Chronicles of Han: Preserving Creata: Part 1: Learning Curve

I actually slept, dreamless, and felt much better when I woke late afternoon.

The sun was starting to settle down behind the city, enveloping my room in a red and orange glow. I freshened up and went to the guest room which doubled as my meditation room. After closing the door and the curtains, I lit some candles and incense.

Settling cross-legged on the carpet in a meditative pose, I faced my newest problem.

Since I can remember, I have always been able to visit the Universal recordings for Creata. Sensaii called it the Halls of Records or Recording Halls.

For me, it represented a space somewhat like a library or a computer memory bank. Here, all the actual events happening on this Planet, and life-memories of all individuals with a higher intelligence, were recorded and stored.

One needed authorization to access this information. Authorization was given to you as your spiritual evolvement progressed.

I had learnt about this from the private Psychic teacher Zane. At least I had paid attention to that part of his teachings, finding it fascinating that I have always been able to access this Recorded Information System when I was looking for information on whatever I needed.

I could also access my own records if I needed to see a happening or event in depth. It was as if I was within a movie, but only a spectator, nothing could be altered and I had a chance to see the happenings around me that I had missed the first time round.

I could consciously access my own life-memories any time I wished.

Lately, I was allowed to directly access passed over person’s life-memories by way of touching something that presented their life-essence as recently experienced, or so I figured, anyway.

I was apprehensive that I would not be allowed to access a living, breathing person’s memory record.

I wondered if it would help if I knew this person? That I’ve actually touched him physically before?

Sensaii shrugged. He was not much help either.

I relaxed body and mind.

Shortly I felt my flesh starting to go numb, followed by the tug of my spirit leaving my body.

I concentrated on reaching the personal section of the Recording Halls.

Keeping the memory of the person I needed, as well as the event I wanted to reach, foremost in my mind, I was pulled along what looked like corridors with hundreds of doors in them.

These doors represent the individual’s Archives. It felt as if I had walked for ages before I found a door that felt right.

It had a soft golden glow around it.

Touching the door, I felt the person I was looking for.

I turned the handle.

The door was unlocked.

I had authorisation to step into the life-memories of Detective David Stone . . .

I was Detective Stone.

Consumed with hate and rage, I drove to the Low-life’s place.

Sneaking up the porch stairs, I entered through the unlocked back door. He was sitting on his couch, watching home movies as if nothing could harm him.

As I lifted my granddad’s bat, I reflected that the whole world would be better off without this rogue lord.

He was one of the most wanted men in New Haven. He was one of the biggest crime lords on Creata.

But no longer.

I swung the bat.

It shattered.

I knew he was dead before his corpse hit the floor.

I carefully wrapped the bat in the bag I had brought.

I kept my mask over my face, in case they got a psychic out to see what had happened.

My gloved hands quickly found the evidence of my daughter’s unfortunate escapades.

I made sure there were no back-ups. The Universe knew it was not her fault for falling for this piece of scum.

I should have done so many things differently, but I had not.

I was consumed with guilt.

It was all my fault.

I quietly left the way I came in.

I had parked the car a block away and only when I was safely on my way, did I dare to take the mask off.

I went straight home where I stashed the evidence in the extra trench I had dug in the open foundation for the patio at the back of the house. I covered it with dirt and tamped it fast.

I made sure there were no blood splatters on any of my clothes or in the car. I must say, I had done an excellent job. One blow and not a lot of projecting fluids.

After cleaning myself up, I went to the hospital where my baby was in ICU, hanging on by a thread.

Taking her hand in mine, I rested my head on the bed.

Overdose they said.

Murder I say.

Tomorrow will bring its own troubles.

I’m on standby tonight, and will probably be called out to my own case.

How ironic.

The door to David Stone’s memories opened and the light from the passage disrupted the recording.

I was aware of not being Stone anymore and saw Sensaii beckoning to me urgently.

I left Stone’s memories and Sensaii hurried me back along the corridors with startling speed.