Psychic Warrior (22 page)

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Authors: David Morehouse

BOOK: Psychic Warrior
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The summer of 1989 faded into fall. One morning before work, I found Mel tossing stones into a small creek near the unit.
“You're in early today. Get in trouble at home?” I asked, tossing a small stone at his feet.
“Hey! Watch it. Nah, I just had some thinking to do, and this is as good a place as any to do it.”
“Oh? What's so heavy it brings you out here?”
“Retirement.” He tossed his final stone and stood looking at the spot where it broke the water. “You know, this old creek has kept me sane for about eight years now. I'll miss it when I have to go.”
“Well, why
do
you have to go? You only have twenty years in. Why don't you stay for another ten and retire with a bigger paycheck? Damn, Mel, you never told me you were thinking about retiring. What the hell am I supposed to do around here without you?”
“Thirty?” He laughed loudly. “I wouldn't give the fucking army twenty-four hours past twenty years, and you'd better not either.” He picked up some more stones. “Nah, twenty years of your life is more than enough. Especially when you've seen what I've seen. You came from the real army, Dave—the army where they use words like ‘pride,' ‘passion,' ‘honor', and ‘comrade'; those words have been missing from my life since I was a young sergeant. I don't want this anymore. I want a life with Edith, somewhere in Wisconsin, where we can love each other and grow old together.” .
“It's still not right,” I said. “I don't know what I'll do without you here. One thing I've learned in my short time here, you have to have a friend you can trust. You're that friend, and I'll really miss you.”
Riley looked at me with less irony than I'd ever seen in him. “Thanks. I consider you a friend, too, and I know I can trust my back to you. That's rare in this business; one day somebody claims he's your friend, the next time he tries to leave a knife in your back. Because he thinks he's smarter than you.” He threw his last stone, pulled a small
leather bag out of his jacket, untied the top, and reached in. “I made this for you, to keep you safe.”
In Mel's hand was a flat, perfectly round stone, in a supple, tightly sewn hide case that left only the top third of it visible. The case was adorned with an intricate pattern of beads and finished with a long strap that allowed it to be hung around the owner's neck. It was beautiful.
“What does this pattern mean?” -
“It's your rock medicine—like mine, see?” He pulled his from inside his shirt to show me briefly. “You wear it next to your heart, always. I made yours to indicate that you are a member of the Bear Clan, a warrior class. The symbols on the front represent the bear in his cave. These colors and patterns here represent the piercing bullets of his enemies heading toward him, and the wavy lines here show how his spirit and power have made the bullets waver and fall. See, he's protected by his power, and his power comes from his bravery, and his bravery from his spirit.”
“That's really . : . I don't know what to say. Nobody's ever given me anything like this. Thank you, Mel.”
“You're welcome, brother, but there's more. Turn it over. The symbols on this side represent balance in all things, sort of an Indian yin and yang. The stone is balanced, as are the colors and symbols on this side of the medicine. The red represents adversity, turmoil, and challenge, while the blue speaks of depth and promise and goodness. The central yellow symbolizes the east-to-west journey of the sun separating the two powers and thus creating balance.” He put his hand on my shoulder and smiled lovingly. “I think you need some balance in your life. If you wear this all the time, and believe in it, the medicine will provide what you need according to your faith.” His gaze seemed to reach into my soul briefly. “Now, what do you say we get some fucking coffee?”
“Yeah, I could use some. And, Mel, thanks for this. I will never let it out of my sight.”
“You know, I picked up that rock about twenty years ago, just before I came into the army. I've carried it all this
time waiting for the right way to use it. You better take care of it, it's a Vietnam veteran.”
I wanted to say something important but all I could do was fight the lump in my throat, so I kept my mouth shut and listened to Mel talk all the way back to the office. That night, on my way home, I held the medicine in my hands, rubbing the beads with my fingers until they were warm. I wanted to believe that their power would always keep me safe. I prayed silently that this was my answer to the nightmares.
 
One day two weeks later, with Mel monitoring, I undertook what was called an open search. In an open search, you have no coordinates to guide you; you just invite the signal line to take you wherever there's something to be learned. Remote viewers did these every so often just so they could remember that there are more of
them
out there—more planets, more beings, more civilizations-than there are of
us
… I guess. This was my first such search. Mel had spent the last two days coaching me, but as I began, all I could remember was that they were always humbling experiences, full of surprises.
“Tell me where you are,” Mel said.
“In the middle of a prairie. I can see a series of jagged rocks jutting out of the ground about fifty yards away. They're maybe a hundred feet high and they look like black crystals set at a forty-five-degree angle in the ground. It's strikingly beautiful.
“I'm next to the crystals now, and I can see my reflection in them. That's odd—I've never been able to see my reflection in anything on a search before. Also, the reflection looks as if it's a couple of meters
inside
the crystal.”
“Do you—”
“Whoa! I see other reflections in the crystals.” I spun around, thinking something must be beside or behind me, but nothing was. These weren't reflections at all. “Mel! I see movement inside this black crystal wall. The images look human, but I can't quite make them out.”
“Move into the wall and find out who they are.”
I pressed my hand into the crystal and followed it in. “This seems to be an entrance. There's a stairway leading down; it's about twenty feet wide and it drops from here maybe two hundred feet below the surface. I'm going to follow it.”
“I want you to describe the beings to me. Tell me what they're thinking, how they look, and what they do.”
I descended the stairway. All around me was a labyrinth of causeways and great arching entrances. Everything I saw was made of the black crystal; everywhere I looked, there were people on foot.
“They look pretty much like us, I guess—in fact, I can't see anything markedly different. Their clothing is something like what people wore in ancient Egypt, very loose-fitting and accented with gold embroidery and metal. It's white, which contrasts tremendously with the blackness of this place.
“I'm approaching a transparent archway. It covers the walkway I'm on for several hundred feet. I'm in a big room, and this archway runs the length of it. The damned thing is huge.”
“Is there a central place where everyone's congregating ?”
“I don't know; let me see.” One walkway seemed to have heavier traffic than the others, so I moved there. “I'm following a large group now. It's a very strange feeling, walking among these beings. I get the impression they know I'm here—in fact, several of them have looked directly at me and sort of smiled. They aren't interested in me; they just seem to know I'm here.”
“See if any of them will talk to you.”
“Okay, whatever you say.” Feeling stupid, I waved my arms at the beings, spoke to them, even stood in their way. All they did was look at me; I was in their path, they walked right through me. “Nobody's talking here, Mel. Sorry!”
“Fine, see if you can find some central hub.”
“I'm still following this large group; they seem to be turning off … yeah, we're entering a large room, where everyone is standing shoulder to shoulder. It's like an amphitheater, very narrow at the bottom and wider at the top. Still made of the black crystal.”
“What's going on in this place?”
“There's someone sitting in a big elevated chair at the bottom of the room. Everyone here is paying very close attention to whatever this thing says.”
“Why are you calling this being a ‘thing'?”
“Uh, that's a good question. I think because he or she or it is larger than the others, and dressed differently. They're in all white; this thing's in black. It has a large open hood over its head, with long flowing sleeves that mostly cover its hands. The hands are not like everyone else's; the texture is much rougher, and the color is darker. If I had to call it, I'd say this one is very evil.”
“Evil?”
“Okay, not evil. He's some kind of lawgiver or something. He directs people to do things, and they do them without question. It's not really clear; he points to people, motions to them, and they leave, apparently to carry out some task.”
“Can you speak to this lawgiver?”
“No! And I don't even want to try. I can tell he knows I'm here, but he couldn't care less, and I get the impression he'll be pissed if I try to flaunt the fact that I'm here.”
“Okay. Have you seen enough?”
“Yeah, I think I have for now.”
“Break it off and come on back.”
I thought Mel might be disappointed by my timidity. It seemed he wanted me to really assert myself and let the beings know I was there, but I simply didn't feel comfortable doing that. I felt a certain fascination in visiting another world, but I also understood the need to treat it respectfully. I was an invader, not a guest. I saw them look at me; I knew they were aware of my presence, yet they chose not to speak. So it was clear to me that I was being
tolerated, not accepted. And I vowed I would never interfere in other worlds. It was their prerogative to acknowledge me, but I would never force myself on them.
Riley snatched my summary out of my hand. “Come on, let's get out of here early and grab a beer. I want to talk to you.”
“I hope you're not pissed at me because of the session.”
“Pissed? There you go again, thinking you didn't do well. Dave, what you get out of an open search is up to you; the unit doesn't have any expectations. Open searches are freebies; you get to go where the signal line takes you instead of telling it where you want to go. They're like an amusement park, only the tickets are your RV training. Ain't it great?”
“Yeah, I suppose so.”
“So, did you learn anything?”
“I guess I learned that there are other worlds and other civilizations, and that each one has its own agenda in the universe. It puts things into perspective for me. I used to think of the human race as God's chosen people, but I'm obviously wrong.”
“What makes you say that?”
“Well, who's to say where God's reign starts and stops? I mean, He could be the overseer of that place I visited only hours ago; what makes us any better than those beings?”
“You're catching on, my friend. We're nothing but a little blue spot in a solar system, in a galaxy with a hundred million solar systems, in a universe with a hundred million galaxies. And the truth is we don't know where it ends, or if it does. And we aren't even talking about dimensions yet. Gives you a headache, doesn't it?” .
I laughed. “It does, at that. Let's go get that beer.”
 
We drove to a small pub off-post and sat at the bar. The place was a typical military-town bar, plastered with unit stickers and letters of appreciation from members of this team and that detachment. There were plaques scattered
across the wall behind the bar, and dozens of bills and coins from around the world, a testimony to the bar's proximity to Defense Department globetrotters. Mel ordered up two dark German beers.
“I've been looking at some property in Wisconsin, and I want your opinion on it.” He pulled out a worn newspaper article and some real estate papers, and spread them out on the bar for me to see, ironing them with his hands.
The photos were of an old two-story house in Scandinavia, Wisconsin, with lots of original woodwork and trim, all in hardwood. It sat on a lake with a quiet main street at the front. Giant oak trees wrapped the house in green shade.
“It's gorgeous, Mel. How much?”
“Thirty-eight thousand for five bedrooms and a detached garage, on the lake, with all the history you could ask for.” He took a long pull on his beer, belching as he dropped it back on the bar.
“That's it? Thirty-eight thousand for all that?”
“That's it! Now you know why I want to go back home to live. A house like that would cost ten times as much around here. And who the fuck wants to live here? Not me, that's for sure. I want to give Edith a life. Hell,
I
want a life. I want to go fishing.” He drained the last of his beer and ordered another. “Yup, it'll be a great place to live and die. And I can remote-view anything I want to, and I won't have to ask permission to do it. I'm looking forward to it.”

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