Friday, July 28, 2023

The Butterfly Dragon: Night Boat - Episode 04 (First Draft Completed Friday July 28, 2023 at 11AM EST)


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Excerpts From The Butterfly Dragon: Night Boat - Episode 03


The divided crew of the repurposed Gearing Class Destroyer Many Faced Maiden have begun reinforcing their position on the ship. Steadman's forces secure the bow to midship with their headquarters at the bridge, while Zek's forces have entrenched themselves from midship to the stern, their base of operations in engineering.


Steadman has teams of guards scouting the ship for any stragglers, when one such guard and his team stumbled upon one.


"Heads or tails?" asked Dennis.


"...heads..." the man spoke, gurgling.


"Do any of you recognize him?" Dennis asked  his fellow guardsmen, all eighteen of them.


They each took a look in turn, and none could recall his face.


"Sorry. The odds aren't in your favour," Dennis said as he leveled his SMG at the man's chest, pulling the trigger.


As the man laying on the deck dying, from the corner of his eye, Dennis saw something flying overhead. Quickly and completely silently, it shot by just above them and disappeared beyond their vision in one fell swoop.


"What the hell was..." Dennis didn't have a chance to finish his sentence before they were hit by the double sonic boom of a jet that had been traveling at mach 1.5 and had slowed upon arriving in the vicinity of the other sinking ship.


Most of the men had protective inserts in their ears, and even with those in place, the shockwave hit them like a ton of bricks.


"What the hell was that?" asked Steadman of Norman.


"That was a jet. Depending upon whether that carrier we spotted earlier is tasked with a Marine or Navy fleet, its either an F-35 Lightning II, or an F-22 Raptor..." Norman speculated.


"Can't we just identify it on radar?" asked Steadman.


"And break electromagnetic silence? That pilot would detect us immediately, and relay our position directly back to their fleet operations carrier," Norman advised him.


"Did it see us?" asked Steadman, suddenly panicked.


"We've got no alarms for their detection systems or missile lock so we can assume that they're just investigating the wreckage of the other vessel," Norman told him.


"Accelerate the ship to full speed and set a course out of here!" Steadman ordered Norman.


"I strongly advise against that sir. We'd leave a long visual wake in our aft, which could be spotted by any recon jets or drones they'll be sending to the area, especially after having spotted the wreckage.


"We'll proceed along our current route at the speed you suggest, and at night fall we'll accelerate to full speed for an hour, and for the remaining six hours of night we'll slow to three quarters until daylight. Understood?" asked Steadman.


"Aye, Sir," Norman responded affirmatively.


The old dial phone left of the helm began ringing.


"Who could that be?" asked Steadman.


"Who do you think?" asked Norman, somewhat sarcastically.


Steadman picked up the phone and put it to his ear.


"Captain Steadman here," Steadman spoke into the old headset.


"Captain Zek on this end," Alomera Zek responded.


"What would you like to discuss?" asked Steadman.


"It seems that we have some negotiating to do," Zek smiled, holding the decryption drive in his hands.


The Butterfly Dragon: Night Boat - Episode 04



Negotiations


The Many Faced Maiden pushed forward back towards the South Pacific, a small wake leaving a trail behind them. Now more than a nautical mile away, the smoking remains of the ship that had attempted to liberate Mr. Zek was mostly below the surface. What remained above sea level was consumed in fire, like the ship's fuel that floated on the surface around it.


Steadman stood on the bridge of the Many Faced Maiden alongside Norman, who was at the ship's helm. Six guards stood against the far wall, each spaced two meters apart.


Steadman broke the relative silence on the bridge, speaking into the handset of the old dial phone that still adorned the helm station of the heavily upgraded ship.


"There is nothing to negotiate Zek. You are still a prisoner on this ship, amidst men who've but one day to reconsider their allegiances lest they lose their pitiful lives," Steadman asserted.


"George, you know as well as I do that everything in life is a negotiation. If you have something that I need, then it is in my best interest to acquire something of your needs. That is how this world works. You give something, you take something. You have something that I want, and I have something that you need," Zek worded his statements carefully.


"You have nothing that I need, except for the time it will take to expunge your little mutiny from the decks of this ship! If you're willing to give it back and simply surrender, with all of your mutineers, I'd be most willing to forego the immediate punishments due to you and your loyal followers," Steadman kept his momentum.


"You're going to have to do much better than that, George. Especially for what I have that is up for negotiation," Zek responded, unjilted by Steadman's assertiveness.


"Like a poker player with a crappy hand, you're bargaining with nothing. You're just Bluffing. Wasting time to delay your inevitable end," Steadman replied, unperturbed by Zek.


"Is that so? I'm assuming that your men haven't yet secured the Data Center, for I hold in my hand the one thing you've been chasing for this whole time," Zek assured Steadman.


Steadman put his hand over the old phone's mouthpiece and spoke into his headset.


"Carver! Carver!! Have you made it to the Data Center yet?" asked Steadman in a panicked voice.


"That's a negative Sir. We're about three minutes away from..." Carver began before Steadman interrupted him.


"Forget whatever you're working on. I'll send guards down to the galley. Take your team and secure the Data Center immediately! Over and out!" Steadman ordered Carver.


"Copy that Sir! Over and out," Carver responded, immediately shouting the new orders to his team.


Steadman then turned to the guards on the bridge.


"I want three of you to go down to the galley and hold it until Carver and his team return. Understood?" confirmed Steadman, picking three men with his finger.


"Aye Sir!" they responded, immediately leaving through the bridge hatch and making their way down the stairs and to the galley.


Steadman took his hand off the microphone of the old phone and resumed his conversation with Zek.


"We secured it two minutes ago, and my men say there's nothing sabotaged or salvaged down there," responded Steadman, he himself now bluffing.


"Then you should have your men search again, for you'll find that one of the key data drives is now missing. The one to which the formula was to be written. You see, only minutes after you left the Data Center earlier, before the attack, the decryption process succeeded. How ironic it is that it didn't simply do so while you were still there. If so, I suspect that the tone of this conversation would be much different, and more like the scenario you envisioned in your delusion of the disadvantage of my situation," Zek said calmly to Steadman, perhaps making him that much more agitated.


"You could have just grabbed that drive so you'd have an operable bluff," Steadman responded, still holding the line.


"Belief or disbelief alone will not cure the dying man's ailments, for there is no stopping the truth in such matters. I have the data drive and the formula, and that is truth. No matter how you assert your stance that I'm bluffing, the truth will prevail in this instance. The moment at the showing of our hands. The moment that your men make their incursion into the Data Center and find that drive gone, and the feedback display repeating the flashing message: Decryption completed. 100% accuracy. Zero errors." Zek responded to Steadman's accusation.


"If what you say is truth, then you've stolen it from me. It would have long remained dormant in the trap infested bay of Treadwater Island, perhaps never discovered again. I made it possible for that data to be retrieved on my equipment. Its mine, making you a thief," Steadman's ground began slipping.


"Actually, I stole it from the researcher. Alicia Westin, and then you attempted to steal it from me," Zek corrected Steadman.


"Steadman? We just arrived at the Data Center. There's nobody around, but the display is showing a message. It says: Decryption completed. 100% accuracy. Zero errors. What would you like us to do?" asked Carver, coming through on Steadman's earpod.


Steadman cupped his hand over the phone once again.


"Search the drive bays. Tell me if there's any drives missing," ordered Steadman.


"Searching them... Drive bay one is good. Drive bay two. Drive bay three... there's a drive missing. The last one. Number sixteen in the drive bay," Carver responded.


"Damn!" Steadman slammed his hand down on the console behind him.


"Leave two men to hold the Data Center, and the rest of you return to the galley and finish up there. When you're done, we'll setup the guard duty and sleeping schedule. Over and out," Steadman told Carver, the sound of defeat thick in his voice.


Steadman removed his hand from the old phone's handset and resumed his talk with Zek once again.


"What do you want for it?" asked Steadman, his earlier bravado now all but gone.


"That's better. That sounds more like a negotiation. Unfortunately for you, I am holding all of the good cards in my hand. I'd like you to take a visit to drop me off at a location inhabited by old friends of yours," Zek asserted, this time with all the bravado.


"Where might that be?" asked Steadman.


"The island facility at Cora Hau. You see, I was the most powerful industrialist in the world at one time, and my contacts are vast. You will drop me and my crew off at their port facility, where your ship will be refueled and resupplied. From that point, you will be free to leave with your remaining crew. That is a fair deal is it not?" asked Zek, an air of arrogance in his voice.


"You'll starve before we reach Cora Hau. What if I don't agree to your terms?" Steadman asked, already calculating alternative plans.


"Then the drive and all of its data will be sleeping with the fishes, while your ship remains stationary, with inoperably sabotaged engines. You will float idle in the middle of the Pacific Ocean until the authorities sink you, or arrest you," Zek assured him.


"I see," Steadman said, sounding very much like a defeated man. 


"You should be thankful that I didn't call in the debt of my missing right hand," Zek added salt to the wound.


"Very well. I will deliver you to Cora Hau as you request. I assume there's no chance of my getting that data?" asked Steadman.


"I will make that decision upon my safe arrival at the port facility and on dry ground. If you have carried through with your end of the bargain, then you could consider the prospect promising. That's all I can give you right now," Zek smiled, and Steadman could feel it on the other end of the phone.


"There are to be no delays in servicing the engines, and any premature sabotage, especially while we're in port at Cora Hau will be met with the swiftest of response. Do you understand?!" Steadman responded, frustrated by the outcome of their talk.


"I do. I understand that you're in no position to make demands. I will do everything that is necessary to ensure my safe passage to Cora Hau. Nothing more. It has been a pleasure negotiating with you, George," Zek smiled once again, hanging up the phone.


The cheers around Zek filled the tool room, as he delivered his first victory to his loyal men.


Steadman slammed the phone down on the receiver.


"Norman. Set a new course for Cora Hau, continuing with our earlier arrangements for speed of passage. Once the men's sweep for stragglers is done, I'll send someone up to relieve you should you food and rest," Steadman ordered Norman.


"Where are you going?" asked Norman.


"To the galley. There's a bottle of Whiskey with my name on it," Steadman responded, heading out of the hatch and down to the galley.

From The Air

Flight Lieutenant Theresa Stafford inhaled deeply and held his breath as he prepared for a tight turn. She'd purposely overflown the rising pillar of smoke missing it by a hundred meters, intent on preventing her aircraft from getting too close to any heat based updrafts that might damage her flight systems.

By that point she'd slowed to a stead five hundred knots as the mach one point five sonic boom from her previous speed trailed her. The sonic boom hit the area just after she'd overflown it, disrupting the rising smoke in a chaotic pattern as Stafford prepared for her high G turn.

As she edged her F-35 II Lightning into a sharp turn, her flight suit inflated, maintaining her circulatory pressure which helped prevent her from blacking out. As she reached the apex of her turn, she began exhaling and inhaling deeply, holding each breath for about half a second before exhaling again, almost involuntarily. She pulled out of her turn cleanly and the semi-dizziness afterwards passed quickly as her flight suit deflated.

"Good. No bogies. No phalanx. Just a sinking ship," she said to herself. 

She steered back towards the Warren G. Harding, a Nimitz class carrier that had been given permission to continue its search of the region for a mysterious electromagnetic anomaly. She'd been briefed on the matter, but was essentially given no details.

She pressed a button on her MFD, preferring it to the voice recognition system as she'd previously been an F-15E pilot, one of the few younger pilots that sought to fly the old classics. Eventually her squadron was upgraded to the newer F-35 II Lightning, and she reluctantly became familiar with the technology.

The MFD cycled to a FLIR view of the wreck she'd just passed, the camera still padlocked to the sinking ship. She used the joystick to pan the camera, looking for any potential survivors in the ocean, and any other craft that might have been in the region. Her FLIR system glitched momentarily as the camera passed over a part of the ocean.

"Even new tech has its glitches," she said to herself once again, continuing her search for any signs of life.

When she was satisfied that she'd scanned the area sufficiently, she switched off the FLIR system and checked her situational awareness screen. The sinking ship was indicated by a flashing yellow icon with the text: UNKNOWN CONTACT, while the rest of the region for at least forty kilometers bore no contacts of any kind. No ships or small craft were about in the rough ocean on this day. Only the big players were out, and one of them was sinking.

"POSEIDON? This is BIRD'S EYE reporting in. I've got a sinking vessel at -5.41 east by -91.20 south. No signs of survivors. The ship is so far down in the water that my identify at range systems can't determine its make or origin, copy?" reported Stafford.

"BIRD'S EYE this is POSEIDON. We copy your SITREP. We're on route to the site. We recommend that you RTB so we can check out your data recorder. Copy?" responded the control tower on the carrier.

"Copy that. On my way home. Keep the beer cold for me. Over and out," Stafford finished up with her report and accelerated her craft to mach one point five.

Intelligence Analysis


Stafford was now being debriefed while her flight data recorder was in the hands of the Lieutenant Charlie Retson of Naval Intelligence. He strode along the deck of the carrier after thanking the flight technician that had removed the drive for him on his way to the tower and within, the Intelligence Analysis Center.

When he arrived, he greeted his fellow officers and went over to the drive bays and plugged the flight recorder into one of the available slots, making note of its ID. He then went over to one of the free workstations and began working on the flight data recordings from Stafford's flight.

He first noted the flight trajectory taking note of any contacts along the route towards the site of Stafford's SITREP. He then examined the data collected with regard to the sinking ship, though even with the tools onboard of the carrier, he was unable to make a positive identification. They'd have to dive in order to identify it now.

He then went on to examine other flight data, noting that shortly after arrival at the site, that Stafford had activated the FLIR system and padlocked the INTELCAM to the sinking ship. He'd then used the joystick to scan the area for any heat signatures that might indicate survivors. It was at a particular point in the FLIR recording that caught Retson's eye. In a part of the open ocean, there appeared to be a glitch in the camera system when Stafford had panned the camera over a particular location. It had glitched a second time, only minutely on a second pass.

Retson quickly got on the intercom phone beside him and made a call.

"This is Lieutenant Charlie Retson, I need Vice Admiral Harris now!" Retson addressed the ship's communications operator.

"Right away Sir!" the sailor responded.

"This is Vice Admiral Harris. What can I do for you Lieutenant?" asked Vice Admiral Harris.

"Sir, remember that glitch from a day and a half ago we examined?" Retson asked Vice Admiral Harris.

"I do. What have you got?" Harris responded quickly.

"I've got a glitch on a FLIR recording taken from BIRD'S EYE on her reconnaissance flight, near the site of Stafford's SITREP. It looks awful spooky. It could be a systems glitch, but it occurred on a second pass which leads me to believe there's more than meets the eye, Sir," Retson informed Harris.

"I'm on my way!" Harris hung up the phone and made his way from the bridge to down to the Intelligence Analysis Center.

Rest And Recuperation And Romance

Celeste's room was perhaps amongst the largest of the rooms on board the Many Faced Maiden, although it could not be found in the same area as the rest of the crew cabins for it was a converted storage space. Steadman had gone to great lengths to ensure that he could have a luxurious space for Celeste, despite the fact that he'd indicated that Alicia Westin was his romantic goal. Despite that fact, he had a great deal of love and respect for Celeste and hence he'd had her cabin custom crafted.

Not only did it have a large canopy bed, but it also had a separate sitting area, a living room and even a small kitchen. It was its own self contained apartment within the ship, and it was hidden from everyone except Steadman and Carver.

Since the mutiny, she'd been ordered to lock herself in her room, and she'd done just that, remaining completely hidden for the duration of the onslaught, locked in her luxurious room.

Steadman now stood before the door, with a bottle of the finest whiskey he'd stashed on board, a bottle of bubbly sparkling wine, and a wrench which he'd picked up from the floor beside the door. He used the wrench to knock on her door, tapping out a code they'd decided upon in advance.

The door clanked once, unlatched and then opened, and standing before him was Celeste, as inviting as ever.

"Oh thank the heavens you're safe!" she said, wrapping her arms around him.

"Likewise. Let's go inside and forget about all of this nonsense. Just for the rest of the day and into the night?" Steadman asked her.

"Certainly. Come in," she invited him into her cabin.

Steadman placed the wrench upon the floor and then entered the cabin, placing the whiskey and the sparkling wine on a nearby table.

"I was just cooking something, but I can put enough on for you if you'd like?" she asked him and he wrapped his arms around her and kissed her gently, running his hands through her long black hair.

They broke their kiss gently, and she looked at him.

"What was that for?" she asked, her arms still wrapped around his neck.

"That was something I've been wanting to do for some time, and the only thing I could think about when we were out there fighting the boarders," Steadman admitted, returning her passionate glance.

"Why don't you shower first, and I'll prepare something for us. We can eat, drink and be..." she began.

"Lustful. Ever so lustful," Steadman finished her sentence, giving her a short kiss again before making his way to her bathroom.

"Where's my housecoat?" asked Steadman, checking her closet.

"I hid it. Just in case they managed to find me. I didn't want anything that might give away my association with you," she admitted.

"All this and brains too? How ever did I end up with you?" he asked her as she got his housecoat for him.

"Because I wanted it," she replied, smacking his hind quarters gently.

"Now go get showered and I'll prepare something to eat and set the table," she told him.

Steadman made his way into the bathroom, removed his clothing and hopped into the shower. The water did its best to wash his stress away, but couldn't get into his head where it was needed most. For the last minute of his shower, he cranked the cold water and simply remained stationary beneath the showerhead as the water got colder and colder.

When he stepped out in his housecoat, the table was mostly set, a small tray of hors d'oeuvres had been placed in the center. Celeste scooped her preparation into two bowls and headed to the table where she placed one at each of their settings.

She sat down as Steadman stood to pour their sparkling wine.

"So I take it that everything was a success?" Celeste asked him, taking seaweed wrapped salmon and oyster from the hors d'oeuvres plate and taking a delicate bite.

"That depends upon how you define it," Steadman said, picking up his wine glass and holding it up.

"Have one of the hors d'oeuvres, they're good!" she responded by holding her own glass up, which she then gently clanged to his.

"How do you define it?" she then asked him after taking a sip of her wine.

"In terms of a power struggle over control of this boat? I'd define it as having command of the entire ship," Steadman responded, taking an hors d'oeuvres from the plate in the center.

"Don't you?" she asked him, having a bit of her chicken stir fry from the bowl.

"The glass is both half empty, and half full," Steadman replied, not willing to admit it directly.

"You don't have command of the entire ship?" she confirmed with him, a sudden look of shock overcoming her.

"I have control of the half that matters, Zek has control of the stern. Engineering and the engines. You know, like a mule costume? I'm the head, he's the ass," Steadman said begrudgingly.

"So that's what's bothering you," Celeste said, her look of shock transforming to one of slight amusement.

"Its a part of it," Steadman took a healthy drink from his wine glass, emptying it.

"Would you like some?" he asked her, already standing with the bottle in his hand.

"Just a top up," she replied.

Steadman poured hers, and then filled his glass and sat back down.

"So what's the other part?" asked Celeste.

"He managed to decrypt the formula. The SY349. He's got the data with him and he wants us to take him to the Cora Hau facility and leave him there with the rest of the mutinous crew. In return, he'll refuel and resupply the ship and send us on our way," Steadman told her, still steaming inside over the issue.

"I could just send in a sizeable force to overpower him and the mutineers," he considered once again, speaking out loud on the idea for the first time.

"You could, but that would incur sizeable losses on your side. Why not outthink rather than overpower him?" Celeste asked him to consider an alternative plan of action.

"How? He'll just see that the data ends up in the ocean if I try anything," Steadman said, already having defeated himself.

"You can't let him leave this boat. If he does, he'll put global naval authorities onto you anonymously. He'll tell them about the veil, and they'll find us, eventually," she reasoned with him.

Steadman's face suddenly illuminated with life.

"You're right. We have to get him when he's making his way from engineering to the gang plank at Cora Hau. He'll have the data drive on him, he won't be anywhere near a portal or hatch through which he could simply discard the drive into the ocean. He'll be vulnerable," Steadman reasoned.

"He could give the drive to any one of his men. If you use firearms, you might shoot the drive," Celeste reminded him.

"We'll need a very special skill set to achieve that and I've got just the men to achieve it, but I'm going to need more than just five skilled men," Steadman began thinking, taking another healthy drink from his wine glass.

"Have those five men train more. We're still a distance from Cora Hau, aren't we?" asked Celeste.

"We're about a week away, with the restrictions I've placed upon traveling speed in order to avoid detection," Steadman told her.

"A week might be enough time to train another five men close to the level of your special team?" Celeste suggested.

"You're brilliant!" Steadman said, standing up and finishing his wine.

He went over to his clothing which lay in a heap on the bathroom clothes hamper and retrieved his headset from his pocket. He then inserted it into his ear and switched it on.

"Carver? I want you to select the five most able men from the guards you trained, and spend the next five days giving them the best training you can for closed quarters combat on this ship, focusing on  stealth and melee weapons rather than firearms, though include more firearms training for at least a half a day. Begin immediately and have this task take up six hours of your working day. The remaining two hours spend ensuring that we're secure. Understood?" Steadman asserted his command into the microphone.

"Yes sir! Five men, train them in closed quarters combat, stealth, melee with a portion of that time dedicated to firearms training. Roger that!" Carver replied, encouraged to hear that Steadman was thinking and had a plan.

Steadman then removed the headpiece, switching it off and placing it on the counter. He then returned to the table and took Celeste's hand.

"What about dinner?" she asked him.

"We've got the whole rest of the evening and the night to eat," Steadman said to her.

"I've got to put it away, it will spoil," she replied.

"Put the stir fry in the fridge, and bring the hors d'oeuvres and wine to bed," Steadman said, helping her to get the food put away.

They then grabbed the hors d'oeuvres, wine and two glasses and disappeared under the sheets of Celeste's bed.


To be continued in The Butterfly Dragon: Night Boat - Episode 05

Credits and attribution:


Artwork: Amy Wong, Wendy Pusey, Ghastly, Brian Joseph Johns, Daz3D, Unreal Engine...
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Friday, July 21, 2023

The Butterfly Dragon: We Who Stand On Guard - Episode 04 (Final Draft Complete)




This content is produced artists indicated on the site, and by me, Brian Joseph Johns.


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Two organizations whose contribution of expertise, human and financial resources and volunteer efforts provide humanitarian solutions to real world problems the entire world over. These charities operate worldwide. The United Nations Fund supports the various programs part of the United Nations' global mandate, as much a foundation as it is a roof around the world.


World Veterans Federation
The World Veterans Federation is a humanitarian organisation, a charity and a peace activist movement. The WVF maintains its consultative status with the United Nations since 1951 and was conferred the title of “Peace Messenger” in 1987.


I'd like to point out that it was the incredible Gary Sinese Foundation that brought the issue of Veteran's rights to my attention. I've always had little respect for those who'd forget the great contribution made by those who've risked life and limb to defend those values that so many of us espouse. Perhaps the true measure of one's principles are by that for which they'd risk their life.

"None can speak more eloquently for peace than those who have fought in war."

Ralph Bunche, Nobel Peace Prize 1950


The Reeve Foundation provides programs for research, uniting Scientists and Specialists from many different fields to find treatments for spinal cord injury translating them into therapies and support programs.


For over 60 years, Heart & Stroke has been dedicated to fighting heart disease and stroke. Our work has saved thousands of lives and improved the lives of millions of others.


The ALS Society Of BC
ALS (also known as Lou Gehrig's Disease) is a progressive neuromuscular disease in which nerve cells die and leave voluntary muscles paralyzed. The ALS society provides a variety of programs to combat this disease and help those with it to survive.


Muscular Dystrophy Canada
Muscular Dystrophy Canada’s mission is to enhance the lives of those affected by neuromuscular disorders by continually working to provide ongoing support and resources while relentlessly searching for a cure through well-funded research.


Humane Society International
The Humane Society protects the health, lives and rights of animals the world over, ensuring that they too have a voice in this world. We are interdependent upon the complex web of life this entire planet over for our mutual survival. This is a world wide charity.


The Global Foodbanking Network
Ensuring that people the world over have enough food day to day in order to survive and lead healthy lives. In this challenging day and age services like this are becoming more and more essential. This is a world wide charity.


The Edgar Allan Poe Museum
Because Barris told me to put it here. If I didn't, he said he'd walk. Geez. Stardom really gets to some people's heads. Maybe I could kill him and bury his heart beneath the floor boards! Or I could encase him in behind a brick and mortar wall, for shaming my family name of Amantillado! 

In all truth, there's a good chance that thanks to the works of Edgar Allan Poe, Samuel Clemens (Mark Twain), William Shakespeare, Jane Austen, Jonathan Swift, Mary Shelley, Robert Louis Stevenson, Herbert George Wells, Jules Verne, Dr. Seuss, Stephen King, Clive Barker and Pierre Burton (for The Secret World Of Og and his ground breaking interview of Bruce Lee) that all of us are literate. Actually that goes back much farther to the Phoenecians and their first 22 character system of symbols. Literacy is important. Really it is. Literally. It allows us to approach our employer at the end of the week (with a big club) and ask: where my money?! Math important too. It help us count our thirteen fingers and toes.


Wikipedia
The model for what may become the Encyclopedia Galactica, a complete reference and record of history, events and knowledge of humanity and its journey beyond. It is the encyclopedia of all that we know, what we surmise that we've known and will learn in the future. Yes, Wikipedia is a charitable organization of great importance. If you enjoy what I am doing here then please take the time to donate to Wikipedia. Surprisingly only 1% of Wikipedia's users donate yet the site serves pages to millions every day.


Humble Bundle
A video gaming storefront benefiting a vast variety of different Charities in the United States and United Kingdom (hopefully soon to be expanded to include other areas of the world?). By software their software bundles and choose which Charity your money benefits and how much of your money benefits that Charity. See? Gamers can do their part too.


Multiple Sclerosis is a degenerative disease currently affecting an estimated 2.3 million world wide. By donating you are contributing to effective research in finding a cure and tipping the scales of MS research to change lives forever.


If you're a resident of Ontario then please consider supporting Building Better Schools.


Other Ways To Help Using Your Computer

Donate your idle computer time to science! Join the World Community Grid by clicking on one of the links below and follow the instructions for how to participate:



Thank you for your support

Shhhh! Digital Media
Brian Joseph Johns



Excerpts From The Butterfly Dragon: We Who Stand On Guard - Episode 03


Men's Employee Change Room - Marriot Sheraton Centre Toronto Hotel - Canada


Trent stood in front of the tall mirror in the employee change room, first, straightening his hand tied bow tie, after which he checked his side burns to ensure their height reached the bottom of each lobe. He adjusted his red vest atop of his white button down shirt, which crowned his gray slacks.


"So? How long have you been with housekeeping?" Trent looked deep into the mirror, mustering as much bravado and charm as he could.


"I've always admired housekeeping. Its the very place where this hotel is made," he raised one eyebrow, looking seductively at the mirror.


"Have you ever been to the Drake's buffet the morning after? No! No! No! That's sooo not me," Trent said, shaking his head as he looked at his feet.


"Look, I'm finished at four AM. Would you like to get a coffee at Fran's up the street?" asked Trent of his own reflection.


"No, but how bout a beer?" asked his friend James, who'd just donned his bellhop uniform.


"You're not my type, James," Trent snickered at his friend.


"Are you still pining about that woman from housekeeping?" asked James as he straightened his tie.


"Practice makes perfect, doesn't it?" asked Trent as he closed his locker and readied himself for his shift.


"Good, because I'm a romantic at heart. Besides, I heard she'll be working catering tonight. Was her name Rysalyn? I think that's her. So get in there and give it your best shot. Some opportunities only knock once in a lifetime, Trent. Don't lose out. Gotta run," James jogged out the door of the change room and made his way to the Ballrooms.


Trent looked one last time in the mirror, envisioning the protagonist of his masterpiece in progress: Storm And Shore.


"Ms. Emberly: That's what we're all about. Making sure that this here fire lights the night. Every night, and that this shore remains in our possession until dawn," Trent spoke the last line of the first act of his play, poignantly.


He then stepped out of the change room and out into the big hall, striding confidently to the front lobby of the Marriot.


The Parking Lot Of Rose's Veterinarian Center, Pickering, Ontario, Canada


Stanton sat in the front seat of his heavy duty pickup truck, the door closed and the audio stealth system engaged. It was a system that for all spoken audio emitted from within the truck, would produce an audio waveform in the exact opposite phase, hence cancelling the vibration caused by audio upon the windows of the truck. Counter intelligence services were known to carry pocket sized precision laser equipment that could hear the spoken audio within a vehicle, simply by measuring the vibration of the windshield. The stealth system was a formidable countermeasure against that and other means of scrying upon agents such as Stanton.


"Stanton, Bradley Alexander, Unit 54109621EF responding to your report," Stanton spoke aloud, keeping his head down as he did as a precaution against lip reading.


"54109621EF, copy that. We received the chemical analysis and confirmed your hypothesis. The explosive compound was in fact RDX and Nitrogen Dioxide, utilizing a station super transistor as the detonator. That's a negative on Nuclear, Biological or Chemical weapons of mass destruction. As it turns out, we ran that through our database and this particular modus operandi is a signature bomb recipe crafted by a group known as Hard Cel. They are relatively new on the mercenary scene and offer their services to the highest bidder on the DD Web," command reported to Stanton.


"I'm sorry Sir, the DD Web? Say again?" confirmed Stanton.


"The DD Web. The Deep Dark Web. Think of the Dark Web, and this is its more secure third generation offspring. It is Quantum Decryption proof, meaning that even with state of the art decryption hardware, neither us nor our allies around the world can break it for surveillance purposes. However, we can infiltrate it, and fortunately, we've had someone close to the inside for three years now," command reported.


"So how are we supposed to get these guys and interrogate them?" asked Stanton.


"Our insider, Doctor M or DRM, managed to finagle enough information to correlate the identity of one of the potential ingredient couriers. They call him Mister Eck. Presumably his online handle is derived from the name of Wim Van Eck, a computer engineer who wrote the first scientific papers describing TEMPEST vulnerability in computers and communication. Despite Mister Eck's propensity for blowing the heck out of people and places, he also has a soft spot for weddings. He's attending a reception tonight, in Toronto at the Sheraton Marriot Center in Ballroom 2. Be on the lookout for a stocky male, five foot nine inches tall. Approximately ninety five kilograms, with dark hair and blue eyes," command reported.


"How am I supposed to get in there? What's my cover?" asked Stanton.


"Given the impromptu nature of this event, we couldn't convincingly stage an alternate identity for you. However, we have managed to intercept a call from the Sheraton concerning electrical maintenance. In fact, this one might be right up Elena, Matt and Dave's alley professionally," command informed him.


"No offence command, but they're civilians. They're very raw around the edges not to mention they don't have any of the training necessary for an operation of this latitude," Stanton corrected command.


"But you do, and your best assets are your friends and coworkers. The security at the reception will likely be light. Its a wedding reception, not an underground bunker," command reported to Stanton.


"Sir, there's a big difference between certainty and likely. I can say with certainty that I don't want to put my friends at risk without them receiving the proper training," Stanton challenged command.


"Then consider them assets to your cover. Frankly, I might remind you that the best assets we have don't even know they're assets. If your friends knew what they were taking part in, they'd be a danger to themselves not to mention they'd put the whole operation at risk. There's a reason why you as an agent have the weight of knowing, and most of our other assets do not. Unless you'd like to see another similar bombing here, or read about the death of innocent people abroad, I'd suggest that you sort out your conscience and carry out what is requested of you," command reminded Stanton.


"Give me the details, and I'll put together an improvised plan, with three alternatives. As you request, I'll present this option without letting Elena, Matt or Dave know that they'll be taking part in such an operation. I'll also need an extraction and interrogation team for Mister Eck," Stanton asserted to command.


"That we'll have on standby. Just contact us from your phone or truck, citing the response code: TANGO ECHOLON CHARLIE KANGAROO. The reception starts at eight o'clock, so you'll have plenty of time to prepare. The person who made the call for a contractor electrician is named Anne Reed. She works as the maintenance manager during the afternoon shift. She'll be expecting you," command reported to him.


"Copy that. 54109621EF Over and out," Stanton pressed the disconnect button without waiting for the reply.


"Now how the hell am I going get Elena, Matt and Dave to come along on this...?" Stanton punched his steering wheel once, and then pulled out of the Veterinarian Clinic parking lot on his way to the Pickering Power Plant.


...


A few hours later, during their lunch hour at the Pickering Power Plant, Elena, Dave, Matt and Stanton all sit down together to eat. As Elena finds out that her coworkers had bet on the outcome of her date, Stanton quickly tries to change the subject and invites his friends to help him with his other job that night.


"Is there anyone who didn't bet on my date?" she asked rhetorically.


Matt and Stanton both put their hands up.


"How'd you and Dave like to help me with a side job I have tonight. You'd be helping me a lot, especially seeing as its a commercially rated electrical job. Its for a hotel, so it might actually be a lot of fun, not to mention I'll pay you both for it handsomely," Stanton spoke, quickly changing the subject.


"What hotel?" Elena asked, suddenly enthusiastic.


"The Sheraton, in downtown Toronto. Its a Marriot. A nice place. You can dress casual for the gig, the better you blend in the better. Not to mention, dinner and drinks are on me. What do you say?" asked Stanton, looking to Elena and then Dave.


"If I can get permission from Carol, I'd love to. With my take on your side job, and what I won with a well placed bet over Elena's date, I should be doing pretty good this weekend," Dave smiled, looking over to Elena.


"You bet against me having a good date! You jerk!" Elena stood and began assaulting him with a nearby folded newspaper.


Everyone in the cafeteria once again stopped and laughed at Elena and Dave's antics.


Elena then sat down, and turned to Stanton.


"I'd love to help you out on this job. Besides, it sounds like it might be fun. That, and its the weekend tomorrow," Elena replied to Stanton's request.


"Perfect. You're welcome too if you'd like to come Matt?" asked Stanton, not wanting to leave his old friend out.


"I would, but my son, his wife and I are taking the grand kids out to the movies tonight, but thanks for asking," Matt replied, still amused by Elena and Dave's playful display.


"You have fun tonight then. Elena? Dave? We'll leave from here and go directly to the hotel. They'll be giving me a complimentary room. We can get cleaned up there. Sound good?" asked Stanton in confirmation.


"I'm good with that," Elena replied.


"Me too, once I recover from the concussion Elena delivered with that newspaper," Dave replied, smirking at Elena.


"Great. We'll meet up at reception and leave together. They'll have parking for us as well," Stanton assured them as he stood up with his tray of empty dishes.


"See you then big guy," Dave nodded to Stanton.


"Thanks for lunch!" Elena added.


Stanton made his way out of the cafeteria and made a call on his satellite phone.


Everything was in place for that night's operation to apprehend and extract Mister Eck.


The Butterfly Dragon: We Who Stand On Guard - Episode 04


Sheraton Centre Toronto Hotel - Willow Ballroom And Waterfall Gardens


The Mistress And The Bellhop


Trent held his hand over his mouth, trying his best to get a whiff of his own breath as he picked up his pace on his way to the catering station just outside of the Willow Ballroom.


"Good. That's passable..." he said to himself, quickly slipping on his dress gloves.


He nodded as he passed another hotel employee. He then rounded the corner cautiously and spotted his friend James off in the distance.


"Come on!" James mouthed, waving to him as the Ballroom reception party started to fill the Mezzanine.


Trent walked over casually and shook James' hand.


"So how goes it?" Trent asked.


"So far, so good. We're dealing mostly with overnight guests, but there has already been a few who are staying for a week or more," James told him, indicating that there was some big money to be had there that night working this gig.


"That's great, but that's not what I meant," Trent looked at his coworker coyly.


"I knew you'd say that. She's over there. I've been keeping an eye on her for you," James attempted to nudge Trent, nearly falling over seeing as Trent was already on his way over to the catering station.


Trent admired how the caterers had arranged the entire presentation of Hors d’Oeuvres to mirror the look and style of the neighbouring Waterfall Gardens. The metal cabinet trays were all decoratively embossed with relief work and lined with ice, which was arranged to appear as a flowing river of water and a tiny waterfall which housed the crowning menu item, imported Caviar spread onto wedges of Eel steak, embellished with a piece of flowering cilantro.


The Salmon was cut into little fish shaped pieces and arranged in such a way that it appeared to be climbing the steps of the waterfall. Scattered around on other outcroppings were other dishes of various size and make, each holding the finest of foods.


"So in addition to being a work of art yourself, you're also an artist?" Trent asked her, as he admired her artisanship, looking for a way to start a conversation with her.


"I'm sorry, I didn't get your name," she maintained her stature very professionally and Trent, being a writer astutely observed that many men had already likely hit on her that night.


"Forgive me. I'm Trent. I hope that it wouldn't be a bother for you to tell me your name?" asked Trent, proceeding very carefully while hiding that fact well.


"A bother? What makes you think that I would relinquish that such as my name to someone that hasn't earned it?" asked Rysalyn, her face concealing her true emotions within.


Trent looked deep into her eyes, using every bit of empathy within him to try and read her that moment, but to his amazement, he simply couldn't.


"A quest? And I can't think of a more worthy prize than to learn your name from your own lips," Trent smiled, seemingly unperturbed by the challenge she'd presented him though inside he was struggling against an intense stage fright that transcended even standing naked in front of an audience of a thousand.


A smile ever so barely visible, slowly crept its way into the corner of her luscious red lips. Trent observed and felt a slight bit of relief, that maybe she was letting him know that it was alright to proceed.


"Aren't you supposed to be assisting with bellhop matters?" asked the head of the catering department from behind him.


"I was merely inspecting the buffet so that I could direct the guests here and let them know what was on the menu. Many of them have traveled a distance and could likely use a fine bit of nourishment to keep them going for the night," Trent quickly responded tactfully.


"My dear, I need you to give a tour to one of the guests. A VIP. He just arrived," the manager addressed Rysalyn, who listened to him carefully, keeping herself very well concealed even from him.


"May I suggest that I give that tour? I've been with the hotel for the better part of six years now, and I know this fine and sometimes fickle lady very well. I'd be more than glad to," Trent suggested, making his sell as any great thespian might.


"This tour needs a lady's touch, but thank you for your offer," the manager replied to Trent.


"Right away Mister Chambliente," Rysalyn replied, stepping out from behind the buffet and heading in the direction to which Mister Chambliente had pointed.


Trent accompanied her.


"We can continue our conversation later perhaps?" he asked her politely.


"If time permits, we can. You've been here for some time. As you venture in your quest, it might be good to check in with me so that I know your progress," she answered him encouragingly.


"That I shall certainly do milady," Trent said, continuing with their little role-play as he walked with her. 


Their progress forward was halted when Trent slammed into a very solid wall of a man.


Trent looked up and into the eyes of the biggest man he'd ever seen. The man scowled at Trent for his carelessness and the embarrassment he'd caused.


"I beg your pardon sir! I was so distracted that I missed even a mountain of a man as yourself..." Trent responded to the man, whose face flattened into a menacing scowl.


"Dare you show such a face in the presence of a lady!" Trent, though terrified of the man, spoke his mind in protection of the woman he was accompanying.


The man observed Rysalyn, whose face appeared ever so frightened if not to back Trent's words, then perhaps in sincerity.


The giant of a man quickly changed his demeanor, suddenly embarrassed that he'd frightened a lady.


"Now how about that tour?" asked another very well dressed man, who'd stepped between Rysalyn and Trent while he faced the giant.


Rysalyn winked at Trent as she and the man left on the tour.


"Sorry kid, I had to move in," the man said to Trent as Rysalyn led him on their tour.


Trent stood beside the giant as they both watched her leave with the other man.


"Don't worry. You'll see her again. I'm sure of it," the giant said to Trent reassuringly with a thick Baltic accent.


"Thanks. No hard feelings, eh?" asked Trent.


"You watch your step, I watch my face. No harm done," the giant replied to Trent.


"Deal," Trent quickly replied, barely able to shake hands with the giant due to the size difference of their paws.


A Turn Towards Intrigue


Trent suddenly had an idea when he saw James pulling two luggage trollies by himself and in the same direction that Rysalyn had taken for the tour.


"I'm headed in the same direction for a bit, let me help you out," Trent grabbed the other trolly.


"Thanks. I was just telling Mrs. Krantz about the Sauna and Whirlpool here..." James threw the ball to Trent.


"One of the finest such bathing decks accompanied by several world class whirlpools and a contained sauna, with several private compartments if you prefer, and a bar by the pool side," Trent added the finishing touch.


"Sounds lovely," Mrs. Krantz, an attractive woman in her late forties accompanied them as they pulled her and her husband's luggage.


"Seeing as you're with the wedding party, and I know for certain you had a long journey to get here, I suggest that you make the buffet your first stop. There's plenty of chilled Caviar and seafood available for your consumption. Enough so to give you the energy to keep you dancing with all of those bride's maids," Trent smiled as they reached the elevator.


A short distance away, he spotted Rysalyn and the man to whom she was giving the tour. They had just rounded the corner where Rysalyn was directing him towards the Mezzanine fountain area.


"Forgive me Mrs. Krantz, but I must depart. I'm sure we'll see you at the reception. I'm Trent. If you need anything, don't feel afraid to ask," Trent smiled at Mrs. Krantz, and James nodded to his friend and coworker.


Trent watched as the man to which Rysalyn was giving the tour grabbed a full plate of food from a nearby room service cart. Rysalyn by that time was looking the other way, still delivering the dialogue of her tour when the man slipped off with the plate of food, heading in the direction of an approaching rotund man. The man with the plate of food then tripped as if it were a not-so-well practiced prat fall, dumping all of the food on the plate into the rotund man's face.


The rotund man began cursing and swearing at Rysalyn's tour guest as he tried apologizing profusely for the alleged accident. The rotund man began wiping the food and sauce from his face with his hands as Trent watched from behind a corner.


"My lovely tour guide here told me the men's facility is just over there..." the man apologizing pointed out the washrooms to the rotund man.


Trent quickly made his way into the washroom ahead of them and unseen. He quickly made his way through the second door and into the lavatory. When he heard the outer door of the washroom open, something in him told him instinctually to hide.


He quickly but quietly ran for one of the bathroom stalls, opening the door and letting it close to a natural position as he stepped up onto the toilet seat balancing on it with his feet. He waited quietly as the second inner door opened. He heard the heavy fall of footsteps as a rotund man approached the bathroom sink and then the sound of running water.


Trent peeked out from the stall ever so slightly, and watched as the man in his mid-thirties, about two hundred and ten pounds washed his face carefully. Trent then noticed that the man wasn't so much obese as he was packed with muscle. Possibly a body builder of some kind or at the very least, a dead-lifter.


The outer door opened again followed by the inner door a moment later.


"Look, I'm so sorry about that. I don't know how that happened but I must have stumbled or something..." Trent looked through the crack in the stall door and saw the man that Rysalyn had been giving the tour.


"Just stay away from me! You've already done enough!" the heavier set muscular man finished wiping his face and was on his way to wipe off when the other man, suddenly struck him from behind.


The blow was quick and silent, hitting the man in the small of his back between his shoulder blades. The big man stumbled nearly falling to the floor before he managed to get himself turned around. He threw a punch with his massive arm, cleanly missing the smaller and faster man, who merely stepped back and then almost faster than the eye could see, struck out again at the larger man, hitting him twice just above the bridge of his nose.


The big man fell forward unconscious as the smaller man moved quickly to catch him before he hit the floor. The inner door suddenly opened, and Trent could see a woman in heels running to help the smaller man catch the larger one.


"Quick! Get the door lock!" the smaller man yelled.


Trent heard the woman's heels as she ran back to the door and sealed it with the bolt lock from keys she'd produced.


"Hurry up! Damn this guy's heavy!" the man said to the lady.


The lady remained silent.


"We need one of those luggage carts. That and a blanket and we should be able to get him to the pickup point," the man stated.


"I'll get one of the bellhops to bring one," the woman spoke softly, her voice eerily familiar.


"Try the guy you charmed earlier. He was practically falling all over you..." the smaller man said to her.


"You mean Trent? No. I don't want to get him involved in this," Rysalyn replied, much to Trent's surprise.


"Well you'd better find one soon before one of the other employees comes looking," the smaller man said.


"Are you always this difficult to work with, Foller?" asked Rysalyn.


"Objectively or subjectively?" Foller evaded her question.


The Bellhop And The Operatives 


"Forget it. I'll just go find a luggage cart myself..." Rysalyn went to leave when Trent stepped out of the stall.


"Uhhh... Hi," he said with a charmingly boyish smile on his face.


"What the hell are you doing here?!" asked Foller, startled by the young man's sudden appearance.


"I was just going to ask you the same question," Trent replied, looking at the unconscious man still face down on the floor.


"He's having a heart attack! We need to get him to a special care vehicle just outside..." Foller spoke quickly.


"In a luggage cart with a blanket over him?" Trent confirmed that he'd heard them correctly.


"Trent. This man is a dangerous man. We have apprehended him and are preparing him for transport where he'll be questioned by authorities. His answers might save many lives. You have to believe us!" Rysalyn pleaded with him, being more sincere than Foller had been earlier.


"I'll get the luggage cart and a furniture blanket for you. Trust me," Trent looked to Rysalyn, his eyes  wild with fear definitely nowhere near the way he'd been looking at her before.


Trent heard the sound of the internal machining of a hand gun click as Foller chambered a round from the magazine, drawing the weapon from his jacket.


"You're not going anywhere. He could make a run for it, and then where would we be?" asked Foller looking first to Trent and then to Rysalyn.


"Look, you've got no choice but to trust me now, unless you're going to kill me?" Trent looked to Foller first, his hands up in the air.


He then looked to Rysalyn, his eyes somewhat calmed and trying desperately to find the woman he'd found at the buffet.


"I trust you. Let him do it!" Rysalyn looked at Trent, perhaps trying to find him as much so as he was trying to find her.


"If you so much as utter a word of this to anyone, you and I will have words later. Got it?" confirmed Foller, looking Trent squarely between the eyes.


Trent looked back at Foller, seeing a man devoid of conscience.


Trent then turned to Rysalyn, who returned his gaze.


"See you soon," she said, pulling him down to her face and giving him a light kiss on the lips.


He looked at her in shock and amazement as she turned and unlocked the door for him. She then opened it and let him out of the bathroom.


Trent ran out through the second door and walked quickly over to the elevators where there were three luggage carts and a stack of blankets nearby tucked away in a service corridor. He grabbed a few blankets and put them on the cart, dragging the cart back to the bathroom.


When he got to the second door, he knocked three times.


"It's me. I have the cart," Trent said loudly enough for Rysalyn to hear.


The latch on the door clicked, and she opened it for him.


"Over here kid!  Right beside him. Rysalyn, lock the door again until we get him on the cart and covered up," Foller ordered Rysalyn.


Rysalyn immediately locked the door again, checking it to be sure.


"How much can you lift kid?" asked Foller, once again patronizing Trent.


"I don't know... uhhh... sixty kilograms maybe?" Trent replied, though fitness wasn't a major aspect of his daily routine that he prioritized.


If his work gave him exercise, then that was his exercise for the day.


"Sixty kilograms? So about a hundred and forty pounds eh? Alright. You get his feet, I'll get his shoulders. We lift straight upwards on three, and place him down firmly onto the cart again. Ready?" asked Foller.


"As I'll ever be," Trent replied, trying to grab hold of the man's ankles.


"One. Two. Three..." Foller counted down.


They both struggled, just barely getting the man into the air enough to clear the edge of the cart. They then dropped him onto the platform of the cart, his feet dangling slightly over the edge. They then covered him in a blanket while Rysalyn draped the luggage cart with the remaining blankets.


"Not bad," Rysalyn remarked.


"I'll say. Just be grateful that he didn't piss his pants like the last one," Foller said nonchalantly.


"You mean this isn't the first?" asked Trent, somewhat in shock.


"Grab the back of the cart. You're pushing, I'm driving. Follow my lead as the lady covers for us. Got it?" asked Foller.


"Alright. What choice do I have? I'm your prisoner no doubt," Trent replied, grabbing the rails on the cart.


"That's the attitude. Now push as she gets the doors!" Foller ordered.


Trent pushed and the cart rolled rather easily on the marble floor. They navigated through the first door successfully but when they got out of the second, pushing the cart became much more difficult on the carpeted halls. Trent pushed with all of the strength he could muster and the cart slowly began moving once again.


Foller steered them in the direction towards one of the side exits that would take them out into the covered parking area reserved for the management employees.


"What's that smell?" asked Trent, suddenly overwhelmed by a rank and foul odour.


"Our guest here passed wind. When you're unconscious, your abdominal muscles relax and gas can pass rather easily through the colon and intestinal tract. Just be thankful it wasn't a number two though," Foller said quite comfortably as he steered the cart.


Trent suddenly became very frightened and intimidated by the man steering the cart. He felt shivers throughout his body as he thought about the qualities Foller had revealed to him thus far.


Trent looked to either side, and considered making a run for it before they proceeded through the exit into the parking area. He then looked to Rysalyn, who glanced quickly at him encouragingly, as if to say I'm sorry.


Trent smirked ever so slightly, deciding at that moment that he was only staying on board for her, and nothing else. When he had the chance, he'd grab her and run them both to safety and ensure that this psycho was apprehended by the authorities.


They steered the cart out into the parking area, where a large van was waiting a short distance away with its back doors opened. Two large men in suits stood at either side of the van's doors awaiting them.


When they arrived at the van with the cart, Foller spoke.


"Trent, get in the van there beside that man with the short hair. Then the lady. The two galutes here will load the body into the van and onto the gurney while I get into the driver's seat. We're going to drive a short distance away, confirm our success and we'll relinquish you and the lady at that point, dropping you both back at the hotel. Got it?" asked Foller to confirm, the two gallutes looking at each other and then grimacing at Foller for his remark.


"Alright," Trent responded, stepping up into the van where he turned around and offered his hand to Rysalyn.


She accepted it, and he pulled her up into the van where they sat beside one another. The two gallutes as Foller had referred to them, easily lifted the man's body up and onto a gurney already in the van, which was locked on rails so as not to move while the van was in motion. Foller by this time was already in the driver's seat, as the first gallute got in the back of the van, while the second closed the back doors and got in the front passenger seat.


Foller carefully drove forward through the empty parking space ahead of them, heading for the exit ramp.


"So Doc, how's it looking?" asked Foller as he pulled out onto the street.


"I'm just checking his biometrics now..." the man Foller had called Doc responded with a thick Sri-Lankan accent. 


The Doc placed a small plastic clip on the unconscious man's index finger. The clip looked like an intricate plastic clothes peg, with a couple of flashing LEDs. The Doc then pulled a smartphone out of his pocket and checked the screen.


"Talk to me Doc!" Foller pushed the man.


"Just checking him now. He's a bit high on the cholesterol scale. He should cut down on greasy foods. Eat more veggies and the like," the Doc remarked.


"Why don't you tell him that when he wakes up, Doc. Heck, you can give him a full physical for all I care. I just want to make sure we have our guy!" Foller insisted.


"He's a very close match," the Doc replied.


"Close only counts with horseshoes and hand grenades, Doc," Foller quickly blurted back.


"No. I mean biometrically, this man is very close to Mister Eck on many levels, but unfortunately this is not the Mister Eck we're looking for," the Doc responded firmly with his prognosis.


The van very suddenly skidded to a halt, Trent grabbing hold of Rysalin to protect her as they slammed into the front cage of the van. The car behind them skidded to a halt, nearly colliding with the back of the van. The driver pulled around cursing and swearing as he drove past them, holding his horn.


"What?!!!" Foller shouted in question at the Doc.


"As you can see from the calm look in my eyes, I said very clearly that this is not the Mister Eck for which we are looking," the Doc replied collected and rationally.

The Real Engineers


Elena had just left the hotel room following Dave and Stanton and they headed for the elevator. Stanton, pulling a tool cart behind him handed Elena and Dave their hard hats and safety glasses.


"Here. We're doing this to code as usual so you're going to need these," Stanton said to them.


"When it comes to safety, I always come equipped," Dave replied, accepting Stanton's orange hard hat and pulling his own safety goggles from his pocket, which looked more like they belonged with a steampunk cosplay costume.


"That's the Dave that I know," Elena remarked, recalling that years before Dave had married his wife Carol, that she and Dave had been an item for a year's time.


Carol knew about their previous relationship, but in the time that Carol had come to know Elena, they had become very good friends and there were never trust issues between the three of them.


"My daughter Hannah bought them for me. They're actually CCOHS certified too," Dave added, looking very much like a nerd wearing them.


"They're perfect Dave. You in a nutshell," Stanton remarked upon getting a glance at his friend and coworker as they arrived at fingers-free presence detecting elevators.


The elevator arrived about ten seconds later as Stanton and Elena checked messages on their phones.


As they stepped onto the elevator, Stanton's phone rang, immediately letting him know who was calling. He clicked a button onscreen and switched to his ear-insert headset, pocketing his phone carefully on his toolbelt.


"Hi Stacey! How are you?" Stanton answered the phone.


"Copy that 54109621EF. You're not alone. I'll make this quick. Apparently another handler who was overseeing aspects of the same case, issued an approval for the same operation: capture and extract Mister Eck from the premises of the Sheraton Centre Toronto Hotel for holding and interrogation," Stanton's handler informed him.


"Oh really? That's great to hear, Stacey. So who are you working with and how is this new job going?" asked Stanton of his handler, speaking more like he was speaking to an old friend.


"54109621EF, it was issued and approved without my knowledge for unit 54109617CT," Stanton's handler told him.


"I'm sorry, I don't recall that name. Is it someone with whom we've worked before?" asked Stanton.


"Affirmative 54109621EF. 54109617CT is an old friend of yours. A little off the rails so to speak..." his handler told him.


"Ohhhhh. That makes sense. A bit of competitive rivalry perhaps?" Stanton's frustration level rose ever so slightly when he figured out that his handler was referring to Foller.


"Precisely 54109617CT. However, we just received word that he extracted the wrong target. The target had a look alike, substitute for security purposes and 54109617CT's error means that you're going to have to pick up the slack for it. We've ascertained that if the substitute doesn't make direct contact with Mister Eck at the buffet at precisely nine thirty, he will escape and we'll lose our only chance to nab him," Stanton's handler spoke grimly of the situation.


Stanton looked checked his watch. It was nine minutes after nine.


"That's cutting it a little close don't you think? I mean I'm sure that you can handle it Stacey, but you really should be more cautious next time, especially when accepting that kind of gig," Stanton kept the pressure to a minimum, already figuring out alternative plans that would work in the time frame that was left.


"Copy that 54109621EF. We'll be awaiting your signal at nine thirty. Over and out," Stanton's handler hung up.


"Thanks for calling Stacey. We'll catch up later," Stanton tapped the button thrice on his ear insert to hang up the phone.


"Sorry, that was one of my old friends. So here's what we've got to do. Dave, I'm going to need you to get over to the power relay which should be in the Oak room behind one of the panels, which is closed and off limits right now or so I've been assured. I'm going to need you to cut the power to the lighting for the Mezzanine and Ballrooms at a specific time, and only for a few moments, giving me enough time to rewire their Muzak, Intercom system and A/V System, routing it through the lighting relay, as its currently routed through the industrial rated 600 volt line for some strange reason. I'll be switching it to the 120 volt service," Stanton explained to Dave.


"And what can I do while he's doddling with the 120 volt service?" asked Elena, poking fun at Dave.


"I have something special in mind for you, however we're going to have to be covert about this. The service window for emergency repairs to CRTC covered communications systems states that outages of longer than two minutes are required to be reported to the CRTC and Hydro One. We're going to be fixing a system that powers the cellular receiving tower of the Sheraton Centre, but because we're doing these repairs within the two minute window, we aren't required to fill out CRTC paperwork and because we're Hydro One Engineers, we can oversee this ourselves without the paperwork. So when Dave cuts the line for the 600 volt to 120 volt transfer I'm working on, you're going cut the line powering the cellular tower for exactly one minute and thirty seconds. Within that time, I should be able to patch both systems, while ensuring that the interoperability of the Intercom and Cellular systems of the hotel are up to standards. Got it?" asked Stanton of Elena.


"Pre or post transformer power?" confirmed Elena.


"Between the cellular tower and the transformer, not between the transformer and the power source," Stanton raised his eyebrows to be clear to Elena.


"But won't that cut off cellular communications for that time frame?" asked Elena, already knowing full well that Stanton understood what he was doing.


"Yes, it will, but given the fact we're doing a transfer from the 600 volt service to the 120 volt service, there's the risk of a capacitor spike or even a rapid discharge. There's a rather large capacitor between the cellular tower and transformer, so I need you to avoid the spike. A one minute and thirty second outage is negligible. Two or more minutes is out of the question and will get us in trouble. A lot of trouble," Stanton clarified to Elena.


"Alright. I think I can handle it," Elena smiled, enjoying the technical challenge.


"I know you can. The both of you. That's why I picked you for the gig," Stanton smiled at both of them, nervously checking his watch again.


"Wait a second big guy. You didn't choose us. We chose you," Dave smiled from behind his steampunk goggles.


"One more thing. We have to have all of this done before nine-thirty. I'll be giving you the go-ahead signal via the conference line I setup on our field radios in exactly thirteen minutes. Have everything ready by that time and those systems down for that minute and a half window," Stanton told them as they stepped out of the elevator.


"And what time is it now?" Elena asked Stanton.


"It's nine-twelve," Stanton responded, handing them each a toolkit from his tool cart and sending them on their way.


Stanton in the meantime quickly pulled his tool cart into the service corridor beside the elevators, parking it behind some of the dinner and luggage carts already there. He then left the corridor and started on his way towards the ballrooms to find his target.


Nine After Gabe


Halmand sat at the steering wheel for a change, perhaps the first time since he'd started working with Tricia, though her allowing him to drive was more of a convenience than anything. Her seatbelt firmly on, she sat in the passenger seat with her tablet and note pad, going over details of what they'd learned from Gabe during his debriefing. Linda Delmore sat in the back seat, similarly buckled in and with her own note taking tools. The both of them were auditing the information they'd exchanged to ensure they got the information sharing deal for which they'd bargained.


"So as far as you know, the only intelligence CIA has about Habus Macill relates to his time illegally in the Korean neutral zone, running his so called re-education 'school', correct?" confirmed Tricia with Linda.


"Correct. According to the CIA files on Habus Macill, he applied for Visa status in the United States under the assumed name of Menk Sturgis..." Linda began.


"...sturdy mind... possibly latin," Tricia remarked aloud about Habus Macill's chosen alias for his U.S. Visa application.


"...possibly. Anyway, he applied for a Visa in Washington, which was denied him during the processing of his file. A series of alarms were raised as a result of his background check and he consequently fled. First to the Mediterranean region where he was almost nabbed thanks to an INTERPOL bulletin, and then to South Korea, under an alias he only used long enough to get established. From that point three months later, he entered illegally into the neutral zone with his followers and began building his School of the re-Education Of Society, or SEOS," Linda explained to Tricia.


"That's new to us, everything up until his establishing of SEOS. The KNP shared that with us a year ago, we're assuming a few months before the joint operation infiltrating the school was ordered," Tricia confirmed for Linda's notes.


"We provided real-time Satellite Intelligence for the operation and for the subsequent airstrike that occurred after the extraction. From that point, we lost track of Habus. About a week after the operation, two FBI agents working in South Korea investigating the case made contact with Ai Yuanlin Ying..." Linda shared some more of her notes.


"Heylyn Yates?" confirmed Tricia.


"Exactly. The fashion designer? She was allegedly there in the region for the purposes of adoption, though Korean authorities are not under any binding treaty to share information relating to infants, unless it is expressly in the interests of their protection," Linda elaborated on her intel.


"That's good. I can use that. I'll give you the fact that a child is under her (and our) protection here, though I can't elaborate about the infant or her relations any more than that," Tricia confirmed for Linda's file.


"Fair enough," Linda replied, adding the notes to her own case file.


"What's got us puzzled is the fact that if Habus Macill has returned, our intelligence indicates that he'd have only had three weeks to enlist followers and grow his cloister to the estimated three hundred thousand members we assume are a part of it, which as you can probably guess is next to impossible," Tricia shared one of the mysteries standing out in her case log.


"That's got us stumped too. I haven't got anything to give you on that matter, but I can share something about one of our questions that might help. About a year and a half ago, we started tracking a series of transactions occurring throughout the banking system that we believed were part of an organized siphoning system. What's got us stumped is that these transactions all started occurring at roughly the same time," Linda revealed to Tricia, who looked up from her notes and first to Halmand, and then over her shoulder at Linda.


"That sounds like something familiar..." Halmand remarked, keeping his eyes on the road as he listened.


"Go on..." Tricia encouraged Linda.


"The level of coordination required for such a feat is staggering, though the banks taking part in this in the onset were a small handful. Say about twelve. By a year's time that number had grown to nearly fifty. Our auditors mounted an undercover investigation, which took up until now to uncover the complex methods used in this scheme. During our wiretaps and traces, we uncovered no means by which these siphons were coordinated between banks. In other words, there was no communication at all. The perps all just suddenly started using the exact same method. The spookiest part is that every time we got close to piecing it together, their scheme evolved enough to cover their tracks, as if they were anticipating us catching up with them," Linda explained the banking scheme mystery a part of her case log.


Tricia pulled up the file on Ron Forseth, the lonely terrorist/vigilante who'd arrived at a Toronto bank with the intent to blow it up, only to end up a hero when he helped foil an armed robbery. Ron's path from a being a trusted executive for Werner-Goldstein Holdings, to his attempt to bomb a bank was a remarkable story in itself. What was even more frightening is that the bank he attempted to bomb, was currently under investigation as part of a complex siphoning scheme.


From the point Ron was apprehended, the mystery just deepened, as he struggled with a variety of mental ailments that according to the official report, led to his eventual suicide death in a care facility. Tricia however knew the details of that case, as she'd been a part of the investigation from the beginning. Ron had a spotless history in terms of his conduct as a citizen, and his own health, both mental and physical. Tricia's files indicated that from the point he'd stumbled onto whatever led to his decision to bomb the bank, had initiated a program of gas lighting, possibly psyops to render him insane.


"Do you think that you could finagle sharing the information of your financial auditors with ours?" asked Tricia intensely interested in Linda's information.


"I don't see why not, as long as there's something forthcoming you'd be interested in sharing?" Linda replied, sticking to their deal.


"I'll share our case files on one Ronald Forseth, formerly of Werner-Goldstein Holdings. He was an investment analyst. He stumbled onto something related to the financial statements of the bank they used for transfers and from that point, his case just gets more and more bizarre. Unfortunately, it ended tragically for him and his family in terms of life and loss, but with these pieces, we might be able to build a case strong enough to bring the perps to justice," Tricia insisted to Linda.


"Send me the case files without your notes. Whether or not we deem these files pertinent to our case, we'll share our auditing spreadsheets. If we find that there is a connection, we'll exchange case and financial auditor notes as well. Deal?" confirmed Linda.


"That sounds fair, but if I'm giving you these files now, I want to see the spreadsheets by no later than tomorrow at noon. Deal?" asked Tricia.


"Deal," as soon Linda agreed, Tricia hit the send button.


"Here they come," Tricia replied.


"Serendipity at work again..." Halmand responded to their negotiations.


"How so?"  asked Linda.


"Well, if we hadn't organized an impromptu operation to stage Gabe Asnon's death to protect him, then we'd have never gone to meet with him for a debriefing. You never would have pulled strings to meet with him at the same facility, and we never would have talked," Halmand replied.


"So are you saying you're superstitious?" asked Linda, interested in what Halmand's take was on the matter.


"I'm a tech kind of guy. I like science and hard data, but if there's one thing I've learned in this job: no matter what you call the strangeness of when things come together, I'll take any advantage we can get," Halmand replied, very much feeling a sense of relief upon the pieces of that case, which had been in their laps for some time now, and were all coming together.


"I couldn't agree with you more, partner," Tricia smiled smugly at him.


"That, and the serendipity of you letting me drive..." a devious smile crossed Halmand's face.


All three of them in the car broke out in joyous laughter that the case upon which they'd been working for so long was now nearing its end. 


All the victims had a hope of closure and justice.


The Reception And The Received


"So this is the place we're dropping you off at, its a party?" asked Halmand.


"Not exactly. Its a wedding reception. There's going to be a lot of nationals from around the globe there. Its a big deal, and the bride and groom have a lot of connections. One of those connections, thought it might be in our interest to attend, so he sent me," Linda told Halmand as they drove east along Queen Street, just passing Yonge Street.


"You're sure there's nothing more that might interest us?" asked Tricia.


"Why, are you looking to crash a wedding reception?" asked Linda with a healthy dose of American sarcasm.


"No. Not at all. I was just trying get the best value on our end of the deal," Tricia admitted.


"I'll tell you what. If I hear anything related to your case log, I'll be happy to negotiate another deal to exchange information," Linda kept her cards close.


"Fair enough. Just have those financial spreadsheets to us by noon tomorrow," Tricia said as they pulled up in front of the Sheraton Centre Toronto Hotel.


"Consider it done. Thanks for everything. Its been a real pleasure," Linda said, smiling as one of the porters opened her door for her.


"Have a good time!" Tricia said to Linda as she stepped out.


"Don't forget to call us later if you need us to come and pick you up. Don't talk to any strange men, and be home before the street lights come on young lady!" Halmand said to Linda, who laughed at their antics as she got of the car.


Tricia and Halmand pulled off into the streets of downtown Toronto as Linda made her way into the Sheraton Centre Toronto Hotel. 


Linda would head to her room first to freshen up, and then to the wedding reception where Elena, Dave and Stanton would also be.


After all, they were all there for the same target: Mister Eck.


To be continued in The Butterfly Dragon: We Who Stand On Guard - Episode 05


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