyzed with fear. It took another week to work up the nerve.

The sheer number of targets meant this had to be better organized than any previous hunt. She set up in a cabin just outside the city. The locks were a joke. Next, she bought ten identical rugs. She invited each of the ten targets to the cabin over a two-day period, offering them a good time. She didn’t even meet them beforehand, just took a gamble and sent them a blind invitation based on what she’d heard about their prowess. Being the manipulative, over-important, scumbags they are, all of them took the bait and scheduled with her.

Alexa put on scarlet red lingerie for the greetings. As each arrived, she met them at the door, gave them a sensual kiss, and gestures towards the couch. With a smile, they walked towards the couch and she took her R8 off the back of the door and fired a single shot into the back of the sociopaths’ heads. They fell dead on the carpet. She dragged each out and buried them in a single mass grave and prepared for the next arrival until she ended the abuse of all ten men. Her final step was to cover the grave. She didn’t bother cleaning up any other evidence at the cabin because there was nothing to connect back to her.

She arrived back at her apartment exhausted but couldn’t sleep. She took a long shower and put on her bathrobe but didn’t make it to bed. She just sat on the bathroom floor wracked with worry. She didn’t feel any guilt. These men needed to be removed from society. But she just kept worrying someone might’ve spotted her. Finally, she couldn’t take the anxiety anymore, so she grabbed some Ambien and Benadryl and took them with a few shots of tequila to wash them down. At last she knew she could rest so she crawled into bed and put her head down. Alexa never woke up.
Rule Britannia

March 14th, 2022

Beorc is a mighty oak with a very unique point of view. He stood firm in London through storm upon storm and gazed with curiosity on the fleshy beings around him. He couldn’t understand them, the rushing and the fighting, but he watched them always.

At his birth, in 200 BC the way we figure it, he was surrounded by Celts. They cut down many trees, but him they left alone. They built villages. They fought wars. They practiced their religion. But all along they left him alone to grow and learn. And learn he did.

They told of people who were there even before themselves, who built a great structure called Stonehenge. They told of a whole other continent, mere days away, with lands and people beyond counting. Most vexing to him, these people spoke the same language but sounded funny. Nevertheless, the people seemed to feel a kinship with them. They traded Tin for finished goods but otherwise lived off their own land. All continued as it had for his entire life and then one day he heard a strange sound.

“Desilite, ‘Milites, nisi vultis aquilam hostibus prodere; Ego certe meum rei publicae atque imperatori officium praestitero.”

It sounded so strange, nothing like the words he learnt before. But the man’s compatriots seemed to understand so it couldn’t be gibberish. The men who spoke the strange language went away shortly, but then their countrymen came back to trade and eventually to rule. After some initial excitement everything calmed down. The Romans—as he learned they were called—created cities and built many new structures, but there were never that many and most of the soldiers disappeared to the north.

He heard Celtic less and less, only from a distance as if carried on the wind, and the people all around him began to speak the same language as the foreigners. What a strange choice. Humans lived for such a short time and they spent it learning multiple languages?

Then one day all of the foreigners disappeared. Sure, people still spoke Latin, but everyone who built the cities melted away. The people around him seemed so distressed. They feared something called the Picts as well as other people from the distant continent.

“Wé ancumaþ oþ þēowiaþ and ābrecaþ.” They came onto his island, slow at first. There were small groups of warriors or farmers, even women and small children. But more and more came until Beorc no longer heard the old languages. Occasionally he heard men in brown robes speak the language of the Romans, but Celtic was gone. His world was changing, much too fast for Beorc’s taste. He put himself into a deep sleep and didn’t awake for many hundreds of years.

Finally, he was stirred awake by the panicked shouts of the people around him. London had grown modestly. In the far-off distance he saw a banner, bright red with two large animals stitched of gold. The panicked people surrounding him shouted about a Duke William who owned the banner. They said he came to slaughter them, defile their daughters, and burn the city. But a short while later he left and didn’t come back for many weeks. When he did, the people’s opinion of him must have softened. This time they invited him into the city. They call him King. Humans and their silly titles, always changing and trying to sound more grand.

William began chopping down Beorc’s kin. He heard rumors of it all across the land. The trees said William was building, but to Beorc it felt like a slaughter. Trees old and young felled all-across the country so he could build his wooden houses where his soldiers slept and a great stone tower right by Beorc. It enraged him, but he couldn’t do anything. Trees observe, outlast, endure. They do not dictate events. But Beorc never forgot.

Shortly after the tower was constructed, Beorc learned these new humans spoke yet another language. They couldn’t seem to help themselves, constantly creating new tongues that only served to divide them as far as Beorc could tell. But over the next few hundred years the new merged with the old and another language was created.

“Whan that Aprille with his shoures soote,

The droghte of March hath perced to the roote,

And bathed every veyne in swich licóur

Of which vertú engendred is the flour”

Beorc didn’t like this new language, but they never asked his opinion on that or any other matter. Slowly it began to change still more. Soon, Beorc was forced to listen as some man named Shakespeare repeated the same words again and again nearly every day. How the humans were enraptured. They went to listen. They laughed. Beorc didn’t understand them at all.

Still more change came: spices, people, products, even plants. All foreign. Some of the new people looked happy as they carried those shiny bits of metal humans lusted after. Others looked sad and sat there in metal shackles until they were pulled away. Beorc loved smelling the new fragrances from food and plants. To him, it was the first change in many years that seemed to put more importance on nature and his fellow trees. He yearned for a bygone era when trees blanketed the countryside and animals were the only company Beorc regularly saw.

War was the real tragedy. It only increased. Beorc saw bright young men sail across the ocean only to come back grim, broken, and injured. It seemed it only got worse and worse for years.

Eventually the wars came to him. He saw these exploding pieces of metal rain from the sky and set fire to the city around him. They were indiscriminate. They hated stone, flesh, and plants all the same, destroying one just as easily as the other. He saw the worried looks on even the children’s faces until one day all of them seemed to disappear. The city changed around him. It grew grim, grimy, austere. It seemed the enemy must be right outside. The whole city was made into a fortress. Beorc endured night after night of terror along with the residents of London. Finally, he never learned why, the rain stopped.

What seemed like mere hours later the people began celebrating. They rushed into the streets. Children returned. Men grabbed women they didn’t even seem to know and pressed their faces together. He had never seen people so happy around him. But it wasn’t to last.

In the years after, Beorc saw poverty, hunger, and only slow rebuilding from the rain. People were depressed and shouted at the big men about what they couldn’t buy. They seemed to have forgotten their happiness.

Eventually, the air became absolutely choked with smoke. Beorc grew weaker and weaker, worried he was failing. The humans felt the same. He kept hearing them talk about how Britain had grown weak and irrelevant, how it didn’t have the strength it once did. Maybe they were dying too. They seemed to grow angrier and angrier, shouting at each other and blaming the big people in charge. No one seemed to be able to take care of them.

There were bright spots and dark spots. He heard rumblings of success in a place called Falklands. He heard of failure in a far-off treeless land called Iraq. The people seemed to hate each other more than ever. Beorc couldn’t understand what the people around him wanted. They seemed confused and all the different people wanted different things. He heard contradictions almost daily from those who passed under his boughs. No, he surely couldn’t understand these humans.

Then one day—November 11^th, 2018—Beorc passed. He rejoined the soil he’d occupied for so long, the soil that gave him sustenance and vigor. All he left in his place was a tiny sapling, growing out of his decaying root system. Beorc had seen much in his time, cultures coming and going. Great artists and thinkers. Horrifying monsters. He’d seen humans pull together and apart. Beorc saw everything there was to see. He grew with the confused island as it became a state, a nation, and then an empire.

He never understood humans, but he stood in their midst, a constant companion. With him died a piece of the past. The humans’ actions would determine the sapling’s experience. One can only hope it is filled with more joy and comfort. Whatever may come, the sapling will stand tall and watch over the humans—never understanding but always observing.
Lamentations 5:23

January 16th, 2022

Heavy burdens fall like rain on the backs of those who follow the LORD. They sap our strength, soften our resolve, separate our constituent matter. We tell ourselves the LORD’s strength buttresses our own. Inside we doubt.

We hate ourselves, question our actions. We flit from pompous self-righteousness to ruinous self-doubt. We lay deep beneath the earth’s crust, the weight of the world slowly crushing us.

The knowledge of our wrongs yokes us to the past. Moses never reached the promised land. Saul was replaced by a child. David was barred from building the temple to his cherished God. Solomon was the last king to rule unified Israel. Ours sins accumulate like a mighty tower, brick by brick until it dominates the land, an ever-present reminder of our failures and our wretched nature. Try to climb out of the valley to escape its sight and like Sisyphus you will near the peak but never reach it before tumbling back to the valley floor.

The wages of sin is death; it’s boon is remembrance. Sin unites humanity in a way no identity possibly could. Every race, every culture, every gender, every government, every nation, every age is ruined and haunted by sin. The sins of our fathers, siblings, and children hang from our necks, added to our own. Sometimes it feels as if sin is a noose around our neck, choking the life out of our feeble human bodies.

This is the price each human pays for the spark of divinity within herself. Imago Dei allows our most glorious successes and works of art. It also allows us to recognize and dwell on our failures. Original sin means we can never cease our failures.

Woe to humanity. Our nature is suffering. Repent of your sins. Turn from sin at every opportunity. Do this not to escape the guilt and suffering but because a just God commands it. The suffering will never cease, only our weak human forms.

Glory to God in the highest.
The Iliad Deconstructed

September 27th, 2021

“Shields and spears. We’re attacking the city.”

A Mycenean hung his head and loudly exclaimed, “Fuck. Again? We’ve attacked that damned city once a week for the last three years. With the way things are going we might still be here next year.”

Amphides spun.

“Less complaining, Eruthros. We’re here to avenge the honor of our king. Don’t forget that you are a farmer not a general. And don’t forget who I am.”

More carefully this time, Eruthros said “Fucking Ologoi.” Nevertheless, he grabbed his shield, strapped a sword to his side, and grabbed his spear out of the ground.

In short order, they were formed up. Eruthros—surely due to random chance—was placed at the front of the formation. They marched forward, approaching the thick walls of Troy. It stood three times the height of any man in their army. Well maybe that wasn’t true of Achilles or Ajax. Everyone knew they were eight feet tall and could leap thirty feet in the air. He rolled his eyes at that thought.

Luckily, they weren’t that close to the walls. Every time they approached closer than a plethron they were hit by arrows and rocks from Trojan slingers. Sure, their armor meant they weren’t likely to be seriously hurt, but would you want to be hit by a rock? Even if it didn’t hurt?

They stopped and corrected the formation. Distantly Eruthros could hear someone shouting what was assuredly a speech. It was probably Agamemnon or Achilles, some hero whose name would be remembered for the next few decades as Eruthros was forgotten by everyone except his grandchildren. He wasn’t so sure why he felt so bitter today. He suspected it was the rock he used as his pillow and the knowledge that his son would be the one planting his field in the coming weeks. That child never did listen properly. Eruthros might have been better off leaving the job with his goats. They’d be better conversation too.

The sudden sounding of horns and beating of drums broke Eruthros from his self-loathing introspection. They were being ordered to . . . no that can’t be right. They were being ordered to fall back.

“Damned generals. Waking us up, walking us towards the well, and then changing their minds. I guess this is what happens when your leaders are people who snookered some daft fools into following them in exchange for protection. If this goes on much longer we won’t be able to dislodge them for a thousand years.”

He trudged back with his armor weighing on his shoulders, his shield pulling down his arm, and his spear dragging through the dirt. He just wanted to be home where his wife could make him a good meal and his idiot son could get some wine from the cellar. Hell, he wasn’t even opposed to tracking a goat through the countryside. At least at the end of that task he’d have a payday. With this siege the only chance for a payday would be if he participated in the mad dash that was the sacking of the city. Further, that would only come if they could defeat the Trojans. Given the activities of the morning that didn’t seem likely.

Maybe he should join the Trojans. They must have some use for a goat herder. This seems like goat country. The people are stubborn enough. Or maybe he could open a little shop.

“Eh who am I kidding. I can barely avoid being taken by the merchants at home, much less in such a well-to-do city.

After shedding his armor and performing a few hours of menial work, Eruthros returned to boredom and his comfy rock pillow.

“Cock-a-doodle-doo”

Eruthros awoke, slamming his head against his pillow.

“Damn. I need a softer rock. I should sleep wearing my helmet. It can’t be worse, can it?”

Before long, his idyllic morning was shattered by the shout of Amphides. He carefully donned his armor. Just as he put on his helmet, he heard a ringing as of a bell. But it wasn’t a bell. Amphides had rapped his helmet with his spear to gain his attention.

“Front line, simpleton. No whining from you.”

“Simpleton? Look who’s talking” Eruthros muttered under her breath before promptly tripping over a rock. If clumsiness were valuable, Erurthros would be King Midas. Of course, it isn’t and he wasn’t.

“I should’ve been an oarsman. Dad always wanted me to be an oarsman. Or I could’ve taken care of animals. But no. I had to have my own farm and join the militia. I just wanted a few hours away from my kids. I didn’t want to go to Troy and have arrows shot at me and have trojans trying to lop off my head with a makhaira or stab me through the gut with a spear. I’m a mental patient.”

He trudged up to the front line, letting his spear drag on the ground and took his position next to Amphides.

“Forward!”

They marched. The walls loomed closer and closer, like mountains rising above them. Again, they got far too close. This time, he could see the archers approaching the rampart.

“This isn’t a good idea.”

“Shut up and keep marching. We’re playing our part.”

“Our part? What does that…”

Thwick

He looked down and there was an arrow standing out of his gut. It didn’t hurt. He just felt cold. But He kept walking forward, dragging his spear behind him. He lost his grip on his spear, but he just kept walking.

For some reason he looked to his right and saw a ram approaching the gates.

“Those bastards. They used us as bait. They just wanted the archers down here on the corner instead of massed at the gate. I’m gonna die because I was a decoy. This is just typical. It would happen to me.”

With a sudden crash of bronze, he hit the ground. He stared up at the bright, Trojan sky but only briefly. He lost consciousness before he could think about anything else.

He pried his eyes open and saw a beautiful figure clothed in white and lit from behind.

“Are you an angel?”

“What? No, Eruthros. It’s Xenippos. I’m patching you back up. You made it, you lucky bastard.”

His vision cleared, and he saw that Xenippos was right. He was still here. How lovely. Dying could’ve been the one thing that might’ve improved my day.

“Sorry, Xenippos. I didn’t expect to wake up until I came to Styx.”

“You’ll be waiting on that for a bit thanks to me.”

“Don’t expect a tip. I’m not getting paid here.”

“Miserable bastard,” Xenippos laughed as he walked off.

“I guess I might as well sleep. At least I don’t have a rock for a pillow now.”

He closed his eyes at peace for the first time in months.

And he woke feeling like he was being roasted. But that seemed wrong. They were Greeks not Hittites. They didn’t eat people.

“Wait, why aren’t my eyes working right. Someone help!”

“What is it, Eruthros?”

“I can’t see. And you set me on fire.”

Xenippos touched his forehead.

“You aren’t on fire. You have a fever. It must be messing with your eyes. I’ll get you some cool water. That should help you ride it out.”

As Xenippos walked to the other end of the tent, Eruthros heard a cough next to him. He looked over and saw a woman. The most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Or at least that he remembered. It had been three years after all.

But why was a woman here? There weren’t women in the camp. And why did she seem to glow. Was it just his eyes?

“Who are you?”

“Athena. I thought you might appreciate some divine intervention.”

“I would. I would!”

“You have a severe fever. It’s caused by bacteria. Unfortunately, the gut is one of the worst places to be wounded. So many bacteria down there. They get into the wound and cause severe infections.

You can’t really control it unless you use antibiotics. It’s really just your body trying to fight the bacteria. The body heats up and it kills the bacteria, hopefully faster than it kills you.”

“Bacteria? Antibiotics? What are you talking about? And how can my body raise the temperature?”

“Stop asking stupid questions. I’m the goddess of wisdom. I know things. Including this: if you don’t get antibiotics you will die. You’re simply too sick. Your body can’t take much more. But I’m the only person in this time who knows how to make them. It involves fungi believe it or not.”

“Thank you, Goddess. I don’t want to die. I don’t like my kids much, but this isn’t worth saving that aggravation. Thank you!”

“Oh, I said I was the only one that knew how to make it. I didn’t say I would. I don’t like to interfere with temporal forces. Captain Kirk fucked that up often enough for me to know the consequences. I suppose that doesn’t make much sense to you either.

Well anyway, it would be irresponsible to bring a future invention here.”

“Then what the hell were you talking about? You said I’d appreciate your divine intervention.”

“This is my intervention. Talking to you, explaining to you. I just thought you’d like a chat before meeting Hades. He’s such a bore. And a sad-sack. What a prick. Anyway. It’s your time now so I should be going. I don’t like hanging out here for too long. And I have to go help Achilles. I don’t really have the time for you.”

“Thanks for nothing, goddess. I don’t need you.”

He did need her. Without antibiotics he died a few minutes later, shouting in a fever-induced delirium. He’s survived by his wife and children even though he resented them.

His name died out quickly. He wasn’t an Achilles or an Agamemnon. Just a no-name farmer who died at the beginning of a long war. His own grandchildren barely remembered his name. By the next generation, it was forgotten. I’ve forgotten it now.

The only reason you’re reading this is because Athena doesn’t protect her diary very well and Apollo is an ass.

Anyway, that’s beside the point. That’s the end of his story. No glory. No fame. No riches. He was a middling person in an unjust world ruled by selfish aristocrats. And then he died from an infection which would easily be handled by a doctor in 2021.

Was his life meaningless? I wouldn’t say so. It’s so blindingly obvious it would feel insulting to my readers to say it out loud.
Star Wars Visions: “The Duel”

September 25th, 2021

Star Wars Visions is a new animated anthology released only on Disney+. The various episodes were crafted by different studios in their own individual styles. Interestingly, all of the studios are Japanese and created content in the style of Japanese animation. The first episode is “The Duel.” I won’t give away too much of the plot of this fifteen-minute gem, but it reminds me of Akira Kurosawa, specifically a mix of Yojimbo and Seven Samurai.

The entire episode has a lovely black and white aesthetic except the blaster bolts and the lightsabers. The opening focuses on the moon and then pans down to a mysterious Ronin and his loyal droid, RA-7. Before long, the village is attacked and that’s when the episode really gains steam. The bandits’ leader is quickly revealed to be a Sith who wields a fairly creative new design.

The remainder of the episode is non-stop action. The animation really shines with the swift movements of the characters. RA-7 is a welcome addition to the long history of droid sidekicks and the Ronin is a refreshing new protagonist.

“The Duel” certainly isn’t classic Star Wars plot or aesthetics but it is absolutely in the spirit of Star Wars. It mixes together well-trod tropes and themes while combining them in a new and visually-stunning way.

In my opinion, any fan of either Star Wars or anime should watch this episode. You’ll be pleasantly surprised.
Molly’s Castle

September 23rd, 2021

Molly is the absolute master of her domain. Not a thing moves within it without her express permission. Long, lithe legs led to a powerful body covered in thick pure-white fur. She sits on her throne, surveying her domain as Mufasa surveyed the prideland. Her keen ears hear an almost imperceptible sound, a small twig snapping at the edge of the woods surrounding her castle. Danger. There is danger for the princess that Molly guards. She leaps into action.

In a split second she’s out the door, loping towards the sound, teeth gnashing and spittle flying as she roars a warning. Molly is a warrior and any creature should be loath to be her enemy. As she approaches the location of the snapped twig she slows. Molly stalks forward, carefully placing each foot. Her hackles are raised, not out of fear but out of anticipation. Her nose drinks in every scent, her eyes every image. She swivels her head left to right, scanning the space in front of her then quickly checks behind her. Good. No one snuck up on her.

She smells fear in the air. She tensed her muscles. Another twig snapped. Her preternatural hunting instincts were on high alert. The attacker. She found him.

The creature towered above her, snarled, twisted horns spouting from its head. It had long legs with iron hooves ready to stomp on its enemies. Its mottled coat helped it avoid predators and melt into the forest. But not this time. Molly’s eyes were too keen, her eyes too attuned to the dark. There was no hiding from her.

Molly glared at the foul beast and snarled, before sprinting forward. The creature took off running. Any other hunter would have been outpaced, but Molly followed with the grace and agility of water coursing around a rock in the midst of a river. She leapt over a log then hugged the ground then leapt again, dodging left, right, left. She was gaining.

Minutes later, she was within several feet. She could reach out and swipe it with her claws at any time. Instead she rammed the beast, sending it skittering across the forest floor. It turned ready to fight but quickly gave up its evil intent. It knew it wasn’t a match. Even with its mangled horns it never stood a chance against Molly. She would tear it apart. The creature bowed deeply, signaling its respect, and then backed away, never taking its eyes away from Molly. Eventually, it melted into a darkness so deep even Molly couldn’t see.

—

Molly stood on the portico of her mighty castle, surveying the gardens outside its walls. The princess stood behind her, protected and innocent. She never needed to face the evil or the ugliness. That was Molly’s job. And Molly would stand her post, an ever-vigilant defender and silent guardian.
Patria y Vida

September 21st, 2021

Many political issues are divisive. This is understandable. Putting aside bad actors, we also have many fundamental disagreements about how society should be ordered, the proper role of government, and what impacts will stem from government policy.

One of the most divisive issues in recent years has been immigration. My ideas about the current state of debate are complicated, but I ultimately conclude our policies should be liberalized to allow much more immigration and to make it an easier process. Many of my fellow Americans disagree and that’s legitimate even though I ultimately believe my position to be both moral and beneficial to the United States. We need to have a serious, good-faith discussion about immigration policy as a country. A crucial part of the decision must be based on history and economics. The constitution does not opine on the proper levels of immigration. This is one of the few issues that is essentially entirely left up to the democratic process.

In the past, this unfortunately led to horrible immigration policies such as the Chinese Exclusion Act, the “gentlemen’s agreement” between the United States and Japan, and the first general immigration legislation in US history, The Immigration Act of 1924. Unfortunately, all three of these policies were based heavily on race and exclusion of “undesirable” groups. Fortunately, we have reformed our system substantially from that stage, and even though many problems and iniquities remain, our immigration policy is no longer based on race. We have taken important, valuable, and equitable steps forward as a nation on immigration.

Unfortunately, we now face a situation that again demands our moral judgment. It is not a crossroads—it will not determine future policy and it can be corrected at any time—but it is nonetheless a crisis which we must provide an answer to.

I speak of the acceptance of refugees from corrupt and authoritarian nations. Most particularly in this moment—Cuba and Afghanistan.

The US military withdrawal from Afghanistan left those Afghanis who worked with us in an awkward and outright dangerous situation. Many have already been murdered by the Taliban for working with our nation and there is no sign this will stop. In fact, the positions of those who aided us, women, religious minorities, and disfavored ethnic groups will almost certainly get worse under the Taliban as it was before the US invasion. The Taliban is not a moral equivalent to the US. It is no mere government. It does not find itself bound by liberalism. It will institute an oppressive, patriarchal theocracy which will undoubtedly cost many lives and dramatically limit the rights and flourishing of many Afghanis. The US should immediately grant asylum and lawful permanent resident status to any Afghan citizen who wants to take advantage. We should even provide transport out of the country.

In Cuba, we see unprecedented protests against the oppressive government. Since the communist revolution led by Fidel Castro, Cuba has been an authoritarian, unjust, and unequal nation which punished political dissidents, disfavored groups, and any others the government disfavored. It has not enjoyed the same increase in standard of living much of the rest of the world has seen. The passing of first Fidel and then Raul Castro did not improve the situation. Millions of Cubans and their children live in exile in the United States and other western nations after fleeing their repressive government. Unfortunately, millions more remain oppressed and controlled on the beautiful Caribbean island.

These latest protests draw attention to this fact and demand change. The protestors have shown extreme courage and a strong sense of justice. Like the protestors in Hong Kong, they wave American flags as a symbol of freedom they demand at home. American involvement is not guaranteed to improve the situation and previous US involvement in Cuba had many unforeseen consequences for both America and the Cuban people. We should think long and hard before directly involving ourselves. What should not take much thought is supporting the Cuban people in other ways. First, the US government should forcefully announce that Americans support the protestors, oppose government oppression, and will welcome any refugees or dissidents from Cuba who wish to receive asylum and permanent-resident status.

Cuban refugees and their children have already been enormously valuable to this nation. They have proven themselves patriotic, valuable members of the community who contribute economically, morally, and politically. We are lucky to have them, and it is absolutely Cuba’s loss they were run out of the country. Any Cuban who values freedom and wants to build a life for themselves should be welcomed here

Throughout its history, and despite its very serious flaws, America has stood as a symbol of freedom, liberty, and opportunity. This has been employed historically for particularly oppressed people. The principles of the Declaration of Independence demand we be the friends of oppressed people everywhere and accept them if they wish. America is not an ethnic group. It is not a language group. It is not a historical population. America is a collection of diverse people who represent every ethnic group, religion, language, and nation on earth and are united by ideals rather than a shared history or ethnic origin. America is special. Immigrants are a huge part of what makes it special. Immigrants who support freedom and want to contribute are the absolute bedrock of America’s success and should be welcomed.

I can think of no better examples at this moment than the Cubans and Afghanis who oppose repression. Open the doors. Bring them in. Make them American.

Patria y Vida
An Archaeological Tragedy

September 21st, 2021

Dr. Sarah Martinez had a newly-mounted PhD on her wall and a promising career in front of her. Up to this point she’d focused on the academic side of archaeology, but she’d just been accepted onto a team doing a dig in Jerusalem not far from the Temple Mount. She was excited to begin her field career, even if she was pretty low on the totem pole.

“Dr. Moore, thank you so much for this opportunity. I know I don’t have as much field work experience as others, but I’m a fast learner and I promise you won’t regret this.”

“Make sure I don’t, Dr. Martinez. All you need to do is be thorough and levelheaded. If you do that you’ll do well.”

“Understood!”

As Sarah looked up she saw the towering edifice of the Western Wall in front of her. That meant she was almost to the site.

They turned a final corner and she saw warning signs and then she saw workers down in a hole in the ground. This was so exciting! The hole was smaller than she imagined, but size is not an indicator archaeologically. She knew they could find a treasure trove of artifacts in this small hole in one of the world’s oldest and most important cities.

“Dr. Martinez, begin over there in D4. You’ll find tools in that house. Please call me over if you find anything more exceptional than pottery. I won’t claim the credit, but I desperately want to see.”

“Yes, sir. Are we looking for anything in particular?”

“Not at all. They were doing work on these homes and when they dug into this courtyard they discovered some ossuaries. Luckily the Israeli government shut down the work and asked us to fully review the site before work continued. I expect we’ll find some pottery and maybe even an old copy of the Psalms or the Torah. But you never know.”

With that thought he turned and wandered off to speak with the boss of the Arab workers and Sarah went into the home he’d pointed out and collected the tools she’d need. They had convenient buckets already filled with a sieve, trowel, and various brushes. Now off to her home for the next few days—good ole D4.

She climbed down the ladder, carefully set down her bucket, and squatted down to begin her work. She carefully dug with her trowel for the next few hours, finding nothing of any consequence. But suddenly she saw a piece of something poking out of the compacted dirt. She grew giddy with excitement and dug around it carefully until she could switch to the brushes. Her first find—how exciting! She carefully brushed dirt away from the object until it was almost fully exposed. It looked to be a small shard of pottery—Greek origin based on the small element of the design she could see.

Now it was time. The shard was exposed enough to carefully pick up. She reached out and grasped the shard.

Her stomach turned, and she felt as if she was being pulled out to sea by a riptide. She lost all sense of orientation. She saw a bright, blinding light in front of her, growing larger and larger until it consumed her vision. She clamped her eyes shut, hoping the sickening experience would soon be over.

Suddenly, her stomach quieted, and she regained her sense of orientation. She opened her eyes to see . . . A shop? How did she get here? Where was she?

No one seemed to acknowledge her and they all wore very traditional clothing. She’d never seen a sight like this when she’d been to Jerusalem before. They spoke in what she initially assumed was Hebrew or Arabic, but she quickly realized it wasn’t either. She didn’t know much, but she could swear it was Aramaic. That wasn’t so common anymore. But when she raised her eyes, she got the true surprise.

The Temple. The Second Temple. Not the Dome of the Rock. Not the Al-Aqsa compound. The temple, covered in beautiful decoration including painted designs and gilding. It stood proud and shining on the Temple Mount.

“What the hell is happening? I’m hallucinating? Or I fell asleep. That’s not possible. I felt my stomach turn. I must’ve gotten heat sick. But that’s not even how I imagined the temple.”

She began to grow very concerned. She kept her eyes down—though no one had yet acknowledged her—and got an even bigger surprise: the pottery she’d been examining. Not the shard but the whole pot. She saw the unmistakable design from the piece she’d found, but it was part of a whole pot now. And she was right—Greek. Hah!

“How is this possible? It isn’t possible. Right? I’m just heat sick and have too much imagination.”

A searing pain intruded on her thoughts. Her head felt like it was being squeezed and she grew overwhelmed. Then it grew lesser. The man who bought her amphorae had stepped back towards the shopkeeper. When he walked away again the pain came back with a vengeance. She didn’t know why or how, but she knew she needed to follow that pottery.

She followed him through the streets for probably half a mile not being acknowledged by a single person. When she ran into someone she was hurt and pushed as usual, but it didn’t seem to have any effect on the people she ran into. This hallucination was growing more peculiar by the second.

But it was about to grow more peculiar.

“Wait, I recognize this. This is the courtyard. But there is no hole. There isn’t any sign of the archaeologists or workers. It’s almost like a reconstruction of how it would’ve looked originally. But no one could possibly reconstruct this much, right? Don’t be daft. No one could reconstruct the temple, not on the mount. What would they do with Al Aqsa?

I’ve gone insane. That’s it. That’s the only explanation. I’ve gone insane and imagined first-century Jerusalem. Simple as that. And I’m so crazy I feel the wind and the pot in my hands. And I see images I’ve never even pictured before. It’s that simple, right? Right!?!”

As suddenly as it began, she felt a sickening feeling once more. The riptide dragged her back to the present day. She was still in D4. She’d never left, in fact. But she had discovered something. No, not the tiny pot fragment. She’d discovered a powerful gift.

Dr. Sarah Martinez, freshly-minted PhD, budding archaeologist, and Greek pottery enthusiast had a power. She had the power of hindsight. Just by touching an artifact she could see it’s life. But she hadn’t processed that yet.

Panicked, Sarah decided the best thing to do would be to continue her work and never say anything to anyone else.

She kept digging until she heard metal on metal scraping.

“Ouch. Damn, what is that?”

She looked more carefully and saw a heavily corroded bar of metal. No wait! It’s not a bar of metal, it’s a sword. She furiously brushed away the dirt and then went to carefully lift it.

__

Her stomach turned and turned. Sarah felt like she was in a whirlpool, being sucked down and down. Then black. She couldn’t see. She COULDN’T see. She heard a rumble all around her. Thunder? No, it sounded more like a herd. But why would a herd be in the middle of Jerusalem. She felt around to find the edge of her hole but there was nothing there. She was on flat ground.

“What’s happening?” she sobbed as she collapsed to her knees.

That’s when she realized it wasn’t hoofs. It was boots. Some light sensitivity began to return.

Her eyes slowly focused and when she looked around she saw soldiers: legionaries and auxilia arrayed in a variety of red, blue, and green cloaks and shields. She saw the unmistakable gleaming eagle standard, the pila poking out above the formation. The surrounded her on all sides but didn’t seem to see her or to intentionally avoid her. Suddenly she noticed she was near the side of the formation. She crawled for it, boots stamping all around her.

And then she was out. She crawled up onto a rock to get a better view. This was an unbelievable hallucination. She knew it couldn’t be real, but it seemed it. This was an archaeologists dream, an unparalleled dream. She looked to the other side. It seemed to be Parthians from what she could see.

Cataphracts charged from the flanks as their infantry advanced down the center. Allied Numidian cavalry made contact with the Parthians and forced them to give chase, but the infantry continued down the center, bearing down on the Romans. A rumble rose from the legionaries, dull at first but becoming a roar.

“Hoo Hoo Hoo Hoo Hoo Hoo Hoo.”

Now the Parthian infantry was within one hundred yards. Then 50 yards. Then fifty feet. Suddenly, the Romans let loose a storm of pila. They slammed through the Parthian shields, piercing flesh and armor alike. She heard screams of pain. The line broke up but kept advancing. The romans, free of pila, set their shield wall and waited. The last twenty feet of separation signaled a Parthian charge, but they broke on the Roman shields like water on rocks. The Roman lines compressed back for a second, but then it stopped cold. The gladii caught the harsh sun of Syria and gleamed. But that was soon to end. They stabbed and stabbed. Parthians fell and tripped over their dead comrades around them. Every gladius seemed to be coated with bright scarlet blood. The Parthians kept fighting but eventually the back ranks turned and fled. The fear spread through the infantry like a virus until they all took flight.

They ran for their lives, but the Romans remained calm. They advanced in good order and slowly ran down the tired Parthians man by man. In the panic, they were easy prey. Discipline wins wars.

The Parthian cavalry suddenly realized what happened and attempted to charge the legions, but it was too late. They were harried by the Numidians and whenever they approached the Romans Pila slew towards them or they were met with a solid wall of shields. There was no real hope. They wheeled their horses and fled, even running down some of their own infantry.

She was transfixed. Hours seemed to have passed based on the sun, but it seemed like mere minutes. This was fascinating. Then she felt a tug. It felt as if a bungee cable were attached to her which suddenly pulled her back. Her stomach turned once more, and she suddenly stood up gasping for breath.

She was back in her hole. This wasn’t possible. She had to tell someone. She couldn’t tell anyone.

“What’s happening to me?” she gasped as she began hyperventilating. “This can’t be happening.”

She was having a full-blown panic attack. She felt herself losing consciousness. She felt herself falling. Then black.

—

Blinding white.

That’s all she could see at first. But then her vision resolved into the sterile walls of a hospital. Her clothes were stacked next to her on a table and in front of her was a tray which had a meal as well as several books on archeology. She blinked and looked around the room. No one was here now, but she saw coffee cups and coats strewn about the room.

“What happened to me? I remember the hallucinations and the panic, but then my mind goes blank. Did I faint? Did I die, and heaven is truly this underwhelming?”

“Thank goodness! She lives!” exclaimed Dr. Moore as he entered the room. “We were so worried for you. It was unlike anything I’d ever seen before. Then the doctors weren’t able to find anything wrong with you.”

He hugged her close before stepping back.

“Thank you, Dr. Moore. I truly don’t know either. I don’t think it was heat sickness. And I don’t really feel sick at all. But on the other hand . . .”

She cut herself off. She couldn’t stand the shame of admitting her hallucinations. She’d never find a job. All her work would be for naught. She couldn’t say it.

“Yes, Dr. Martinez?”

“Nothing, sir. I don’t even know where I was going with that,” she lied. “I must still be woozy.”

“Well you get better right away. Our patrons decided you shouldn’t come back for liability reasons, but I managed to get you a good job doing work in Egypt. I know it’s not your research area, but it’s still field work. It’ll look great on a resume and many of my fellow older archaeologists will value the diversity of study. Dr. Ibrahim will take great care of you.”

“I . . . I don’t know what to say, Dr. Moore. This was my dream job.”

“I know, dear and this is deeply unfair to you. I won’t hide that or deny it. But I hope you can make the best of it. Now that you’re not working for me any longer, please call me Hal.”

“Dr. Moore . . . err Hal, where am I?”

“Oh of course! You weren’t conscious when we brought you here. It’s Hadassah Ein Kerem, the finest Hospital in Jerusalem. And don’t worry. This is all covered under the dig’s insurance.

Sarah, I really have to get back now that I know you’re okay, but I wish you the best. Here is my personal contact information. I’d like to hear from you, I would absolutely employ you again, and I hope we can be friends. You’re a bright young mind. What more could someone ask for from an archaeologist?”

“Thank you, Hal. You’ll hear from me real soon. I’ll send you some pictures from Egypt.”

“Please do, Dr. Martinez,” he said with a wise, old smile across his face.

—

Sarah looked up at the Great Pyramid of Giza. Hal was right. This wasn’t her research area, but it was spectacular nonetheless. Sometimes it feels like Egyptologists are the rock stars of archaeology. Plus, there was always the chance she could find some Greek artifacts spread amongst the Egyptian. They had traded since the Bronze Age and the Ptolemies’ Hellenic culture took deep root there.

She wasn’t actually working on the Great Pyramid. One, it has been investigated to death. An amateur Egyptologist wasn’t going to add anything else. Two, they had worker sites nearby which were in her wheelhouse.

She’d always hoped prehistoric Greek pottery would be discovered at one of these sites. Egyptian artifacts were discovered at Minoan sites in the Early-Palatial Period, but discovering Greek pottery here would prove that trading took place between these two ancient civilizations hundreds of years earlier. It could seriously change the study of Greek prehistory.

“Dr. Martinez, over here.”

“Dr. Ibrahim?”

“Yes ma’am. Over here will be your area. We believe it’s the overseer’s housing. Hal told me about your interest in Pre-palatial-Minoan pottery and that’s the place you’re most likely to find it. It’s also the biggest home by far and you’ll still be working alone. But unfortunately, my workers just aren’t very familiar with such early Greek pottery. They could easily ignore or miss something important. Plus, we simply don’t have enough funding, so I need to be economical.”

“Understood, Dr. Ibrahim. It’s not a problem for me. I’m used to working on my own anyhow. I’ll bring you over for anything significant and you’ll know where to find me if you need me.”

“Good luck to you, doctor,” he shouted while walking back toward the other archaeologists.

“Welp. Here is my chance!”

She began in the top right corner of the site and started digging. She found a few pieces of pottery, but they were too small to yield any real information. She dutifully recorded them and put them in specimen containers, but her big discovery still eluded her.

A week later she was still only half way along the same wall she’d started on. She’d found a poorly preserved stool or small table, but that was the most exciting item so far. Even then it was only the top with three joists where legs must have gone. She was jonesing for a real discovery.

The next time her trowel pierced the dry ground, she heard an almost imperceptible click. It had hit something hard.

“If this is a rock I’m going to scream.”

She withdrew the trowel and carefully dug around the area to remove as much soil as possible before switching to her brush. She carefully brushed away the soil until the item was free. It was a shard of pottery! Too dirty to see any detail but it was pottery. It looked to be about 16in². That would be enough to gather real information, not just guesses or suppositions.

“Dr. Ibrahim! Dr. Ibrahim,” Sarah screamed at the top of her lungs.

She cradled the shard as one would a child and carefully took it over to a wash it off in a tub of water. She would soon be able to see any design. She carefully moved it back and forth as the water clouded and grew murky with the soil freed. She tried to grab it out but nearly dropped it thanks to her water-logged gloves. She took them off to avoid that disaster and reached back in. She convulsed.

She saw a blinding light. She felt the pull of gravity as if she was three feet from a black hole. Her dig site flashed into her vision, alternating with a brick wall. Back and forth. Back and forth. Then the wall materialized in front of her.

“Hmm mud brick. Wait why is that the first thing I noticed? I’ve just entered another hallucination. Focus on that, Sarah.”

She turned and saw the Great Pyramid. It was at exactly the same angle as her dig site, but it was not the same pyramid. Well it was, but this pyramid was glorious. It was completely encased in white limestone. The top was capped with shining gold that reflected the sun like a lighthouse. This was the pyramid as it hadn’t appeared in thousands of years. It was . . . awesome in the truest meaning of that word. She understood why the pharaohs valued these. How could any peasant view this and see anything but a monument to god? She felt a deep sense of reverence. It was a religious experience even for her. She truly stood in awe.

She looked to her right and saw a pot. It was Greek—Minoan. It was pre-Palatial. In Egypt. Shortly after the Great Pyramid was finished. She was right. She. Was. Right. But no. This was a hallucination. This didn’t prove she was right. It proved her more insane.

Then a tug.

She felt pulled, not as strongly as before but it was still distinctly noticeable. Her stomach lurched and the view in front of her began to cycle past her like the background of a Wile E. Coyote cartoon.

Her vision suddenly resolved on a new view. She could see sky. She looked down and saw blue. Waves. She saw waves. She looked at her feet and she stood on the bow of a sailing vessel. She couldn’t swim. In a panic, she stepped back, falling to the deck of the ship with a great thud. But no one else seemed to notice her fall.

Banks of oarsmen pulled hard as someone chanted to keep them rowing on the beat. The rest of the deck was mostly stacked with pottery just like what she’d seen before.

A new view flashed in front of her. It flickered like an old CRT but quickly settled on a new image. It was a man, lit only by the fire of a kiln throwing a pot. It was the same as before. The man spoke a language not known to her, but it did sound vaguely Greek. It must be Minoan. No one had heard this language in 3500 years. This was unbelievable.

“But this is all just a hallucination. I’m not learning anything. Err I guess I’m learning that my hold on reality is growing less by the day.”

A final pull brought her back to her dig site. This time she was hardly even disoriented. Dr. Ibrahim was running towards her, no closer than he’d been before her hallucination. Her vision. This couldn’t be real, could it?

Am I really seeing the history of these items? Do I have a power? Could I use this for research? Can I even tell anyone?”

Dr. Ibrahim reached her and looked at the shard she held in her hand. It was blank. She just stared. She’d seen the design. She proved her theory. This was Minoan, pre-Palatial. There had been trade between Crete and Egypt hundreds of years before previously known.

“Dr. Ibrahim, this is Minoan. I was right. I was right!”

“Dr. Martinez, that’s just blank pottery. Until we at least have it analyzed we can’t possibly know where it comes from. There’s not even the slightest hint of a design on it anymore.”

“But Dr. Ibrahim, there was. I saw it. I had a vision. I saw it next to the Great Pyramid right after it was built. I saw it on the trading vessel that brought it. I saw it next to the kiln it was fired in. It had a clear design. It was Greek Minoan. Pre-Palatial. Clear as day.”

“A . . . vision?” More quietly, “Sarah, are you okay? You’re talking nonsense.”

Rejecting his hushed tone, Sarah shouted back, “Yes I’m quite okay. I’ve got a power. I can see things. I can see the history of objects just by touching them. It happened first in Israel and now here. At first, I thought I was crazy. I was sickened. I collapsed. But I’m gaining control. I know now it’s a gift. A gift from God or nature or . . . or something. Can you imagine the possibilities, Dr. Ibrahim? I could make more discoveries than any archaeologist ever. Just by touching artifacts. It’s a new era!”

She let out her breath at the end of her excited rant and looked around. Many of the workers just stared at her quizzically. They didn’t speak enough English to understand anything beyond her excitement. But those who did understand English stared at her. They stared and said nothing. Their jaws hung up and sank closer and closer to the ground. They didn’t even twitch. They stood as motionless as the Sphinx behind them.

“Mahmoud and Ahmed, grab Dr. Martinez.”

“What!?!?”

“You’re sick, Sarah. I don’t know what it is. We’ll get you stabilized and then send you back to the States. The dig’s insurance will cover it all so don’t worry.”

“Sick? I’m not sick.”

“You claimed to have visions brought on by touching pottery.”

“But it’s not just pottery. It happened in Jerusalem with metal artifacts as well.”

“Sarah, please be quiet. You’re not helping your case. You’re sick. There is no such thing as visions.”

Her whole future seemed to be collapsing in front of her. As Mahmoud and Ahmed grabbed her arms she flailed and fought them. But they were too strong. They took her towards the main tent.

“No. No. This can’t be real.”

“It’s okay, Sarah. You’ll get better.”

“But I don’t need to. There’s nothing wrong with me. I just developed an ability that people haven’t had previously. It’s like Gregor Mendel and his Punnett squares.”

“Sarah. Please be quiet. You’ll only hurt your case.”

“But I’M NOT CRAZY. I just have a new ability. Maybe it evolved. Maybe all of us could learn it.”

“Sedate her. I’m sorry, Sarah, but it’s for your own good.”

She felt a pinch and looked over to see a tranquilizer dirt sticking out of her arm. That was the last thing she saw before it all went black.

—

She woke much cooler. She hadn’t felt air conditioning in a long time. But she couldn’t see.

“Oh God. Am I blind?” she sobbed.

“No, doctor. You just have a blindfold.”

“I can’t move my limbs.”

“Oh that’s just the restraints. They’re standard for all psych patients.”

“Let me out.”

“I’m sorry, but I can’t. even if I could, where would you go? We are thirty thousand feet in the air.”

“LET ME OUT!” she screamed and sobbed simultaneously. “I haven’t done anything wrong. I’ve just evolved. It’s simple.”

“Please don’t make us tranquilize you again.”

She stayed silent for the rest of the flight. But internally, she was still screaming.

—

They flew into Baltimore even though she lived in Seattle. She was deeply confused until they unloaded her from the ambulance and she heard the sound of automatic doors.

“Oh God, you’re trying to hospitalize me, aren’t you? I don’t need this. I’m not insane. I’m perfectly sane. I just have a special ability.”

She rocked her body back and forth, pulling at the restraints like a tiger caught in a trap but to no avail. She felt strong hands touch her and try to hold her down, but at this point she was in an utter panic. She couldn’t do this. This couldn’t be happening. All her work. What would her family say?

“Let me go, you cretins! I don’t belong here. You can’t make me stay. I’m walking out of here.”

“Ma’am, I’m the charge nurse here and you aren’t walking out of here. Not yet anyway. You’ve had a severe psychological break with reality. It wouldn’t be safe for you or anyone else. We’re just going to evaluate you and then when you’re better you can go.”

“I have rights dammit. You can’t just imprison me!”

“We aren’t imprisoning you; we’re treating you. And Maryland allows a seventy-two-hour psychiatric hold before any court. You’ve been sent by your former bosses and we aren’t going to let you go until you’re safe or a court order compels us.”

“You bastards! I’m not an animal in a cage. You can’t do this.”

“Please take her up to the psych rooms, orderly. Make sure to take away all of her possessions. We don’t want her hurting herself.”

Now Sarah was moving again. She heard the ding of an elevator.

“Going down.”

It was only a few minutes later she was sedated again before they released her restraints. She could stand and vaguely move, but not much else. They finally took the blindfold off her and now she could see the orderly, Todd.

“I’m going to need all of your possessions, Ms. Martinez.”

“It’s Dr. Martinez, asshole.” She handed over her dig journal that was still in her pocket, her pens, a utility knife, her keys, and the travel copy of The Hobbit she kept for unexpected downtime.

“There. Now please leave me alone.”

“I’m sorry I need all of your possessions. That means clothes and jewelry too.”

She tossed her crucifix at him and then said, “Then get out, creep. I’m not changing in front of you. And I’ll need something to change into.”

“I need to be here. You’re on a psych hold with suicide watch. I can’t leave you alone.”

“I’m not stripping in front of a man. What kind of sick game is this? Send in a woman.”

“There aren’t any on duty. Please don’t make this harder, Ms. Martinez.”

She glared at him but slowly began taking off her clothes. She removed her jacket and tossed it in his face before taking off her boots and socks. Next, she stripped off her shirt and cargo pants. Those also flew into the creep’s face.

“Undergarments too. I said everything.”

“What the fuck? You can’t be serious. I’m not going to just stand here naked locked in a room with you.”

“You don’t have a choice, miss. If you don’t I’ll just get the trauma shears and cut them off.”

“You miserable bastard. I hate you.” She took off her bra and underwear, dropped them to the floor, and covered herself the best she could.

The orderly picked up the remaining clothes and left, quickly saying “I’ll be back with a gown for you soon.”

Sarah collapsed to the ground and crawled into the corner. There was no bed, no sheets, no anything. Just a padded room. She crawled into the fetal position and just rocked in the corner.

“What happened to me? How could I let this happen? I’m not crazy, right? I can’t control this ability. They didn’t even give me a chance. I’ll have my day in court. I’ll get out of here and then I’ll sue them all.”

The orderly came back fifteen minutes later and tossed her a gown that didn’t even close in the back but at least she was protected from that creep’s leering. She sat there awake until the next morning.

At around eight o’clock a different orderly came in—a woman this time—and gave her some medication. Sarah didn’t want to take them, but the orderly said she would have to bring in the original staff member to force the issue if she didn’t.

Sarah reluctantly swallowed the foul pills and went back to her corner. The orderly looked as if she wanted to say something, but a glare form Sarah disabused her of the idea.

Sarah sat in that same spot for the next few days. The only sign of passing time was her pill schedule and the times they forced water and foot into her. She felt more like a zoo animal than a human being. Suddenly, after maybe three days, another new orderly came in and tossed her scrubs before telling her to get dressed.

“Why? Where am I going?”

“To your trial to see if you’re going to stay permanently.”

“T-t-trial? In these? Of course I’ll look like a mental patient. Give me my real clothes back!”

“These are what you get. We’re leaving in five minutes. Hurry up. I’ll give you shoes once we’re outside.”

Sarah hopped up and dressed in the scrubs. At least she wasn’t trapped in this room any longer. And now she could convince a judge to let her go. She shuffled across the cold tile of the hospital dungeon until they got to the rear door. It seemed to be an underground loading bay.

They put her in handcuffs and ankle chains before opening the door and shuffled her across to a van with no windows or markings. Once she crawled inside they tied her into the restraint system and gave her the promised shoes—slip-on of course. Then they were off.

—

They arrived at the rear of the courthouse and went up the prisoner elevator. She was quickly walked into a courtroom and sat at a table on the right side of the room. No one talked to her.

A few minutes later a man in a rumpled suit came up to her and introduced himself.

“So nice to meet you, Ms. Sarah Martin.”

“Martinez. And it’s Dr. Martinez.”

“Oh, sorry this is my fifth case of the day and I just got your file a few minutes ago.”

“Are you a public defender?”

“Oh no I just have my own little practice. The hospital hires me for all of these hearings to represent the patients. After all, we wouldn’t want them picking bad counsel, would we?”

“You work for the hospital?”

“Oh no that would be a conflict. They just hire me frequently. I work for you even though they are paying the bill.”

“Well I hope you’re good.”

“Oh, it’ll be fine, little lady. I think I can probably get you down to no more than three years of mandated psych hold and treatment.”

“Three years! That’s outrageous. I’m not crazy. That would destroy my whole life, my career, my plans.”

“Unfortunately, that’s the price you pay when you say crazy stuff to other people. But most of my clients get five or ten years. You’re really quite lucky.”

Frustrated, she leaned back in her chair. The courtroom door opened and when she turned to look she saw Dr. Moore and Dr. Ibrahim. She smiled at them, but they wouldn’t even look at her.

“All rise.”

Sarah stood after a false start. These chains made movement a lot harder. She’d never thought about that seeing court on TV.

“Please be seated.”

“Okay we are here in the case of Maryland v. Martinez. Is that the defendant on my left?”

“Yes, sir,” confirmed the bailiff.

“Okay then. Will the prosecution please call their first witness?”

Prosecution? Sarah hadn’t even noticed him slithering in.

“We’d first like to call Dr. Hal Moore.”

“What?” Sarah exclaimed.

“Quiet down, young lady,” said the judge.

“Dr. Moore, do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth so help you God?”

“I do.”

“When did you first notice the defendants psychotic behavior?”

“Well I’m not sure I’d call it psychotic.”

“Answer the question as asked.”

“I first became concerned after two blackouts Sarah—”

“By Sarah you mean Ms. Martinez?”

“Yes. When Dr. Martinez had two blackout episodes on my dig site in the old city of Jerusalem. She had two episodes and after the second we couldn’t wake her, so we took her to the hospital. Unfortunately, our insurance carrier wouldn’t allow her to continue so I found her a job with Dr. Ibrahim.”

“So, her psychoses weren’t clear, but she already had a known medical issue.”

“I really wouldn’t use the term psychoses—”

“Answer the question as asked, Doctor.”

“Well, in that case I would say there was no evidence of psychoses I saw.’

‘Thank you. You may step down now.”

“Next witness, bailiff.”

“Will Dr. Ahmed Ibrahim please take the stand,” the bailiff announced.

“Dr. Ibrahim, do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth so help you Allah.”

“I do. Though I think I should mention I’m a Coptic Christian”

“Oh, that’s not necessary, Doctor. Now, when did you first notice Ms. Martinez’ psychoses?”

“Well I grew worried for her after she found a pottery shard. She called us over and began claiming it was Minoan and that it supported her unproven theory. I couldn’t see anything to show that it was Minoan at the time. Subsequent testing showed it is likely Minoan. I’m still not sure how Dr. Martinez knew. Then she began claiming she saw visions in Jerusalem and at our dig site. She claimed she saw the construction of the Great Pyramid of Giza. So, I had her hospitalized because I was worried about her. I’m still worried about her.”

“Thank you, Doctor. You may step down. By the way. May I say that your English is pretty good.”

“Well my professors at Cambridge would have been quite disappointed in me otherwise. Not to mention all my other English educators.”

“Your honor, I rest my case. The defendant is seeing visions and making extravagant and unprovable claims. You can also see from the report of the hospital that she is bellicose, belligerent, and mumbles to herself rather than speak to people. We have to institutionalize Ms. Martinez for her own good.”

“Normally, I’d take a fair bit of time to consider and issue a written opinion. In this case, however, it seems clear given the defendant’s claims of visions and special knowledge she’s lost her grip on reality. If not institutionalized she could be a major danger to herself and others. Consequently, I order an indefinite psych hold for Ms. Martinez. She will be returned to the psych ward where she is currently receiving treatment and will be released only upon the finding of three physicians she will not be a danger to herself or others. So ordered.”

The gavel fell.

“No, your honor. You can’t! It’s inhuman. Please no! Please—”

That’s when Sarah felt a needle stab into her and suddenly she felt very calm and then she fell asleep.

—

Sarah woke up in a chair. She seemed to have wires attached to her head and her arms and legs were strapped down. Oh no. This is an electric shock chair.

“Get me out. Get me out!”

She heard a switch flip and then her entire world shrunk down. All that existed was pain and suffering, continuing endlessly. There was no beginning or end—just pain.

“Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh oh God why? Ahhhhhhhhhh”