Table Of Contents | |||||
Book 1 | Book 2 | Book 3 | Book 4 | Book 5 | Book 6 |
#SciFi #ScienceFiction #Futuristic #SpeculativeFiction #MindBending #Interdimensional #Otherworldly #PortalFiction #CosmicEncounter #ParallelRealities#GirlPower #YoungHeroes #UnexpectedHeroes #Teamwork #BraveGirls #EldritchHorror #UnknownEntity #BeyondTheVeil #DimensionalRift #AlienMystery#SciFiAdventure #RealityWarp #ExtraDimensional #StrangePhenomena #SupernaturalSciFi
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The high school classroom smells of chalk and old books, its windows framing a gray October morning.
Ella, Roxana, Eileen, and Helana sit at desks arranged in a circle, facing Melanie Crenshaw, whose calm demeanor contrasts with Commander Beakerâs fidgety presence.
After ninety minutes of orientationâground rules, objectives, and the promise of college creditâElla leans forward, her voice sharp. âLetâs be clear,â she says, channeling her inner leader.
âWeâre not spies.
We wonât become spies or help you spy.â Melanie raises a hand, her smile reassuring.
âWeâre not asking that.
We want to hone your skills for whatever careers you choose.
Remote viewing for spying hasnât worked wellâcounter-spies block it, confuse it, or spy back.â âThatâs because youâre doing it wrong,â Helana says, her tone matter-of-fact, her English now seamless. Melanie leans in, intrigued.
âWeâve refined techniques for decades to get accurate data, not imagination.
How are we wrong? Teach me.â Helana hesitates, searching for words.
âWhere I come from, we donât learn techniques like you learn a language.
Babies donât take classesâthey absorb it from their environment.
Iâll try to explain.â She takes a breath.
âFirst, everything you perceiveâsenses, spirit downloads, ESPâis imaginary.
Imagination turns raw data into the reality you experience.
Second, the data isnât physical; itâs from the dimension of mind, where distance doesnât exist.
Thereâs no âremoteââitâs all here, around you.
Third, youâre trying to view while awake.
Your body canât do it.
It happens in the spiritual realm, downloaded to your brain, which rewrites it based on beliefs.
Thatâs why itâs confusing.
Keep it in spirit, let spirit visualize, then let your brain catch up during sleep or deep meditation.
Otherwise, your conscious mind distorts it.â She gestures at Melanie.
âAt our night school party, you came awake, fading in and out, unable to touch.
If youâd come in spirit, while sleeping, we couldâve hugged, danced.
Earth people have so much to learn.â âDonât fight imagination,â Helana continues.
âEmbrace it.
Walk in it.
Test it.
Put a clock in another room, like your kitchen.
At night, when you wake, imagine reading it without checking any clocks.
Then compare it to your bedroom clock.
Soon, theyâll match.
Youâre not travelingâyour spirit accesses the collective soul, the Akashic records, where all data resides.
Imagining travel just helps you focus.â âOr play cards,â she adds, a mischievous glint in her eye.
âImagine seeing your friendsâ hands.
Theyâll stop inviting you.â âWeâve tried similar techniques,â Melanie says, âbut the dataâs often inaccurate or uninterpretable.â âYouâre viewing secret places blindly,â Helana says.
âItâs like waking in a strange city on an alien planetâdisorienting.
You canât interpret unfamiliar data.
But your biggest mistake is using soul data adversarially.
Thatâs why we wonât spy.
Itâs immoral and doesnât work.
Soul is love, cooperation, friendship.
Adversarial intent breaks resonance with soul, garbling what you see.
Never use spiritual tools in anger, or you risk losing your soul connectionâthe worst fate for a spirit.â âSpirits can die?â Melanie asks, her voice hushed. âEverythingâspirit, physicalâis information,â Helana says.
âTo live, it needs energy.
A body energizes spirit while alive.
After death, soul does.
Disconnect from soul, and your spirit fades like a dying battery, your information dissipating.
Soul forgets you.â âHow do you know this?â Melanie asks. âI believe it,â Helana says.
âItâs our belief system, consistent with my observations and my peopleâs.
We see deeper into existenceâs dimensions than Earth does.â Melanie exhales, awed.
âThatâs profound, Helana.
Itâll take years to integrate.
It echoes ancient Egyptian hermetic principles.
Are your beliefs rooted there?â Helana shrugs.
âOur beliefs evolved over millions of years, their origins lost.
Theyâve been learned, forgotten, relearned through our civilizationâs rises and falls, like yours.â Melanie glances at the girls, some dozing.
âThatâs enough for morning.
Time for pizza.â âPizza?â Eileen says, snapping awake. --- The afternoon session moves to the townâs small shopping mall, its central courtyard alive with the splash of a fountain and the chatter of shoppers.
The girls sit at a wrought-iron table, gelato cups and Italian sodas before them, the air sweet with sugar and citrus.
Melanie sips her soda, her tone casual but deliberate. âWeâre studying situational awareness,â she says.
âMost people focus so much on friends they forget their surroundingsâa sign of love, but dangerous in emergencies.
It can get you killed.â âWhat do we do?â Roxana asks, twirling her spoon. âObserve discreetly,â Melanie says.
âDonât stareâthatâs rude.
Watch your field of view, describe it to each other.
Soon, youâll know everything around you.
Then, something amazing happens: youâll sense whatâs behind you as your friend describes it.
We all detect othersâ energy fields.
With practice, no one can sneak up on you.â Eileen smirks.
âI see something.
Pete Sanchez is with Kim Dillon by the fountain.
Problem is, theyâre dating other people.â Melanie laughs.
âValuable gossip, if you were into blackmailâwhich weâre not.
Observation yields useful info.â âThe gelato shopâs hiring,â Ella says, pointing.
âIâm too young, but good to know.â âExcellent,â Melanie says.
âNotice the familiarâpeople you knowâthen look deeper for what doesnât belong.â âEverything seems normal,â Ella says. âNot to me,â Roxana says, her voice low.
âA manâs by that shop door, not moving.
Another, in a dark suit, sits by the fountain with a newspaper heâs not reading.â âI see one too,â Ella says, âin the gelato shop, staring out.â âWho are they?â Melanie asks.
âBusinessmen? Salesmen? Or something else?â âThis is creepy,â Roxana says.
âThat guyâs a creeper.
Iâm getting a soda refill and staring him down.
Iâll tell him to stop eyeing schoolgirls or Iâm calling the cops.â âDaring,â Melanie says.
âWeâve got your back.â Suddenly, Ella and Helana whip around, staring at the entrance.
A young man charges in, armed with multiple weapons, heading straight for them.
Ella reacts first, her mind lashing out, knocking him to his knees as she did to Jimmy Sterling.
Helana follows, slamming his face to the concrete, scattering his weapons.
Heâs too strong, rising, pulling an assault rifle, aiming at Roxana. Three sharp pops echo.
The man clutches his chest, stumbles, and collapses face-down.
The girls screamâexcept Eileen, frozen, staring at her hands gripping a Glock 40-caliber pistol. Men in dark suits swarm, ushering the girls to an exit where a van waits.
One grabs the gun from Eileen, posing as the shooter.
Others slip into shops, their movements precise. --- In a sterile safe house, the girls huddle on a couch, the air heavy with antiseptic and tension.
Eileen stares at the wall, catatonic, unresponsive.
A physician checks their vitals, her face grim.
Melanie paces, her voice sharp. âBeaker, fess up!â she demands.
âWhat happened? No bullshitâwas that real or staged for training?â âHow could it be staged?â Beaker says, his voice strained.
âElla knocking him down, the gun sliding to Eileen, her shooting like a seasoned cop? Impossible.â Melanieâs eyes narrow.
âIf it wasnât staged, was it a hit? He was aiming at Roxana before Eileen stopped him.â âWe donât know,â Beaker says.
âHeâs a nutcase, from what weâve gathered.
Probably a coincidence.â âCoincidence?â Melanie snaps.
âNutcases are easy to manipulate.
I think it was a hit, thwarted by the girlsâ training.
Who trained Eileen on weapons? Not summer camp.â âWe shot targets, no advanced training,â Beaker says.
âI think she channeled her mom.
Faced with death, her psychic skills tapped her momâs police training.
Itâs the only explanation.â Eileen stirs, whimpering, her eyes darting.
Roxana cradles her as she sobs.
Helana speaks, her voice hollow.
âHis mind was blackâa bottomless void.
I couldnât hold him.
Something evil was there.â âPossessed?â Beaker asks. âNot possessed,â Melanie says.
âMind-controlled.
A puppet for someoneâor something.â Ella, on the phone with her mom, lowers it, her face pale.
âMom says the news reported an off-duty FBI agent shot the guy.
Thatâs a lieâEileen did.
Why?â âSanitizing,â Beaker says.
âA 14-year-old killing with military precision raises questions.
We said an FBI agent did it, grabbed the surveillance footage, and cleaned it.
It happened too fast for phone videos.â âThose cleanup guys were just there?â Ella asks, skeptical. âTheyâve been shadowing you for months,â Beaker says.
âYou didnât notice.
Weâre keeping you safe.
The agents are embarrassed they didnât stop him sooner.
They apologize.â âThe FBIâs watching us?â Ella asks. âNot exactly,â Beaker says.
âTheyâre a multi-agency task forceâFBI, CIA, NSA, AFOSI, Secret Service.
Elite, secret, unknown to Congress.
Keep their secret; theyâre keeping yours.â âLike the presidentâs kids?â Ella asks. âBetter,â Beaker says. âAnd we still had to save ourselves,â Ella says, smirking.
âSome security.â âRetrainingâs started,â Beaker says.
âYou might not always protect yourselves, so keep them around.â âI didnât finish my gelato,â Eileen says, her voice small.
âCan I get another?â âIâll order one, Miss Danvers,â Beaker says.
âRight away.â âIâm Miss Danvers too,â Helana says, forcing a smile. --- In the safe houseâs dim bedroom, Ella sits on a cot, the night heavy with silence.
Roxana prays softly, her rosary beads clicking, while Helana tries to sleep, hoping for night school.
Ella opens her diary, her hand trembling.
Dear Diary, Nothing much happened.
I knocked a guy down with my mind.
Eileen shot him.
We watched him die.
Just another day in our quiet town. I wasnât scared.
I screamed, but I felt in control.
Overconfident? Maybe.
If Iâd been scared, could I have acted? What scares me is how good it felt when he went down.
Exciting.
I wanted to fist-pump.
I hate action movies, but this was thrilling.
I need to fix that. Eileenâs in shock, barely remembering she killed someone.
How will she feel when it hits? This is spiraling.
Thatâs what terrifies me. Iâm scared the Navy will take us away to âprotectâ us.
Iâd rather stay home, even if itâs riskier.
Let the agents watch outside. Someone tried to kill us.
A minute later, he was dead.
They wonât try again soon. Melanie tried teaching remote viewing.
Theyâre clueless.
Helana will teach us, as always. Helanaâs going to night school alone, if she can sleep.
She needs her mom.
Sheâs scared too. Roxana and I are watching Eileen, ready for nightmares.
Itâs a long night.
Roxanaâs prayingâmaybe itâll help.
I donât know. Melanieâs a therapist, offering help.
Weâve got this.
We always do. Goodnight, Diary.
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