Bonding with a young man with psi potential was pleasantly easy, and a nice break from drifting in a fog of transient images that make up the genetic memory of the Psi Lords. This memory had pulled me in like a planet pulls in a meteorite as I disconnected from my body to astral travel for help. Back in the real world, I was still being executed for subversion of the Psi Lords.



Bruce, my host, activated clairvoyance to suss out his new home. The alien gods in the temple had called it Sanctuary from the witch hunts. Bruce and his fellow psi’s are grateful and happy. He personally is glad that the weather is very warm which is different from home. It forces the girls to wear much less clothes than they are accustomed to do.


I became very quiet lest he spot me. You say that I have been caught in illogic. If I rest in memory, then nothing I do can have any effect. But, indigenous logic-cutter who reads this tale I set under a rock, what if I am wrong? I have learned many times to my deep sorrow and lasting shame that the multiverse is stranger than I can imagine.



Drifting and skipping in time, I see Bruce meet Gloria, and they have four children. Three are powerful psi’s, and the fourth is a null. I rest in the null’s brain, and find that her gifts are active. She is a psionically enhanced creative genius. But her skills are of a different order than all but a few of her cohorts, and so they become embittered as often happens to the odd men out.



But they put aside, this rage, and contrive to build a spaceship in a medieval time period. Leonardo da Vinci and MacGuyver would be proud of them. Their children leave the planet and I go with them. The others are being herded and guided into becoming master psi’s by the aliens whose motive of creating such seems obvious to me, but the why of it does not.



The nascent Psi Lords launch. They become mighty in trade, and develop limited psi gifts as years past. Their grandchildren bear the fruit of the seed of bitterness that the grandparents had felt. The flaw hidden by an innate goodness had wormed its way through their society.

The fourth generation changed themselves becoming as some call it, post-human. Silly term, really. I’m less human than a Psi Lord, and yet I think I am fully human. Wait until you meet a real alien, and then prate about post-human if you will.



They conquer. Genius and wealth and precision tactics made possible by psi skills are combined in a black witch’s brew with cruelty and a need to be accepted. They cried out to the Universe.

“You will love me, or I’ll crush you under my foot.” Naturally, this did not work very well. But it did get them an Empire.



I see myself spotted, much earlier than I had expected. They decide on a suitable fate for this strange being who is preaching revolution to the dispirited masses of the Psi Lord empire. Watch myself take the ring of execution upon my neck, and grin coldly inside my head.



A choice is thrust upon me. These idiots are killing me, and thus they deserve every bit of self-inflicted agony they can garner. But still, I could try to forgive them. Besides, to be honest, its not hurting, so I am in a little more charitable mood. I slip back into my body, and it does hurt. But, I pass the test, and continue.

“Bruce of Wayford Glen in Sanctuary really was sorry he forgot your birthday. He did not lie.” I project the message to the nearest thousand or so in a psi-broadcast. Maybe a message of love from the past can heal a sorry present, I thought as I fell out of that world, and into another.



Tadeusz