- Working at KSC
- NASA Old Headquarters building on KSC destroyed.
- Flintknapping points
- On going writing projects
- Vampires of Kennedy Space Center and the O&C
- Demons of Kennedy Space Center
- Demons of Kennedy Space Center, corpus callosotomy
- Ghosts of Kennedy Space Center, End of Spiders
- Dreams of Kennedy Space Center, lovers and pyramids.
- Witches of Kennedy Space Center
- Cave Bears of Kennedy Space Center
- Aliens of Kennedy Space Center, uninvited guests
- Remembering Kennedy Space Center
Rescuers 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.
Rescuer.
Alone, alone in obsidian darkness, pace the hard earthen floor. Woven in the circle of dance, flowing ardent articulation, the song of fire and blood, flint and steel.
His heart rhythms erratic. The subtle essence of cinnamon pheromones.
Marcus was dying. Marcus might be dead.
Whirling in spirals, flashy dexterities with knives stabbing his every nerve, madness eloquent madness.
He had tried to escape, to run when the death fog appeared, but the blurry ESLA mask obscured the something that held him firmly in the poisonous cloud, carmine in color, gushing and hovering around the open hydrazine vent.
Then, the apparition with a cinnamon-colored faceplate came through the door; a sliver blade slashed the restraining fall protection harness that had held him firmly in place around the others who no longer moved.
Reflections & whispers, time-haunted shadows, cold blade eloquence reincarnated memory malcontent tickle the esthetic sensibilities of her victims conjured from the shades of pearl-grey silver steel.
Whisk blade around head three times, with an air of great solemnity, undone in the magic of this night’s work, struck her forehead a hand violently several times tenacious with the most provoking perseverance, vilest obscenities of conversation.
“Three bodies, one alive,” said the apparition, chanting invocations into the air.
The creature had a woman’s voice, noted Marcus.
“Shit, one of them is Director Lyme.”
A lyrical voice. A lyre hanging in willows along a river bank.
“No, don’t be an ass; I’ll move the one still alive. No help for Lyme; he is not wearing his ESLA escape hood.”
A voice crackled in the air, an invisible speaker, like a jinn from the east.
Let there be no tricks, dying; he watched as the creature-an angel? Prop the door with a chair. She pulled his heavy bulk from the room to a tunnel under the launch pad painted with murals of old gods, hawk-headed and stern, who watched and chirped at the struggle to reach safety. A cave bear growled outside?
A croon escaped from the angel-devil-god with the silver blade, a soft and plaintive wail, “I conjure in blood; I conjure in mud, I conjure under the gibbous moon, till the barghests swoon. Calm yourself, conjure to heal; the wound is slight. Conjure the strength of a well-groomed team of active bays, harnessed all, whom thou lovest so fondly and bright.”
That was death out of a Dickens novel, thought Marcus, who had long ago moved beyond any desire for air.
“I conjure thee, by the vagaries of smoke, of sacrifice, when she was a pretty and without the power of repulsion. Winter wind, summer storms! Intoxication and turmoil, hair black as a raven, addiction of piercing obsidian eyes. Perceive myself long time chained with the de-orbit burn and crimson fangs, nudge of madness for so long madness it feeds.
Conjure with flowers that I plucked in melting glaciers, threaded string attached it to the enemies slain by Horus in the delta. Reflections & whispers in a state of panting wonder, time-haunted shadows, cold blade eloquence, reincarnated memory of flint and malcontent. Rage, intrigues, broken double helix, low chicanery of the Coven hypocrisy crush them into dust.”
The elements once had air, thought Marcus. Nudge of madness for so long madness it feeds. Outside the tunnel, his skin tasted the strong Florida sun.
Marcus stood outside of his body, watching his rescuer pull his body to safety.
“Insatiate panting wonder, she is tenacious,” said a biker leaning against the flag pole, adjusting his belly that lapped over his belt. His feet did not touch the ground. Instead, they faded to nothing before touching the Florida grass.
“I nailed that green bastard this time. Simple as stuck valve and shorted alarm light.” The biker smiled while sipping steaming coffee.
His rescuer pulled Marcus upwind to a safety flag that denoted wind direction and removed his plastic hood with the attached escape air tank. She noted the gauge on the ELSA air tank registered zero breathing air, when she removed her own hood and air tank harness. Cinnamon red hair hung in her eyes, and her scent washed over Marcus as the woman began CPR.
Marcus protested the return. No, dead is dead.
A tug-like electric gravity pulled him back into his oxygen-starved body.
Marcus gasped back to the world of the living, bathed in the scent of the rescue person. Pheromones bathed him. Musky raiment of sensual debts, his oxygen-starved consciousness considered the debts.
A claxon blared in the background. The flagpole and wind sock cast a long spearlike shadow through the biker who smoked a joint. The flashing red beacon and claxon signified the fuel leak, signified death.
He opened his eyes to bright sunshine. Sweat pasted the hair to her forehead.
“Tell the biker to run,” hissed Marcus.
“Are you okay, sir?” asked his redhead rescuer. She read his Identification badge. The name was Marcus.
“Marcus! Marcus! Are you with us? Stay with us.”
She gasped for breath at the exertion to drag his bulk to safety. You need to go on a diet, Marcus.
“Possible hydrazine exposure and lack of oxygen. His ELSA escape bottle was empty,” she said into her radio. “He is one of the fiber optic technicians at the launch pad. No, I do not know for how long or if there is oxygen deprivation or if his brain is mush. But if he had yanked that plastic hood off while still in that poison cloud, he would be green like Lyme.”
Marcus inhaled deeply as if it was his first breath and tried to sit up. She pushed him hard back down with the palm of her hand. Unexpected strength. An epilepsy medical pendant and an Eye of Horus amulet swung from her neck.
“No, you stay flat until a doctor examines you,” his rescuer ordered. “Hydrazine is some evil shit.”
Marcus lay back on the grass. Her pendant read Ophelia.
Her eyes flashed quaint hieroglyphic symbols.
She’s hot.
“The others?” said Marcus. “An OSHA guy was attempting to remove the lock-out tag-out safety lock from the purge vent, so I grabbed an ELSA escape tank.”
A paramedic rushed to him, crossing under the spear-thin shadow of the flag pole.
Pretty and piquant, the paramedic sorceress said, “You found a live one, eh Ophelia?”
With a captivating twist of her head, the medic shook back blond braids, her identification badge blazed the name Eileen.
A shrike on the flag pole flashed carmine eyes, and a falcon swooped from a tree to grab a field rat.
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
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
Gene Splicers of Kennedy Space Center
State Security of Kennedy Space Center
Rescuers of Kennedy Space Center
Ferals of Kennedy Space Center
Return HOME from Rescuers of Kennedy Space Center
For pet lovers around the globe, "It's a Matter of Luck" is a collection of heart warming stories of horse rescues from the slaughterhouse.
Available on Amazon:
It's a Matter of Luck: Inspirational, Heartfelt Stories of Horses Given a Second Chance.
by Kim Ryba & Lina T. Lindgren
Warning: This book may cause your eyes to water in a good way. (speaking from experience after reading it)
Please give Kim and Lina a heartfelt review on Amazon!
Author Bruce Ryba at Kennedy Space Center Launch Pad 39B & Artemis 1. "We are going to the Moon!"
Author's discussion (that's me) on You Tube of a book review on Amazon
For the video versions of information, please check out my YouTube Channel (Turkeys, Flintknapping, dive stories etc.)
My fictional series/stories on Florida history:
Freedoms Quest (book one)
Struggle for the northern frontier and other lost tales of old Florida.
Available on Amazon
Desperate times call for bold action.
In a desperate move to retain Florida and protect the treasure-laden galleons on their dangerous return journey to Europe, the King of Spain issues a royal decree offering refuge to all English slaves who escape Florida and pick up a musket to defend the coquina walls of Saint Augustine.
In another bold gamble, the King offers refuge to the dissatisfied Indian nations of the southeast who will take up arms against the English.
Clans, traumatized by war and disease, cross the Spanish Frontier to settle the cattle-rich land and burned missions of Florida.
Follow the descendants of the conquistador Louis Castillo in remote Spanish Florida, a wild and swept by diseases, hurricanes, and northern invasions.
Book Two: Available on Amazon!