New World Order: Prologue, Part Four

Robert Quick

Where the -@!# did my muse go?

Writer, dreamer, knight, shackled by entertainment . . . and people.

The sun's golden head peaked over the mountains, tinting the sky with rose. The gunfire that had swelled into a wind of bullets was now silent. He didn't even have to kill them. They had just stopped. The man supposed that they were finding heavier ordinance. They didn't seem like the kind of people to give up. Fortunately, the lack of post-human development retarded them technologically on this Earth and he was confident that he was mostly safe. Anything less than a kiloton of explosives would be little more than a minor irritation.

A voice spoke next to him, feminine and ethereal, “I'll take my leave unless you think you'll need another Door soon.”

The man gave a start. Even with his heightened senses, he could never tell when she was around. “I thought you left with the Door. Don't spy on me, I'll call you if I require your assistance.”

“Of course,” she replied, ”I'll be waiting with one of these . . . phones.” Amusement tinged her voice.

“Do.” He said. “And call this the first day of a new calendar.”

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Without altering his course, the man brushed by the human obstruction and with a negligible hand ges…

New World Order: Prologue, Part Three

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