Notes - sorting through / what we do / (final) Brothers 15 / (final) Grandma 15 /

         Mid-morning. You are concerned with your ramblings on last night’s posting. You have gotten so that when you write it is straight out of your head with no personal blockings. What bothers you is that you are normally a very quiet, almost shy person and many times in conversations you have something to say but choose not to because it is nothing is new under the sun (in my thoughts) so I’ll just shut up and let the others continue on. This morning you sent out an apology to Nancy Z. for your email ramblings from last week. Again, your thoughts were automatically sent to your fingertips, and you mentioned to her that what you should have done is edit by deletion before sending. As you see this as a problem I will help you with it. – Amorella

         1026 hours. Thank you, Amorella. Rattling on brings out both pride and arrogance, matters I dislike along with exploitation. I dislike aspects of humanity – the seven deadly sins, I suppose. I can’t believe the marsupial humanoids were bought off so easily. I think I did not have a clear concept of what the Merlyn books were really presenting. These books are going to have to be better sorted through.

         That’s the dark humor boy. You knew. Irony is what it is. Post. - Amorella

         Late mid-afternoon. You are waiting for Carol at Kroger’s on Mason-Montgomery Road and you have other errands in the area before heading home. Your inclination is to work on Brothers 15 but you are not sure how close Carol is to completing her buying. Earlier your sister Cathy called and you are meeting for lunch tomorrow at 101Beer Kitchen near the corners of Sawmill Road and Hard Street in Dublin. Joe M., your niece’s (Cathy’s daughter Jenny) husband is managing chef. You are delighted to see the restaurant earns four and one half stars on UrbanSpoon. – Amorella

         1638 hours. We are in front of Lowe’s where Carol is picking up more birdseed. The sun just arrived. Very nice. We watched two programs “NCIS LA” and “Person of Interest” while we ate leftovers for lunch, I finished up the meatloaf and had a salad as did Carol with added cheese and crackers. I am glad I write these things down because in doing so I am reminded of what is important at the time, what we do everyday is mostly who we are.

         You are home and have put out the birdseed in front and side yards. Later, dude. – Post. - Amorella

         1738 hours. I completed Brothers 15. I think it needs some transition along the way though.

         Then fix it. – Amorella

         1747 hours. It’s fixed. Partly the problem was me, I misread the segment.

         Add and post. – Amorella

***

(final) The Brothers 15 ©2014, rho GMG.One

Robert and Richard walked out of the hardware store at the south end of town and took a late morning drive following road with lots of woods and farms interspersed with new crops of housing divisions interspersed among old farms and cow pastures. Interrupting the silence Robert asked, “What were we talking about early yesterday?” asked Robert.

“I don’t know. You mean end of the world scenarios?”

“Yeah.”

“I have no idea.”

Robert continued, “I think it was about the end of the world as we know it.”

“Maybe that was after dinner.”

“Could be.” Robert paused. “What do you think? What about today? If it’s not a plague it is a nuclear accident in my book.”

"I think we could stop a plague and I can't imagine it would take more than fifty nuclear weapons to wipe out almost eight billion people. It might even take fewer.”

"What about global warming?" commented Robert, "you used to think that was the most likely scenario to eventually do us in."

“Or crazed aliens,” smirked Richard.

"H. G. Well's War of the Worlds and Rachel Carson's Silent Spring; it's been said long ago, Dickie. Let's pull in here at the reservoir and watch the water." In a moment they had stopped the car and were observing the relatively quiet of nearby natural world in the park.

"I don't like to think on negative outcomes." He paused, "I mean it doesn't take much thought to come up with a whole series of natural or alien disasters."

"So, our species will continue as we have, muddling through the centuries and millenniums," snickered Robert.

Richard shrugged his shoulders while looking at the seagulls and deadpanned "most likely outcome; unless of course we are struck by a meteorite or comet."

"Yeah, like the one in Russia last year. I think they call them 'city killers'."

"The chances of a meteor hitting a city of any size is pretty slim."

Rob responded, "Somebody is probably writing for a government grant to save us." Both sniggered. Depression hovered low, drifted down and sat between them in the Jaguar.

After ten some wordless minutes Robert grumbled, "Time to head back." And in their quietest twin natures they drove Connie's classic home.

At home Connie, Cyndi, Robert and Richard were sitting at the kitchen table drinking bottled and flavored diet ice tea and munching from a medium sized common stainless steel mixing bowl more than half full of assorted finger sized carrot and celery sticks with a few ice cubes thrown in for residual crispness.

Robert began, "Richie and I were discussing how the world will survive this relatively new century and the question came up, 'Are women naturally better leaders for these days and times than men?'

Cyndi's eyes narrowed slightly, "So, Richard, what did you say to Robbie's question?"

Knowing they hadn’t brought this up at all, Richard shrugged his shoulders in resignation, "I said it would be better if we brought this up with you two."

Connie quickly responded, "First, we two get along with each other better than you two."

"You two maybe, but I've seen a couple of down and out cat fights in my time," declared Richard.

"Leaders are strong decisive individuals though, in the operating room . . ."

           

"We are talking about political leaders, Rob, where people have to work together more socially."

"Like Congress and the White House," added Connie. "You know, with the majorities of men in both camps.

"Men run empires. Look at history. Where are all the women emperors . . ."

"All this bickering," declared Robert softly. "Of the four of us who are the more reasonable day in and day out?"

Connie snapped her reply, "Cyndi and I. What a stupid question, Robert. Who runs the houses, who does the chores, which of us are more mature and responsible in our day to day living?"

"Which two of us have always been more responsible on the home front, day in and day out?"

Quiet reigned.

Robert was about to say, "What are we having for lunch?" He didn't, but a sheepish smile perked slightly.  

"Why don't we go out to lunch?" suggested Cyndi politely.

"Good idea,” responded Rob, “where do you want to go?"

"I don't know. Where do you want to go?"

"Somehow this conversation sounds very familiar," commented Richard.

"Let's sit silently until we can come to an agreement,” stated Connie.

So they did.

***

            2155 hours. I tweaked Grandma 15. Honestly I don’t know what else to do with it.

            Add and post, boy. – Amorella

***

( final) Grandma’s Story 15 ©2014, rho G.M.G.One

Old Grandma has chosen to tell a Mayan love story. Time is one of the major characters off stage, just like real life. Timing is everything. Solstice was and is important in Maya observances of Earth because of Zenial passage observations that are possible only in the tropical zones.

This story takes place approximately twenty one hundred years ago when the dark rift in the Milky Way was some thirty degrees above the dawning winter solstice sun.

'Twenty-one hundred years ago in Central America, I was disguised as an old woman walking, I spied two people making love under the broad-leafed bushes and a cacao tree near both their homes.'

Grandma shook her head thinking, 'the physical passion people put up with. People don’t normally know Grandma takes a peek every now and then when the intensity has built up like it has with these two. I am also in humanity’s most naked nature. People like to imagine being alone or with an intimate companion or two in private.'

Grandma looked to the reader, 'you can be private with your nature, honey-child, but you is never alone with your body. Heartansoulanmind, the invisible world of the human spirit, is always with you.

            Grandma continued, 'Love puts the body to more work than it is sometimes used to. People get exhausted being in love. Some would just rather die happy in bed I guess. That is the way it is for Tapachula, who is hotter than a summer storm and Izapa who is normally cold and pyramidal-like except when he is with his Tapachula. She heats up and he cools down. He heats up and she cools down. These two were just like the weather wildness. You just never can tell how it is going to be from one minute to the next. A low pressure hits a high and something is going to move. Since one is usually high when the other is low, someone is always jiggling the other. One morning when they had already been at it several times, trying to get the timing right, and something unforeseen took over, basic competition. These human bodies had suddenly taken on a combined personal life of physical endurance.

          What a way to go. Who is going to die of exhaustion first? Tapachula’s brain is reasoning, ‘Impending doom, a natural disaster is upon us I can just feel it. I can outlast this man, and if I can’t I’ll have to hand it to him to find a way to do me in first. I already have a plan if I outlive my Izapa. I will bed the first one that comes down the road until one of us dies and will keep doing so until I’m done in. What a way to go. What a way to go. What-a-way, what-a-way, what-a-way to go.

          Tapachula's logic is not completely consistent, but logic is something you might bed on but not sleep with. That is when I, Grandma, decided to step up from the body physics to the mindanheart for a change of pace.

          From deep within Tapachula's mindanheart Grandma whispered as consciousness might alone, “No prophecy is really true, child. No matter what any one or more human being utters it. Human beings can neither know their own nor their world's future, but they can learn to understand the logic within it.”

As Tapachula and Izapa's bodies clasped tight in a holy-like climax, Grandma heard them both think in unison: "This natural disaster is built into me too, Grandma. What should we do?"

“Remember what and who you really are so you can balance the beam,” suggested Grandma.

What are the beam and the balance?" asked Izapa and Tapachula.

“The beam is in your intelligence,” answered Grandma. “And the balance is in your wisdom.” And with that, the once old woman with the walking stick disappeared in the expended passions of the lovers' bodily perspiring fervor.

Arms and legs in loosening entanglement, Tapachula and Izapa blinked and together said aloud, “We were in an enchantment.”

The sweetness in their minds leaves but a lingering thought,

Of what the world may become and what has been wrought.

***

Notes - unfrozen economics / (final) Dead 15 / a psychohistory / exploitation

         Shortly after your local noon. Jared is cleaning your driveway and this time you compensated him monetarily even though the snow-blowing machine is half yours because? – Amorella

         1217 hours. In past years I did his driveway sometimes and he did mine. Now he is doing both. Normally we have a barter system of sorts because we take his mother’s paper and mail up everyday we are here and she knows we are on call anytime she needs anything. Normally, this works but this year with all the snow he has done all the work which he says is okay because once he gets the machine running it does most of the work. This is true, but today the snow has a bit of ice encrusted on the top, about a quarter inch and we had to break a path with shovels first (the snow is three to four inches deep on average). Anyway, I thought it was best to just put the money in his pocket, which I did. He protested, but I was stubborn about it. I feel better and he has some pocket change he can keep for himself if he wishes. If we have more snow I’ll do the same, at least this winter. With the carpel tunnel it hurts if I lift the shovel with the snow and ice (which it did and I only went about fifteen feet). Life is what it is. The snow is pretty and it is not that cold. I think we are going to have another month of it off and on. Poor kids. Missing a little school is okay and fun but making it up not so much. Alas, I’ve been there many times. Once out of school adults can easily forget how it can be (as a kid) having an unscheduled day off.

         You are thinking, ‘why don’t we just have a four day work week?’ when in the book the marsupials have a three and a half day work week – 35 hours worth, the other three and a half days another crew does the work – the weekend becomes a thing of the past. – Amorella

         1233 hours. I understand Amorella but I can separate fantasy from reality. I just finished the Pouch 14 segment. When I first wrote those words about how the marsupials live back in the drafts of 2005 it was a dream. It could never be a reality because in some ways their lives were too harsh psychologically. It is no utopia. They are, as it were, bound by the tribe, by the species to treat people well and humanely too. And, the Family Parents in Charge (for a period of ten years once only) paid everyone off with security and a hundred thousand dollars a year before a ten percent tax. The marsupials took a bribe. Each year a good part of the debt was forgiven because marsupials are not perfect and are not fully bottom-liners, that is they are worth more than the monetary exchange that they cost for social services. That’s their belief system. It is only a dream. I know this, but I write it out again in these reworked drafts anyway. I’m a dreamer. I don’t like to admit it, but at least I am being practical about it. Writing doesn’t do any harm and I get it out of my head. It feels good to let dreams go. To die with all these words still in me would be hell as far as I am concerned. This way I am free. I can live with it and it doesn’t cost me a thing but time and my love of the fingers on the keyboard. (1247)

         Post. - Amorella

        You had leftovers for supper, meatloaf, the same as last night but tonight with cottage cheese and not a salad. You watched “The Black List” from two weeks ago and last night’s “NCIS” as well as NBC and ABC News. Now, you have updated The Dead Fifteen, mostly by making it easier to read by adding more paragraphs so the reader can stop and assess what Merlyn is thinking. Add and Post. – Amorella

***

(final) The Dead 15 ©2014, rho GMG.One

       Merlyn has the taste of non-existent honey and sunflower seeds still on his tongue as he glances up to see the mid-morning sun. At his feet he is in a layer of fog about a foot from the stream in his sanctuary. He turns to the right and walks northeast away from the water with the sun behind him. I walk on out passed the great Oak and the ancient theatre ruin towards the great granite boulder, more than half a grand Scottish Highland hill high in my estimation.   

            In life I used to love walking the Scottish hills and woods enjoying the nature of sounds along the path, thought Merlyn. The further from the stream he walked the more a silence filled his mind and dissipated into the cool sunlight of his spirit, his heartansoulanmind.

            A lone billiard ball lay centered on the table’s far cue point. The cue ball sat on the nearer cue mark as Merlyn watched from the near end of the reduced green on table due to the new acquiring dense fog. "What ball is this?" mumbled Merlyn aloud. He comfortably sat down on a nearby stump in his head, the closed to his present location, about half way to the high granite hill. "Hill between me and the Living," he grumbled, still talking between himself and an important memory.   

            Merlyn squinted his eyes, sifting through the now layering white mist in his mind and the ball centered on the far side of the table. He whispered, like he was hunting a "Solid red . . . 7 ball. Who might that be a-calling from my heart?"

            "It is but a first memory, Merlyn, no one but you," said a woman's voice though he fully understood it was his own. She continued quietly and assuredly, "The fog tapped it forward." 

            Merlyn's voice continued, "I see an almost perfectly round deep red, beautifully polished granite ball with a circular ivory inlay and a glossy black onyx number 7 centered and embedded within the ivory."

            Memory spoke automatically as if it understood the present connection with the past sits in the present and future at once. The soul coils the transmission, the heart generates the energy and the mind is as nothing that nothing can be.

            Memory's silent picture - sharp and detailed - viewed a full eclipse of the sun. "I stand on solid ground and from between the boughs of an Oak and Birch my eyes see the flame on the pond. No, the flame is from the water.

            Fire and water. Slowly, so slowly my widened eyes and beating heart strain for the fire's lengthening blade of silent flames to provide an upward thrust into the invisible side of nature's air. The spritely mix of orange, yellow, and red flame with a flash or two of white the surrounding air glowed an eerie green when rose the handle as yellow as the sun. The hand showed its natural clasp on the surreal object to make the think the white skin ice itself. Frozen it was and clasped to the sun, without a hint of power. And quiet froze my soul on the spot. It's eye accepting something akin to itself made visible only a short distance away.

            And, as I drew closer the calm waters edge of surrounding trees and foliage took on the imagery of dark gray lashes, such as I was seeing the single eye of a most unnatural being as one of its lashes. It did not blink red or any other color and neither did I.

            In all the things I did unnaturally observe, in the minute and whole of the singular event my wonderfully fine eyes focused on the most natural thing I had ever seen birth, the slim, white hand, appearing as human and more delicately feminine than my own, I saw a once powerless woman's hand rise as a goddesses hand holding sun, water, and a thin fire pillar in multitudes of colors and imagination.

            Its owner is not a goddess, in fact and description, but rather, a naked human soul existing outright and in place with no need of anything but being flesh and blood. Such was my heart and soul and mind so re-conditioned that day.

            The sword, the bone of the soul, I never did see it as the others. The mightiest of swords ever held by human hands held no power whatsoever; yet Arthur and the populace thought that it did. And, in the end, the king and his country tried to make the sword, like love and the purest of gold, something it is not.

***

         2105 hours. I will but there was something in the nature of “The Black List” plot (create more perfect babies and put them up for adoption) that brings back Huxley’s Brave New World. We will have the ability to genetically create a healthier (both physically and mentally) species of ourselves. People may think it morally wrong to mess with genetic structures (we have been creating hybrids of corn) but when it is on the genetic level people feel it is immoral and Dr. Frankenstein-like. I don’t see the difference in allowing sick people go to the hospital to get better. We have various organ transplants that prolong peoples’ lives and that is considered okay yet, -- let’s say a young person has a heart transplant and survives – sheorhe grows up and marries and has children. A hundred years ago those children would not have existed because the person would have died. It seems that if there is a destiny for the species (not individuals) it would be modified by human intervention.

         I am thinking of Shakespeare’s MacBeth now. If he had died of an accident before he kills Duncan he would (in context with the play) have gone to Heaven, yet he lives long enough to commit a murder and for this he goes to Hell. We used to talk about this in class and I am still stumped by it. Even with Free Will of the individual to do or not to do something an eventually destiny for the species still is allowed to occur. A flower seed is destined to become a flower. The individual seed is not always significant in the long run of things; however if the seed is manipulated to become healthier its potential is greater within the greater species continual evolution.

         Now I am thinking on the marsupial humanoids being some twenty-thousand years in scientific advancement – many live to 500 years of age. Let’s say the first fifty as youths still in school and early work assignments. And, the last fifty as people of older age until they essentially wear out. Why is it in the story that they do not make clones or something science fiction like and live for a thousand years or two thousand years for that matter? What caused them to stop such technology? Is it for the same reasons people do not want genetic manipulation to make people healthier?

         I am having trouble with what happened in those twenty thousand years to make these people like they are. I know it is fiction but a social reasonableness has to have taken place. Early on in the first books we find they had had wars and famines and that only a few survived so they had to begin a new culture. Technology had gotten far enough that a few could escape to the other two planets, like us surviving long enough that we can eventually have a colony on Mars that is self-sufficient. Basically this is a form of self-pollination. But what do I devise as the reasons, the social history if you will, of the marsupial humanoid species to have become what they are at the point of time they meet humans face to face – and what will become of their social structure after having met us.

         It seems to me it is reasonable for both species to change socially. To be honest, I can’t imagine this to be in the best interests of either species, yet here they are at a crossroads just as we are at a crossroads also, with or without alien involvement. Our politics is outdated, even countries as such appear outdated. Cultures are not. Languages are not though a common earth language will be a necessity. Here is the rub. Eventually, what we think we have to do, the choices we make both locally and worldwide will be a necessity for our species, our humanity to survive.

         I think I have rolled this back into Asimov’s original Foundation series and the necessity of Hari Seldon. Here is a selection I found in Wikipedia that relates to my thoughts. (2142)

** **

Paul Krugman

At the 67^th World Science Fiction Convention in Montreal, Quebec, Canada, Paul Krugman, the Nobel Laureate in Economics, mentioned Hari Seldon. According to Krugman, his interest in economics began with Asimov's Foundation novels, in which the social scientists of the future use "Psychohistory" to attempt to save civilization. Since "Psychohistory" in Asimov's sense of the word does not exist, Krugman turned to economics, which he considered the next best thing. In his column he considers Ibn Khaldun having done "a pretty good job" of setting himself up as the Hari Seldon of medieval Islam.

selected from Wikipedia – Hari Seldon

** **

         You needed to get your thoughts out where you can study them. I understand you would like a general social history of the marsupial humanoids to exploit in the novels, is this correct? – Amorella

         2151 hours. I don’t like “exploit” but I catch your drift. We ‘human’ beings are naturally exploiters of situations. This is how we adapt for survival in the physical world.

         In the books both species are exploiters. You are thinking of raw capitalism here but exploitation for survival of the species must go beyond that, don’t you think, at least in a fiction. Post. - Amorella

Notes - surprise lunch / (final) Pouch 14 /

         Mid-morning Kim called and suggested lunch at Max and Erma’s at I-71 and Rt. 68 about forty minutes north. As the weather is going to be bad tonight and tomorrow you suggested today, so that’s what you did. Kim is excited because excavation of their new house began yesterday. You had a nice chat from a quarter of twelve to one-thirty. Friday if the weather cooperates you are having lunch with Cathy and Tod and now you are spending Friday night at Kim and Paul’s so you’ll be able to see the boys and Paul also. On the way home you cut the speed down from 76 miles per hour to 68-69 miles per hour and you got 42.6 miles per gallon. You are surprised it made that much difference. – Amorella

         1419 hours. We are on our way home but stopped at Kroger’s on Kings Mill Road for milk and a couple other essentials. It was great to see Kim – a surprise and fun day. We are going up again for Brennan’s birthday on the twenty-second; this small family and a few friends party will take place at Chucky-Cheese in Dublin like Owen’s party was last year. And, Kim asked us to babysit on Saturday, 17 May for a wedding they have in Cleveland. This works out since I just found out our high school picnic will be on 18 May.

         Once home you went up for a nap. Later, leftovers for supper, last night’s “Castle”, a two week old “Intelligence” and ABC and NBC News.

         2138 hours. I completed Pouch 14. It is better but the conclusion is best – perhaps not in the words – but it is in my heart. I know my marsupials. They make their society work because protection and service to their fellow beings, children first, is what makes them click. It is humbling to serve any and all of their species, that is their prime directive. This is what silences Pyl. That is my intent. I know this doesn’t come across. I am not showing it properly here, but I don’t want to tell it outright.

         It will do. We don’t have to time to develop your word artistry. You do not have that talent. We go with the real world, boy, with what you are, whether you like it or not. Add and post. – Amorella

         2149 hours. You have such a quick retort; such a dry dark-witted humor. I’m impressed Amorella, really I am. I can’t help but put a smile into an almost wickedly mischievous laugh. I wish I could display such wit, but when I think things out I become a dullard.

***

(final) Diplomatic Pouch 14 © 2014, rho GMG.One

            "And, this is my room Pyl, looks pretty much like all the others."

            "Like I mentioned in the other living quarters, everything is built in either in floor, walls or ceiling. There is no need for a chair if you are not sitting."

            "Right, you did mention that earlier, but then the other rooms had furniture on display."

            Maintaining a poker face, Yermey added, "I did not realize I was going to be showing you my apartment."

            "The other two apartments were for the women. I thought yours might be more unique," she teased.

            Yermey responded, "You mean more masculine like a den?”

            "A quick question. Are you all professional or are you also friends?" asked Pyl.

            "Pardon?"

            "How long did it take you to get here? Even with faster than light generators it would take years. What do you people do on route? Can you pull up a chair? I would like to sit." The chair expanded from the wall next to her. "That was fast, what did you do?" asked Pyl.

            "You asked for the chair so here it is. Sit. Please."

            "Ship understands my English?"

            Another chair, this time it silently rose from the floor. Yermey sat facing Pyl. "Ship knows everything about you, Mrs. Burroughs."

            "Oh."

            Yermey explained matter-of-factly, "Ship knows everything about each of us for our own protection, that is, for our own safety. He is built to save our lives under any circumstance."

            Perplexed, she asked, "If he could only save one of our lives, whose would he save?"

            "You ask a lot of questions." He paused, "Ship how would you handle this hypothetical dilemma?"

            Ship answered quickly and directly, "I would save your life, Pyl Burroughs. It would only be polite as you are a guest of ThreePlanets while you are on board."

            Pyl was immediately taken back. Ship said "guest" with a sincere authenticity she would not have expected from a fellow human she had just met. Without hesitation she looked eye-to-eye, "Who are you people that would give so much authority and polite moral fiber to a machine?"

             Yermey responded with a slight smile.

            She gathered herself to full honesty, "Ship sounds so human; it strikes a cord in my own humanity."

            "Good. I mean this is completely unexpected. We don't even know one another yet you are connecting with Ship in a human-like way . . . You are bonding with Ship first." Yermey continued his modest smile.

            Pyl caught the twinkle in his eyes, thinking, perhaps I see a blemish of modesty and humility in this man. She quickly grew uneasy and embarrassed for herself.

            Ship spoke up, "Yermey, give her a glass of water, and tell her about how your species was not always so fortunate."

            "Yes, of course. I'll have water myself. Earth water, how's that Mrs. Burroughs, a cool glass of Earth water." The glasses of cool water appeared from an opening slot on the wall.

            Two small tables rose from the floor to set the glasses on. The chairs, originally wood-like, fluffed with a thin comfortable padding and modified into an awkward like lounge chairs, outdoor deck chairs rather than more a more practical kitchen table sort of chair.  

            Pyl took a sip and watched Yermey's eyes and body language. His formality quickly faded to emotionally driven facial and arm and hand movements emphasizing his every speaking word.            

            "Twenty one thousand years ago we were similar to Earthlings in the mid-twentieth century. We lived on a singular planet in five mostly separate, climate driven cultures. A great incurable plague arose and out of necessity ten ships were built to take two hundred people to the two uninhabited but close by habitable planets. This exercise was done in secret. Planet One was left to survive or die from this incurable plague."

            "Science later determined that exactly one hundred people had survived the plague." Yermey raised the forefinger on his right hand, "Exactly one hundred."

            "We continued our science and technology but our economic focus became the survival of our children. We reverse engineered our society to always enrich our children first. We serve our children and in turn as we grow older, our children serve us. We were and are one family on ThreePlanets. What you call government we call Family Services. We mean the term literally. Everyone is marsupial humanoid, our species is a close family and we serve one another. No exceptions.”

            How naive, thought Pyl Burroughs. Unconsciously she was struck by his uncommon sincerity and his innocent sounding culture that she found herself without voice. Fear rose in the vacuum and ‘I need to see these people leave our planet forthwith. If they stay they will be eaten alive.

***