THE ABSURDITY OF SOCIALIST HEALTH CARE --- WORLD HEALTH IMPLOSION?

The inanities spouted by socialists such as NYC's Cortez is a stark display of ignorance as to how the medical industry operates on a global scale. Have they ever considered why there have never been significant medical breakthroughs or discoveries in any socialist nation? Are they curious as to why Russia and China have only been able to replicate or counterfeit American medical products? Do they ever contemplate a scenario in which a government-controlled medical industry put American researchers and developers out of business?

Let us examine the reason why the best and the brightest find their way to the USA to realize their potential. Bottom line: dollars and common sense. A chemical engineer developing a serum in Africa is not going to cure AIDS inside a thatched hut. A medical researcher in India is not going to complete his formula amidst a neighborhood controlled by avaricious nabobs. Chinese and Russian scholars will flee to America where they will receive the money and funding to finish their projects.

People ask why the cost of medicine in America is so high. Simple answer: pharmaceutical companies are trying to recoup the cost of years of research to develop their product. The $100 you spend for a high-tech pill is a price they determined in trying to break even for their manufacturing costs. Why do the Canadians and the Chinese charge so much less? They didn't spend anything to discover the product. All they invested was the knockoff expense.

Once Cortex and her New World Order cronies assume power, researchers and developers will flee the country in search of greener pastures. Nobody is going to stick around and accept a State-controlled pay rate after dedicating their lives to discovering a new serum or technique. After all, doesn't a lifetime of work deserve a nice home, a new car and a sizable bank account...

...like Cortex and the rest of the socialist elite?

"Nightcrawler Redemption" --- Sneak Preview!!!

The black Trans Am rolled onto the deserted pier slowly and deliberately. It eased to a halt one hundred yards away from the warehouse at the end of the pier. The two passengers inside the car awaited until the overhead door slid open as languidly as the vehicle had arrived. The pier was deathly still until, at last, a female figure emerged from the warehouse. The woman walked out ten feet and waited until the car door opened. A figure dressed in a baseball cap and an overcoat came out from the passenger side. The two persons began walking in each other’s direction until they assumed each other’s starting point.

          “Get that little faggot,” Castor snarled at his soldiers as the overcoat moved forth tentatively with a walking stick. “Drag him in here.”

          “You gonna let those two bitches drive outta here?” his brother Pollux demanded.

          “That’s the deal. That’s the word from the man upstairs. Those two bitches are targets too big to hit. We whack them, we’ll have the FBI and Homeland Security trying to find a home up our asses. They just don’t drive off until we give the signal. That’s the deal.”

          “You gonna pat the faggot down first?”

          “That’s the deal.”   

          The brothers and their six gunmen watched as the man made his way to the threshold. At once two of the gangsters rushed forth, confiscating his white cane and dragging him by the arms into the warehouse.

          “Rat bastard,” Castor snarled. “After he shits his pants I’m gonna make him eat it. Then I’m gonna open his skull like in that movie Hannibal and make him eat his own fuggin’ brain.”

          “Hope he brought his appetite,” Pollux chuckled eagerly.

          The two thugs dragged the man to the far wall and threw him against it as their four cohorts closed in behind them. Castor and Pollux watched, waiting for the others to work the captive over before they moved in to finish him off.

          Only when they pulled off the man’s sunglasses, they saw a pair of black-painted eye sockets staring back at them. At once the figure dropped into a martial arts horse stance, using its sturdy balance center as a fulcrum. The captive fired lightning blows into the men’s faces, shattering their jaws with titanium-crested gloved fists.

          “Holy shit!” one of the gunmen yelled. “It’s the Crawler! It’s the fuggin’ Nightcrawler!”

          “Kill the son of a bitch!”

          The gangsters pulled their weapons and opened fire. Only the figure grabbed the two men by their lapels and slammed them together, using them as a shield. They absorbed over a dozen shots before wilting, causing their cohorts to cease fire. It gave the shape enough time to toss a small concussion grenade into their midst. When it exploded, it emitted a thick smoke screen that Castor and Pollux were unable to see through.

          “Shoot the bastard!” Castor pulled an Uzi from a utility belt beneath his suit jacket.

          “Our boys are in there!” Pollux protested.

          “That’s the Nightcrawler! Kill the motherfugga!”

          “You do it!” Pollux fell back. “I need to signal our guys to grease those bitches!”

          Pollux rushed to a door alongside the overhead pulldown, yanking a laser light from his pocket and clicking it three times. At once, a pair of gunmen on each side of the Pontiac rushed from the shadows and sprayed the vehicle with automatic fire. They emptied their clips until they saw blood spurting across the windows of both sides of the car.

          “Payback’s a bitch!” Pollux came back into the warehouse, waving his fist triumphantly.

          “You got that right.”

          Pollux found himself on all fours, trying to regain his senses as he sought to regain his feet. Only the Nightcrawler’s blow had cracked both of his eye sockets and fractured his nose so that he could barely see or breathe. He dazedly rolled toward the open door and saw unmarked cruisers flooding the area outside, ordering his gunmen to their knees. He heard the sound of helicopters as they illuminated the area from above.

          “Cas!” he croaked. “It’s the Feds! They’re everywhere! The bitches set a trap!”

          “Aggghhh…” he heard his brother gurgling. He peered into the shadowy chamber and saw Castor lying on his back, a pool of blood forming around his head. Inside the pool glistened small fragments of his front teeth.

          Inside the Firebird, Carissa Fermanagh was curled up in a fetal position beneath the steering wheel, sobbing brokenly. Alongside her was Rita Hunt, trying to cradle her head while stroking her face with a trembling hand.

          “It’s okay, baby, it’s okay,” Rita murmured into her ear. “Don’t cry, it’s over. We’ll be okay, those bad guys are toast.”

          “I can’t do this anymore,” Carissa wept bitterly. “I can’t, I can’t.”

          “You don’t have to, honey. It’s over.”

          The women cringed as they heard the doors being tested from outside. At once they were pulled open as flashlight beamed down upon the two.

          “Homeland Security. Are you okay?”

          “We are okay. Give us a hand, please.”

          The agents gathered around the car as two figures strode from the cordon of vehicles toward the Trans Am. They gave way as Kelly Stone and his second in command walked up to the women.

          “Rita, darling,” he came forth and took her into his arms. “Are you okay?”

          “I’m just fine, thanks to you,” she managed to give him a smile that turned his insides to jelly. “You’re my knight in shining armor, aren’t you?”

          “I love you, Rita,” he cupped her face in his hands. “I’ll go in there and waste those bastards.”

          “Now, see here, Mr. Stone,” she softly pulled back, “is that any way to talk to a lady?”

          “Those guys almost killed you two, and…” he was taken aback.

          “Hands where we can see them.”

          Kelly looked up and saw Sabrina Brooks approaching from a black Ford Explorer. She was dressed in a black workout suit,   the overhead spotlights from the choppers making her titian tresses and ivory skin appear iridescent. The HS riflemen waved their rifles toward her though looking to Kelly for instructions.

          “I can take them from here,” she called to Kelly.

          “Yeah, whatever.”

          “Honey, I know you saved our lives. And I’ll never forget it,” Rita put her hand on his cheek, gazing into his eyes.

          “You know I can’t kiss you here,” he narrowed his eyes.

          “I was counting on it,” she smiled playfully before heading off with Sabrina and Carissa.

        At once a realization dawned on him, and he was struck as by lightning when his subordinate came to him.

          “What’s up, Kelly?”

          “Shit, Vince.”

          “What? What is it?”

          “Sabrina Brooks. She’s the Nightcrawler.”

          “Great. Let’s take her.”

          “Right.”

          “Damn, I just forgot,” Vince shook his head. “It came out on CNN about an hour ago. Trump confessed to being the Nightcrawler.”

          “Well, hell’s bells,” Kelly grumbled. “We'd have needed to bring Hoyt Wexford in for questioning. We'd have needed to find out how the Crawler was able to pull those big hooters on and off.”                    

Saviors of Obamacare?

Most familiar with pop culture of the 2010’s know all about the TV series The Walking Dead. The phenomenal zombie thriller, at the end of a nearly decade-long run, finds its survivor heroes under the yoke of a criminal gang known as the Saviors. Its leader, Negan, is a baseball bat-wielding psychopath who kills someone in almost every scene to make some obscure point. The Saviors rule is simple: you go outside the community and forage while avoiding zombies. Whatever you bring back, you hand over as tribute. In return, they allow you to remain alive.

At this point in history, it becomes increasingly difficult to separate fantasy from reality TV, or mainstream news from alt-news or ‘fake news’. In a world of entertainment where Saturday Night Live has turned the American President into a media icon, members of the Cabinet are being immortalized as wrestling-type heels. Leftist protests have turned into flash mob riots in which traveling bands of agitators attack police and vandalize private property wherever the media directs them. Celebrities are stepping out as political pundits, recharging their careers by going on record as being against the Government and all that it stands for. As usual, the Moral Majority stands in silence while the shrill and vociferous leftist fringe rages on.

It is hard to focus as we look back at the Obama regime, a bloated ten trillion-dollar enterprise that grew bigger as the country grew comfortably numb. People lost jobs, collected unemployment, signed up for welfare, sat home, gained weight and got sick. The president signed one of his many executive orders in a day when there were no vigilante judges willing to stand up and restrain said order. He made Obamacare the law of the land, and suddenly the unwashed masses had health insurance despite having no employer to provide it.

The Republicans fought against it, like feeble old women trying to fend off athletic young purse snatchers. They relented as small businesses folded in the face of health care mandates coming at insufferable cost. They shrugged as shrewd bean-counters in banking and insurance recalculated the odds. They used premiums and deductibles as wrecking balls that gave a ‘level playing field’ a new meaning. When industrial giants such as Humana and Blue Cross began steering clear of the train wreck ahead, Republicans smiled smugly and reminded all ‘we told you so’.

Of course, this did nothing for the working class who were under penalty of law for non-compliance. Obama required all Americans to submit to his decree. Like the Saviors, they stood at the threshold as citizens were forced to acquire coverage --- or face the baseball bats of the IRS. Americans complied, and in many cases at a cost they could not sustain. People were interviewed on TV as they testified their monthly premiums were their biggest household expense. Bollocks, we laughed. It is theatre created by the GOP to cast our President’s legacy in a bad light.

Fast forward to the Days of Trump, as our new President is being asked to make good on his campaign promise to abolish Obamacare. The dilemma he faces is that the aged and infirm, the genetically deficient, the morbidly obese, the clinically depressed, and many others are desperately clinging to Obamacare the way the multitudes grabbed at Christ’s robe along the countryside. Pandora’s Box has been opened, and it has become a can of whoop-ass that the GOP cannot close. They have free tickets to the hospital, and will only have them pried from cold, dead fingers.

What Trump must do now, as surveyor and architect, is to assess the landscape before devising his structure and masterpiece. It is bleak and foreboding, a wasteland dominated by insurance companies whose premiums and deductibles threaten to crush all who dare trespass. Swirling overhead are the minions of the medical industry who will pick the bones of anyone unfortunate enough to fall into their hands. Beyond lies an infinite horizon of crises along the path of life: accidents, injury, pregnancy, local epidemics, or anything that can financially crush a person in the blink of an eye.

The first move should be painfully obvious. The President must liberate his people from the yoke of Obamacare, downgrading it from a mandatory requirement. Let us consider the red-blooded American who goes from cradle to grave, visiting the hospital only once at their birth. How many hundreds of thousands will spend a lifetime purchasing something they will never use? The same can be said for any insurance: only car insurance is a necessary evil and home/life insurance defends against the unforeseen catastrophe our loved ones may not endure. Obamacare, for many, is being sent out to scavenge by bat-wielding thugs who take what they will never give in return.

Once this is resolved, Trump must focus on plowing and developing the wasteland. The insurance companies must realize that the 99% rule must no longer apply. Regardless of their objections, they must come to realize that their board of directors earning a half million per year can afford pay cuts to keep Joe Blow from paying $400 per month in premiums. The logic of the 20^th century can no longer apply. True, bigger insurance companies offer more and better-paying jobs. Only the margin of profit must be drastically narrowed to give the working class the opportunity to afford what they need at a maintainable price.

From there, our leader must look overhead and follow the buzzards to their nesting place. The medical industry will continue to point to the matrix: the spiraling cost of pharmaceuticals, the astronomical price of modern technology and equipment, and the overhead expense that resulted in $50 aspirin in hospitals in Seventies NYC. Yet as we look around at the rest of the world community, the question is obvious. Why is medical coverage in the wealthiest nation on earth so costly? Our neighbors from Cuba to Canada provide health benefits to their citizens, and neither government is collapsing under the burden. Certainly a financial genius like Trump will find an answer for a problem defined by corporate greed.

One thing that burns in our minds is the image of St. Jude’s Children’s Center. This is a specialized institution dedicated to the care of children in various stages of cancer diagnosis and treatment. It relies on public and private funding to operate; in turn it proclaims its services free to all children and their families. Their tenet is that no one is ever turned away. As we know, cancer is an incurable disease. Billions of dollars have been spent on research, equipment and pharmaceuticals designed to combat the affliction. The treatment is astoundingly expensive in many cases, and the Center has literally saved thousands of lives.

The question, for purposes of this essay, is to how far this horizon may be extended. If the care can be provided for children, then why not men and women at some future time? If these services one day cover all Americans, can they not be expanded to cover other illnesses? And if St. Jude’s becomes a beacon of hope for patients across the country, why can we not open more of these centers? Granted, this becomes a long trickledown process. Yet if it begins to fill the middle ground between St. Jude’s at the apex and public health clinics as the bargain basement, America may be on the way to providing free medical benefits to its citizens at last.

Some of the technical issues facing Trump’s Health and Human Services Secretary Tom Price are just as challenging. Democratic opposition led by Senator Patty Murray point to ongoing arguments. The issue of Federal support for abortion has been a flashpoint between conservative Christians and leftist groups for over half a century. There is also the question of health insurance voucher programs affording the needy an opportunity to buy private insurance. Price will indeed join the fray on the floor of Congress, but the bigger battles await.

President Trump and Tom Price will be required to deal with major health care problems with the wellbeing of millions at stake. They must not allow these concerns to be reduced to a matter of dollars and cents.

Opening Salvos? (Excerpt from JRD's "Dynasty!")

          In retrospect, none of it should have been totally unexpected. Yet the events surrounding the inauguration of Donald J. Trump sent seismic waves around the planet. On January 20^th, 2017, the 45^th President of the United States took his oath of office. A highly enthusiastic crowd of Trump supporters came out to cheer the triumphant event. Yet just blocks away, an anti-Trump mob came out to throw stones at police and set fire to a limousine. His inaugural speech was wildly populist although iterating most of the rhetoric he developed on the campaign trail. Yet the press reported it as a right-wing nationalist call to arms that would set American diplomacy back a half century.

          What it does predict is a likely war of attrition that may possibly continue over the next four years of the Trump presidency. The liberal press, firmly entrenched after eight years of predominance over the Obama administration, has viewed the Trump ascension as the advent of an Orwellian reactionary super-state. Trump blasted back using the same analogy, citing the double-speak of Orwell’s 1984 as the leftist recipe for serving ‘alternative news’ to the American public and the nations of the world. Whatever the case may be, both sides are portending a future series of events that will serve no good purpose as time goes by.

          The size of the crowds attending the inauguration became the first item of interest over the weekend. The media derided the turnout as one of the lowest in recent decades. Trump called the declaration a bald-faced lie meant to debase the Trump Nation. He insisted it was as well-attended and enthusiastic as that of any previous Democratic inaugural events. The press countered with aerial photos, showing enormous crowds at the first Obama inauguration. Trump fired back with clips of plastic-covered areas that covered the White House lawn, resulting in the crowd being divided into sectors that appeared to be sparsely occupied.

          The media proved even more divisive in televising the nationwide demonstrations following the inauguration. Relatively few networks (such as Fox News and One America Network News) followed the Trump celebration at the inaugural ball.  The majority chose to provide non-stop coverage of the anti-Trump events, from the riotous protests in Washington DC to the so-called ‘female protests’ in large cities across the country and around the world. It was publicized as a women’s backlash against a misogynistic Trump regime. Yet it can be seen how the events were misrepresented in order to enhance the turnout.

          Women around the globe had been fed a steady stream of propaganda by the Clinton campaign depicting Trump as a male chauvinist. Making matters worse was Trump’s strong position on Christian issues, one of the foremost being anti-abortion. It made him an opponent of pro-choice groups; even worse, it placed him against health legislation that linked benefits to abortion options. Activist groups were quick to promote the idea that Trump would repeal women’s health benefits along with Obamacare upon assuming office. The world-wide response appeared as if the women of the world had united in opposition to the new President.

One of the more problematic selling points facing the media was the composition of the Trump administration. Trump’s wife Melania had already announced herself as being a champion of family issues. Ivanka Trump was already consolidating her position as one of the most influential ‘first daughters’ in history. There was also campaign manager Kellyanne Conway, education secretary Betsy DeVos and UN ambassador Nikki Haley, among many others. Unlike many women in the Obama and Bush administrations, these persons do not seem to be hired according to gender. Most come from backgrounds that indicate they will come out swinging from the opening bell. If Trump was assembling a male-dominated staff, he seemed to be uncharacteristically near-sighted in doing so.

At that juncture, White House press secretary Sean Spicer excoriated the media over their purveyance of ‘alternative facts’ and biased opinion during the inaugural weekend. Trump followed up by asking Cabinet and Congress members to refrain from disseminating information that might prove detrimental to the administration’s agenda. It was the equivalent of setting skirmish lines along the political battlefield. The media rose up in arms, and Orwell’s futuristic novel found a resurgence that took it to Number One on Amazon’s bestseller list. 1984 had flash-forwarded to 2017, and the fate of the world was at stake once more.

Once again Trump took the offensive, pointing to the press’ claim that Hillary Clinton had won the popular vote and should have been President were it not for the electoral college. He went on to announce that he would conduct a formal investigation of Democratic strategies in utilizing illegal immigrant votes to decide city and state election results. This reopened a can of worms surrounding allegations that the Putin regime in Russia masterminded the Internet hacks of the Democratic National Convention. The Clinton campaign contended that Russia had leaked information convincing voters that their integrity was highly questionable at best. It led to a new round of mud-slinging that has a long way to go.

One thing that stands out is the Democrats’ indignation over the alleged Russian interference in the electoral process. The most profound revelations were the DNC’s betrayal of Bernie Sanders in favor of Clinton, as well as the financial indiscretions of the Clinton Foundation. Although the exposes were, in all likelihood, disastrous to the campaign, the vital question remains. In an America where freedom of information has been declared an inalienable right, would it have been moral for voters to have been denied access to those details?

Another angle that many conservatives had forgotten was the intense backlash in many areas of the country over the Obama regime of the past eight years. Although the liberal press was strongly supportive of the Obama administration, the Republicans’ adversity was so strong that Obama was forced to rely on executive orders to make progress on key issues. There was also the fact that Obama received more death threats than any other President in history. The media conveniently downplayed much of this, making it seem as if America had entered a blissful era of inclusivity and diversity on both sides of the aisle and across Main Street USA. The Republican right was now uncovering what the media had swept under the rug.

The question of validity surrounding the electoral college brings the Democrats’ sense of values into light. The reason for the electoral college was to prevent major cities with overwhelming populations to dominate American politics. It allowed states with comparatively small populations to enjoy their fair share of influence over the outcome. Further, it is a sociological fact that citizens of lower income flock to large cities due to the abundance of public assistance programs. They become a magnet for demographic groups who will vote for liberal groups supporting welfare platforms. If the electoral college were abolished, conservative parties might never win another election.

          There is also a concern over the nature of Donald J. Trump as a self-made billionaire. He is a general in the world of commerce with few peers, a man who has developed successful campaigns and conquered markets on an international scale. He is an understandably proud man who has earned the respect of millions around the globe. Being vilified, slandered and libeled is something he is not used to and is not taking lightly. It is something he will have to get used to if the White House war against the media will ever come to a truce.

          For certain, the American public and the nations of the world will have to learn and discern in separating fact from fiction. If not, tidal waves of ‘alternative facts’ may evolve into the tsunami disaster of the decade. 

"The Storm" --- coming in 2017!!!

And so it was that Manx learned of his brother’s gift to him and Ingrid. Within the next twenty-four hours they found themselves, along with Stuka and April, aboard a Sunday afternoon flight on the Hindenburg. It was a promotional flight that took guests for a three-hour spin above the skies of Berlin. Even the gangsters found themselves impressed by the spacious interior of the zeppelin. The two couples watched out the windows as the craft floated above the clouds, and once they reached full altitude the girls went off to powder their noses.

“I’ve been wanting to have a word,” Manx said, being unusually reserved on this day. “How do you think Rolf paid for this? The tickets are four hundred fifty marks apiece. That’s eighteen hundred, an entire weekend night’s take at the club.”

“He’s having a good run,” Stuka shrugged. “That crew of his works seven days a week. Thor and the Von Erichs, they’re good earners. We could be scoring like that if we weren’t spending so much time at the club.”

“You’ve gone out with them a few times. Have you seen them dealing any drugs?”

“Come, now,” Stuka held up his hands. “I’ve told you more than once. I won’t come between you and your brother. You want answers, you go ask him.”

“Blitz has really been pressing. You know he beats around the bush, but he’s becoming more direct. The Berlin Police are hitting the streets hard looking for the drug ring. It’s not just his Detective Squad anymore. He tells me the Gestapo is going to get involved any day now. You know what that means. It’s a one-way trip to a concentration camp.”

“And you think that’ll be the end of it?” Stuka smirked. “This is turning into a police state, just like it is in Russia. They’re already getting rid of the Jews and the communists, as well as the queers and the gypsies. They haven’t come after the wise guys because they’ve been taking advantage of all the snitches on the street. Once they’ve outlived their usefulness and the Nazis run out of targets, they’ll come after us next.”

“Think so?”

“Face it, boss, they’ll be closing us down by next year for sure. We should start looking over the border. We can make a deal with the Alsatians and move into Alsace-Lorraine. With the network in Germany disrupted, the black market’ll be booming along the border. We should start thinking of the future before the past catches up with us.”

“All right, forget about it for now. Here come the girls.”

Manx and Stuka watched as Ingrid and April were intercepted by two families who entreated them for autographs. Others noticed the commotion and approached the Hollywood starlets as well. They were joined by a couple of well-dressed businessmen, prompting Manx to stroll over and assert his position. Stuka followed suit, glancing around to make sure they were attracting no undue attention. They stood by as the girls signed menus and shook hands. The rich young men shook their heads as they walked off, wondering how Manx and Stuka had gotten so lucky.

“You two are making people think Harlow and Hepburn are aboard,” Manx smiled.

“Glad you think so,” Ingrid cooed.

The girls took their arms as they proceeded along B Deck of the luxurious craft. They passed the smoking room, which was kept air-tight to avoid the slightest possibility of hydrogen being ignited by a heat source. It was located next to the bar, where the couples sidled for cocktails. Manx and Stuka had LZ-129 cocktails, which were made of gin and orange juice. The girls had Maybach 12 cocktails, which were of a special recipe. They admired the art deco ambiance of the lounge, particularly the jazz murals depicting black musicians. It seemed fitting that it was all so far above the routine of the Berlin regime many miles below.

“Here’s to America,” Ingrid proposed a toast. “May next year be the time we all join together in Hollywood. A new movie, a new beginning. It’ll be wonderful.”

“Hear, hear,” Stuka said quietly. Despite the familiarity of his relationship with Manx, he was impressed by the fact they had come this much closer.

“Here’s to new friendships,” April gazed meaningfully into Stuka’s eyes. “A new tomorrow, a new hope.”

As they touched glasses, Manx silently wished his brother Rolf would find his way out of whatever he got himself into. If it was drugs, he wished Rolf Godspeed.

And he prayed that the SS and Gestapo would play no part influencing his decision.

Rebuilding of America?

(Excerpt from JRD's DYNASTY! The First 100 Days of the Trump Presidency)

The nation and the world continue to watch and wait as the ranks of Trump’s new Cabinet slowly begin to fill. An intriguing new pattern starts to emerge as we see more and more antithetical figures taking positions in organizations they had once campaigned against. Although Dr. Ben Carson was not an opponent of the Department of Housing and Urban Development, he has been vociferous in denouncing the welfare policies it has long espoused.

Carson typifies the self-made black American that white activists consider ‘a credit to his race’. In fact, most of his achievements would leave white supremacists speechless. There is no way he could have accomplished such things regardless of reverse discrimination or social engineering theories. Born in Detroit, he was a graduate of Yale University and the Director of Pediatric Neurosurgery at Johns Hopkins Hospital in Maryland for three decades. Carson credits his belief in Christ for having been able to overcome a violent spirit in his youth. He presents himself as an example of how hard work and dedication can overcome any obstacles in one’s journey through life.

His major arguments against HUD have been over its socialist policies in redeveloping public housing and providing havens for the impoverished in cities throughout America. Over a half century, ‘the projects’ have been a term for subsidized apartment buildings that have become a blight on the urban landscape. They are dumping grounds for welfare families, the unemployed and criminal elements who often use them as a base of operations. Carson’s voice resonates, oddly enough, with white activists and black separatists who see these as blights on society that should be obliterated and replaced as living alternatives for the poor.

Exploitation of the housing market has been a plague on society since the turn of the 20th century. Landowners often provided space for refugee families dating back to the Great Depression. They allowed people to set up tents and build shacks, providing water and outhouse amenities in exchange for rates they could barely afford. As people migrated to large cities in search of livable domiciles, tenements became a viable choice for new residents. They were often located in neighborhoods that soon became overcrowded and fell into neglect. The slum became a term to describe these downtrodden areas, and the rise of the slumlord paralleled that of exploitation and housing scams that would permanently disfigure communities across America.

Controlled housing was a gentleman’s agreement by which slumlords would fix rates so that welfare families could afford to pay the rent through a voucher system. The slumlord would then abandon the building to its own devices. He would often provide a manager with free rent in exchange for maintenance services. The manager took care of basic electrical and plumbing repairs but had no remedy for major hazards within the building. Many became overwhelmed by vermin, structural damage and inadequate resources. Once the manager vacated the property, families could only watch their homes collapse before their eyes.

Another phenomenon that gained in popularity in the late 20^th century was blockbusting. Real estate brokers would buy a property in a targeted area for a bargain price. They would immediately sell it to an ethnic minority, mostly blacks. The white neighborhood would begin to panic before the broker began soliciting homeowners. They would take advantage of the situation, warning potential customers that they should sell before their property values began to fall. The exodus began as the broker replaced white families with black ones. The Flatbush area of Brooklyn NY is a classic example of middle-class white residents superseded by black minorities, mostly blacks from the Caribbean Islands.

The blight that devastated neighborhoods throughout the Midwest from Detroit to Chicago, St. Louis to Milwaukee soon spread across the USA. Yet the projects were where the situations metastasized, the nesting spots from where the subculture spread. Welfare families took advantage of HUD programs that gave them the false hope of owning a home of their own. What they actually received was a worn-down building in a high-crime neighborhood, exchanging their apartments for family-size dwellings with no significant change in environment or living conditions.

What HUD administrators did not understand or could not control were those very conditions that afflicted the communities. Police and security forces were vastly undermanned and could not control the criminal activity plaguing the projects, much less entire neighborhoods. The gang culture dominated such areas in providing a sense of belonging for children of dysfunctional families. They offered means of earning money from criminal activities in the drug trade, gambling, prostitution, theft and robbery. No matter how lofty the goal of building modernized and attractive housing projects, eventually they would fall victim to the very people they sought to shelter from the urban blight.

At the turn of the next century, Generation X made an impact on urban society in a way that proved entirely unpredictable. The Punk Revolution gave way to alternative music, much of which could be characterized as industrial music. It was a computerized sound that was a soundtrack for a generation of youth inundated by state of the art gadgetry and electronic equipment. If the Blank Generation was about individuality and rejecting authority, Generation X was defined by communities of unique characters drawn together by a common need to build their own subculture amidst a cult of conformity. And they had to find a way to establish their new parameters.

What happened next was the urban trend towards buying warehouses and turning them into loft apartments. Artists, musicians and yuppies eagerly began renting these spaces, turning brick-wall and high-ceiling industrial spaces into stylistic dream homes. Lower-class kids were astonied by the results and dreamed of ways to become part of the new urban phenomenon. They opted to rent out storage areas, aluminum sheds on fenced properties allowing customers to safely secure their property away from home. Musicians began using the spaces as rehearsal studios, and soon others began living in the sheds.

This hit a peak in the early 21^st century as small groups began pooling their resources in renting warehouse buildings in the same manner as the original loft pioneers. Only they became more imaginative, with mechanics, welders and other trade laborers moving in alongside artists, musicians and commuting students. The lack of building supervision turned into a major problem. It eventually garnered national attention after a warehouse fire during a rave concert in Oakland claimed over thirty lives.

Therein lie the challenges facing Ben Carson. There must be some way to establish and reinforce housing guidelines that allows for property owners to acquire funding for urban development. Beyond that, there has to be a way to supervise and maintain properties to assure to safety and integrity of the housing projects and their residents. The ‘build it and leave it’ mentality must be replaced by that of investors resolved and dedicated to develop their properties as long-term investments. There are many programs available to homeowners who can acquire funds to remodel properties provided they live in the home for a specified time. This principle should be the exception rather than the norm, and penalties should exist to make the agreement enduring and disadvantageous to speculators and opportunists.

It is what makes Carson the best choice for the job. Knowing the business is not what will revolutionize the housing industry. Someone who is devoted to change the moral and social integrity of HUD agreements is required. More than likely, no one is better suited for the undertaking.

Enemies Closer?

(Excerpt from JRD's DYNASTY! The First 100 Days of the Trump Presidency)

President Trump’s appointment of Nikki Haley to the position of United Nations ambassador in his new administration proved to be another eyebrow-raiser among pundits across the nation. Yet it can be argued that this may be another Trumpian maneuver designed to provide a false sense of security to the country’s rivals and enemies. It may also serve to placate opposition forces at home as well as give Trump enormous leverage in taking preemptive action against subversives both foreign and domestic.

Nimrata Randhawa is the daughter of Indian Sikh immigrants, a graduate of Clemson University with a BA in accounting. Her marriage to Michael Haley complemented her Anglicized nickname in becoming Nikki Haley. She became one of six Asian governors in the United States upon her election in South Carolina. Though she was a vocal opponent of Donald Trump during the election, she is a pro-life advocate and a supporter of immigration reform.

Although South Carolina was a Confederate state, its antebellum demographics changed over two centuries. It is estimated to have a seventy percent white population, the majority being Southern Baptists. The remaining third of the state is largely comprised of blacks, most of whom belong to the African Methodist Episcopal Church. The economic downturn of the 21^st century had a major impact, and the state supreme court ruled that South Carolina was failing to provide minimally adequate education. It was also ranked as thirty-third out of the fifty states for quality of health care. It is also of interest to note that the Palmetto State was once considered a bastion of the Ku Klux Klan in the previous century.

Haley’s rise as a default political leader was facilitated by weak opposition from state Representative Larry Koon in 2004 and Governor Vincent Sheheen. She found support from Sarah Palin and Mitt Romney, both of whom had collapsed before Barack Obama’s campaigns in 2008 and 2012 respectively. There was also support from the estranged wife of the ex-governor, Jenny Sanford. Power vacuums are characteristic of sociological paradigms predicating weak leadership. One considers the admonitions of the apostle Paul, who considered outspoken women in the congregation as ‘shameful’. Scholars note that it is not based on misogyny; rather, the lack of male leadership prompting a female to rise to the occasion out of necessity.

Haley took a stand against Trump during the election, citing his seemingly extremist stance against immigration as well as his failure to denounce support from the KKK. Trump fired back with remarks about her weak position against illegal immigration. Yet it appeared as a sitzkrieg between Republicans divided by what was proving to be an internecine war of attrition. Trump’s extension of an olive branch was surprising but not as stunning as his overtures towards Mitt Romney after winning the election.
   

The immediate benefit to the fledgling administration is the inclusion of an Asian female to the ranks. Haley’s comely looks and Southern accent make this far less sensational than it may seem. It is also of note that Haley has characteristically downplayed her race and gender, focusing instead on her resolve and integrity. Breaking racial barriers has been a necessity along her journey through Southern politics. Only the race card may prove a vital asset along the next leg of her sojourn.

The geopolitical nature of international relations in the 21^st century makes this an essential factor. Although Sikhs and Muslims are as different as Catholics and Protestants, they share common ground in the polemics against European Christianity. There has only been one white Christian holding the office of UN Secretary General since 1961. It reflects the changing of the guard in world politics, where Third World nations are growing more powerful and homogenous in their unity. Having someone like Haley representing Trump before these multinational emissaries will have obvious benefits.

The shock waves rippling across America has had a delayed effect on the global community. The military presence of the Obama regime around the world as well as its impact on international terrorism have left the nations in bewilderment. Many expected a black leftist Muslim president to have withdrawn from the Middle East and to have sought peace with ISIS and Al Qaeda. The increase in deportations of aliens from the USA proved to be even more perplexing.

Only now the ascendancy of Trump to the presidency has come with a sharp curtailing of his campaign rhetoric. He calls for unity among all Americans regardless of race, color or creed. The sloganeering of ‘making America great again’ comes as general relief to the world community. For everyone knows that the USA has provided artificial providence to most of the planet over two centuries. It gives financial support to its enemies, military protection to its allies and agricultural relief to countries on the other side of the Earth. This has ultimately resulted in a ten trillion dollar debt that threatens to collapse an already weakened Goliath. If this return to grassroots principles transforms America into an Antaeus, how can the world help but be a better place?

No competitor ever wants to stand against an omnipotent foe, and this is where Haley’s ‘weaknesses’ will become her assets. Despite the world community’s call for inclusivity and diversity, many Third World nations are decidedly chauvinistic in nature. A major Trump criticism of the Clinton Foundation was its acceptance of millions of dollars in contributions from Muslim nations where women are treated as second-class citizens at best. Delegates from such countries will be naturally inclined to think that Haley, as Trump’s advocate, is a subliminal indication of the magnate’s weakness. They would hardly suspect that the opposite may be true.

In an increasingly Muslim European Union, Haley’s appointment will be seen as a major concession. The influx of refugees from the Middle East is rapidly changing the constituency of the continent. The desperate need to assimilate is causing extreme reactions, from white nationalism to radical Muslim activism in every country. Many nations have elected female leaders and Muslim politicians in attempts to restore equilibrium. Seeing a mirror image in an American UN delegate will reassure the EU that things are the same all over, yet not as bad as they seem.

Alternately, the United Kingdom’s ‘brexit’ reflects accelerated effects beyond those seen on the Continent. In a desperate attempt to rediscover their national identity, they have isolated themselves though finding their ties with the US as a stabling influence. They will look past Haley in seeking assurance in Trump, just as the Moral Majority throughout America. They overlook what he is doing in expectation of what he promised to do. And so the Anglo-American alliance waits and prays.

Nikki Haley is a link in a new chain of command, though nowhere as weak as may be perceived. She offers hope and assertion that there is strength in unity, though many may fear she is but a velvet glove covering an iron fist.

Coming In 2017 --- JRD's "The Storm"!!!

The Storm centers on the exploits of Manx Herzberg, a Berlin gangster and club owner in 1933 Germany. He is trying to weather the storm brewing after the recent election of Nazi Party leader Adolf Hitler to the office of Chancellor. Local gangs are preparing for the worst, as are homosexuals, Communists and many other groups threatened by the Nazis. Manx’s cabaret club, the Black Pussycat, is the hippest nightspot in Berlin. Yet it is being targeted by the Nazis for its social decadence. Manx is faced with the option of selling the goldmine and leaving Germany. Only vacating his underworld throne is a difficult choice to make.

Making things more challenging is the arrival of Hollywood starlet Ingrid Strasbourg. She has been invited by Reich Minister Josef Goebbels to work on an upcoming movie. She makes an appearance at the club and tells Manx she wants to help him upgrade his product to meet Reich standards. He is unaware she is working for the American OSS to leverage the SA in their bid for power in the Reich. The SA and the SS are in a bitter struggle, and few know that the SS is planning a blood purge to eliminate their paramilitary rivals.

Manx’s younger brother Rolf is a known homosexual currently having an affair with SA Captain Artur Bremer. The co-leader of the Herzberg Gang, he is a psychotic killer with a reputation as a criminal mastermind. He is aware of the plot against the SA and is plotting a pre-emptive strike against the SS on Bremer’s behalf. Manx is appalled at the thought of failure and imminent SS reprisals. He confides in Ingrid, who offers to intercede by engaging the aid of ‘influential friends’. She begins bringing OSS agents into the club, and soon it becomes a center of activity for foreign spies seeking to destroy the SS and possibly oust Hitler from power.

The conflict develops as rival gang leader Dot Schellenberg is hired by Communists for a joint campaign to take down the SS and turn the public against Hitler. They reach out to the SA, only to find the Storm Troopers to be fanatical Hitler supporters. The SS finds out about the overture and use it as the foundation for their own project in destroying their SA opponents. Ingrid learns of the machinations and warns Manx. He tries to warn his brother to abandon Bremer to no avail. Rolf is convinces that an armed showdown between the SA and the SS will convince Hitler which is the greater and more valuable force. Manx is faced with the prospect of betraying his brother or allowing him to continue on to his doom.

Rich with the glamor and glitz of Berlin nightlife, packed with action and suspense surrounding the events leading to the infamous Night of the Long Knives, this is a romantic adventure novel that any and all audiences will find unforgettable.

Death Of A Legend --- JRD's Tribute to Bowie?

He was known by as many names as he gave himself, from the Thin White Duke to the Chicken-Headed Straw Man (as Lester Bangs once called him), the Man Who Fell To Earth, Aladdin Sane, Ziggy Stardust. He was a founding father of glam rock, the godfather of new wave, pioneer in disco and alternative music. Call him what you will, but one of the greatest influences in 20th century pop culture is gone.

I was one of the disillusioned rockers watching rock music sliding down the tubes during the progressive era of the mid-70's. All of a sudden there was the Alice Cooper Band and an eccentric from England named David Bowie. He was doing all this space-themed stuff (Space Oddity, Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders From Mars). Behind the scenes, he was hooking up with Velvet Underground founder Lou Reed and garage rock legend Iggy Pop. Next thing we knew, Reed released Transformer alongside Iggy's Search and Destroy. People accused Bowie of manipulating the underground icons, but they laid the foundation for the Punk Revolution thereafter. Who could argue with that?

He went on to put out over a dozen albums between the Seventies and Eighties, riding disco to its grave before jumping on the Next Big Thing and making it happen. Pop, alternative, rhythm and blues, electronic music, you name it, he did it. He appeared in several movies, most recently The Prestige (as Nikolai Tesla) with Bale and Jackman. As the decades passed, we realized he wasn't manipulating anyone, he influenced and enhanced their careers. And no one who worked with him could ever forget him.

Entrepreneur, rock artist, producer, songwriter, actor, cultural icon, the list goes on and on. What do you call someone like David Bowie?

Call him a Legend. A legend who will live forever.

JRD's sci-fi thriller "The Empire" - A Sneak Preview!

The Global Intelligence Agency was a public-supported organization that provided information about the other planets and nations in the solar system. Back before the Great Colonization, the GIA had been considered the most powerful agency in the history of mankind. At this point in time, it had outlived its usefulness and was seen as a glorified interplanetary travel agency at best.

Only at this juncture, it was rumored that the Allied Federation had recommissioned the GIA in this time of national emergency. Despite media assurances to the contrary, most citizens felt that the Interplanetary Council was in turmoil. Rumors of war circulated throughout the Federation as spaceships were being hijacked and destroyed as never before. Piracy was increasing at an alarming rate and it was suspected of being encouraged by foreign governments.

Von Kilgore had been summoned to New System City in Imperia, the center of commerce in Panamerica. Although Serenity was the capitol city of the world, New System City was considered the core of the Federation. It was the first city to have been established when planet Alpha was colonized. Although the Scientific Coalition was helping develop the Quadrant at incredible speed, the City remained well ahead of the field and was considered the best place in the entire solar system.

The magnificence of its architecture and infrastructure never ceased to amaze him. He was bedazzled by its majesty as he took the shuttlecraft from the Space Center to GIA Headquarters located in the downtown area. Its skyscrapers stood an average of nine hundred meters tall, glittering against the blue crystal sky and its eternal rainbow. Unlike most of the countries throughout the solar system, the City enjoyed nine months of constant daylight. Only during the winter solstice did it go into day to night mode.

He took the elevator to the one hundred seventieth level where the executive suite was located. It was magnificently furnished in hypermodern style, its chrome and crystal features never failing to impress. The receptionist did a retina scan before admitting him to the inner office of the Executive Director of the GIA, Keith Morpheus.

The Director was a paunchy man with a beard, his blue-eyed gaze analyzing all he surveyed. Legend had it that he was one of the pioneers of the Agency back in the day, back when the power struggles threatened to plunge the world government into civil war. His cyber skills and diplomatic acumen played a major role in the government’s campaign to unite the global community for the common cause. Only Morpheus’ covert activities were never revealed or recognized. He was awarded the government’s most prestigious honors in secret. Most felt it contributed to his mental and physical decline.

Yet he still was a force to be reckoned with. Although Von stood in awe of no man, he still held Morpheus in high esteem. He sat across the desk from the Director after they shook hands, and Morpheus studied his face briefly before commencing.

“I understand that you turned down our offer to reassume your position as a Federal agent,” Morpheus folded his hands over his stomach, leaning back in his chair.

“Yes sir, I’m rather preoccupied at this particular time,” Von replied. He was a tall, handsome man at two meters tall and ninety kilos. His auburn mane enhanced his steely blue gaze and Cupid bow lips, his pale skin reddened on wind-swept moons and sun-drenched asteroids. “I’ve got a merchandising company on Oryx that’s just starting to earn credits. We’ve established some trade routes with the Betans that are turning a profit.”

 “Are you dealing with the Betan government, with licensed traders? Or are you out there playing the black market?”

“I refuse to answer on the grounds it may incriminate me,” Von replied with a straight face before breaking into a smirk. “Come on, Keith. You know the Terranean tax rate is fifty percent, and it costs five million credits to buy a traders’ license. You have to earn a fortune on your first deal just to stay in business. Besides, no one I know is dealing in weapons or illegal chemicals. All anyone is trying to do is make enough to come back to earth and go corporate.”

“I’m not going to beat around the bush,” Morpheus met his gaze. “You’re one of our best agents. Always have been, always will be. We’re on the verge of a System breakdown with the Stone kidnapping crisis. If we don’t recover that girl soon, the Scorpions are going to build outposts along our borders that will lead to a gamma showdown. They’re already deep inside the Terranean and Deltan quadrants. If their position grows any stronger they could build enough leverage to cause an economic depression.”

“No one wants another war, everyone knows that,” Jon insisted. “Mankind can’t survive another one. The entire human race is hanging by a thread. Even the Scorpions aren’t crazy enough to take us down that road.”

“With Vernu Hyte in control, anything’s possible. Intelligence reports indicate he’s appointed Qom Diabolus as his Imperial Star Marshal. If that’s the case, then there’s no doubt they intend to radicalize the entire System. We’re not just dealing with a totalitarian regime any longer. We’re dealing with fanatics.”

“Hyte is a humanist, he’s anti-religion,” Jon pointed out. “I read his profile on Starnet. Why would he throw in with a bunch of religious freaks?”

“Same reason why anyone else would,” Morpheus shook his head. “He doesn’t want to get his head chopped off, or get hit with the Plague, or whatever else those psychos do.”

“So what’s in it for me?”

“Intelligence reports indicate that Sheliya Stone was skyjetting with her friends outside of Eden City off the Paradise coast. State Police found four wrecked skyjets along the shore, only three bodies. Two weeks later there was a message to the Presidential Palace on Starnet. It said Ms. Stone was being held captive until the Federation signed the Non-Aggression Treaty. A satellite scan showed that a Deltan warship was in the area shortly before the abduction occurred. The Deltans are denying any involvement and have placed a five hundred million credit bounty on the kidnappers.”

“That’s a lot of credits,” Von whistled.  

“Look, we both know that the Deltans will probably renege on the deal. We’ve got enough leverage to make sure they pay at least half. That’s enough for you to retire on. You could start an asteroid colony or colonize a moon in the Betan Quadrant with that many credits. Plus the Government is offering a two hundred million reward for Ms. Stone’s return. That is payable on demand.”

“So what’s the downside, besides tracking down a Deltan warship?”

 “This man,” Morpheus accessed his console and booted up his desktop hologram. “Captain Gravas Drachna, Imperial Starfleet. He fought under Star Marshal Shaver during the Cetan Civil War. He’s a war hero, he’s earned every one of their highest honors. He’s the last of Emperor Scorpius’ Old Guard, all the rest are retired, cashiered or murdered. The Dark Knights have taken over the Imperial Guard, and Drachna’s the last holdout.”

“What’s the Empire got to do with this?”

“Drachna met Ms. Stone at a Presidential banquet a couple of years ago. A diplomatic and military delegation were invited, and observers said it was love at first sight. They’ve met a couple of times since then and exchanged correspondence on a regular basis despite the blackout between nations. When he found out she was kidnapped, he went on the warpath.”

Von studied the image of a tall, muscular man with well-styled black hair, fierce dark eyes and a cruel mouth. He figured Drachna was about his size, give or take a couple of kilos.

“He commandeered an Imperial starship and went out in search of the warship. The Empire denied the rumor, since they claim they only have three starships in accordance with the Non-Proliferation Pact. Nonetheless, we’re getting reports of Deltan warships being destroyed throughout the System over the past month. Drachna’s on their trail and they’re running for their lives.”

“So I have a rogue warship holding the President’s daughter hostage, with seven hundred million credits in bounties on their heads. It’s probably manned by a crack team of Deltan mercenaries, who have an Imperial starship on their tail. And I’m supposed to get them first and collect the prize.”

“If anyone can do it, you can, Von,” Morpheus insisted. “You’re our best agent and you’ve got connections all over the System. The kidnappers can’t stay on the run without fuel and supplies. You trace their credit trail and you’ll find them.”

“Okay,” he was reluctant. “I’ll need a Federal credit line, and I’m taking Zane Ramjet with me.”

“Of course, your right hand man. Where would you be without him?”

About a half hour later, Von met with Zane at the Saturn Tower a couple of blocks from the GIA Tower Building. They met at the Galactica Lounge, an upscale facility that was restricted to Class I and II citizens. It was located on the 140^th floor, its glass walls affording them a panoramic view of the cityscape and the shuttlecrafts cruising above the streets at different levels.

They were irked at getting carded but knew that it was about wearing their Class III combat spacesuits. They ordered drinks after being seated at a corner booth and being served by a Deltan waitress.

“I’ll tell you, I’ve got a thing for green-tinted women,” Zane chuckled as he watched their waitress sashay back to the service area.

“I prefer those blue-skinned Cetans myself,” Von nodded, stirring his Chrysalis Crush. “Though they’re getting as scarce as natural wildlife.”

“Say, you boys need a jump?”

They looked up and saw two green-skinned Deltan women scantily clad in tight-fitting spacesuits. They were attractive though rough around the edges. They produced a transactor, and Von swiped his ID stick to make the buy. The women then crawled under the table and hooked their joysticks up to the partners’ jumpsuits. Immediately the sensory experience of carnal ecstasy jolted their nervous system with indescribable force.

“Damn! Damn!” Von managed to gasp as his body began to spasm.

“Hope you enjoyed the ride, gentlemen,” the women detached the joysticks and crawled out from under the table. The experience was such that the partners mentally experienced an hour of unbridled sex with the women in less than a minute.

“I don’t think I’ll be able to finish this,” he reached for his glass as Zane slumped lifelessly in the seat beside him.

“I’m pretty sure it would finish me,” Zane croaked.

“You know, this establishment frowns on that kind of activity,” a tall manager came over. “We’d appreciate it if you reported any such solicitations in future.”

“Yeah, well, I’ll report it now. They damn near killed me.”

“Thanks for your cooperation,” he walked off. “Enjoy your evening.”

“So you coming in on this?” Von asked, giving the manager the finger as he returned to the service area.

“I think I’m gonna pass,” Zane said softly as he stirred his Dandelion Daze. “I’ve got some family problems I got to take care of.”

“Family problems? Are you kidding me?” Von raised his eyebrows.

“I told you I’ve got a sister and other relatives living along the Betan frontier,” Zane explained. He was a swarthy man with a hawkish face and an unruly mop of black hair, standing two meters tall with a wiry frame. “She contacted me and said that they’ve been dealing with border raids for months now. One of my uncles was killed last week. The Empire has been sending troops across the border on a regular basis and the Terraneans aren’t doing anything to stop them.”

The Beta Quadrant was ruled by the Terranean Alliance, heirs of the European Council which collapsed after World War III at the end of the century. They were in a constant state of flux in dealing with shortages and power struggles that kept them in a state of near-anarchy. As a result, their territories were largely ungoverned and overrun by pirate gangs and mercenary armies. The Empire was establishing military outposts in Betan territory though constantly denying their incursions before the Interplanetary Council.

“Look, we can sink two ships with one shot,” Von insisted. “In all likelihood, the kidnappers are hiding out in the Beta Quadrant. They’d be suicidal if they were in the Ceta or Delta Quadrants. And they’re damn sure not in Alpha. We can go in there and help your family relocate. We can do some recon and develop some leads while we’re there.”

“I’ll tell you, Von,” Zane was hesitant. “You and I have been friends for a long time. I’d never ask you to risk your life if it wasn’t necessary. You don’t need to be part of this. The Empire’s coming down hard in the territory. I don’t even know if I’ll make it back. I just can’t stand by and let my family get slaughtered.”

“Hey,” Von grabbed his wrist. “Are we brothers from another mother or what? How many times have you saved my life? There’s no way in Sheol that I let you go alone. We get this done, then we go find Sheliya Stone and go get paid.”

“All right,” he agreed. “I just want you to know that I’m gonna stay there as long as it takes. I’m not leaving the colony without them.”

“You got it, partner,” the men exchanged hand chops. “You wouldn’t be my first mate if you did,”

        * * * * *

                                                                                                                             Over a billion kilometers away, a Deltan warship hovered in the stratosphere above a barren asteroid along the outermost regions of the Beta Quadrant. It had dispatched a squadron of scavenger vessels to the surface in search of provisions. The ship’s command was on edge, not only hoping to find sustenance for its forty-man crew but that they would not be detected by a military patrol unit.

          “Have we made any progress with the prisoner yet?” Captain Misch asked as he perused the scanners on the command deck.

           “None whatsoever,” his first mate Commander Xamon replied. “She grows more resistant by the day. She demands that we either kill her or release her. We’ve tried everything. Air and sleep deprivation, vitamin diet, drug interrogation, and mild to moderate torture techniques. The more she endures, the more obstinate she gets. She is like her mother, with a head of titanium.”

          “Damn her,” he said, switching on a monitor that provided a direct link to her cell. “Citizen Stone. This is Captain Misch.”

          “Good morning,” the forlorn girl sat hunched on her cot in the barren room. “Or is it still night time?”

          “It is morning. I trust you had your breakfast.”

          “Is that what you call it?”

          “Trust me, Citizen, the entire crew is on rations at this time.”

          “So what kind of Army are you people running?” she demanded, standing up to face the video camera. She was a beautiful woman, standing just under two meters, with an athletic full-bosomed physique. She had long auburn hair, ivory skin, alluring violet eyes and ruby lips. When she was captured she was breathtaking with makeup, but her natural beauty was even more striking. It was as comparing a work of art to an exquisite flower.

          “We are quite far from our home base, rest assured. There are many ships on alert searching for us. Yet we are resolved to elude them as long as it takes. All we need you to do is plead with your mother to sign the Non-Aggression Treaty. Once she agrees, we will release you to the Federation and peace will be returned to the System along with you.”

          “Never!” she raged. “I’ll never betray my planet! Your people have violated the original agreement time and time again. You and the Empire are trying to control the entire System, and you’ll use military force if necessary. We have a right to defend ourselves, and we’re not going to disarm and leave our nation unprotected.”

          “I’m not here to discuss or argue politics with you,” Misch said crisply. “I just wanted to let you know we will be skipping lunch today.”

          “You can stick it up your---!” Sheliya yelled before she was cut off.

          “This was a terrible mistake, a horrible blunder,” Xamon was forlorn. “We should have waited for the order from the Military Council. Now the entire System is in pursuit of us. We have nowhere to run, no place to hide.”

          “We’ve discussed this over a dozen times, I grow tired of it,” Misch was gruff. “It was the best available opportunity. The girl was under constant surveillance by the Secret Service. We could have never captured her had she not chosen to go skyjetting with her friends. It would have looked like an accident had we not shot them down over the seashore. Yet if we had waited and fired when they were at a higher altitude, they would have died from the fall. We would not have had to shoot them as they fled.”

          “Then we would have killed her as well,” Xamon moaned. “What are we to do?”

          “Do? What can we do?” Misch growled. “Either this bitch makes that video or we all starve to death unless we are destroyed by an enemy ship. If we force her to comply, the Federation      ‘s analysts will detect it on the transmission. She has to be a willing participant or the Federation will accuse us of torture. They will sever diplomatic ties with the Republic, and we will be court-martialed and executed.”

          The Republic of Delta was a reformed coalition of nations that once comprised the Asian Confederacy of the planet Earth. After the Great Colonization, the Confederacy held a summit conference on Delta and declared itself a Socialist Republic. The Republic was essentially a military dictatorship though its political philosophy was dictated by its corporate leaders. Both factions reluctantly conceded the fact that the military could not run an industrial conglomerate, and vice versa.

          As it was from the beginning, the capitalist Federation was the forerunner in technological advancement as scientists and engineers were well compensated and rewarded for their contributions. Their society was complemented by the socialist Alliance, which also compensated entrepreneurs though providing excessive support for dependent colonies that ultimately hindered growth.

          Alternately, the totalitarian Deltans forced everyone to work for the State at a set wage and equal benefits. The Empire was just as uncompromising, though more of their budget went to military expense instead of social programs. Religious indoctrination was as the opiate of the masses, and all who resisted were liquidated.

          “What of the rumors on Starnet that Captain Drachna is hunting for us with an Imperial starship?” Xamon lowered his voice.

          “That is nothing but capitalist propaganda,” Misch dropped back into his defensive rhetoric. “You know that enemies of the State will use every deception to further their agenda. First of all, Drachna is a member of the Old Guard, all of whom have been eliminated by the imperialist regime. He no longer exists. And even if he did, do you believe the Empire would authorize the use of a starship to search for us? If he had gone insane and commandeered a ship according to the reports, what crew would have gone along with him? Upon return every single one of them would be subjected to a slow, grisly death.”

          “It’s what’s going to happen to us,” Xamon’s voice trembled.

          “Nonsense!” Misch bolted from his seat and walked over to a far corner. “Once that girl makes the video, we will be hailed as national heroes. She cannot hold out forever. She has been in solitary confinement for nearly a month, living on a starvation diet. She has been subjected to constant psychological and physical stress. After coming from her sheltered environment, eventually this will become more than she can endure. Time is on our side, let us remain patient.”

          “I worry about you, I worry about us,” Xamon put his arms around the waist of his domestic partner. Though the Republic had set a hardline against homosexuality, they disregarded it in the military due to its exclusion of women. Like ancient Sparta, the Republic saw it as the lesser evil facing troops deployed in outer space for years at a time.

          “We will be fine, my dear,” Misch glared around at the deck hands, who busily diverted their attention elsewhere. “We have not come this far to meet with failure and exile. This is our time, our destiny. This girl will be the means for our advancement, our golden opportunity for our future together. Yeoman Chon, let the Commander see what we have in store for our guest.”

          The stout woman came forth with a small plastic container. Xamon’s skin crawled as he beheld a tilton in the box. The tilton was a mutated palmetto bug, genetically deformed by radiation exposure. It was six centimeters in length and two centimeters thick, with long hairy legs and the head of a horsefly. The ugly insect was coated with a sticky substance that caused terrible itching, exacerbated by bites from the creature.

          “I have a dozen of these insects that I will release in her cell after we extinguish the lights. We will restore the lights once they are crawling all over her. I have never met a female who could stand the touch of an insect. Wouldn’t you agree, Yeoman Chon?”

          The heavy-set woman cringed at the thought.

* * * * *                                  

          The farming colony on the Herne asteroid had begun to stir just hours earlier. Established over three years ago, it was a haven for Class III citizens with no prospects other than bare survival in the resettlement colonies. Living under government subsidies, they were provided with basic agricultural machinery and a limited budget for trade and commerce. The farmers worked from sunrise to sunset in the artificial atmosphere, laboring to stimulate crop growth from the barren soil.

          It was around noon when the workers took their lunch break. They sipped water, doused themselves and rested their bones as their womenfolk came onto the field with soups, stews and bread. It was the high point of the day in most cases. At the end of the day, most of the men were too tired to do anything but return to their homes and sleep until dawn. Yet they shared the dream of turning a profit and one day being able to hire others to carry on the work.

          On this day, there was an ominous droning noise coming from the mountainside. At first they thought it was a government supply ship, but knew it was far too early in the month. They watched in unison as transport crafts appeared from the clouds, slowly descending until they landed just outside the fields.

          They watched in bewilderment as they saw four-man teams emerging from the transports. They wore black helmets, face masks and cloaks over their combat suits. They carried xaser weapons and bore the insignia of the Dark Knights. It was a black rectangle with a pentagram against a white circle. One man carried a banner which he brought over to the flagpole where the Alliance flag was flown.

          “Hail, friends,” the leader of the colony stepped forth. “We are having our midday meal, but we have enough to share. I’m sure you have traveled a distance to get here.”

          “We are here under the authority of the Order of the Dark Knights,” a lieutenant came to face him. “Our mission is to confirm your loyalty to the powers that rule over this Solar System.”

          “We are loyal citizens of the Beta Quadrant, and have pledged our allegiance to the Terranean Alliance,” the man seemed puzzled.

          “And which god do you serve?” the soldier demanded.

          “Why, we are Believers,” the man was reverent. “We worship the One True God.”

          “Sun worshippers,” he said mockingly, turning to his colleagues. “You have been deceived by your government, tricked into following an ancient belief system that no longer exists. Can’t you see how they have abandoned you, cast you aside in this wasteland where you will work until you die for nothing?”

          “Our labor is beginning to yield results,” the man smiled softly. “We have finally come to the point where we have surplus crops to trade at the market. We may not have more than enough, but we do have enough to give to you and your men for your journey.”

          “You give to us?” the commando was derisive. “We have ample supplies of meat and dairy products on our ship. It is we who come to give to you. Today we bring freedom, liberation from the weak and useless system that enslaves you.”

          “We are free citizens,” the man asserted. “We have come here of our own accord to raise our families and build a future.”

          “You are building on barren ground, citizen,” the soldier hissed. “We are sons of Belial, the god of this universe. We now give you the opportunity to declare your allegiance to Belial and turn away from your false idolatry.”

          “What is this?” the man was confused. “Religious freedom is one of our basic rights. Perhaps you have reason to stand against the government, but you cannot ask us to deny our God.”

          “You are a fool,” the soldier raised his weapon. “Either your head will be lowered to the ground as you bow in reverence before Belial, or it will roll across the dirt as we cut it off your neck.”

          “I will not deny my God,” the man was steadfast. “Do as you will, but let my wife and children not see this.”

          “They will bear witness to your foolishness before they are given the choice between life and death.”

          “Take my hand, O God, I am coming home,” he said as he was forced to his knees by another fighter.

          At once there were a series of explosions in the sky, followed by another buzzing noise more shrill and insistent than the first. The multitude watched in astonishment as a swarm of drones descended on the field as a metallic cloud. The commandos were shocked as the drones began firing xaser bursts at them, burning as molten lava upon impact. They tried to fire back but the drones flew directly at them when hit by a xaser beam. The drones exploded against their victims, and soon the field was covered with dead soldiers and wrecked drones.

          Eventually a black shuttlecraft came down from the sky, and black-clad soldiers bearing the Scorpion insignia rushed onto the field. They kicked the miniature aircraft out of their path and stepped over the corpses, training their rifles on the terrified colonists. At length they made way for a helmeted man in black, his black cloak swirling in the wind.

          “Who else is here?” he demanded. “Are there any Deltan troops here?”

          “Deltans?” the leader trembled. “No, kind sir. Only these soldiers. They claimed to be the sons of Belial. They were about to kill us. You saved our lives.”

          “Sons of Belial,” the man scoffed. “The offspring of idiots. Are you certain they were not here in pursuit of Deltans?”

          “No sir. We have seen no Deltans here.”

          “Unfortunately I cannot leave any evidence of our presence behind,” the man said. “You will have to evacuate this asteroid before we destroy it. You have fifteen minutes.”

          “Sir, we have no means of escape. Please spare our homes.”

          “The Betans will recompense you under their Resettlement Act,” the man replied. “Are those not shuttlecrafts parked nearby?”

          “Yes, sir, but where will they take us?”

          “I saw a warship hovering above the clouds. Can you fly one?”

          “Yes, but they only carry sixty people at most. There are a hundred of us.”

          “We will carry the rest to the nearest populated asteroid. From there you can summon assistance. All I demand from you is your solemn oath that you and yours will never admit to having seen us.”

          “You have my word,” the man agreed.

          “Good,” the man in black nodded. “Lieutenant, escort the people to the shuttlecrafts. Give the order to the crew to stand by for the destruction of this asteroid in fifteen minutes.”

          The soldier saluted his superior and proceeded to follow orders.

          The colonists watched in awe as Captain Grav Drachna returned to his aircraft and ascended into the clouds.