Make IT Real! - Sander R.B.E. Beals (self help books to read .txt) 📗

small container. He immediately leaves with the beetle, to take it to a holding facility. From there, others will take it in the direction of an uninhabited part of Middle Earth, where it can live unobstructed by humans.

And now we get to see the difference in the beetle's bite, where gender is concerned: I just have a black mark to show for it, but in a matter of half an hour, Gina's sunny disposition has totally vanished. So unlike her: grumpy, snapping at everyone. I know that such an attitude can never be just her doing.

Sinan briefly explains to me that the Testosterone keeps men from experiencing the same problems, because the hormone poisons the Obuchi beetle's eggs, instead of them poisoning their host body.

'Change of plans'

Sinan decidedly alters our traveling arrangements: Instead of to Shamballah the Lesser, we will now be heading towards Indiu Mari, a small village on the other side of the Inner Earth. There, we will find an old woman, who is the foremost authority on the Obuchi beetle and the effects of its sting. We will have to get there quick, because Gina's condition is steadily deteriorating.

Leaving Mayra and Sinan behind, the rest of us get into the floater. Kayim wills it into a vertical take-off, that seems to go on for ever and ever. I look at him with a questioning look on my face, but he smiles and explains that the fastest route would have been a straight line. Unfortunately that is out of the question, because it would take us straight through the Smoky Sun. Instead, he's plotted a semi-circular orbit around it, as close as we can come to it without burning ourselves. I only hope that if his calculations are off, they are off on the safe side.....

The village we reach is small, very small. It consists of nothing more than about a dozen dwellings, cut out in a lime-stone cliff. Obviously, the people here adore the simple pleasures of life. It isn't terribly hard to find Manitina, our healer. We carry Gina into her cave, and place her on the table. That is the state which Gina is in: the Obuchi beetle lays its eggs, but the eggs poison the host. That way, the eggs can survive in the corpse for months.

Because the cave is not quite big enough for all of us, Valerie and Kim remain outside, on a wooden bench. Kim is awfully curious about Kayim, and tries to get Valerie to open up a little bit. I don't quite know what these little ladies discussed out there, but I do remember that they seemed far closer after that little tète-a-tète.

Meanwhile inside, Manitina explains about the Obuchi beetle. Apparently, the eggs have sophisticated counter-measures against being removed: if you try to remove them by cutting out the infected section, the metal of the knife apparently distorts the magnetic field enough for the eggs to notice the threat. They then respond by burrowing deeper into the host, making removal all that more difficult. Now, the words of the shopkeeper come to mind again: “Put it away. You're going to need it soon!”

I pull out my knife, and hand it to Manitina: “Could this help? It's not metal, so the eggs shouldn't notice”. The old woman looks at me, but does not hesitate. With the decisiveness of someone who could do this blindfolded, she slices Gina's skin, opening a flap like taking the lid of a jar of rice. That's even what it looks like, the little eggs squirming under the light. Surprised at the swiftness of the action, I wonder why Gina has not loudly protested. That, no doubt, is the doing of Manitina's assistant, who is holding Gina's head with both hands. Some sort of natural sedative, perhaps?

Gina's wound is closed again after all the eggs have been washed out with just clean, healthy water, after which it is bandaged with all natural materials. Manitina cleans the knife, and hands it back to me. I decline, saying she will put it to much better use. She accepts, and places the knife in an intricately carved wooden box. With the eggs gone, Gina's mood is steadily improving. We say goodbye to Manitina, and join Kim and Valerie outside. No need anymore for quick trips close to the sun. Instead, we set course for a city that Valerie picked out before our emergency trip. The floater lifts us to about fifty meters off the ground, and we zoom passed a varied landscape, to a glistening city due North.

It is pleasant, sitting in the floater. The wind rustles through my hair, and for a few moments I am back in another fond memory. Not one I personally experienced, but a vivid recollection nevertheless: Rush once made a song called Red Barchetta, about a time in the future where all cars were banned. The story tells us about a boy and his uncle, who have a red barchetta (a type of sports car with an open roof) stashed away somewhere. On Sundays, the kid visits his uncle to go driving, which is not entirely without peril: if the law catches him, he is up for a long time behind bars. I will tell you that they do spot him, but I'll keep the ending to myself. Just listen to it yourself, and see if you can feel the thrill of the chase...

Anyway, our chase has led us to a city with an almost unpronounceable name (at least for us outsiders). Valerie's new pet bird however knows how to deal with it. According to TomBill, it is called “Home of the Crystalline Water”. Kayim asks Jane if she would like to land the floater outside town, a challenge that my youngest finds hard to resist. A barely perceptible movement marks the moment where Kayim relinquishes control of the vehicle. Jane looks around, and finds her target: a spot underneath a wide tree, where the entire floater will be in the shade, awaiting our return. I don't know were she's been practicing, but the floater descends in a perfect downward arc, only to stop two feet above the ground, where it's supposed to go. Triumphantly Jane looks around, and then gently allows it to land on the dusty underground. We all get out, and walk the last hundred meters to the city gate.

Sunday, March 21st, 2010, 08:16

“When the summer's gone, she'll be there, standing by the Light”, Steve Perry sings as I re-emerge from my prayer for inspiration. Journey's album Captured has indeed always captivated me. But as I opened my eyes upon hearing that, the first thing to captivate me was the face of the lady I love staring back at me from the laptop's screen saver.

Is it a hint? Will she come when the summer's gone? That probably means she'll arrive after I finish the novel, so I'll have to write the ending before knowing it. I'd hate to script it in a way she might not like, but at the same time there is this feeling in me that says she'll love what I'll be proposing.

And the weird syncs continue: because the laptop just spontaneously rebooted, I had to restart the Media Player. It's set to random, and has the weird bug in it that when starting it always picks the same first track, but all next tracks are random. Since I know that, my first action is a skip forward, which just now landed on Kamelot's 'We Are Not Separate!' Talk about synchronicity at its finest....

So I have to write it, right? I could figure out an outline first, but that would quench the fire within. I'm a flow-writer: no outline, just the theme and me. And I know the ultimate idea will come before the time is up, since I have only about a hundred and seventy-seven pages to go...

I figure we'd better return to the future, to see what's going on with me there. At least I know she's there with me, so something must have happened between now and then, didn't it?

4444AD, Day 233, 11:12, Home

The deep roar of the Bugatti's synthesized engine sound rolls over the circuit. It's sixteen pistons are no longer pumping up and down, no longer the driving force behind the awesome piece of 21st century machinery. Instead, hidden deep inside the engine block are the twin torque drives which power it now. It took me quite some modifications to get them going, and quite a few afternoons in the workshop. But today, after the seat replacement last week, it is ready again to be taken out for a ride.

Yes, you don't drive a thoroughbred like a Bugatti Veyron. It has character and consciousness of its own. It's only been mere seconds that Selina flagged me away at the starting line, and my foot on the accelerator depressed it just enough for the nano-woven carbon tires to properly heat up and give me the grip needed to really get rolling. Back in the 21st century, tires were the Veyron's Achilles heel: at it's top speed of over four hundred kilometers an hour, a fresh set of Michelin's would last it all of fifteen minutes!

Not so with the redesigned replacements based on today's technology: Although they outwardly look just like the tires of old, the new tires are woven by a machine much like the fabric weaver I used on the seats. It composes the object one atom at a time, so not a single one is out of place. No structural weaknesses, and far better elasticity and resistance against wear and tear. With the new tires, the Bugatti would be doing the twenty-four hours of Le Mans from start to finish. But that would of course be against fair play, to send it back with such an unfair advantage.

Today we've been allowed to use the new testing facility for road vehicles near Oberhausen. It is a well thought out circuit, with comfortable turns, except for that last nasty one heading into the pit stop. I've now done three laps already, averaging speeds of about three hundred kilometers per hour. The 21st century lady loves it out here, and since we're going to be doing a few modifications on her after this run anyway, I decide to let her have what she wants: punching the accelerator to the floor on the last long stretch, she jumps forward, and reaches her impressive top speed of 407 kilometers per hour. “I just can't drive fifty-five!”

With Sammy Hagar blasting from the sound system, my mind is temporarily back into the emotions of that era. Raw emotion, not the kind of softened stuff we get here. What I didn't count on was that that would impair my powers of observation. A loud thud, indicating I've hit something. The car continues as if nothing has happened, at a breakneck speed. But something feels wrong, so very wrong! And then I hear, or rather I don't: the synthesized engine roar has died on me, making the Veyron into a silent killer.

That last curve coming up, better slow it down now, or I'll not make it. Foot off the accelerator, and onto the brake pedal: No response, not even when I press harder.

Apparently the object I hit ruptured the brake lines, which made the 1888 kilogram vehicle impossible to stop. Sure, taking my foot off the accelerator helped a bit, but I'm still going to overshoot that last curve.

I aim for the least disastrous flight path, almost hitting the outside wall of the curve as I come out of the right turn. A very momentary sound of screeching metal, and the wall aligns me with the finish line. At that moment, my heart stops: right in the line of fire, leaned against the concrete separator that has the pit stop lane on the left, and the circuit on the right, stands my one and only: Selina. My sharp vision notices everything in that split second: eyes closed, her head rhythmically