Gate Jumpers of Kennedy Space Center

This is another tale of the Kennedy Space Center's multiverses, both in the distant past and the far future.
Follow ghosts, demons, gods, AIs, tourists, DNA experiments, vamps, and witches as they travel the multiverse only to discover their interconnections as allies and enemies across an endless history or future.

Every story is the true story.

Gate Awaking Presentation

Vampiric cytokine storms and hallucinogen persisting perception disorder, he thought while standing at the podium.

"Erin, wow, thank you for the fascinating question. Look, I need help understanding the workings of the multiverse gates; I am only an ultracrepidarian who discovered a few non-obvious indicators of timeline jumping. Can anyone grasp the quantum resonance of fractal dynamics? The terms are just words, only applied words that inadequately describe the unknowable information that can push one into insanity."

The crowd was typical: rapt believers and scoffing unbelievers. Either way, they had all paid the outrageous online ticket prices.

And they call me crazy.

"There are theories the gate-timeline movement is related to rocket launches at Cape Canaveral. And the Mars station launches might shatter and blend all the timelines." A feathered T-Rex with a jeweled collar? Holy-shit.

"What is the preferred schizophrenia? Fingers crossed, I find my path through the storms," I said, dropping my pre-typed opening statement.

I paused; a lady at the shadowed entrance looked familiar. What was that saying, arrive late to the party?

"For many years, I struggled with mental health issues partly because of gene splicing pre-birth trauma. Or maybe even trauma in another age or timeline, and the damage followed me here.

My escape from the demands of the living and dead was through the copious use of drugs; that is how I stumbled and slid through the first gate to the other. The Other? Travelers, tourists, monks, hunters, and wanderers who slip between the dimensions use the term 'the other' to describe the parallel dimensions of our continuum."

I smiled at the paying customers.

The last trip, last visit to the other, the crossing between the worlds, fractal dynamics of time, or psychosis in an altered reality?

Surrender to the rhythms of the mushroom, push against the iridescent phosphorescent green membrane, gently pulsating barrier, and slide into another world—this time, a Florida Space Force Base, the one with all the launch pads and the meeting with the Vamp.

It had been love at first glance watching her on the stage. She sang with a band playing at the NCO club. Under the bright stage lights, radiantly beautiful, pale, as if allergic to the sun, her beauty exotic, wearing a skin-tight dress painted with a moss-covered cypress tree stamped with fading hieroglyphic or runes of old alchemy.

Her strange glances and haunting tunes were so out of standard of the recent timelines. Old songs of Scottish border raids, lost love, and melancholy of families banished to Canada. She should have been performing at a ren fair, not a base of space rocketeers.

Damn.

The fine-looking, dark-haired vampire was pleased with her conquest after our first kiss, for I was in love or just lust-smitten.

She told me later that my aura changed colors whenever I looked at her. Damn. Well, then, I was damned. Black eyes that promised the prospect of a wild night on the beach with fading starlight and a carmine sun breaching the waves.

Another Sunrise will not crest the eastern ocean without me thinking of her.

Her eyes were bright and dark without any words.

Could only be love. Why else risk the timelines if not for love? She was teasing and inquisitive, "You are luminous like no other," she had whispered after our first kiss. Sunrise approaching, we held hands like new loves until reaching a twisted forest surrounding a rusting launch pad.

A flash of white teeth between carmine lips, "Shall we not meet again?"

There was a cognitive shift in awareness from the sound of her old-style stockings of lustrous silk in motion, transcendent.

"I promise we shall meet again," I said, knowing that finding the exact timeline might be impossible.

A final kiss and she slipped away through dark branches.

Slowly, from around the hurricane storm-tossed oaks, there appeared eyes, animals or...eyes bright, eyes hungry.

I fled through the gate that I carried in my mind.

When I returned to my timeline, did I have a timeline anymore?

When I returned, I was slammed with a virus that caused a cytokine storm and severe immune reactions as my body released too many cytokines into the blood too quickly.

The doctor said something had bitten me on the neck.

"Your cytokines attacked an intruder into your bloodstream.

Having the large amount of them released in the body all at once gave you the fever, redness, and swelling at the bite mark."

The doctor paused at the subject of the bite mark, with no explanation of the source. "That is why you have weakness, severe fatigue, and nausea. We call it hypercytokinemia," said the Doc.

Dare drink the mushroom tea to arouse the coiled kundalini, slide into the psilocybin trance to glimpse the existence of the other timelines.

The audience was hungry; I could tell.

"Gates are a gift to the human universe, to the parallel dimension of our continuum. You are human; you can squeeze into the other. All you have to do is slide into the creative force that is the indescribable expansion of consciousness to view or visit the other timelines and realms from beyond our normal.

And I'm not talking about some astral passage, but a gate, a passage through the primordial seeping. A gate beckoning to the other side of the looking glass."

As always, I had the most of the crowd. They would offer money, sex, or their firstborn for a glimpse of the other or the departed.

And there she was, the vampire seated in the front row as if following the longing of my words:

Did you ever look for me again?

In lonely, crowded rooms or night dives under the silent Milky Way?

The Blueridge in spring bird song or beach with pounding surf like a heartbeat?

Nelsons Dockyard illuminated; your memories seared.

Waves and wind-rainbow over the surfboard.

Drop into the fractal wave.

Again.

The rare times when I recognize another gate jumper, their presence doesn't threaten me ontologically whatsoever. But I knew her.

I knew her at first glance: the dark rose and sharp thorns type. She sat in the first row watching me, dark glasses in a darkened room and that rifle, just looking completely normal, or so she believed. Another irresistible dark-haired, mysterious vampire, invested with quasi-omnipotence via addicting curves and, of course, troublesome, if not downright spoiled.

This one I knew sang the old Scotts border songs with enough emotion to make one weep.

A curious variation from the usual type because this one was obviously a multi-verse gate traveler-she was smitten with the latest fads of the gate hoppers: that lever action rifle, the eye of Horus pendant, and the green makeup.

There were rumors of a green Egyptian god traveling the timelines and hunting AI-ghost hybrids with an old-style rifle, and so the latest jumper fad of green skin and guns. People and Vamps were predictable; everyone wanted to belong to the tribe or club.

I touched my own eye Horus lapel pin.

"In closing," I said. "Command the best energies, domesticate your creativity, dare to taste a minuscule thrill of terror, and peek behind the curtain, as they used to say.

Please come see me after the presentation if you would like to schedule a one-on-one session and or click the link on my phone or web page."

The Vamp waited while I received the clapping and attention as well as the snarls and cat-calls of "Charlatan," followed by the excited laughter and the bestowing smiles of new groupies.

My mind twisted into a shadow of purple neurons, considering the gate jumper waited for me while I was engaged in the usual conversations after the presentation.

"Yes, I can provide virtual mentoring and development," I said to an enthusiastic middle-aged woman, certainly wealthy and probably wishing to seek approval from her abusive father on the other side. The ghost of her father followed her in disappointment, sour-faced.

You can't always get what you want.

I glanced twice at the vampire while she waited patiently for the others to leave, attempting to read the secretive face hidden behind dark glasses, scarlet lips against green makeup set upon skin hidden from the burning sun.

Her pendant, the old eye of Horus, cast mysterious undercurrents. I had dreamed of her, and a guilty wave of pleasure flooded my conscience.

It seemed like eons until we were finally alone in the auditorium, and the Vamp approached the podium; I could see that she was jittery.

"Did you know I had dreamed of you?" I said and received a smile as bright as a full moon.

"Mark Falcon, I dreamed of you also," said the Vamp. "The good dreams, you know?"

"Let's go somewhere private. Coffee?" I suggested.

Later, in my hotel room, we laughed at our first meeting on the Space Force base, our first impressions of each other, and the events after our departure from the Space Force timeline.

"An augury across disturbing timelines, you might say?" Blowing smoke rings, enjoying the art and menthol, studying the wispy dissolution of shapes, delving into nightmares.

I held up the pumpkin spice coffee and received the expected response, the crinkling of her eyes and wide smile of the cruelest intensity, then her feather-light caress, stronger than mead—fire to the very soul, accentuated by the waviness of her.

I had her in the palm of my hand, but then vampires were easy. Extensive viral molecular epidemiological studies of the vamps had provided an understanding of the virus-carrying humans; their strengths and weaknesses were well documented.

Despite their remarkable powers and appetite, they were insecure, addicted to not only improper feeding habits but desperately craving acceptance and approval.

"A little poem stolen from a drunken bard, blind-no-less, enduring little scraps of melody?" I said, handing over a cup of steaming brew.

"Deeds of Fred again, discovered in dark seances almost hypnotic. Languor and vivacity elegant impulses of enhanced disinfection, his warheads, alchemy, metaphysics, graceful pulses of electron flow, unearned impulses of sympathy. Follow the ghost across the timelines, an entity of old mounds and AI," I said.

She sipped the coffee with her eyes closed.

"Impermanence of everything is one of the essential truths; the dawn and burning sun will rise," she whispered. "A moment of en-light-ment," she said with a touch of humor.

"Mark, how sage you are in alchemy and metaphysics!"

She put her cigarette out in an overflowing abalone shell and, afflicted with sudden desire, laid aside her lever action rifle, and clasped me about the neck pressing close, her scent rich with cinnamon pheromones.

I pushed back from her arms but purposely teased by exposing my jugular.

She had the near-magical ability to change colors, skin texture, and form instantaneously, and the roll in the sack was like no other. They were givers, just careful around the fangs.

Sometimes, allow just a little bite.

Later, I awoke spooning with the Vamp. I had been dreaming of my mitochondria protesting, attempting to break free from my organelles and re-establish the head of a falcon—a beautiful falcon missing an eye.

I pulled my arm from under the black hair. My arm was numb, but that was not the problem. A gate had opened from the other, and I could feel the distinct and familiar vibrations.

Two women, one with red and one with golden hair, stood in the shadows. Egyptian hieroglyphics gloved invisibly on their overcoats and in their eyes.

I know them, knew them from psilocybin mushroom dreams and acid hallucinations. They had been lovers, wives, kayakers, executioners, and artists. Astronauts? A bear? A sling and cross? A space shuttle? A humid palm tree-backed scene where the tired and sweaty blonde handed me an infant with a bird head? "Lord Horus, your son," she said with pride. I chirped with pride. What the hell? Have I slipped into another flashback?

"This is one," said one of the women. "Mark the charlatan, the gate jumper."

"I remember eating him—a journalist, right?" said Ophelia.

"The Gate-Jumper," said Eileen, looking at her Berry-pad. "Yep, yes, we ate this one." A slight grimace crossed her face, "More hot sauce next time; he lacks Umami."

I sat up, "Are you two astronauts?" They wore the distinctive uniforms of the astronaut corp, wigs, and overcoats with cans of mace showing between the folds. A mallet would be hidden out of sight, ready for use.

My subconscious screamed and wept, run, jump, or fight. I should have jumped, began to jump, but the sleeping vamp?

I hesitated, feeling the wetness leaking down my neck as I glanced at the vampire's rifle lying across an overstuffed chair. Had I developed feelings for her?

"Where are my clothes?" I said, standing and inching for the rifle.

The two women dressed in overcoats and Kennedy Space Center Identification badges smiled at my astronaut compliment and tasered me.

Long time climbing out of the fog bank of shock; once again, I viewed the world as through the eyes of a hawk or falcon.

"He is waking up," said a voice.

I opened my eyes to see I had been zip-tied. The two ladies in overcoats were taking photos of the vampire's tattoo on the back beltline.

"Her vamp-tramp-stamp," said Ophelia.

"V-O2-positive, but the serial numbers are not coming up in the database," said Eileen. "The problem of unlimited multi-verses."

"Yet odd at how so many multi-verses have the same rule- Vampires require the identification vamp stamp," noted Eileen.

Ophelia checked the fentanyl-propofol and benzodiazepine cocktail they had injected into the vamp. She was not taking the chance of an escaped and enraged biter seeking vengeance.

"Take me and release the vampire," I said. "I know you came for me."

'How noble," said the two women in sync and twittered with laughter.

"However, we are not paid to collect gate-jumping psycho-drugees, but vamps.

"McGreen-McGregor is paying good money to bring the biting creatures back to his laboratory," said Ophelia, crackling her Taser.

The two women did not see the ghost.

My cursed talent to see the unseeable, behind the astronaut-witches appeared an entity, a heavy-bellied biker stepped from the shadows.

Dangerous looking, the AI ghost inhaled a roll your-own-joint, the tip glowing carmine red, and then with an unnatural ghostly speed, he put the joint out against the neck of one woman and poured his scalding coffee on the other, the ghostly pain items having no apparent effect on the witch-astronauts, but the biker smiled. It was an evil glee.

Suddenly, the auras surrounding the astronaut witches changed; the witch splashed with coffee-her aura took on the sickly yellow of long-term cancer. The other witch, Ophelia, may have been her name; her aura colors changed to the rotating carmine patterns of those under the electron storm of Grand-Mal seizures.

Deeds of Fred again, I thought, helpless, my hands going numb from the zip-ties.

"Let's Jump," said Ophelia, and both women grabbed the unconscious vampire.

I squeaked a protest and felt the vibrations of another gate opening.

Someone new had arrived.

Other tails of the Space Center:

Vampires of Kennedy Space Center

Demons of Kennedy Space Center

Demons of Kennedy Space Center, corpus callosotomy

Ghosts of Kennedy Space Center

Dreams of Kennedy Space Center

Aliens of Kennedy Space Center

Director of Kennedy Space Center

Hitchhikers of Kennedy Space Center

Witches of Kennedy Space Center

Cave Bears of Kennedy Space Center

Chimeras of Kennedy Space Center

Gods of Kennedy Space Center and the Nile

Dinosaurs of Kennedy Space Center

Kayakers of Kennedy Space Center

Remembering Kennedy Space Center

Shadows of Kennedy Space Center

Virus of Kennedy Space Center

Starman of Kennedy Space Center

Gate Jumpers of Kennedy Space Center

Allies of Kennedy Space Center (Pt 2 of Gate Jumpers

Savants of Kennedy Space Center

Ferals of Kennedy Space Center

Return HOME from Gate Jumpers of Kennedy Space Center Page

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