"Are you ready?"

"Yes, let's get on with it!"

"Don't be impatient!" The old man bristled. "The gift I am about to bestow upon you will become an awesome responsibility. You can only appreciate the implications once you have attained your true potential."

"Excuse me, please." The young man appeared appropriately remorseful. "The excitement of the occasion is great for me."

"This will be a turning point for your life. Nothing can or will ever be the same for you. Just relax, clear your mind. I will begin the interface."

The old man leaned over the reclining form of his younger research assistant. His bony hands grasped either side of the younger mans head, fingers spread wide. The red glow of the setting sun bathed the room, giving everything in the room a faint aura. As the light from the sun faded, so did the aura in the room.

It seemed like the old man was the last in the room to catch the sunlight. Instead of fading, the aura surrounding him grew stronger. It went from red to orange to white. As soon as it turned white, the younger man's head began to glow as well. Soon his body was glowing with the same faint red envelope. When his aura reached the orange level, the older man cried out as in pain. He broke contact with the younger man. The older mans' aura faded to a dull red glow as he slumped to the floor. When the old man broke the contact, the younger mans' aura faded momentarily then grew in intensity. He stood, towering over the weak form before him.

"You tried to stop. You shouldn't have." The younger man's voice showed an anger deep and insatiable.

"You shouldn't have received it. I was wrong to give it to you." The old man's voice betrayed the helplessness he felt with the discovery of his error.

"It's too late now. I've got it, and you cannot take it away!" The young man drew himself up with his triumph. He seemed to stretch taller into the room then he had earlier.

"Yes I can. I gave it to you, I can take it away." The old man struggled to stand, his determination overcoming the entropy and weariness of old age.

"No. No, you won't, old man." The younger mans presence boomed into the old man's mind, driving him back to the floor. "You'll never get the chance." Mental fingers probed the old mans being, searching for the weakest point. In his weakened condition the old man couldn't resist. In his prime, the young man, with almost no experience, would have been no match for him, but the years, and complacency had taken their toll. The old man felt icy fingers surround his heart and begin to squeeze. He looked up at the taunting face above him. Even he knew he was about to die his face still registered surprise as the aged muscle burst. "You were a fool, old man. I knew that from the moment I met you."

* * *

Lt. Eddie Sampson watched as the thirty three-foot sloop glided past the end of the breakwater. As it neared the center of the small harbor, the bow came around in a perfect arc and settled on a course directly for the police man standing on the dock. When the maneuver was completed, the lone figure on board moved from the cockpit to the foredeck and lowered the headsail. Having flaked the sail to the deck, the sailor moved back to the cockpit and let the main sheet run free.

At ten boat lengths from the dock, Lt. Sampson felt that the boat was still moving too fast, but he held his ground. The closer the boat got, the slower it moved. Just as Sampson was sure the boat was going to hit the dock, the man at the helm kicked the rudder over and brought the boat alongside and about a foot from the dock, to a complete standstill. Lt. Sampson shook his head in amazement.

"Garf, I have watched you do that about a half a dozen times, and every time, I thought you would cream the dock. How do you do that?"

"Practice, Eddie, that's all. Practice." Garf Peters jumped onto the dock leading a double handful of lines. With these he quickly rigged bow and stern lines, and spring lines, fore and aft. "What's up Eddie? You wouldn't come all the way out here just to critique my docking abilities."

"You're right, Garf. It's your uncle. I'm sorry, he's dead." Lt. Eddie Sampson felt genuine sympathy for the young man. He had known Garf since he first came to live with the older man.

"Dead?!" Garf seemed to reject, as much as question the information.

"Apparently a heart attack. The coroner's got a full report, if you want to see it." Eddie Sampson was eager to relieve his young friend of any unnecessary pain.

Garf was looking down, appearing to contemplate the space between the sloop and the dock. "That'll be fine, Eddie. Give me about twenty minutes to put the boat away."

* * *

Garf stepped from the air-conditioned chill of the coroner's office into the humid heat of the tropical, south-Florida afternoon. As he felt his sinuses packing up, he reminded himself how much he hated air-conditioning. As he got into Lt. Sampson's car, he wondered why police cars had to be black in this part of the country. He leaned back against the headrest, his eyes shut to the world. Eddie Sampson waited for Garf to break the silence.

"It was murder!" Garf spoke softly, but his voice dripped conviction.

"Now Garf, there was no evidence of foul play." Sampson repeated the findings of the investigation.

"It was murder, I know it." Garf stared straight ahead, out of the car. He could see the heat rippling off the black hood.

"Nothing was taken, no signs of a struggle. How can it be murder?" Sampson was trying to use his detective's logic to help Garf see the error of his statements.

"The coroner couldn't explain the markings on his heart." Garf turned to look Sampson in the eye.

"His heart burst. Those marks could have been a result of the strain." It was Sampson's turn to stare out the windshield.

"Possible. But I doubt it. Would you take me back out to my uncle's place? I want to make sure the boat is buttoned up properly."

Sampson knew that Garf always took great care in anything he did with the boat, but acquiesced to Garf's request. "Like I said, Garf, I'm sorry about your uncle, but I don't want you to fly off the handle. Why don't you just take your boat out to the islands for a couple of weeks and relax? When you've forgotten this murder crap, you can come back, pick the pieces and go from there. I'll see to your uncle's place till you come back." Garf just stared out the window of the car until it rolled to a halt at his late uncle's house.

"Perhaps you're right, Eddie. Would you help me carry supplies down to the dock?"

"Sure, kid. Anything you say." They went into the house. Garf showed Lt. Sampson where the water cart was and how to fill the tanks on board the boat. As Sampson worked on that task, Garf went into the kitchen and began collecting canned goods. When he had loaded about three weeks worth of food into the box, Garf headed for the back of the house through his late uncle's study. Almost as an afterthought, Garf stopped and pulled the three folders that made up his uncle's current study file. He put these into his box of supplies and went down to the dock. When he arrived at the boat, Sampson was just replacing the filler cap on the water tanks.

"Just about thirty-eight gallons. Water is all set. I checked the diesel tank, it's full. Don't you ever use the engine?"

"Just to charge the batteries, other than that, not if I don't have to. Thanks, Eddie, I appreciate the help." Garf stepped on board and placed the box in the corner of the cockpit. After he had opened the hatch and wedged the box into a tight corner of the cockpit, Garf went back on deck and looked up at the clear twilight sky. The evening breeze was coming across the dock and parallel to the breakwater.

"Anything else you need?" His friend's question brought him back.

"No, Eddie. I believe I have everything. Thanks again."

"No problem. Give me a call when you come back in. Have a good sail." With that, the detective turned and walked back to his car.

As Garf watched Sampson leave the dock, he realized he would have plenty of time to contemplate the events that had resulted in his uncles' death. He set about raising sail and making ready to leave the dock. When Sampson reached his car, he turned to watch the younger man's departure. Garf already had both sails up and was on the dock, loosening the dock lines. Sampson watched until the boat was well away from the dock and making way for the channel.

As Garf cleared the end of the breakwater, Sampson reached into his car and keyed the microphone on his radio. "This is Sampson. Tell Captain Whittaker that Peters is out of our way, at least for now. He's headed down to the islands for a few days."

* * *

Garf kept the boat on a beam reach until he passed the last channel marker. He then gibed the boat around to a broad reach and set a course for the Dry Tortugas. After he set the wind vane auto-pilot, he went below to the galley and mixed a drink. As he stepped back out into the cockpit, he reached down and flipped on his running lights. The last glow of the setting sun was dying off the starboard bow of the boat. Garf settled in the forward end of the cockpit, his back to the bulkhead. It was a perfect night for sailing.

The sky was filling with stars. There was a slight swell running, the boat was taking it off the stern quarter with a gentle rocking motion. A full moon was rising over the receding coastline. The boat was making five knots under the evening breeze. Garf watched as the moon became full over the horizon and pondered the fact that somewhere, under that same moon, was the person that killed his uncle. He wondered where that person was and what he was doing. He couldn't have known it, but at about the same time, the murderer was wondering the same about Garf Peters.

The moon had already passed its highest point in the sky before Garf returned from his thoughts of the past. His uncle had been the only family he had ever known. Now, the only family he had was carrying him across a moonlit sea under a star filled sky. He was going to miss his uncle, but now he had to think of the boat. He checked the compass, the boat was still tracking on course. Scanning the horizon, Garf noticed a vessel well off his port beam. Red and white lights, so it was going in the opposite direction and since it was not on a converging course to his boat, of no concern to him. There was nothing else in sight, so Garf went below to sort out the supplies he had gotten from his uncle's kitchen. He had just finished stowing the cans in the bilge when the boat rocked with a violent surge. Garf scrambled for a handhold before he lost his footing. He rushed on deck to find a power cruiser close off his port stern quarter.

"Sorry about the jostling." A voice boomed across the gap between the boats. "Guess I came in a little hot. We saw you from a distance and just wanted to tell you how pretty you looked." Garf almost let loose a sarcastic reply when he realized that it was mostly his fault for not being on deck to keep an eye out.

"Thanks. But next time, ease off a little sooner."

"Right. Well, have a good trip." With that the skipper of the other boat opened his throttle wide and wheeled about to resume his course. Garf grabbed the stern pulpit to steady himself through the lurch of the wake. 'With people like that on the water, it's a wonder more accidents don't occur.' Garf thought he had better stay on watch until he could drop the anchor. There would be plenty of time for domestic chores after that.

The moon had dipped below the horizon about an hour before the light appeared. "Right on schedule. And exactly where you ought to be." Garf had made the trip to Fort Jefferson so many times that he felt he could put the boat in the anchorage under cover of darkness if he had to. Until that became a necessity, he would wait until daylight.

Garf scanned the horizon again. The only light he saw was the light of Pulaski shoal, flashing every six seconds. He swung the tiller over to starboard, letting the jib back against the rig. When the wind was full on the jib, Garf swung the tiller back to port, slowing the boat to a slow leeward crab. He pulled in on the main sheet until the sail was half full and the motion of the boat steadied. There would be plenty of time for breakfast before the sun was high enough for him to negotiate the reefs surrounding his almost private refuge.

It took him almost two hours to cook, eat, and clean up, since he was on deck every ten minutes checking the horizon and the progress of the sunrise. After he had finished below, he returned to the cockpit. Garf released the starboard jib sheet, letting the sail blow through the fore triangle. As he pulled the port sheet in, the boat began to make way. He trimmed the sails close hauled and let the boat beat to windward. It’s motion through the slight swell resulting in a slow rock, fore and aft, not at all uncomfortable.

Garf enjoyed the motion, and fought off the approaching sleep until he had maneuvered his vessel into the empty anchorage area off of Fort Jefferson. Once his sails and anchor were down, he scanned the walls of the fort until he saw his friend, Clarence Twiggy, and waved. His friend returned the wave then continued his inspection tour of the fort. Clarence and Garf had been schoolmates earlier in life, and even though each had taken his own path through life they remained close friends. Each time Garf brought his boat to the Dry Tortugas, when Clarence was on duty, he watched for, and over, Garf and his boat.

After insuring the anchor was properly set and everything on deck was as it should be, Garf went below and slept. His dreams were hazy and populated by his uncle, and other people he didn't recognize. It was not a restful sleep.

When Garf finally shook off the shroud of sleep, he dragged himself on deck and was presented with a spectacular sunset, framing the fort that has protected the reef area for over a hundred years. With the increased volcanic activity around the world, the higher levels of volcanic ash in the atmosphere were causing sunsets to explode with bright crimsons, vermilions, oranges, yellows and streaks of flaming red. Garf wondered why people watched television with natural sights like this to behold.

He sat there, in the cockpit, watching the colors fade to black. As the stars came out, they exploded with diamond clarity upon the night sky. There was going to be about an hour and a half before the moon rose, and until then the stars would provide enough light to see. Once the moon rose, it would almost be as bright as day. Garf watched the constellations work at their walk across the night sky.

Soon the black began to fade to gray-blue as the moon approached and climbed over the eastern horizon. Garf rose to go below when he noticed the power cruiser attempting an entry into the anchorage behind the reef. Normally, he wouldn't have stopped to watch, but since it was night, and no one in his right mind ever entered a reef anchorage in the dark, and the skipper of the power cruiser was well outside the channel, it was bound to get interesting. It did. The crunch of the hull of the power cruiser grounding out on the coral reached all the way to Garf's boat.

It also reached Clearance’s ears, as he strolled the parapets of the fort. It didn't take him long to find the cruiser stranded on the reef. He checked in with his partner, and they walked down to the little dock, where the Park Service kept a runabout tied up. Within minutes of the original grounding, Clarence and his partner were underway, headed toward the offending vessel.

Garf considered offering assistance until he saw his old friend heading out. 'Better let the officials handle the coral damage' thought Garf. 'Besides, they're getting paid for it'. Garf watched as Clarence approached the side of the stricken vessel. Just as Clarence reached a hand to the gunwale of the power cruiser, Garf was struck with a terrible vision. "No" he shouted.

As Clarence touched the side of the other boat, his world went from dusky, shrouded colors, and the peaceful silence of the Dry Tortugas under a moonlit night to a world of reds, whites, oranges, and a silence that deafened the mind. Then there was dark.

The force of the explosion, some three hundred yards away, was still enough to throw Garf from the cockpit, through the companionway, onto the cabin sole. He lay there, dazed, ears still ringing from the blast. As he tried to clear his mind and pull himself up, he looked up, out the hatch. There stood his uncle framed by the still rising fireball.

Garf shook his head, and ended up slumping back to the cabin floor. When he could, he raised his head and looked through the hatch again. Now he was seeing double. There were two figures standing in the cockpit, gazing down on him.

"Uncle . . ." Garf began.

"He knows. He will come for you." The voice sounded different, like coming through a tunnel. Garf still didn't follow.

"But, . . ."

"No butts, asshole, just listen. He knows, he will come. You must be prepared. Read my notes. The first answer will be found there."

"Uncle, who is he, and why will he come. What should I be prepared for?" Garf's voice sounded strained, even to his own ears, despite the ringing still raging across his hearing.

"You will have many questions, the first you must ask at Boca Linda."

"Uncle, what must I prepare for?" Garf was seeking answers even as his common sense told him that he was hallucinating. As he asked, the figures faded. Garf slumped back to the cabin floor, unconscious.

The next morning, as the sun rose, it entered the cabin of Garf's boat horizontally, painting the bulkheads with a rosy hue. As it climbed further into the sky, the rosy hue turned from a warm red to a hot, white light, and it slid down the bulkhead toward the cabin floor.

Garf awoke to a blinding light. His head was throbbing. He lay still for few more minutes, testing each of his extremities to insure functionality, then pulled himself to his feet. He braced himself with one of the hand holds running the length of the cabin top and rubbed his temples. It was a few moments before his memory flooded out the events of the previous night.

He went on deck to survey his surroundings. There was no longer any sign of the wreckage from the power cruiser, and he could see Clearance’s runabout, aground and awash. There was no sign of any bodies. Garf set up his inflatable dinghy in record time and was hoping against hope that Clarence had survived the inferno. Not bothering with the outboard, Garf paddled the inflatable across the anchorage to the dock at the fort. Soon after landing, he was sure. Clarence and his partner were no where to be found, and there was no sign of what happened to them, other than scraps of wood and canvas scattered about the fort and the burned and badly fractured runabout.

Garf left the shattered hull where it was, and paddled back to his boat. He went below to try to figure out what was going on. As he slumped into the navigation station, he eyes fell upon the three folders from his uncles’ study. Suddenly remembering the vision, he opened the folders. It wasn't long before he found a notation about the entrance to a small river on the Yucatan Peninsula called 'Boca Linda'.

He closed the folders, and placed them in his chart box. He then pulled a chart from the box, and began searching. Soon he was plotting courses. Looking up, he saw a patch of sunlight, already halfway up the bulkhead behind him, and climbing fast. Soon it would be dark, he must be gone before dark. Garf knew 'He' would come again.

Pausing on deck, Garf thought about Clarence. He was going to miss the man, and was raging inside that he could do nothing to revenge the death of his friend and his uncle. With that rage still boiling, he raised the anchor, and set sails, clearing the anchorage and sailing across the slight plateau that forms the center of the reefs at the Dry Tortugas. Clearing the reef at the western edge of the park, he made his course a little south of west, and set the auto-pilot. Dead off his bow and almost directly into the setting sun, less than a week away lay the Yucatan Peninsula.

The sun had long since set, and the moon was about to come above the opposite horizon when the darkened fishing trawler entered the channel to Fort Jefferson. Showing no lights, it maneuvered slowing and quietly. Making the final turn into the anchorage, a powerful spotlight suddenly broke the tropical night. The trawler completed a turn in the anchorage, the spotlight touching everything, coming to rest on the shattered hull of the park service runabout. The spotlight died and the trawler slowly made its way back out the entrance to the anchorage, increasing throttle only after clearing deep water and, coming to a plane, headed directly into the rising moon.

* * *

It had been a week since Eddie Sampson had even thought about Garf. When his eye caught the story in the morning newspaper, he wondered if Garf had been involved. It seemed that the park service became concerned when two of their rangers stationed at an offshore facility failed to perform a regularly scheduled radio rendezvous. A park service boat was sent to investigate and all that was found were the remnants of a runabout that had evidently been through an explosion. Closer investigation revealed a new hole in the reef just off the fort at the Dry Tortugas that could have been caused by a large explosion. There was no explanation offered.

Sampson picked up his phone and made a phone call. Within minutes he knew that Clarence Twiggy was one of the rangers missing and now presumed dead. He knew that if Garf was involved, it wasn't the cause of death for the Twiggy boy. He knew that Garf and Clarence were old friends, and that nothing ever came between them. They hadn't been close over the past few years, but they were still good friends.

Sampson knew that if Garf was involved, he would be uncontrollable seeking revenge for the death of his uncle and his friend. He was convinced, as convinced as Garf, that the older mans death was murder. He just had no way to convey that to his captain. There was no sign of forcible entry, there was no sign of a struggle, other than the old man's death dance, and there was no sign of robbery. The only thing he had was the markings on the heart. He had been at the autopsy when the heart was removed, and when he saw the markings, he couldn't help himself. He reached out and covered them with his hand. It was almost a perfect fit. Undoubtedly, it was a hand print.

But, how do you explain a hand print on a heart that came from a chest with no marks on it at all? The coroner couldn't. Therefore, after the death of Garf's uncle, Lt. Eddie Sampson left his convictions at the door, and filed the death as natural causes. He had just done so when the door to his office swung open. He looked up at the stranger standing before him. "May I help you?" he asked.

"I've come to ask about a case." There was something about the stranger that Eddie Sampson inherently distrusted.

"I'm sorry sir, but if it is an open case, we cannot discuss it. Now, if you'll go out the way you came . . ." Sampson stopped in mid-sentence. The stranger had taken off his sunglasses, and Eddie felt as if he had been speared through the soul.

The next thing he remembered was seeing the door to his office shut. By the time he got to the door, there was no one to be seen in either direction. He went to the front desk and asked the duty sergeant, to no avail. The man had disappeared. Sampson went back to his office thinking he needed a vacation.

* * *

"The island was empty. There were no boats in the anchorage, and the park service boat was crushed. He must be dead."

"He's not dead. I can still feel him."

"He must be. We searched and found no sign."

"You found no sign. That doesn't mean much. I don't think you understand the danger he is."

"There is a lot I don't understand. But since you insist, I'll continue the search."

"Where will you search next?"

"Probably Tampa. Records suggest he had some dealings in the Tampa area. Perhaps he went there."

"Perhaps, perhaps not."

"You're the one with the super damned powers, why can't you tell me where he is?" The speaker was instantly regretful of his words as he felt icy fingers close around his neck. Even though the only other person in the room was over twelve feet away, he felt the grip of an ice cold set of strong fingers begin to crush his throat. The last thought he had was of spring, and the beach. Even after death, his body stood in place, held up by the invisible fingers. Eventually, the body slumped to the floor. The other man slipped through the door and the light in the room faded.

* * *

Garf slowly brought his boat into the wind. As the bow pointed into the wind, he dropped the anchor and lowered the sails. It had been a glorious sail across the Gulf of Mexico. The winds had remained fair, and the boat had needed little attention from him. He had spent the time going over the folders from his uncle, but could make no more sense of them. The notation about the river entrance where he was now anchored, was simply noted "The journey begins." One of the folders contained nothing by hieroglyphics, and the third contained gibberish notations about inter-dimensional time warps and parallel realities.

While Garf was furling the mainsail, a small native dugout approached. He watched as the pilot, a young boy, brought the dugout neatly alongside without so much as a bump. As soon as he had, the young boy waved, turned, and pointed to the top of a mountain peak, some distance inland. "She waits. You come when ready." He announced. Then he dropped back to the seat of his wooden canoe and began paddling away.

"Wait" Garf shouted after him. "Who waits, and where do I go?"

With practiced ease the young boy stood and turned, pointing to the mountain again. "She waits for you. Say to come when ready." The boy then dropped back into the canoe and redoubled his paddling. Garf watched him paddle up the river and around a slight bend. Looking back at the mountain, Garf tried to estimate the distance. It was at least twenty miles, if anything.

Garf stood there watching the coastline for a few minutes while he tried to decide what to do. No one knew he was coming, yet he had someone waiting for him. He knew that the vision of his uncle was a hallucination, but he felt that the notations and the location on the chart seemed to draw him to this location. Then to have some nameless youngster deliver such a strange message, there had to be something here worth checking out.

He looked up and down the coast, as far as he could see, and decided that a trip to the mountain the boy had pointed out would take some time. It would be best not to leave the boat unattended here, anchored on the Bay of Campeche. After checking the chart again, he raised the anchor, and for the first time that he could remember, he started the engine on his boat with the intent to move it under power.

With a careful eye on the depth sounder, he nosed the boat over the bar at the rivers' mouth, and continued against the slight current. He found enough water for his boat, and turned the bend in the river that the boy had. The muffled sound of his diesel was absorbed by the surrounding jungle, and the silence he felt was almost deafening. The river continued to meander for several miles, generally heading toward the mountain, until finally Garf decided he had come far enough. He threw the fuel cutoff switch and stepped to the foredeck where he kicked the anchor off the bow. He stepped back while the chain rattled from the deck, through the bow roller, into the waters of the lazy river.

Once he was sure the anchor was well set, he set up the inflatable, and ran another anchor off the stern. Satisfied the boat was as set as he could make it, he went back aboard. Going below, stretching out on the berth, he thought about what the boy had said; 'when you are ready'. He decided, having sailed nonstop across the Gulf of Mexico and down into the Bay of Campeche, that he was deserving of a good sleep. Almost before he completed the thought he was asleep.

The sun set in the mist and haze provided by the local jungle covering and the stars began to rise. Garf slept soundlessly and very deeply. Normally a light sleeper, he didn't notice the slight alteration in the motion of the boat lying at anchor. Nor did he notice when the figure descended the companionway steps and moved over him while he slept. The figure stayed for about an hour, staring at the sleeping man, then left, leaving no trace of having visited.

The sunlight invading the cabin and forced Garf into wakefulness. He stretched and rose, forcing himself into the regimen required of the living. Once he completed a meager breakfast he cleaned up what mess he made and started setting up a traveling kit. While assembling the supplies he would need, he reflected that his uncle was the one who saw to it that Garf had the Boy Scouts’ attitude: BE PREPARED. Who would imagine that a cruising boat like Garf's would yield up a complete mountain hiking outfit complete with repelling gear. Most of the gear could be made up with supplies from the boats needs, but he had to admit, the hiking boots were his idea.

Hoisting the knapsack, and the bridle of gear, he lowered them to the dinghy and locked up the boat. Almost as an afterthought, he scratched a small skull and cross bones into the top hatch board. Perhaps, he thought, a curious native would be restrained from a case of breaking and entering by the ancient symbol for death. He could hope, anyway.

Once ashore, he checked his compass bearing toward the mountain, and dragged the dinghy up a small slope where he hid it under some underbrush. Looking again at the anchored boat, he turned toward the mountain and began walking. He wasn't sure how long it would take to walk twenty miles through the jungle, but he knew that it could take days.

He was pleasantly surprised when he found a faint trail leading toward the mountain. The rest of the afternoon passed quickly enough. He was treated to the symphony of jungle life, and the trail allowed him to make good time toward his destination. He still wasn't sure what the destination was, but he was willingly headed in that direction.

* * *

"Where do you search now?"

"Tampa turned up nothing. There's been no sign. He's disappeared."

"Not completely, but enough for my purposes. He's on my trail, but he'll arrive too late. Call off the search. Get ready to move. We've finished here, next we go to the islands."

"Which islands?"

"There is some research left to be done in the Bahamas. You should enjoy it. Plenty of sun, beach, and young tourist girls to impress. Go get the boat ready, I'll be there shortly."

* * *

Lt. Eddie Sampson almost bumped into the man as he hustled out the door to the office building. Mumbling an apology, he scurried away. Eddie muttered under his breath, something about interrupted evolution and abbreviated gene pools, then pushed his way into the lobby of the building. Seeing a spaghetti board directory next to the elevator, he ran down the list until he found the name he sought.

Getting off the elevator on the fifth floor, he walked down the hall checking suite numbers. When he found the right one, as he reached for the door knob, the door flew away from his hand. Eddie Sampson almost fell into the man coming out. When their eyes met, Eddie felt a vague sense of deja vu'. The feeling flickered, almost flared into realization, then faded. "Excuse me, Dr. Palmer?"

"Yes, may I help you?"

"Yes sir. My name is Lt. Eddie Sampson. I'm a homicide detective with the Fowler County Sheriff's department. I was wondering if I might have a few minutes of your time?"

"Am I under investigation for something?"

"No sir, I just wanted to ask you a few questions." The other man considered this, then nodded, gesturing the detective into his office.

"I was just leaving for vacation, but I think I can spare some time for you. Now, what is it you want to know?" The two of them found seats in the small reception area.

"I was wondering if you could shed some light on a minor matter. The Coast Guard is investigating some damage to the reefs at the Dry Tortugas, and they found a piece of the hull from a boat that is registered to your company."

"I was aware that one of our boats had been involved in some sort of tragic accident, but I don't know how, or even what happened." Sampson waited, but there was nothing else to come.

"I was just curious as to what kind of business you are in."

"We do archeological studies of under sea excavations. Did you know that most of the shallows in the Bahamas and the Florida Keys used to be dry? There's a wealth of historical information available to those that seek. It really is fascinating. As a matter of fact, the vacation I mentioned is somewhat of a bus driver holiday. I'll be in the Abacos exploring possible sites."

"What was your boat doing in the Tortugas?"

"I couldn't answer that. Sometimes, with the smaller boats, the crews take them out for weekends, perhaps they were partying and decided to go fishing. I really don't know." Sampson had a flash of insight that told him the man was lying, but almost immediately, he acquiesced to the man's story.

"Well, sorry to take up your vacation time. I'll walk you to your car." Without realizing what he was doing, Sampson tore the pages from his notebook that recorded the conversation and handed them to the other man. The man crumpled the pages and placed them in an ashtray, then lighted a match under the paper. Neither of them said a word while the paper turned to ash.

"You never came here, you never talked to me, you don't know a thing about me."

Looking at the man without seeing, Sampson repeated the words "I was never here, I never talked to anyone." Then he blinked. When his eyes opened, he was standing alone in a strange office. There was an ashtray on the desk in front of him that contained still smoldering ashes. He couldn't remember how he came to be where he was. He decided his vacation was long overdue.

* * *

Garf started his walk down the jungle trail with thoughts of his uncle, and his friend, and the unjust manner in which each of them lost their lives. His thoughts translated into a pent up fury and desire for revenge. He was surprised, therefore, when he found himself mentally rehearsing the Kung Fu forms that he had practiced when he was younger. Subconsciously, he had decided that the long-since, and almost forgotten martial arts skills may be necessary during his quest for revenge.

As he walked, it slowly dawned on Garf that the entire time he had been on the trail, the mountain the boy had pointed out remained in view through the almost complete canopy formed by the jungle ahead. At one point he stopped and turned, looking back down the trail the way he had come. He wasn't sure, but it appeared that the trail melted into the jungle less than three hundred yards back. Looking up toward the overhead thatch of vegetation, he could not see the sky. Turning back toward the direction he had been walking, he could see the mountain, through the jungle arch overhead. He started walking again, the thoughts of revenge, and the martial arts fading into the back of his mind.

Before he would have expected it, he came to the end of the trail. The foot of the mountain plunged directly into the level ground that he had been following and in rising up, out of the surrounding jungle, became a wall that was literally rock solid. Having reached his supposed destination somewhat before he had expected, he was sure that something would happen. He stood there, facing the wall of rock, surrounded by jungle on almost all sides, and waited.

Somewhere above him, the sun had almost risen to its zenith, casting its baking heat down on the jungle. The heat radiating down into the jungle and causing the humidity to settle heavily upon everything. Including Garf. He waited patiently, unmoving, until he could feel his sweat form drops and slide down his back. He glanced from side to side occasionally, but saw nothing. He waited until his shirt was drenched with perspiration. Deciding that whatever was going to happen may not be immediate, he slid the pack from his shoulders and set up a rudimentary camp.

As the sun continued it's track to the other side of the world, Garf was unaware of the dusk. One moment it was light, albeit very low level due to the jungle surrounding, the next moment it was pitch dark. Not even the feeble light of stars could penetrate the overhead canopy of plant life. Garf got his flashlight to see what he was doing, set up a safe fire dam and lit a small campfire. The jungle at night was different from the jungle in daylight. It came alive. He could hear the sounds of animals all around him. Several times, he knew there was a large animal, just out of the firelight, in the jungle watching him.

In spite of the feeling of impending doom, he eventually fell asleep. The campfire burned the available fuel, and descended from leaping flames to glowing coals. Slowly, the coals became dull red spots deep within the dark pile of ash. Once the coals provided no more light, the jungle parted, and Garf was once again sleeping under the scrutinous visage of a dark figure. The jungle noises faded to silence. Garf slept with an unearthly deepness.

The sun continues it's journey and eventually, every day, begins the journey anew. Garf was huddled under his blanket, still sleeping. The figure watching over Garf departed just before the sun rose. Instead of leaving, as it had come, through the jungle, it went to the rock wall and picking toe and finger holds, climbed the steep surface until the haze and mist hid it from sight. Garf stirred.

The dream was so vivid, it seemed real. He was seated, in a green room, with a goddess in any sense of the word. He knew, beyond any shadow of a doubt, that the person in the dream could answer every question he had. But, in the dream, there was no talking. Imagery of all kinds assaulted him. First, he was at the base of the wall, when he sensed something pulling him up the face. Next he found he was seated with the goddess as they looked into each other's eyes. He tried to look away, but it seemed his gaze was locked with hers.

Without warning, he found himself in a cone of light, being attacked by unseen creatures in the surrounding darkness. As the fear mounted, it seemed, so did the danger. Huddled in the center of the light, he covered his eyes, trying to allay the fears plaguing him. When he uncovered them again, he was high on a mountain, looking across a beautiful green valley, beyond which lay the ocean. But in the sky, a second moon chased the first. He turned to ask the goddess, and awoke.

He rolled onto his back and let awareness creep back into his body. After a few moments, he slowly sat up. He couldn't remember ever having this much trouble waking up before. It took a few more moments, and a violent shake of the head to clear enough cobwebs to allow movement. Slowly he set about remaking the fire and preparing breakfast, all the while stealing glances at the rock wall that delineated the jungle.

Once he had completed his morning ritual, he packed his gear back in the pack, shouldered it, and started climbing. The dream was still fresh, and he felt it held clues to the puzzle. Even in the shape he was in, it was tough going. It took over an hour just to climb above the jungle line. Once there, it didn't seem easier. The haze from the jungle vegetation rotting below the green carpet blocked most view but up. All he could see above him was more wall.

He had climbed about three hundred feet when he thought he saw a ledge above him. It would provide him a resting place while he surveyed the route above him without having to worry about losing his grip. It took another hour to reach the ledge. When he pulled himself over the edge, he found himself in what could only be described as a doorway.

From where he was, on the ledge looking up the wall, it appeared that the rock wall continued forever. It also appeared hopeless to continue to climb. The ledge was the only visible feature. Upon closer inspection, he decided it had to have been man made. No natural feature ever displayed square corners and specific dimensions such as this. It lay at the foot of a doorway four feet wide and eight feet tall. It had to have been a doorway, since less than four feet in front of him was a door.

Garf turned and looked back down the wall. The little features that he had used for hand and toe grips seemed to have disappeared. The rock wall looked as smooth as glass, and dropped straight down about five hundred feet. The only choice he seemed to have was to go through the door. He tried the knob, and it was unlocked. The door swung inward, silent on the hinges. He entered the dark interior of the mountain.

No sooner had he cleared the doorway then the door slammed shut. He whirled in the darkness, feeling the wall for the door, but all he could find was stone. His fear began to build, wondering if the dream he had earlier was just continuing. That was it, he decided. He could just roll over and wake up, and be back in the jungle again. Or, better than that, he would be aboard his boat, anchored at the Tortugas, waiting for Clarence to come fishing with him. Clarence. He remembered. Clarence would never go fishing again.

"I was wondering when the rage would surface again." Garf turned in the darkness. He found that his eyes had adjusted to the dim light, and he could see across to the other wall. He was speechless. It was the goddess. "No, you're not dreaming. I'm real. You're real. Welcome to my world." She smiled, showing perfect teeth.

"What's this all about? Why did you bring me here?"

"I didn't bring you, you came yourself. Your uncle told me you would have many questions, and he asked me to be patient with you. Are you ready to begin?"

"Begin what?"

"The rest of your life." With that, she smiled again, teeth shining in the darkened cavern, then she turned and walked through an opening in the wall. Garf hesitated, momentarily, then followed. Stepping through the opening, he found himself in an ornately decorated sitting room.

There was a hardwood floor, covered in oriental throw rugs, two easy chairs separated by a step table, complete with a lamp. There was a smoking tray set next to one of the chairs. The walls were not as much walls as bookcases. The shelves went from floor to visible ceiling, and covered all four walls. Garf was startled when he noticed the opening to the cavern was gone.

"Don't worry," she said, "it'll be there when you need it again. Relax, come sit, we'll talk." Garf turned back to her. She was sitting in the chair with the smoking tray. She indicated the other chair, and he took his seat.

"What shall we talk about?" He was curious beyond belief. First there wasn't a way up the wall, then there was. Then there wasn't a way down, and no where to go. Then the door in the wall was there, and he went into a cave that turned into someone's home. He had no end of questions, but was curious as to her motive.

"We will eventually talk about everything. There's so much that your uncle wanted to impart to you, now he can't. But, I can, and I shall do my best, so where do you want to start?"

"You evidently know more about it than do I, how about picking somewhere and see where it goes." He was looking at her face, but falling into her eyes. She was extremely beautiful. Her eyes sparkled as she regarded him.

"We'll not get far with some of those thoughts." She admonished him. "First, I guess we ought to start in the beginning. Are you aware of your uncle's work?"

"To some extent. I know that he had done some research in this general area. I know that he was interested in the Mayans, and some of their spiritual beliefs." Her expression had turned from one of mild amusement, to one of extreme interest. "He never really went too far into what he was into. He pretty much went his way, and I went mine."

"Not exactly true. You went your way, but his way was with you. No matter where you were, or what you were doing, he was there. Almost like sitting on your shoulder, but not quite. He cares very much for you, you know."

Garf gazed back at her, some of his internal defenses coming online. "Cared, don't you mean?"

"Depends on the perspective. You're right though, here, he is gone." She lowered her eyes, examining the pattern in the rug beneath her feet. "But, that's another time line. We've much to do, and you've much to learn. I watched you at the base of the mountain, I know you have patience. What about tolerance. Are you tolerant?"

Garf didn't know how to answer that. In his past, he had found himself able to put up with almost anyone. There were a few times that he walked away from a situation to keep it from getting out of hand, but he didn't think he had been at fault. "I guess I am, never really considered it."

She looked at him for a moment, then brightened. "Never mind, it doesn't matter right now, might later, but not now. I can see the first thing you need to do is find your center. Now, you sit here for a moment, and I'll be back with some tea." She stood, then glided out of the room. Garf couldn't find the door she used.

He looked around the room. From where he sat, the titles of the books were just far enough away to be unreadable. All of them he could see, looked dusty. He had just about made his mind up to start browsing the titles closer when she returned.

"Here you go." She said, handing him a teacup. He raised it to his lips and detected the rich aroma of Earl Gray, his favorite. He sipped, and regaled in the flavor.

"Just the way I like it." He smiled, gratified that she returned the gesture.

"I guess I ought to tell you how I met your uncle. When I was a little girl, he came to our village, searching. No one was sure what it was he sought, but he was nice, fairly harmless, and sometimes amusing. Then, one night, I had a dream. Much like the one you had last night." She had Garf's full attention now. "I know the dream you had. I had it myself. So did your uncle. All of those, uh, chosen, have had the dream. It was your test. You were making sure that you could deal with the changes that are about to occur." She paused, looking deep into his eyes.

"What kind of changes?" he asked.

"You're entire life, lifestyle, everything that you know, will change, and nothing, absolutely nothing will ever be the same. Your perceptions will change, and your understanding will become complete. There is one thing, however." She paused again.

"I knew there had to be some kind of hook." He tried to be flippant, but she wouldn't have any of it.

"No hook, just a caveat. The way is fraught with danger. You may not survive, in this time-line."

"That's the second time you've said that." He interrupted, "What do you mean 'in this time-line'?"

She just patted his hand, saying "All in due time. Right now, you've got to find your center. Remember your martial arts training?" He nodded, again surprised at her knowledge of him. "Good. Remember, then, how you had to clear your mind before you performed the ritual styles? You must do that now. Clear your mind, and be open to the influences around you." Garf blinked at her a couple of times, then settled himself down comfortably in the chair, and began to clear his mind.

It wasn't easy. First the death of his uncle clouded his mental vision. He couldn't resolve the tension from that fact. The simple realization that there was nothing he could do about the tension released it. He felt the tension lift as if a mantle were being pulled from his shoulders. Then came the death of his friend Clarence. The tension from Clearance’s death lifted as easily, along with that from his uncle's death.

The next thought to cloud his vision was his boat. In his mind's eye, he could see the vessel securely anchored in the river, where he had left it. He could also see the boy from the dugout canoe, sitting on the river bank, keeping an eye on Garf's floating home. Knowing his boat was safe, the worry lifted. Soon, Garf found himself floating in a blissful meditation, contemplating the shape of nothing. He felt a presence stir beside him, and reentered the world.

"So, the student has decided to rejoin the dojo. That is good." Garf couldn't believe his eyes. He was seated in a lotus position, dressed in his ceremonial, satin gi, in the center of the challenge mat in his old dojo, where he had studied Kung-Fu styles from a Chinese master. Kneeling in front of him was the Master, regarding Garf curiously, one eyebrow lifted.

"Sifu Kayne, I don't know . . ." Garf's voice trailed off. He had no idea how he came to be where he was.

"Precisely, student, that is why you thirst for knowledge. Now, let us see how much you've forgotten, then we'll decide how much you have yet to learn." With a slight bow of the head, the master rose to his feet. Garf paused for a brief moment, then stood before the revered teacher. They saluted each other, an open palm covering a clenched fist, bowed, and fell into fighting stances.

Within seconds, Garf and his teacher were circling each other, probing for weaknesses in each others defenses. Garf remembered his techniques well, and Master Kayne had problems getting through, but he did manage, from time to time, to land soft blows on fragile areas of Garf's anatomy. They fought hard, yet never actually striking with power. Their concentration and focus prevented damage in a fight that otherwise would have lasted only seconds.

Garf had mixed emotions when Master Kayne stepped back, covered his fist and bowed. Garf was feeling good from the workout and enjoying the sparring so there were pangs of sorrow and anger when the ancient master called a halt. There was also a flood of relief. Garf was very tired. He bowed to his teacher and the two of them sat in their original lotus positions, facing each other. Garf rolled his head back and forth, from side to side.

He stopped his head motion abruptly when he noticed the shadows on the floor of the dojo. They were on the other side of the room. The two of them had been sparring for the better part of a day. No wonder he was tired. He nodded his head slightly in the realization of the time, and turned to look at his teacher. Master Kayne was watching him.

"You have not forgotten much of your style, student, it gives an old teacher honor to know he has been remembered." The old man had a perfect poker face.

"Honorable teacher, my styles are insignificant in the light of your abilities." Garf answered in the same dead pan expression. He searched for a light in his teachers eyes. He saw it soon.

"Good, now that we have the ceremonial bullshit out of the way, what brings you? No, never mind, I think I can see. You have some kind of trouble, and you need help in concentrating your center. The best thing I can recommend is to review your forms. Show me 'Praying Mantis'." The old man gestured openly to the mat.

"Now? I mean, I haven't . . ." Garf tried to protest.

"Tut, tut, tut. No excuses. Show me 'Praying Mantis'." Master Kayne then oriented himself toward the area he had indicated to Garf, signifying that there would be no more discussion. Garf shook his head in slight amazement, and rose to the task.

Garf hadn't performed the 'Praying Mantis' form for years. He had, from time to time, reviewed the series of combined fighting techniques, sequentially, as they would be performed, in his mind. From start to finish, there were one hundred and eighty five-separate techniques punctuated by changes in stance and direction. Once begun, it would take over thirty minutes to complete.

Garf stood before his teacher, bowed the ceremonial bow, and took the initial stance. He cleared his mind, began breathing in the prescribed pattern, and soon, the form began to perform itself, using his physical being as a conduit. The ritual form assumed multiple attackers, from all directions at various times, and there were defenses and offenses for each, and sometimes combined. Garf didn't pay attention as he flowed from one technique to another. Before he realized it, he had completed the form, and was bowing again to his teacher.

"Not too shabby, but there was a reverse back fist that you skipped." The old man wasn't going to tell Garf which particular move out of all of those in the form, he wanted Garf to figure it out for himself. Garf quickly reviewed the moves, and wasn't long in realizing which move it was. He looked from the floor to his teacher.

"I know the one you are talking about, it's preceded by an elbow driven by the opposite reverse punch." The old man nodded, then Garf continued. "In my mind's eye, while watching my opponents, the one that would have received the back fist had advanced too close, and the elbow driving the reverse punch took him out." Garf eyed the older man for a reaction.

"God, Garf, you're as much a bullshitter as your uncle. Okay, I'll buy that for now, but you'd better never omit it again, you can never tell when one opponent can become two." Garf nodded at the wisdom, and the wit. With the mention of his uncle, once again, grief and anger flooded through him. His teacher noticed immediately. "I can see why you are here. I will help you. Now, however, it is time to eat, then to bed. There is much for you to learn, and it will take time. We can, however, begin in the morning." With that, the teacher arose and left the room. Garf watched him leave, then turned his concentration on the Yin and Yang, hanging from the wall.

An ancient Chinese symbol, the Yin and Yang represents everything and nothing. It represents the perpetual pursuit of good after evil, and evil after good. It represents life and death, good and bad, light and dark. Garf never ceased to be amazed at the different things that can be symbolized by such a simple design. It was also a convenient comfortable graphic upon which to rest the eyes. Garf had ceased being aware of the passage of time, but before long, his olfactory center was being invaded by the most delightful scents. The Master had prepared a scrumptious meal.

The suddenness with which his hunger hit left him weak. He couldn't remember the last time he ate. The smells coming from dishes before him assailed him with promised delights and long-forgotten memories. He was unconscious of anything that may have been said during the meal, he was concentrating on the delicate mixture of tastes, textures and patterns. The dishes were high art to both stomach and mind.

Sometime after the meal had finished, Garf found himself in the garden, wandering, taking in the meticulous thought given to every detail. Each rock placed just so, each plant placed to take advantage of protection and sunlight, as dictated by the plants needs. Not a dead leaf, or twig was to be found. It was if everything was perfect. Garf found himself wishing he could stay here forever.

"Don't give in to the temptation of comfort." Though the voice was gentle, and soothing, the absolute intrusion into his private thoughts startled Garf enough to make him jump. Looking quickly around for the speaker, he was puzzled by his solitude. The voice came again, softer, more distant. "Don't give in. . . "

Garf stared into the distance, as if watching the unseen intruder leave. Slowly, he became aware of his surroundings again. The gentle chirp of a cricket, the cooing of some pigeons roosting in the plum tree and the soft rustling of the breeze through leaves came to his senses. He noticed the stars, unusually bright and solid this evening. An owl passed through the shaft of moonlight and added its lonesome cry.

He sensed Master Kayne's approach long before he heard the soft footsteps on the pebbled path. He was calm, and centered, his senses extending out before him. His master was a friend, but he sensed a lack of friendship. Instead, a sense of ambivalence was overwhelming. Garf could sense no direction of the old man's emotions. Without a flicker of motion, he waited.

The old man stood next to his former pupil, and joined him in admiration of the evening sky as it grew darker. Presently, he sighed his gratitude, and turned to Garf. "Your futon is ready, it is on the east side, so you can welcome the sunrise. I remember, you liked the sunrise. If you wish, we can grow old together, welcoming the sunrises." The old man turned and smiled at Garf, but there was no warmth behind it, no feeling.

Garf was confused. The words said one thing, but the old man's presence betrayed it. There was no sense of harm, so no alarm, but still, there was something not centered. It swam in his brain, reverberating back and forth until it became like shattered images in the back of his eyes. "No" he said, not knowing why. "I can't stay, I have a voyage to finish."

"You would insult your master by coming all this way and not staying for a bit? This is most rude, but should be expected of such a barbarian." The old man's expression was fathomless. There was absolutely no indication of anger or satire.

"Master Kayne, I would never knowingly insult you, unless compelled by a higher direction. And even then, it would pain me forever to have done so. I have no choice, I must be on my way."

The old man regarded his former student for a few moments, the turned away, facing the distant mountains, watching as the final moments of sunlight bathed them in a glorious red shade. "It is a long journey, and once interrupted, never restarted. You have no choice but to follow your destiny. May your gods be with you. As to the reason you came, live with the grief, and deal with it. As to the anger, make it work positively for you. That is the sum of my wisdom for you now. I hope we meet again sometime." Garf started to answer him, but finding no appropriate response, he bowed, turned and left, following the path through the garden.

Soon, the pebbled path stopped, and a natural path began, through a natural garden as extensive as the contrived one he had just left. For a while, as he walked, he kept his mind clear, perceiving the world around him. The energy available around him kept him invigorated, walking a fast pace. Before long, he soon realized, he would have to stop and rest. Even though his mind was feeding on the energy around him, he knew his body would soon have worn off the good effects of the sumptuous repast he had shared with Master Kayne, and begin protesting of being overworked.

He found a clearing on the trail, next to a natural rock formation, and decided to rest for the night. Soon, a small fire was casting a dancing light, reflected on the rock face. Garf settled back against the base of the formation, warming himself by the fire, and let his senses settle in around him, taking stock of the surroundings. All was at peace, he soon slept. He slept long and deep. No dreams, just deep, restful sleep.

When he finally awoke, he found himself seated in a green chair, in a familiar, ornately decorated sitting room. He turned and she was there, patiently waiting. "You've decided then. Good. Welcome back. Would you like to change?" It was only then that he noticed he still wore the satin ceremonial gi, and it looked like he had slept in it, several times.

* * *

"What are you going to tell him?"

"I don't know, nothing yet. He said he wanted to hear when we had news, since there isn't any, I'll just keep my mouth shut. Show me again, on the map, where have we searched."

"Well, we know Peters didn't have a passport, so we're automatically crossing off the list any foreign ports of call. We made a pass sweep of the entire coast of the Gulf of Mexico, and didn't find a single sign. We've started to sweep deeper in any harbor in the states surrounding the Gulf. We're bound to turn up something sooner or later."

"Let's hope it's sooner, 'cause later isn't going to help any of us. In the meantime, you fly to Texas and take direct command of the effort, I'll fly to New Orleans and take over there. If you turn up anything, call me first thing."

* * *

Lt. Eddie Sampson, oddly enough, was having the time of his life. He had graduated High School and got his first job with the Fowler County police force within weeks. He had never taken a vacation, enjoying his job so much it didn't seem like work. But the last couple of days erased all memory of pleasure from work. His skin was rosy pink with a borderline sunburn that even a level fifteen power of sun glop failed to hold off.

He was in the Bahamas. Based out of Walker's Cay, he had rented a runabout and had been exploring the Little Bahamas Bank. He was particularly fond of the fishing, but gunkholing little cays here and there was fun as well. He worked his way southwest along the outer cays, exploring and enjoying himself.

Some miles southwest of Grand Cay, he found a cay that looked totally uninhabited. He nosed the runabout onto a pristine beach and stepped out, leaving footprints where no others were evident. He gathered his fishing gear, and made his way to the ocean side of the small cay. Once on the beach there, he opened his tackle box and selected his lure, tying onto the line from his pole. Then he waded out and began casting toward the distant surf. He never noticed the people down the beach, in the throes of a serious party.

He also never noticed the figure in the brush behind him, watching both the detective and the group of people down the beach. He was effectively blocking the noise and commotion from the detective, but he knew if the policeman looked down the beach, he would surely see the partiers. For two hours, Eddie Sampson fruitlessly cast his lure for fish. Finally, he decided to give up. He turned, his back toward the revelers, trudged through the ankle deep water, back to his equipment. Gathering up his tackle box, he left the area, returning to his runabout.

The figure let him pass, coming within a couple of yards, yet Lt. Sampson never noticed him. The figure watched him leave, then turned back down the beach to the party. Minutes later, Eddie Sampson was back exploring other islands, and the revelers were going into high gear, with bathing suits and clothing being discarded everywhere. Still, the solitary figure remained aloof of the proceedings.

Late into the evening, the party continued. The participants seemed to draw energy from the very air around them. The one, lone figure detached himself from the body of the group and walked down to the water's edge. There he contemplated his past, and his future. The problem was, he didn't see very much future.

* * *

She had indicated a curtain, behind which was a doorway. Going through, Garf found a dressing room, complete with shower, and most important, his backpack. As he stripped off the ceremonial gi, it occurred to him that he hadn't packed it. As he recalled, he had left it behind when he had first left the dojo of his Sifu.

He folded it carefully, placing it on the counter next to his backpack. He open the pack and pulled out the contents. Everything was pretty much as he had packed it. Setting aside a clean change of clothing, he repacked everything else but his toilet kit. Adjusting the shower to a needle spray of steaming water, he stepped in.

The shower felt good. He stayed in longer than he had intended, relishing the penetration of heat and water jets. His muscles felt like they had been through a session in boot camp with an angry drill instructor. The events of the past few days passed through his mind. He knew he had experienced them, but at the same time, his perception of the time line seemed extremely warped. He also failed to understand how he had gone from sitting in the room with . . . He realized he didn't even know her name.

Cinching his belt completed his chores, so he hoisted the backpack and walked back through the curtain separating the two rooms. Passing through the curtain, he found a room completely different from the one he had left previously. Instead of a sitting room with walls lined with books, he found himself on a screened verandah, with an overlook that revealed the expanse of jungle leading to the sea. He stared at the vista before him until he heard her enter the verandah through a door opposite of the one he used.

"Impressive, isn't it? Sometimes, I used the western view to appreciate the sunsets. I hope you don't mind the change, I was getting tired of meeting in the reading room."

"How do you do this? How do you change the floor plan of a house built into a mountain?" He stared at her.

"It's primarily a function of concentration, but you'll get the hang of it. Before long, we'll be sitting side by side, in two completely different places. You’ll have fun, believe me."

"None of this makes sense. As a matter of fact, nothing has made sense since my uncle died. Since you were evidently waiting for me, I expect some answers. Now, would you mind telling me what's going on?"

She looked at him for a prolonged moment, finally lowering her gaze. I don’t know if I can, fully. It would be better to let your uncle explain."

"How's he going to do that when he's dead?" His tone let much more impatience show than he intended and her gaze snapped back to him with a sharpened intensity.

"Have a seat by the overlook, and wait a few minutes, and it'll all become clear." She showed the seat she wanted him to take, and placing his pack aside, sat down. "Watch the coastline for a bit." He turned his attention to the overlook, searching for and finding the coast line.

Nothing seemed to happen for a few moments. Then, slowly, he perceived the jungle beginning to melt away. Replacing it was a metropolitan sprawl of immense proportions. High rise buildings seemed to melt into view, taking a final, hard reality. Before Garf could say anything, he sensed the presence of another being. He turned and found his uncle, alive and breathing, with a slightly skewed grin, standing next to his chair. "Hello Garf, I hope you've been doing okay through all this."

Garf found himself speechless. He just stared at the older man. There was no visible evidence of makeup, or surgery. The glint in his eyes reflected the same wizened old man that Garf had always found supportive, and approachable. "Uncle, but how . . . " His question went unfinished.

"Garf, rather than try to make you understand, why don’t we just cut to the quick and give you what you’ll need to understand. If you’d be so kind as to cooperate with our friend here, it won’t take long." Garf's uncle indicated the girl. Garf nodded, still dumbstruck by the turn of events.

The girl approached Garf, placing her hands on either side of his head, spreading across the temples. She made full eye contact with him, and then, slowly, both of them closed their eyes. Garf began to feel a warmth fill through his being, encompassing his center. In his mind, he saw himself sitting in the room, the girl, his uncle and all the detail there was.

The room, contents, inhabitants and all, began to expand. Garf watched as the perspective changed, as if he was shrinking. The speed at which it happened was surprising. He found himself viewing molecular structures as if they were coffee tables. Soon, the atomic particles became as large as mountains.

The distances between particles expanded until there was an immense infinity. Garf was floating in the middle of nothing. He began to sense stars, feeling more than seeing them. He opened his eyes and found himself propelled toward galactic systems. One of which spread before him in the familiar shape of one he had known.

Racing in toward the galaxy, there became a single star that was undoubtedly the target of this strange voyage. The star became more distinct, and he could perceive the planetary system orbiting around it. It was his home solar system. Even though he couldn't tell you the names of the planets he passed, he knew it was the right place.

His track altered slightly, toward a blue-green gem of a planet. No matter where he had been, he recognized the earth. The coastlines became more distinct as he approached. There were some slight irregularities he noticed, but they didn’t disturb him, he understood. This was merely a different time line than the one he had grown up in.

The Yucatan peninsula was pretty much the same, and he found himself sailing down toward the mountain below him, until he coasted through the opening in the cliff, finding himself seated on the verandah with his uncle and the girl. Everything was as it had been with one major exception: he understood everything, and was at peace with it all.

Garf found himself able to perceive his reality in several planes at once. He could sense a level of emotional involvement, but he also found himself totally able to control his descent into the swirling whirlpool of his emotional world. The logic that replaced the mixed perception of emotion allowed him to both participate in his surroundings as well as analyze them in minute detail. He found that he could almost freeze time and spend endless moments in such analyzation to complete investigative satisfaction.

While in this expanded sense of perception, his uncle was telling him things. Things about separate time lines, altered realities, unexplored perceptions and other interesting topics. Garf was able to discuss those things with his uncle while still able to explore his expanded perceptive qualities. One of the topics his uncle discussed with him was the source of Garf's anger. His uncle told him that there were two dangers to him when he returned to his origin-time line. One was his anger over the death of his uncle and friends, the other was the man who caused all the death in the first place.

Garf's uncle told him that he and the man he sought both, now, had the same capabilities, at the same level of expertise. Neither had been subject of the training involved in completely controlling and realizing the limits of those powers of mind. Garf would not be able to defeat the man himself, but may be able to help him in defeating himself, if he were in the right place at the right time.

* * *

Lt. Eddie Sampson looked at the clock over the bar. In less than twenty-four hours he would be back behind his desk. He couldn’t seem to remember the case he had open, waiting for him, but at the moment, he didn’t really care. He was on vacation and he was going to enjoy it. He ordered another Goombay Smash and let the effects of the previous three overtake him.

Of all the vacation things he had found to do in the Bahamas, sampling the local version of the "smash" was his favorite. To be honest, it was the only thing he had found that he liked. He normally didn’t drink heavily, but it seemed that the more he drank the closer he came to an answer.

Nagging at the back of his mind was a question concerning his motives for taking the vacation. He had never liked fishing, yet he spent over a thousand dollars on gear. He wasn’t a good swimmer, but he took scuba lessons. He wasn’t fond of sand, yet he walked on uncountable virgin beaches. Somehow, through the alcohol induced fog, it didn’t add up. When he was sober, somehow all those activities seemed normal and expected. When he was drunk, he realized that it was out of character.

Here, in the Bahamas, there was no one that knew Eddie Sampson. He didn’t have that many friends in Florida, but here, there was absolutely no one that would know him, his likes and dislikes, or his personality. Through the haze he realized that he hadn’t really been acting like himself. The more he drank, the drunker he became, the clarity of his position gained definition, and he became more angry, which served to burn off the alcohol.

As his level of sobriety rose, he sensed someone approaching. He glanced at the mirror behind the bar. There wasn’t anyone in the place moving toward him. As his seemingly casual gaze crossed the reflection for the third time, his eye stopped at the door. As if on a cue, it opened. Sampson looked at the figure standing in the doorway and realized he was in mortal danger.

His first inclination was to reach for his gun. Being on vacation, he wasn’t carrying, although he did have a throwaway stashed in his suitcase. Unfortunately, it was back in his room. He gave slight thought to running, but his legs refused to take up the challenge. The man in the doorway looked familiar but Sampson couldn’t place the face, which was grinning slightly.

Observing, as if from a distance, Sampson watched himself rise from his seat and move, slowly, toward the door. The man in the door, Dr. Palmer, waited. Drawing up face to face, Sampson stared into the eyes of the other man. "Good evening, Lt. Sampson, would you like to take a walk?" Palmer motioned Sampson out the door.

Sampson wanted to reply in language most foul, but instead nodded and passed through the door. Sampson headed from the bar toward the beach. There hadn’t been a word said, yet he knew this was the direction. The man beside and slightly behind him moved quietly. Sampson couldn’t hear a sound the man might have been making, but then again, Sampson was making the noise of a hurricane, shuffling through the fallen palm fronds.

When they reached the waterline, Sampson looked both directions and began heading toward his left, the man followed. They walked, not speaking, until they were far from any stray eyes or ears. Somehow deciding they’d gone far enough, Sampson stopped.

"Lt. Sampson, I know you don’t remember me, but I remember you. I might as well tell you that my name is David Palmer. We’ve met before, you knew me as 'Doctor'." Sampson continued to stare, recognition showing faintly in his eyes. "Forgive me, Lt. Sampson, I’m afraid that I’ve taken advantage of you. Let me clear up some of it for you." Palmers gaze seemed to heat to white hot, Sampson felt pierced to his soul.

As Palmer peeled away, layer by layer, the fabric of deceit he had planted in Sampsons mind, the events of the previous two weeks became crystallized and Sampson realized what had happened. Somehow this man Palmer had taken some kind of control over him and Sampson knew that he still had that control. "You are right, Sampson, you cannot do anything unless I so bid. Be patient, the rest of the story is about to be revealed."

In Sampsons mind, he reviewed the events of the two-week vacation, remembering suddenly the boat load of partiers that didn’t even catch his attention at the time. He remembered seeing Palmer there, as well. His recollection jumped back to the office building where he spoke with Palmer the first time, this time seeing it from Palmer's point of view.

Sampson was becoming enraged, but at the same time his fear grew to unbelievable proportions. He knew he was in danger of his life, but he couldn’t do a thing to prevent whatever was coming. He suddenly saw a vision of Garf's boat, anchored off Fort Jefferson. It seemed peaceful enough, in the dying light of sunset. As the scene grew darker, he became aware of time passing faster, as if scanning the event through fast forward. He saw the power cruiser come into the scene, grinding to a halt on the reef. He saw the two young rangers hop into their boat, and speed over to the stranded cruiser. The speed in which the people moved would have been funny, had he not known what was about to happen.

The scene ended with the explosion of the vessel. Sampson could see the bodies of the two young rangers, torn from the blast, being thrown across the water and disappearing beneath the surface. Sampson blinked away tears at witnessing the death of Garf's friend. His eyes sought those of the other man. What Sampson found there scared him even more.

Sampson could see, in his inner vision, Palmer and Garf’s uncle standing in the room where the body was found. He witnessed what appeared to be a video special effect, but the death of the older man wasn’t fiction. He watched as Palmer stood over the body, then turned and left the room.

"Is this your way of confessing?" Sampson didn’t feel as brave as his words, and Palmer knew it.

"Not in the slightest. You have no evidence, it’s all mere conjecture. Besides, who would believe the word of a man taken to falling so hard off the wagon?" Palmers tone mocked Sampson and he tried to will himself to action, but failed.

"Why did you kill him? I didn’t see where he was threatening you."

Palmer shook his head slightly. "It wasn’t the physical threat, it was the mental. You see, he was more powerful than me, but at that moment, weaker. If I had allowed him to regain his strength, he would have stopped me."

"Stopped you from what?" Sampsons policeman’s curiosity was out weighing his fear.

Palmer looked at Sampson and chuckled. "Why, from fulfilling my plan, of course. Unfortunately, you don’t fit into my plans, and the strain of keeping your mind occupied is becoming tiring. Therefore, I’ve decided to put you in charge of your own destiny." He gestured toward the dark waters off the beach. Fifty miles away lay Miami. Palmer raised an eyebrow slightly, and Sampson suddenly decided that his only chance of escape was to swim for it. Before Palmer could stop him, Sampson charged into the water, diving into a swim out to sea. Palmer watched him for a while, then turned and walked back down the beach. Sampson never made it to Miami.

Palmer walked slowly back toward the dock where his boat was tied up. In his minds eye, he could see Sampson struggling to swim, trying to summon up more strength than he had used in years. He watched, detached, as Sampson cramped and began to sink. He watched the frantic struggling as the doomed policeman drew his first breath of water. He continued to watch as the body settled down on the offshore side of the reef, sinking slowly deeper.

* * *

It felt good to be sailing again. Garf felt like he hadn’t been sailing in weeks. In truth, he hadn’t been gone from the boat more than three days. Occupying his mind with the list of things that needed to be done to get underway, he didn’t reflect on the events he seemingly experienced since arriving on the quiet river. Before long, he had stowed his gear, checked out the onboard systems, started the inboard diesel and raised the anchor. Shortly before sunset, he passed over the bar at the mouth of the river and entered the Gulf of Mexico.

With the sails set and drawing well, he set up the auto-pilot, establishing a course eastward. Checking the set of the sails, he was satisfied with everything. Checking through three hundred and sixty degrees, he turned and went below. He finished stowing his gear and prepared a dinner with the fruits he’d found on the bridge deck when arriving on board. When he took the overflowing platter of sliced fruit on deck, he wasn’t surprised to see her sitting in the cockpit.

"Your uncle decided I should tag along with you for a bit. He seemed to think that we could both teach each other some things." Garf nodded slowly, then placed the platter on the seat between them.

"Don’t you think, by now, that I ought to know your name?"

"In this time line, you can call me 'Lynda'. We’ll discuss the others when they arrive."

"Fair enough. In the meantime, I hope you’re hungry." He hesitated only slightly before grabbing a handful of fruit and stuffing it in his mouth. She barely beat him to the fruit. Garf had no questions for her, he knew all that she knew. He knew the secrets of the mind that his uncle searched for. With the knowledge of those secrets came a serenity that Garf had never known.

He had become an evolutionary fluke, jumping generations of ability in a few moments of contact. When Lynda had put her hands on either side of his head and amplified his life energies with hers, he began a symbiotic relationship with all around him. While he was sitting in the cockpit of his boat, he could also be watching a star nova on the other side of the galaxy. All within the same time line.

If he chose, he could go below, walk through the doorway to the forward cabin, and find himself sitting in a sidewalk cafe, sharing a cup of cappuccino with his uncle. In this time line, his uncle was dead, he still lived in others. Many others, Garf had learned. Each time line was different in some respect. Within the confines of the history we know of our own time line, certain events had specified results, bringing us to where we are now.

In other time lines, history paralleled to a point. A different point in each time line. That’s where the differences start to cause a greater divergence of history and futures. The time line that brought Garf and his uncle back together after his uncle’s premature death was one in which the native Caribbean inhabitants had refused entry to Columbus by killing him and his entire party. This caused exploration of the 'new world' to be put off for another hundred years, giving the Aztec civilization the chance to mature enough to deal properly with the newly-arrived explorers. The city that had sprawled before the room they had been in was totally native American in construct and design.

In that time line, Garf’s uncle was married, with fifteen children. When he discovered his uncle’s hidden paternal instinct, Garf wondered if there was also a Garf also existing in this separate time line. At the moment of the thought, his brain was flooded with the consciousness of the Garf native to the time line. In essence, they had merged and become one. However, while Garf was here sitting in the cockpit of his sail boat cruising across the Gulf of Mexico, the other Garf was sitting down to a meal with his uncle’s family. Both of them felt the disturbance when Eddie Sampson took his last breath and began a long descent to the bottom of the Florida Straits.

* * *

On one level, Garf turned the boat through a tack and trimmed his sails for the new heading. The wind was blowing a steady fifteen knots and the chop had long since formed into a gentle rolling swell that the stiff little sail boat glided over. This Garf thought of nothing but sailing. The sense of power delivered by the Genoa, the hiss of the Gulf of Mexico as the boat followed a path dictated by the auto-pilot, which got it’s orders from the G.P.S. interface. This Garf lay back in the cockpit. His gaze took in the upper shrouds intersecting with the mast. Within the triangle formed there by the spreader, the three stars in the belt of Orion were roughly centered. Due to the motion of the vessel through the swells, the stars floated in a smooth oval of light within the rig. If he focused on the stars, he could see the motion of the boat as if from floating some meters above the masthead, looking down. On this level, Garf contemplated the physics of sailing and navigation.

On another level, Garf had focused his vision on three rocks. They were the center piece of Master Kayne's Zen Garden outside the Dojo. The placement of the rocks bore more than a striking resemblance to the placement of the stars in Orion's belt. Master Kayne long ago had expressed his love of that particular constellation. He had attributed that affection to the simple fact that it was the only constellation he could name outside the Big and Little Dippers.

Garf studied the texture of the surface of sand covering the rest of the Zen Garden. Concentric circles emanated from the rocks, intersecting in perfectly scribed ridges of sand. Further from the centers, the ridges assumed the shape of the garden’s perimeter. The transition from one shape to another was difficult to discern. There were places where it was almost obvious, but the patterns always drew the eye away from ridges in discord to ridges in harmony.

"Searching for imperfection will lead to overlooking perfection." Master Kayne was standing beside Garf, also letting his gaze sweep across the Zen Garden. "This has often been a favorite place of mine for meditation and study. It’s particularly useful in problem solving. What particular problem are you studying?" Garf had not perceived his Masters presence until the first question, but his gaze never wavered from the garden. He showed no sign of surprise.

"You taught me ways to defend myself physically, and some of those ways led to ways of mental protection. You taught me to never fight in anger, and I have put the anger behind me that drove me on this quest in the first place. My problem is my enemy. You also taught me to know my enemy before I face him, so as to know his strengths and weaknesses. Of my enemy, I know nothing. All I know of him is that I will recognize him when we meet. I know that my uncle gave him a gift that equals that which was given to me. I am strong, but he is stronger. I can face a stronger opponent physically, but how am I to combat him mentally? It seems an impossible task."

"What seems, and what is are often two different things." With that, Master Kayne suddenly raised his arms skyward, causing the silk robe to bare his arms, showing the scarred tattoos of the Shao Lin Dragon and Tiger. His fingers fluttered in the soft morning mist and a coin appeared in his hand. He folded the coin into his other hand, rubbed them together and slowly separated them. A white dove appeared from between his hands and flew away. Garf stared at his master. "Okay, okay, cheap carny stuff, but it impresses the tourists. My point is . . . "

"I think I understand the point, but I don’t see how it applies."

"Let’s try it from a different angle. Would it not make sense to fight him with your strengths rather than his?" Garf nodded. "If it appears that his strengths are yours, would he not tend to draw you both into unfamiliar territory?" Again, Garf nodded. "Well then, there you have a solution, now all you have to do is find a way to implement it. Now, go back to your sailboat and enjoy the rest of the night." Garf looked back at the three rocks in the center of the garden.

They were surrounded by mast and shroud, rocking through an oval described by wind and sea. The transition from one reality to another was becoming a little more familiar and Garf wasn’t startled by the difference. What startled him was the aroma drifting from the cabin. Lynda popped her head up through the companionway. "Hope you like Tex-Mex. It’s what I do best." Garf glanced around the boat, scanning the horizon. Seeing no lights, he went below. He stopped at the nav station and checked the readout on the GPS Map Plotter. There was no obstructions in their path and they were well away from any seagoing highways of commerce. There was plenty of time to enjoy a meal.

Later, after a magnificent repast of enchiladas, refried beans and rice, the two of them lay in the cockpit enjoying the boats progress across the Gulf. Listening to the hiss of water past the hull, the creaking of the vessel to the strains of the power of the rig, she spoke to him in low, clear tones of the new weapons he possessed. Some of them he knew about. Some of them he didn’t. One of them became a shimmering bubble glowing between them. It grew until it encompassed the entire boat, expanding in size and distinction until it faded from sight. It was unseen, but it still existed. He couldn’t explain how, but he knew it shielded them from unwanted intrusions as well as undesired projections.

* * *

He was becoming irritable. The search was stalemated by lack of progress, and he’d lost track of the enemy. He’d started out with a growing, gnawing awareness of the approach of trouble. Just as it had become fully recognizable, it had disappeared, almost as if it had been swallowed up. It had been days since he’d sensed anything. That worry was one that he kept to himself. He also had public worries. It’d been days since his crew had made any progress at finding evidence of what he sought. There had been the glimmer of hope generated by the finding of the crystal.

It had been sitting on the sand, untouched by growth or corrosion. It was shaft, seven inches long and four inches around. One end was rounded, the other covered in gold filigree with two large curls that folded back in what could only be termed as a handle. There was inscriptions covering every flat surface of the gold, but the crystal was unblemished, clear and satiny, glistening in the sunlight. It had taken time, but he’d finally transcribed the inscriptions accurately.

The symbols, some familiar others unknown, convinced him they were close. The familiar ones he had seen before, some in ruins in the Yucatan, others in the study of the foolish old man. He was convinced that he was on the verge of discovering the location of the lost continent of Atlantis. Others had searched for years and failed, he would succeed.

* * *

No one watched as the thirty three-foot sloop glided past the end of the breakwater. As it neared the center of the small harbor, the bow came around in a perfect arc and settled on a course directly for the empty space at the dock. When the maneuver was completed, the lone figure on board moved from the cockpit to the foredeck and lowered the headsail. Having flaked the sail to the deck, the sailor moved back to the cockpit and let the main sheet run free.

At ten boat lengths from the dock, it would appear that the boat was still moving too fast. The closer the boat got, the slower it moved. Just as it appeared that the boat was going to hit the dock, the man at the helm kicked the rudder over and brought the boat alongside and about a foot from the dock, to a complete standstill. It was like Garf had been doing this all his life.

Garf stepped off the sloop, lines in hand. Dropping pre-tied loops over cleats and pilings, in short order, he had tied the sloop securely along side the dock. He lowered the main sail onto the boom, the sail gathering on lines woven through it running from the boom to the mast head. Leaving the jib hanked on the forestay, he stuffed it in a bag, then ducked below to gather up the main sail cover. While retrieving the canvas, he noticed that Lynda was no where to be seen. "Should’ve went before we left." He commented jokingly. He was sure she was in the head.

When he returned on deck to cover the main sail he noticed the black police cruiser in the drive way of his late uncle’s house. He stretched the cover over the sail, and made sure that the knots tying the cover in place would hold. Once he had completed that, Garf stepped off the boat and headed up the short walkway to the house. He had expected to see his old friend, Eddie Sampson. Instead Garf was confronted with Eddies boss, Captain Whittaker. He regarded the older man, wearing his best poker face. "Afternoon, Captain, is there something I can do for you?"

"Where the hell you been?" Garf noticed Whittaker ignored his question.

"Sailing on the Gulf. Miss me?" The history between Garf and Captain Whittaker went back a few years. When Garf had first come to live with his uncle, he’d been going through a rebellious phase. Some of that rebellion caused him to end up in front of Whittakers desk at the station house. It also, a couple of times, brought Garf’s uncle out of a deep, warm sleep into the harsh lighting and cold stare of Whittaker's to hear about Garf’s latest offensive behavior. Whittaker had made up his mind about Garf early on in the relationship. Now, however, Garf seemed to notice a softening in the older man’s glare.

"Sampson is missing. Been gone a couple of weeks, said he was going to take a cruise to the Bahamas. Haven’t heard from him since. I was wondering if you’d seen him, or had heard from him."

Garf was concerned. It was very unlike his friend to disappear like that. "No, Captain, I'd gone in the other direction. Ended up off of Mexico before I turned around." Whittaker probed Garf with his eyes. Evidently he didn’t see as much reason to distrust Garf as he had in the past.

"Okay, saw you sailing in the harbor entrance, thought I'd stop by and check with you. Let me know if he calls you." Having exhausted his supply of conversation, Whittaker turned back to his car. Garf watched as the car drove away, up and over the slight hill on the property. He retrieved the hidden key from beneath the fake rock in the flower box and opened the house.

Having the windows opened to the breeze made the house seem more like a refuge in the hot Florida sun. He opened the sliding doors to the screened in porch over looking the dock and slid into his uncle’s favorite chair. The sun was starting set, over the horizon outside the harbor. Garf thought about everything that had happened to him during the past month and shuddered when he thought of his uncle’s death. He was buoyed somewhat by the thought of his uncle still living in another here-now. His thoughts wandered to the long discussion he and Lynda had about his newly uncovered abilities. He decided to try one of them out. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed Lynda, a black silhouette surrounded by the sun’s golden reflections, stepping off the sloop and looking toward the house.

* * *

In the Bahamas, the sun had already set. He’d gotten tired of the unending string of perfect days in paradise and was on his fourth Smash. Suddenly, he felt the close presence of a great danger. His mind reached out and grasped. With glee, he found a mental link to Garf, and stretched his ethereal fingers around Garf’s throat. It was almost as real as being there. He felt the rubbery resistance of Garf’s flesh, and felt that resistance give as he gripped harder. Just as he was about to clench for the final time, Garf’s presence disappeared. Frantically, he cast about, searching. Nothing. He’d had his chance and it was gone. His mood went even darker than before.

He sat on the beach, staring at the gathering gloom. It was several minutes before what he heard drilled itself into his consciousness. A high pitched tone, wavering slightly, was coming from his pack. He raised the flap and withdrew the crystal. It was lowly glowing red, and the vibrations from the tone could be felt into his fingers. Holding it up before his face, he felt himself being absorbed into the radiant glow. As the crystal emanated a sphere of pale, light blue shimmering vapor, he only noticed it as a flicker in the deep ruby red shining from the talisman. The shimmering blue vapor sphere continued to grow until it totally encompassed him, then it dissipated and was gone.

* * *

Lynda stepped out of the head compartment, but she had been in another place. She’d been talking with Garf’s uncle in one of his favorite Parisian sidewalk cafe’s, about what they should do next. Having received the advice she sought, she returned to the sloop. Not seeing Garf below, she went on deck. Looking around, she couldn’t see him anywhere. She decided he’d gone to the house. Stepping off the boat, she felt a chill run down her spine. She looked toward the house, then felt Garf’s pain as his throat was being squeezed shut. She ran to the house.

* * *

Garf left his body and rose into the room. He passed through the ceiling and looked to the east. Below him, he could see the house, the deck and walkway, the dock, and his sloop, tugging gently at her lines as if impatient to be underway again. He turned to the east and began to soar. He flew over land as if in a super-sonic plane. He noticed every detail, down to the cracks in the smoke stack he avoided. Before he was aware of it, he’d left Florida behind and was streaking over the Gulf Stream, headed towards the Bahamas. He cleared over West End at an altitude of fifty feet, and continued over the banks.

He gravitated to a small island to the northeast of Bimini. Swooping in for a landing, he failed to notice the transition from flying to walking. He felt the presence of his friend. Sampson had been on the island. Using his new-found senses like a blood hound, he followed Sampson's trail across the beach. He came to a spot and paused. Here Sampson had stopped and spoken with someone. Garf turned toward the water, a few feet away and froze. In his mind’s eye, he watched as Lt. Eddie Sampson walked into the water and started a ragged swimming stroke. He was horrified to see his friend sink below the surface for the last time. The shimmering shell that had surrounded him evaporated. With the suddenness of a snake striking, Garf found himself unable to breathe.

He struggled, trying to suck oxygen into his lungs through a wind pipe that seemed to have completely closed. Clawing, he could feel the bony fingers surrounding his neck. Thrashing about, he flopped into the center of a flock of seagulls that had just settled down for the evening. With a rush and clatter, they burst off the beach into the night sky. A tourist some fifty feet away noticed the flurry of winged activity and strained to look through the darkness. There was nothing to see but birds frantically rushing into the night.

Garf was starting to black out. He gripped the wrists attacking him, and tried to follow the arms. They faded away. It was as if phantom hands had flown out of no where and were trying to kill him. Garf’s vision was fading into a spot of light in a black tunnel. As suddenly as he’d been unable to breathe, his throat opened and the air he’d been starved of came rushing in. As his vision returned, he focused on the figure before him. Lynda was staring deeply into his eyes, wearing a concerned expression. In a flashing insight, Garf was instantly aware of what had happened. He realized what he had done to precipitate the situation. He knew how close he had come to dying. He also knew that he still had no idea of who it was that had killed his uncle and Eddie Sampson, and had just now tried to kill Garf, himself. It was very unsettling.

"Garf, you’ve got to warn me when you want to open yourself to the world like that. There are some bad people out there, and you want to know how to deal with them."

"No kidding. What the hell was all that? I feel like I almost died." He stared into her eyes, searching....

"You almost did. Look, it’s not fair that you got caught up with this, your Uncle was a fine man here, and it shouldn’t have happened. I’m here because it did, and an effort needs to be made to rectify the situation, if possible." She returned his stare, yet somehow, her eyes were not as probing. Garf felt himself surrounded with an aura of trust.

"Tell me what to do." He broke the staring contest, and sat up. She grinned at the back of his head.

"We need to be in the Bahamas." She pointed toward the horizon where the moon would shortly be rising.

"That's easy enough," he said, "let's go back to the boat and get underway." They walked back to the dock where Garf’s boat was tied, jerking impatiently at the lines as if it were ready to head out to blue water. Climbing aboard, it was short work for the two of them to get underway, the tidal current drew them out of the slip directly towards the channel leading to open water. Starting the motor, Garf put the transmission in forward, and pushed the tiller over until the bow swung around, pointing at the channel. Centering the rudder, he quickly rigged and engaged the auto-pilot.

Following the sparse channel markers, the sloop’s sails were soon raised and drawing. In less than ten minutes, open ocean was everywhere but behind them. The sloop cut a fine wake, surging across the slight swells. "We've come this way far enough, we’ll swing south now to pick up the main feed into the Gulf Stream in a couple of hours. Once we’ve picked up the Stream, we’ll make good time."

"Since it’ll be a while, I'll be fixing something to eat." She opened the companionway and stepped over the lower drop board to the ladder. She looked back at Garf, but he was already turning to the task of setting a new course.

"Stand by to gybe." Lynda turned and went back into the cabin. Garf found himself giving sailing orders to an empty deck. "Ready the jib, stand by the main, gibe-ho..." He leaned over and tapped two buttons on the auto-pilot, then, taking in on the main sheet, he brought the main amidships, cleating it securely. When the wind was directly off his stern, the auto-pilot bringing the boat slowly through the gybe, he released the jib sheet from starboard and jerked them into port. Just as the wind crossed the back of the boom and started the boat into a heel, he released the main sheet and started letting it run, keeping the boat at a constant level of heel. As the boom swung out, the auto-pilot centered the helm. Garf glanced at the compass. "Not bad.." he thought. The new course was within fifteen degrees of due south. He held down one button on the auto-pilot until it beeped at him twice, then he released it and tapped it five more times. The auto-pilot adjusted to the new course, and he turned his attention to the main again. He let it out slowly until it began to come closer to the new wind direction. Garf saw it begin to luff, and snubbed the sheet, taking it in slightly to reduce the large flopping area to a slight bubble, trimming the sail as close to the wind as he could and still sail due south. Once the main was set and drawing, he turned back to the jib. Noting that his original yank and cleat was close to what he needed, he slacked the sheet about twelve inches until it was trimmed to the wind. The auto-pilot, responding to the balanced power of the rig, adjusted until the bow was headed due east again. Garf let out a couple more inches of the jib sheet, satisfied as the tell-tale yarns on the sail lay back horizontally. A quick glance at the main told him that unless the wind changed, or they changed course, he was finished with sail trim.

Once the meal, sandwiches and beer, had been consumed, he remained on deck, keeping watch, while Lynda went below to rest up for her turn. As he watched the stars march across the sky, keeping time mentally, he, from time to time, check his hand-held GPS unit to track the speed the boat was making over the bottom. Large bodies of water are never still. They are constantly moving. If a boat finds itself in a six knot current while making six knots, it’s good if the current is with the course of the boat. This means the boat is making twelve knots over the bottom, covering distance between point A and point B faster, while it still appears the boat is sailing just six knots through the water. On the other hand, if the current is going in the opposite direction, the same boat is going nowhere over the bottom, effectively staying in one place. All the time, it looks like the boat is moving well through the water and making good time.

Garf waited until the speed of the Gulf Stream had been added to his boat speed, then he set a course to run up the Florida Straights, on the west side of the Bahamas Banks. Without the boost of the Gulf Stream the trip would have taken four or five days. As it was, Garf and Lynda turned to enter the banks at Memory Rock less than thirty hours since they departed his uncle’s house. Making a quick stop in Green Turtle Cay to enter through Bahamas Customs, they were offshore of Whale Passage in another eighteen hours. "Okay," Lynda said, "this is the place we need to be, now let’s head due east for a couple of hours. You set the course, and I'll have dinner made." Garf made short work of the course and sail trim changes, then ducked down the companionway.

Joining Lynda below, he discovered she’d been busy, and had prepared a sumptuous repast. He also discovered how hungry he was. That would be no problem, with the variety of food before him, he felt that his hunger would soon be sated. As it was, the meal took two hours to consume. He would poke his head above deck every ten minutes and look around, but he never saw any other vessels.

As Lynda and Garf completed clearing and cleaning from the meal, she took a seat in the salon, he sat at the nav station. "Are you ready?" She asked.

"Sure, why not." He replied. He watched as she assumed a classic lotus position and close her eyes. Within seconds, a shimmering pale blue sphere enveloped her. He watched, unalarmed but curious, as the sphere grew. As it reached the cabin overhead, it appeared to disappear, but somehow he realized that it had merely pass through the cabin structure and continued to grow, enveloping him, and everything in the cabin. It continued to grow until it had passed through all parts of the hull and deck. Shortly after the last of the sphere had disappeared, Garf felt distinctly like he was in a fast elevator, going down. After what felt like a four floor drop, the motion slowed, then disappeared. Lynda opened her eyes.

"Time for another course change. This time, let’s head north."

* * *

The harbor was empty. Not long before, it had been bustling with activity. Now the waters lapped gently at docks that were silent. Seated on the end of the dock, dangling his feet over the water below, the man was watching the entrance. A white speck on the horizon was growing larger. He continued to watch as the boat drew closer. He’d not seen a design like this one before, but then again, there was so much he’d not seen. He glanced back over his shoulder toward his beloved valley. He’d been born and raised in the Abaoku Valley, and had no interest in going anywhere.

The elders had proclaimed, however, that it was all coming to an end. He had done his part, helping others to pack what they could and move aboard the ships. Some had gone across the water, some had gone to the stars, and some had gone through the Gate. He’d done his part, and more, and had just two more things to do before he could take his leave through the gate. He’d found an interesting area when life was hard, but rewards could be substantial. He’d been practicing with the clumsy sidearm, wishing he could take his cutter-staff. The elders had warned Gate-goers about techno-jumps and each traveler was screened for the appropriate level of knowledge. As he waited, he continued to withdraw the sidearm from it’s sheath and replace it.

The sloop approached the quay and he watched, fearing that the driver of this vessel had misjudged his approach. At the last minute, the bow swung away from the dock, and the boat came to a halt inches from the stone quay. He watched as the man and woman stepped ashore and taking lines, secured the vessel. Once they had completed their chores and began to approach him, he stood and dusted himself off. "Welcome to Terra, largest of the ports of Atlantis." This greeting had some interesting reactions, but none like he witnessed from the male traveler standing before him.

Garf almost turned purple. "ATLANTIS!" He shouted. His mind reeled. He’d been through a lot, what with his uncle dying and still being alive, but sailing into the main port of Atlantis was a little beyond his imagination. Lynda smiled at his stunned look. The sparkle in her eye took a lot of the edge of surprise from his mood. She turned to the man who had been waiting.

"Have all preparations been made?" She asked. He nodded.

"I'm the last, just waiting for you and the last one, then I’m off and you two will be it." Her look became a little more grim, but she accepted the information.

"Good, then, there’s nothing to be gained from this." She turned to Garf. "Well, then, shall we do some exploring while we wait?" He offered his arm, which she accepted, then they turned and walked down the quay, toward the town. The man who had waited for them watched as they turned into the market area, then he followed. Where Garf and Lynda turned toward the market, he turned the other direction, toward the University, where the gate awaited him.

Arriving at the plaza where the gate stood, he climbed the steps leading toward the portal and checked his time piece. Removing it from his wrist, he placed it beside him on the step. 'Too bad about the watch' he thought. He’d grown attached to it. The replacement the elders had provided him with dangled at the end of a gold chain and was slightly irregular in it’s time-keeping. He turned to a control panel set into the wall, and quickly entered a long series of commands.

A glance at the watch on the step told him it was time. Comparing it to the replacement, he noted the replacement was over an hour slow. Sighing, he dropped it into his vest pocket and turned toward the portal. It began to shimmer, then ripple as a hand clutching the crystal emerged. Before the elbow attached to the hand holding the crystal had followed, he grabbed the crystal from the unsuspecting hand and jumped into the portal.

The Elders had warned him about the physical sensations to be expected from using the gate, but he’d never imagined them quite the way they really were. It might have taken a minute, or a millisecond, but he felt the crystal begin to slip from his grip. Recovering his presence of mind, he tightened his grip with a vengeance. Having jumped into the gate, his momentum was restored when he exited the other side. He found himself landing awkwardly and rolling on a desolate seaside. He didn’t recognize it, but the island he was on was the tip of the ridge that was the eastern border of the valley of his birth and life. He did pause to admire the vista of tropical island and shimmering emerald sea, but not for long. Consulting a thin piece of paper, he oriented himself, found the location he sought where the crystal was to be buried for the next two hundred years. Having completed his last 'other world' chore, he began to look for a way to get him headed toward his eventual destination, soon seeing a small fishing boat on the west side of the small island.

As incongruous as it looked, the native Bahamian fisherman didn’t bat an eye as this pale stranger, dripping fir