Space rock on way, but don't panic yet

From theage.com.au
by Daniel Dasey

SCIENTISTS have identified an asteroid that has a faint chance of ploughing into the Earth, leaving a two-kilometre-wide crater and wiping out life for 6000 square kilometres.

The asteroid measures 130 metres across and is travelling at 70,000 km/h. It would cause huge devastation if it hit the planet.

Called 2007 VK184, the space rock is 90 million kilometres from Earth and could hit in 2048. It has earned a rare hazard rating of "one" on the Torino scale, the international barometer of space object impact risk.

But while asteroid experts last week warned of the tremendous damage such a collision would cause, they were hopeful the risk of impact would diminish as more was discovered about VK184's path.

"The chances are that the probability (of an impact) will come back down to close to zero," said astronomer Gordon Garradd, who has identified numerous asteroids and works at the Siding Springs telescope in Coonabarabran, 450 kilometres north-west of Sydney.

He said VK184 had been observed for only 35 days and, given its distance from Earth and the long time until a possible impact, more readings were necessary to determine if a collision was a possibility.

NASA's Near Earth Object Program website says VK184 is travelling at 19 kilometres a second. It has a 1-in-3030 chance of hitting the planet in 2048.

The object's Torino scale rating of one (out of a possible 10) signifies it has a tiny chance of collision with Earth and that there is no cause for public concern. Every other known object that will approach Earth this century has a zero rating.

If the object struck Earth it would be up to three times worse than the asteroid that hit Russia in 1908.

'Test tube universe' hints at unifying theory

By Roger Highfield, Science Editor

A "universe in a test tube" that could be used to assess theories of everything has been created by physicists.

Time is running out - literally, say scientists" Are we missing a dimension of time? Are dark forces at work in space? The test tube, the size of a little finger, has been cooled to a fraction of a degree above the lowest possible temperature, absolute zero, which is just over 273 degrees below the freezing point of water. Inside the tube an isotope of helium (called helium three) forms a "superfluid", an ordered liquid where all the atoms are in the same state according to the theory that rules the subatomic domain, called quantum theory. What is remarkable is that atoms in the liquid, at temperatures within a thousandth of a degree of absolute zero, form structures that, according to the team at Lancaster University, are similar those seen in the cosmos. "In effect, we have made a universe in a test tube," says Richard Haley, who did the work with Prof George Pickett and other members of the "Ultra-low Temperature Group." The Holy Grail of physics is to establish an overarching explanation to unite all the particles and forces of the cosmos. But one of the complaints commonly levelled at a leading contender for a "theory of everything", called string theory, is that it is impossible to test. But now, according to the study in the journal Nature Physics, it may be possible using the universe in a test tube. "It was a serendipitous discovery," says Haley. The equations used to describe this superfluid turn up in many other branches of physics. "For instance, the internal structure of the superfluid mirrors very closely the structure of space-time itself, the 'background' of the universe in which we live," says Haley. "Consequently the superfluid can be used to simulate particle and cosmic phenomena; black holes, cosmic strings and the Big Bang for instance. "This is great for testing theories, since the equations describing helium-3 are well-established enough to say that it is the most complex system for which we already have the 'Theory of Everything'," Haley continues. "If the analogous experiments don't work in helium-3, then it's probably time to go back to the drawing board (or computer) with your latest pet theory." Since the pioneering work of Albert Einstein, the quest for a theory of everything has depended on combining theories of the very small (quantum theory) and the very large (relativity). One of the strangest features of such theories is that they require the universe to have more than three spatial dimensions to unify our picture of all forces and all matter. One promising candidate is supersymmetric string theory, in which ripples on strings are interpreted as particles. But, to their surprise, physicists found five superstring theories. Now the Lancaster experiments provide new insights into the phenomena predicted by these theories. For the past three decades it has been known that strings are one member of a bigger class of objects called branes, which exist in higher dimensional space, that could be extended in more than one dimension - from strings of one dimension, to membranes of two dimensions, to those of p dimensions, dubbed p-branes. Moreover string theories and p-branes are facets of one underlying 11-dimensional M theory, which suggests that we live in a brane world: a four-dimensional surface, or brane, in a higher dimensional mixture of space and time. People and most particles move in the brane, while the higher dimensions provide a framework to unify all forces, from gravity to those that act between atomic particles. While experiments have begun to highlight cracks in the current best theory, called "the standard model", there is evidence that M theory's extra hidden dimensions could be revealed next year when a Geneva atom smasher - the £4.4 billion Large Hadron Collider - begins experiments. But the Lancaster team offers another route to address this impasse. One idea is that a collision between a brane and an antibrane could have triggered the Big Bang itself. This can now be simulated in superfluid helium within the little test tube.

Percival Chapter Five

Dr. Stevenson just finished scrubbing the shampoo into his hair when he heard the phone ring. He stepped out and tried to locate the phone that was ringing Beethoven’s seventh symphony. He hoped it wasn’t the hospital but if it was they would have tried his pager on the bathroom sink first. Dripping water all over the tiled floor, he dug into his jean pockets, and flipped the phone open.

“Hello,” he said.

“Hi, Philip. This is Percival.”

“Oh, hey, what’s up?”

“I was wondering if we could meet today? Maybe after work?”

“Sure. Is everything alright?”

“Yea. I’m fine. I just need to talk to you about something.”

“What is it?”

“I’d like to talk face to face. “

“Alright. I’m not working the late shift, so let’s meet at the hospital around ten.”

“Sounds good. I’ll see you then.”

By the time the conversation ended and he got back in, the shower had turned cold. He ducked his head quickly under the water and then toweled himself off.
The conversation on the phone troubled him. Percival wouldn’t call unless something big was bothering him. He was always a little too protective over Percival and considered him like a son. That first time they had met was as clear as it just happened.

He had begun his internship at a small orphanage for sick and dieing children and one day a small three-yea-old boy comes scampering in through his office door.

“What’s your name, little fellow?” Philip said as the child climbed into a chair.

“Percival,” replied the child. He looked back at the nurse who followed him in. “Am I gonna get a shot? I hate shots.”

“I’m just going to take some blood,” he said to the young boy and the nurse left. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Well, it ain’t true,” Percival said. He crossed his arms and his eyebrows scrunched together.

“They say that you’re a miracle.” He pulled out a packaged needle and latex gloves from a closed. “They also say you’re pretty smart.”

“If that’s true then why am I living here? And why do you wear gloves around me? It’s because I’m sick. That’s what this place is for, dieing kids.”

“Let’s see if we can’t make you better then,” he said and slid the needle into Percival’s arm. The young boy’s face winced as he filled the needle with blood.

“I hate needles.”

“Almost done,” he said. “There done.”

Percival hopped off the chair and pulled down the sleeve to his shirt.. On Wednesdays, a special courier from Kermises came by to pick up his samples.

“Can I go?”

“Yes. You can go.”

That memory brought back nostalgia from the orphanage days. Those times were so calm and relaxing compared to his job at the hospital which is so demanding, constantly having to be everywhere at once that it seems he doesn’t have enough hours in the day to do everything. Those days at the orphanage were special. He felt like he was making a difference, changing the world.

Dr. Stevenson paraded around the bedroom of his condominium, looking for a clean uniform for his up-coming shift and stopped in front of his small television on his dresser displaying Channel Three’s weatherman, as the man pointed at a moving jet stream.

“It’s going to be a great day today. Forget your coat because the low pressure system is…..”

He suddenly remembered that he had a bag of old clothes he had meant to give to Percival. He always gave him things he didn’t use anymore and it made him feel good to help him out. A few coats and shirts were stuffed inside a black garbage bag in his closet, so he took the bag and tossed it down the stairs and into the foyer.

Those orphanage days weren’t always a tie of the shoe, there were times when he would lose a child, those hit him more than when he loses a patient now. His guidance came from the senior doctor of Scottsdale, Mr. Othertin, a giant of a man with the softest of hearts. He treated each dieing child with an uncanny ability of becoming a child himself. The most downtrodden child became entranced by the act put on by him. They would sit on the examination table in their gown and Dr. Othertin would stick his head deep within the cupboards.

“Let’s see. Hmm. I know I put my glasses in here,” he’d say and he’d rattle the medicine bottles inside. “I need my glasses. I can’t operate without them. My eyes aren’t the same without them.”

Then he’d twirl around and look at the child with black framed glasses with the eyeballs that bobbed out. The child screamed and jumped. He’d remove the glasses and a huge smile would wash the anxiety from the child.

Susie Atkins, the cutest three-year-old that you could imagine, was the root of his departure from the orphanage. She became orphaned because her family had snuck over the Mexican border to work and she was born a few months after. The doctors discovered that she had cancer. Her parents asked for help but couldn’t prove that they were legal residents. They were moments away from deportation when they dropped Susie off at Scottsdale with a typed letter that explained that she’d have the best chance of surviving here.

Everyday Susie would play blocks near the main doors and when Philip came in, she would be the first to run up and greet him. She lived for three years after she arrived but the cancer killed her.

Dr. Othertin, being the intuitive man, noticed right away that Philip had slipped into depression over Susie’s death, and when they were both alone in Dr. Othertin’s office, he sat him down.

“I’ve been working here for thirty-six years now, and I’ve seen too many deaths. I can remember my first one, Daniel Brasko, a cute kid, bright as hell, came here from the orphanage down in Brassletown when they found out that he had a tumor in his brain. He spent three months here but it overcame him to fast and he died in my arms up at Memorial Hospital. You never really get over the first one, nor the tenth, but soon it starts to normalize. You grow numb.”

“It just seems useless. We’re fighting a losing cause,” he said.

“These kids lack hope and hope is the most powerful remedy. I’ve seen things that I can’t explain here. There was a child named Samantha…Gerber…no it was Garber. Yes, Samantha Garber. She stayed here from eighty-two to eighty-three and when she came to me she looked like she only had a few days to live, so we transferred her to Memorial. The nurses and I would go over there and fill her room with balloons and buy a birthday cake everyday, and sing happy birthday to her. The doctors there were amazed at the remission of the cancer. After a month in the hospital, the cancer was almost gone. When she left Scotsdale, she said that the reason she was alive today was because when she was in the hospital, she didn’t want to miss her birthday party.”

Dr. Othertin’s advice helped him through that trying time which all doctors have to deal with. He was right though, you never get over it, you just become numb to it.

Pervival Watkins provided the biggest contribution to where Philip was today. He gave hope to everyone at Scotsdale. The nurses took to him as if he was one of their own, and he was. Some of the nurses had their own families but they spent most of their time at Scotsdale, and with that time they built a strong relationship with everyone.

Percival instilled the motivation that drove Philip and when Percival turned fifteen, Philip received an offer from The Memorial Hospital that he couldn’t refuse and took the job. He knew that leaving Scotsdale would devastate Percival, and it did the same to him.

Philips slapped the mayonnaise on the top slice of bread of his ham sandwich, smoothing the slices together. He needed to get something in him before he had to go. He bit off a chunk, opened the fridge and took out the half gallon of milk, popped the cap off, and drank from the container.

He finished off the sandwich. And after fetching a fresh uniform from the hamper next to the basement stairs, he went to his bedroom and put it on. The news blared in the background, but he ignored it as he buttoned up his shirt and hurried out the door.

As he shut his door and turned the knob, to be certain it was locked, he saw his neighbor, Bernard, a retired dentist, on his hands and knees with half his body deep inside a bush nearest his front door. Bernard, at the sound of the door shutting, backed out and looked up at him, through misty goggles.

“Have you heard the mice again last night. I think they’re coming in through the laundry duct.” He’d been going on about mice for over two months now but Philip hadn’t heard or seen a single mouse.

“I still haven’t heard them,” Philip said.

“You did set up those traps that I gave you? If you don’t use those traps, then it’s useless.” A month ago, Bernard knocked on his door and gave him a box of twenty mouse traps, the decapitating ones. He never set them up, because he thought Bernard was a little crazy.

“Oh yes. I set them up all over the house. Don’t you worry. I’ve got to go to work now,” he said, waving to him and Bernard crawled back under the bush.

The reason why he bought this particular condominium was that it was only a few minutes away from The Memorial Hospital and Philip wouldn’t need to feel rushed getting to work. He hated the long hours of the job, working between ten to eighteen hours a day. When he was done with his shift, he felt extremely tired and mentally drained. He wanted to do things that would calm him down that usually found him at home reading a book, he’d get through a book in about a week. He tried his hand at painting but was terrible at it, but he always thought of himself as a non-practicing artist. And in fact, when he was going to college during his first semester, he was thinking about becoming an art major. He hated the idea of college, a civil servant machine that would pop in a free spirited teenager and pop out a cop, or a teacher and if you stayed in the machine long enough out plopped a microbiologist. But his adolescent bubble of resistance vaporized and he went into medical school and popped out a doctor.

Even before he got into his red Honda Civic, Philip focused on the three patients he would deal with today, Mrs. Patty Reynolds who has a brain tumor, Mr. Snyder a long time smoker dieing from lung cancer and Debbie Tenorson who also is diagnosed with lung cancer. The test results should come in today and he had to go over to the mail room and get the results. He prayed for good news, he liked to see them smile and hated having to find the nicest words to downplay the bad news. That was the hardest part of his job, Mr. So-And-So, you’re tumor has remitted itself and now we are going to use, then he’d place in a long technical term for an operation. Let them know that I‘m in control of the situation.

He turned the car on and pulled out of the driveway, knowing full well that he had no control over anything, including his own life.

Pulling into the entrance of the Memorial Hospital, he parked around back where the doctors had their own spots. Philip’s was the third row back, two rows behind the elite parking spots designated with name plates.

Upon entering the hospital, he headed toward the mailroom, where his test results would be. The mailroom was a gathering place for most of the doctors starting their shifts. They’d mill around in groups in the large room, idly chatting with each other about their patients. Dozens of young enthusiastic people in well pressed suits sold handed out brochures of new medicines they were lobbying.

They had stuck his mailbox in the far back of the room, so he had to pass everyone to get there. Halfway there s hand squeezed his shoulder and he turned to see who it was.

“Here is a promising young man,” said Mr. Crawford, the president of the hospital. “He practically lives here.”

The four men Mr. Crawford talked to were typical pharmaceutical employees, dressed in fancy suits and wielding a seven million dollar smile.

“This is Mr. Stevenson. He works in our Cancer division. And he is a very close friend to our own Mr. Watkins,” Mr. Crawford continued.

“Now this is a pleasant surprise. We’ve heard so much about Percival but we haven’t gotten to know you,” said one of the men. “The name’s Bill Ashland. You can call me Bill.” They shook hands.

“Glad to meet you to,” he replied, looking the three men over.

“We’re from Newsburg Corporation. We’re introducing a new drug, that should be passed this month by the FDA. Have you heard about it Dr. Stevenson? It’s called Luthramiatine.”

“Can’t say that I have.”

“Of course we’re naming it Luthratine, it’s losing the mia, and it’s going to be called, The Cute Blue Pill,” said the man standing to the right of Bill.

“So how’s Percival doing? Is he still working for Kermises?”

“He’s fine. Nothing new. He still goes to Kermises.”

“Well, if you see Percival, you give him this,” said the third gentleman. He held out a business card and Philip took it, stuffing it into his large light blue doctors coat. “Kermises, has their heads up their own asses.” They all laughed, including Mr. Crawford, which surprised Philip, since he had seen some Kermises employees talking to him just the other day.

“Their drug, Oxicocotin, is being recalled. Did you hear that? It shrinks the brain,” said Bill. “They’re going to get sued so bad, that they’ll file for chapter eleven soon.”

“I did hear something about that but I didn’t know Kermises made the drug, wasn’t it Fresco,” said Philip. They just had a press conference on the news this Tuesday.

“Fresco is a subdivision of Kermises. They were gobbled by Kermises in ninety-two,” said Bill.
“I was meaning to introduce them to Percival, but he doesn’t work today,” said Mr. Crawford. “He has a shift tomorrow. I’m sure that he would be happy to talk with you guys though. Don’t you think, Stevenson?”

“I don’t know. I’m just his doctor,” he replied. He felt bad for Percival. He didn’t like these companies. “I’ll see him in two weeks for a check up. If there is anything you wanted to tell him, I’ll do it then. I do have to go. I’ve got an appointment to get to. Nice to meet you.”

He turned and headed back into the hallway and towards for the elevators. Getting off on the third floor he went to the receptionist’s desk. His office was just down the hall but as he passed by the first office, a female’s voice called out to him, “Philip, are you going to sign those papers I put on your desk?”

He stopped and backpedaled, and ducked his head into Trish’s office. She was a bright pretty woman in her mid-forties. They had a flirtatious relationship and even went out on a few dates. Nothing came from it and they wanted to remain friends, since they work so closely.

“I haven’t even looked at them yet but I promise I’ll get it done today.”

“Alright, but make sure you have them on my desk by seven. I‘m leaving then.”

He wanted to ask her what she had to do at seven but held back. It was weird, when they were together he didn’t feel they had any chemistry but during their current hands off status, he had eruptions of jealousy whenever she talked about other men around him. He was attracted to her, and he adored her green eyes, plush lips and fit built. They never did anything beyond kissing, not that Philip hadn’t pursued. She had shut that door before it had opened. That wasn’t the reason they stopped dating, on the contrary, the challenge to him was the most intriguing thing about her.

They came to that conclusion while having dinner one night, that since they both worked together, that they wouldn’t pursue the relationship. How could he meet anyone if he followed that rule? He spent most of his time at work and wasn’t the type of person that could approach an attractive woman and start up a conversation.

The papers he needed to look at dealt with the new machines coming into the laboratories. Philip had to sit through three boring lectures on the new technology. He just needed to sign on the line that he knew what the machines are for and that he knew the new safety procedures for them.

“They’ll be at your desk within the hour. So what are you up to tonight?” Right after he said it, he wanted the words back. Not that she didn’t know already that he was interested in her, practically the whole floor knew.

“I’ve got a business dinner to go to. Why?” she said with a coy smile.

“No reason really. Well, I got to go and check out some lab work. I’ll see you in an hour or so.” He ducked back into the hall, with his face blushing.

Outside his office door a plastic holder which held his incoming mail was stuffed with three large yellow envelopes. He scooped them up under his arm and opened the door. His small office barely fit his large desk, a filing cabinet that rose to his waist and a bookshelf filled with all the medical books he had accumulated. Everything was kept tidy, which was his habit. He didn’t mind being messy as long as it wasn’t seen by others. His desk held the only clutter but that was impossible to keep clean with the constant ebb of paperwork. He spotted Trish’s papers. A single window in the office was his only view out and it wasn’t a very pleasant view, overlooking the parking lot, but it was nice to have the sun shine in, so he pulled the blinds up.

Taking a seat, he began to read the memos on his desk, getting them done before his appointments. He skipped lines, just wanting to sign the them. He stroked his name on the designated. He then took out the lab results from his mailbox, holding the x-ray in the sunlight.

It revealed a block smudge, the cancer, growing instead of reseeding, which was the worst circumstance he could have received. He ripped open the second one and pulled out several blood test results with more bad news. He hesitated opening the last result and with a deep breath tore it open, looking at the tests results, wishing for good news only to be disappointed.

He had one hour before his first appointment, so he snatched the memo and went back to Trish’s office. She wasn’t there, so he placed it in her mailbox next to her door, wanting desperately to go home.

Getting Back On The Horse

I've been getting back to my novels again and put together a combat piece. Its a work in progress.



A cool breeze blew and cooled Akilion’s skin. Even in the Northern Mountains, the glaring sun baked him through his armor. He wiped at his forehead with a rag and batted his large grey gelding, edging him behind his fellow cavalry. The clinking of metal and stretching of leather drowned out all other sound. Each wore full plate mail with small wooden shields attached to their right arm and medium sized lances propped upwards. They were positioned along a ridgeline, keeping the larger footmen army to their right flank.

He put his rag away and fished out the sharpening stone from his saddlebags, sliding it across his bronze dagger he held across his lap. He had found it during a battle. Tripping over a dieing man, he had lost his sword. Laying there defenseless, he saw the sword that would soon take his life. The hulking Grandorian cocked the sword back and came at him with all his strength. Splashing in the mud, his right hand came upon the dagger’s hilt. With instinct, he swung the blade in a powerful arch and the Grandorian’s detached sword hand whacked him the chest, blood spraying his face.

The thing was worth coppers but it had saved his life numerous times and its worth was invaluable. Once sharpened and oiled, he slid it back into its sheath tied to his belt. His other blade, a long sword, was strapped to his back.

His commander, Jotel lifted his fist and the company halted. Everyone stiffened and eyed the area suspiciously. Only small brush and an occasional pine dotted the rocky incline. A whisper came down the line. The retreating Grandorian raiding party had just come around the bend of the road below them. Akilion whispered the command for the soldiers behind him.

Tightening his grip on the reins, he waited for the officer to give the signal. Men began to murmur prayers and he said his silently. The slow churning of wagon’s wheels echoed below and Akilion eased his sword in and out of scabbard.

The officer raised his hands and they surged forward with a ferocious battle cry. He roared by Jotel and began the steep decent. Akilion focused on the backside of the horse in front of him as a cloud of dust enveloped them. He could just make out the wagons coming around the bend of the road. Leaning forward for stability, he felt the sudden jar of even ground. Cries rose from the lead wagon and the swishing of arrows buzzed around him. Akilion put his wooden shield above his head, shielding his open slit of his helmet and settled his lance into place. With no visibility, he waited for the clash of steel. In an instant, he dodged a downed horse and aimed his lance at the nearest twelve foot shadow. The Gardenian deflected his lance with a massive stone broadsword. Akilion’s hand went numb from the collision and the lance fell from his hand. Digging in his spurs, he slid the sword from his back and moved out of striking distance, keeping his momentum.

Another giant human loomed near a wagon wheel and swung its sword, knocking the soldier Akilion was following from his saddle. Akilion swung at the enemy’s back but not before it drove its sword through the soldier’s breastplate. Spurring his horse, he coughed out a cloud of dust and wiped his dry eyes. Out from behind a wagon, a war hammer arched toward his head but Akilion had just enough time to move his sword to smack the shaft. The blow knocked his sword from his hands and the hammer struck his shoulder. He felt the armor cave in and began to fall from his saddle. Pulling with all his might on the reins, he gathered his balance but his steed came to an abrupt stop. The Gardenian saw his chance to finish him off and charged. Akilion’s hand shot for his dagger, the two foot curved blade slid from its sheath and he slammed it into the oncoming goliath’s bicep. It reared back in pain, the dagger still in its arm, and ripped it out. It picked up the war hammer that he dropped and gave a guttural yell. He had just raised it above his head before a lance caught it in the chest, carrying it twenty feet. It came to a stop at a wagon’s wheel. Taking a deep breath, he spurred his horse on, pulling out his last weapon, a dagger attached to his saddle and flailed at anything that moved.

He neared another ominous shadow at full gallop, and swung at it. He hit flesh and held on until the blade slipped free. As he blurred past, he felt a heavy thwack against his side. Looking down, an arrow shaft jutted from his abdomen. Shielding his face, he picked up speed and followed his companions through the entanglement of wagons. He pulled next to a fellow soldier, a young man whose back was riddled with arrows. He gave a nod to the young soldier, who nodded back and they broke free from melee and continued up the opposite hill. When they reached the crest, they turned around and waited for the rest of Calvary to reach the top. It took several minutes for the dust to settle and the battlefield to be seen. Bodies littered the wagons, some moaning with injuries. Akilion took the lull to check his side. Gripping the end closest to his body, he snapped off the shaft. A tendril of blood slithered down his silver armor and dripped to the ground.

Jotel, who brought up the rear, ordered several fresh recruits to go down and secure the area. The fifteen chosen men scampered down. Once halfway, a Gardenian popped out of the back of the wagon, firing a cross bolt into the first soldier. He dropped from his horse with a thud. The rest charged. Another Gardenian, playing dead, jumped up and the two giants aimed their crossbows and fired again, dropping two more. But once the charge over took them, it was over. They gave the all clear signal, the rest of the cavalry made their way down.

Lifting a lance from the chest of a moaning Gardenian, Akilion edged his steed around a large wagon, its payload covered by a tarp, to where he had dropped his copper dagger and retrieved it. He cut one of the ropes tying the canvas down and peeked inside. It held a jumble of metal objects, helmets, oil lamps, silverware and mugs. Next to the skittish horse pulling the wagon, he noticed a Gardenian, armless, face down in the dirt, and a sword underneath its massive body. Dismounting, Akilion yanked the sword from beneath the corpse. It had looked small near the Gardenian but fit nicely in his hand. It had excellent balance and he noticed the fine intricate design inlaid on the blade. He untied the scabbard from the Gardenian and tied it to his belt, slipping the blade in with a click.

Remounting, he joined the rest of the men in a the middle of the wagons. The new soldiers went to work clearing the dead. A Brotherhood member, in light purple, was helping several soldiers with wounds and Akilion dismounted and started detaching his armor. Removing the arrow head was painful and he nearly broke the block of wood the robed man had put in his mouth. Once the stitching was done and a solvent applied, he put his armor back on.

Staverent, a tall burly veteran soldier, came up to him, leaning on a silver long sword with a golden hilt shaped like a cat’s head. “You lucky beast,” he said, eyeing Akilion’s wound. “That’s a week off.”

Akilion barked a laugh and tightened the last latch to his breastplate. “This wound’s going to take at least two.”

Staverent riffled through his saddlebag, and pulled out a silver flask. After a long swig, he tossed it to Akilion. The thick liquor gave a refreshing burn as it worked his way down his throat. Its warmth felt good against the chill.

As the bodies began to pile up, Akilion was surprised to see some Careichens among the dead. They resided more to the deep wooded areas to the East. Their pale taught skin looked ominous on their lanky but normal size. Their auger eyes seemed to stare at you no matter where you stood. The soldiers disrobed them and piled their clothing in heaps. Their robes, made from the fibers of plants, were the best camouflage in the world. A huge pile of arrow shafts and bows had their own pile near the clothing.

Several loud blasts from a horn echoed through the valley. The beating of drums followed by the stomping of a hundred footmen thundered around the bend. Every soldier stopped what they were doing and watched as the flagmen and drummer boys came into view in front of the legion. The line stopped before they reached the wagons and Jotel, upon his mount, flanked by his bodyguard, waited for the general to emerge.

The general, clad in deep purple armor, rode to the front . Jotel saluted, fist to head and handed the general a rolled parchment. The general nodded, took it and said something to one of his lieutenants, a lanky fellow in polished chain mail. The man turned and barked a command to the footmen and they dispersed around the valley.

“Looks like we’re going to be moving on,” said Staverent, tucking his flask back into his saddle bag. “I hate camping with footmen. I’d like to move on before making camp.”

Akilion nodded in agreement. “To bad I’ll be heading back with the injured. Time to spend some of that pay.”

His friend smiled and pulled out a bundle from his bag, tossing it to Akilion. “Send this off when you get to town.”

Akilion looked down at a bundle of letters twined together. “No problem. Take care and I’ll bring you a sack of good tobacco when I get back.”

“Don’t take to long,” he said and rode around the pile of dead.

The Brotherhood were already placing the seriously injured onto the wagons and Akilion gathered his belongings and prepared for the long journey south.

The Christmas Clash

An hour after delivering presents, Santa touched down on the icy roof of a house and reached behind his sled to lift out several large presents. Waddling over to the chimney, he tossed them into the abyss. He reached for more and noticed Rudolf nosing a large inflatable Frosty.

“Rudolf get your nose out of there and give me some light,” he said, holding his list in air.

“We got trouble,” said Blitzen, just as Santa swung a leg over the edge.

“What is it?” yelled Santa. He looked at the roof across the street. There sat a sled with several antelopes attached to it. A man wearing a black and yellow suit tossed several presents down the chimney. “It can’t be.”

The stranger looked at him, his dark skin and shirt were hard to see making his bright yellow pants stand out, creating an image of a pair of floating pants.

“Kwanzaa Clause,” sputtered Donder. “We can take ‘em.”

Santa dashed for his list, checking it twice. The Gilmore’s were off his list. He scrolled down. The Kannetts and Flanagans were missing. Kwanzaa Clause waved, flashing his bright smile and got onto his sled and took off.

“I’ve just about had it with this guy,” said Santa, hopping into his sled and chasing after him.

Kwanzaa Claus turned around, noticing Santa creeping up. He gave the reins a stiff tug and the antelopes picked up speed.

“Come on, you lazy deer,” yelled Santa.

“Hey old man, lay off the reins. You’re killing my neck,” yelped Cupid. “Why do I have to be tied in the back?”

“They’re pulling away,” shouted Santa.

“Drop some weight,” exclaimed Prancer.

Santa emptied his bag over the edge of the sled and they started to gain on them. Soon they were side by side and Kwanzaa Clause wore an antagonistic grin. Santa veered into his lane. Kwanzaa Clause grasped the reins slamming into the side of the sled. Santa gathered up momentum and swung again slamming the sleds together. This time Kwanzaa Clause fell over, holding on by the reins. The antelopes veered to the right sharply and they crashed into a snow bank.

As they passed overhead, Kwanzaa Clause shook his fist at him. Santa held his belly and gave a jolly laugh. "Ho! Ho! Ho! Merry Christmas."