The Wounded World
A Story of Mantra
By Aladdin
Originally written 2006
Revised June 21, 2021
Revised June 22, 2021
Revised June 23, 2021
Revised June 24, 2021
.Revised June 25, 2021
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TERROR PLUS ONE

Edited by Christopher Leeson
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Chapter 12

I see the Past, Present and Future, existing all at once Before me;
O Divine Spirit, sustain me on thy wings!

William Blake
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What's happened? Think, Lukasz, think! I told myself.

I tried to keep from shaking. I had shifted from Thursday back to Saturday. It was another leap of five days, but this time I’d gone into the past instead of the future. But had I returned to my own reality, or was I still in the gullet of the same strange alternate world? Even worse, was this a whole new parallel dimension filled with crazy inconsistencies that I would have to learn about one by one?

If it were option Number Two, this was the day when Eden returned home from Mrs. Walker's house, accompanied by Lauren and Evie. Gus had been arrested by Aladdin the night before. And today was also the day when Mantra had been rendered powerless, right after her escape from the Soul Walk.

Looking out over the Bay, I tried to get my mind around the information that I'd so far gleaned from living Wednesday and Thursday in the future. Basically, after Eden arrived home with Evie and Lauren, a messenger from Aladdin had brought Eden an airline ticket along with a message from Sarn -- an order to report to San Francisco’s HQ ASAP. I supposed that Mantra had flown on a commuter aircraft and was picked up at an airstrip by a helicopter pilot sent from Alcatraz Island. So, here I was now, on that Saturday the 16th helicopter ride, with my feet in the shoes of this world’s Mantra.

Across the dusky sky and water, I sighted the rocky prison isle dead ahead.

Physically, I felt dragged out in a big way. Unfortunately, I had to look sharp when I met with my supervisor. I especially couldn’t let her know that I was an involuntary time-traveler. I had to make it look as though this was the first time that I’d ever set foot on Alcatraz Island.

Focus, Lukasz! I knew that Dr. Sarn would take me to see Gus. But when I'd met Gus on Thursday, I found out that he didn’t remember anything about his mother’s Saturday visit. That told me that he must have been kept under sedation while it was happening.

I’m a hard case, but I’m not made of stone. I wasn't at my best. My mental strain and my body’s physical strain was a heavy load to carry. But the stakes were high. If I looked and sounded like a nervous wreck, it would be bad. Having Sarn rate me as unfit for duty could mess up everything. I would be able to learn a lot about what my crooked colleges were up to so long as I pretended to be as right as rain and raring to go.

But, Lord, my fatigue had me just about floored. As it happened, the body I was occupying had been dead less than twelve hours earlier. Okay, I’m used to being brought back from the corpse state, but its still not an easy row to hoe.

"You look uneasy,” my pilot said. “Lots of people get jumpy on their first 'copter ride. You'll be yourself once you plant your feet back on solid ground."

Yeah, and I bet you'll be glad to be rid of a flaky-acting dame, too, I thought.

We made the approach to the Alcatraz hanger just as I’d experienced before. I saw Dr. Sarn waiting on the tarmac, dressed in a lab coat and brown slacks -- different from what she’d worn on Thursday evening. I now realized that not only was Sarn dressed differently from before, but I was, too.

But clothes didn’t concern me so much as did the general situation. Was this my last stop in time, or had I become a floating bottle tossed from continent to continent by storms? Would I become like that dude in Quantum Leap, who never got home, but faced a lifetime of temporal shifting? I’m not the suicidal type, but an existence like that character’s would really put me to the test.

First and foremost, I was wondering what had happened to the borrowed body I'd just left behind in the future? Had the soul of the missing Eden automatically reclaimed it, or had it slumped dead across the keyboard where I was typing? What a sad thought! That would mean that the Gus and Evie of this world had lost their mother.

But I had an additional disquieting thought. Would I be kicked out of this body by a younger version of myself on Wednesday, coming across the dimensional barriers from the world of my origin, fresh from visiting the Kid’s Club at the Mall? Would being supplanted in that way kill me?

The ‘copter door was now opening. I tried to look steady as I descended the landing ladder to the pavement. Sarn strode up, her Teutonic features tightly set.

"Hello, Blake. Thank you for coming on such short notice. From reports, you’ve had one hell of an experience."

"I did, but I’m here to help," I answered noncommittally. My best bet for making it through this setup without a fumble would be to be a good listener and say as little as possible.

She motioned me to follow.

"How much does Aladdin know about what happened to the world last night?" I asked.

"Well, we're still gathering the details. By the way, I want you to know that your son is in the best possible hands."

I made no reply to that absurd statement and simply followed her to a cell occupied by Gus. It was a probably a temporary holding cell, not the large one that I’d already visited. There was no troop of medics on duty, only two muscular guards with electronic rifles. The boy lay in a similar capsule for containment and monitoring, though, looking catatonic.

"Can anyone explain what's made him this way?" I asked.

Sarn's brows knitted. "Many people were harmed or changed last night, at a rate that we've never seen before. But we’ve known for a long time that ordinary people can become ultras when struck by some unknown energy originating in outer space."

"Did -- Did you find out anything new at all?"

"I can’t say that we have. But lunatic things always happen when ultras are around."

"I don’t follow. Are you saying that the ultras were somehow involved in last night’s craziness?"

She shook her head. "I can’t say that, either. But wherever those people get into any picture, bizarre things happen. You’ll be glad to know that we're not just monitoring anymore. We’re well along in activating a program to proactively do something about the menace they present."

I didn’t care for the sound of that. "How so?"

"We’ve established protocols for capturing powerful ultras. We've been readying an operation with a certain target in mind, but we changed plans abruptly because of the chaos that happened last night.”

“Do you mean we have a new target? Who’s that?”

“Mantra.”

"I don’t understand,” I said. I had almost blurted: “You've already got Mantra," but my plan was to play things close to the vest while taking in as much information as possible.

"Blake!? Blake, is that you --?" a woman’s voice called out to me.

I turned to see Blythe Ashwin locked up, as before. I stepped tentatively toward her, only to have to dodge the hand that she’d shot out to throttle me with.

Taking in a deep breath, I regarded my erstwhile foe from a couple paces back. I had deliberately made the Company think she represented the secret identity of Mantra. The ugly truth, unfortunately, was that Blythe was suffering the punishment that had been intended for me.

Seeing Blythe’s bad treatment confirmed me in the idea that I should get her out of prison, while allowing Aladdin go on thinking that she was Mantra. Okay, I’m no paragon. If I ever let anyone read these memoirs, my best defense has to be that there are no lily-white people, not even among ultra heroes. But I honestly try hard not to be worse than light gray.

"You framed me, you slime!" Blythe starting yelling. "You trapped me here, ruined my career!"

In all fairness, that hadn't been me, but the other Mantra. But this was a distinction without a real difference. Before I could say a word to calm the prisoner, Sarn flashed a hand-held object and assured me, "Don't worry, Blake, she's not hurting anyone except herself!"

Ashwin started screaming to the crackle of electricity. It was like a sound effect from an old-style horror movie. The prisoner fell to the floor, moaning with pain. Because I'd learned a little about Aladdin prisoner-control technology, I knew that she'd been implanted with a pain goad, one that her keepers could turn on with a push-button remote. I hated even pretending that I was one of these Aladdin people. I only hoped that someday I could do something that would hurt them even worse than my actions had already hurt them.

In every way, Aladdin was over the top. In my world, I'd discovered their participation in a plot called "Operation Powerhouse." Until then, I’d known that Aladdin had some bad elements in it, but the Powerhouse experience started me wondering whether the whole outfit wasn’t corrupt. The information I had so far was leading me to think that the agency was a henchman organization for a dirty group of trillionaires and all-around moral degenerates called “the International Cabal.” Back in the Eighteenth Century, they had referred to themselves as the “Illuminati,” a name that still keeps appearing in popular fiction. And to think that it was these people whom I had to depend on to "help" Gus.

"I take it she's still denying that she's Mantra," I remarked in a neutral tone.

"Yes," the doctor affirmed. "She’s confessed to a lot of things, but when it comes to her work as Mantra, she gives up nothing. In one way, though, she’s telling the truth -- she's not Mantra."

“How can you say that?” I asked.

"She’s locked up, she’s old news. There's a new Mantra, one who might possibly be just as dangerous! One of our men took a video of her rampage last night."

I assumed that they were talking about Lauren. I knew that if she were captured by Aladdin, she’d be treated as badly as Ashwin. People with the totalitarian mindset seem to have a compulsion to torture.

Sarn led me into a meeting room containing an audio-video console. At the punch of a button, a slide lit up a wall screen. It wasn’t Lauren in the picture, but an image of Necromantra!

"So that’s the new Mantra?” I asked. “And does this person have anything to do with the reason I was called in to San Francisco, Dr. Sarn?"

"It's got everything to do with it, Blake," Sarn affirmed. "It can't be coincidence that this new Mantra has shown up so soon after we captured the old one. We don’t want a new version of that troublemaker remaining free for very long. I want you to be the Aladdin HQ liaisons with the task force that we're sending to corral this Mantra wannabe!"

"The headquarters contact? Who’ll be the field agents?" I was assuming that I was about to meet the new Wrath.

"The A-Team, along with two very powerful operatives," Doc Sarn replied. She jabbed another button and a sliding door glided into a recess, revealing a room occupied by an ill-matched pair.

"The new Wrath and --" Sarn began.

"NM-E!?" I broke in. "That thing murdered the Squad!" My incredulity wasn't a put-on. One reason that so few ultras have been known to history is because N-ME has been operating for centuries as an automated hunter-assassin, striking them down almost as quickly as they appeared. So far, it was still a mystery as to what group was controlling the metal monster. It had to be a group, since what individual mad genius could have stayed alive for so long?

My supervisor shrugged. "The enemy of my enemy is my friend, Blake."

I shook my head. "That thing will kill anything in its path. It has absolutely no loyalty!"

"It does now, Mrs. Blake," "Wrath" chimed in -- though the word chime doesn't properly describe the powerful baritone resonating from the man’s deep barrel chest. He looked as Lauren had described him, right down to his mostly-red action suit.

The tinny voice of NM-E also clicked on. "Hello, Mrs. Blake...I'm glad we'll be colleagues."

I stared. Was this mechanical recitation coming from a super-weapon actually supposed to reassure me?

"We have to move swiftly," Sarn said, "before the new Mantra heads out. If she's really a novice, she'll be easier to catch now rather than later, after she's gotten seasoned. We have a transport waiting to take you three and the A-team to L.A. Your specific orders, and the equipment you'll need to support the mission, are waiting onboard."

I had read the basic copy that Aladdin made available to insiders about the A-Team. It was the best attack and capture squad in Aladdin’s box of toys. They had subdued and brought in numerous ultras. But their success record left me underwhelmed, since most of their arrests had been of innocent people who had just lately developed super powers. Gus was a good case in point.

"So what are you going to do?” I asked. “Use a false attack by NM-E to bring Mantra -- the new Mantra -- out of the shadows to combat it?"

"Very astute, Blake," nodded the doctor. "I’ve already told you that you were wasting yourself remaining for so long in the data-analysis department."

I ignored the compliment; I was too ticked off. On one hand, Aladdin knows that many ultras are good people willing to step up and unselfishly defend strangers, but they still broadcast the idea that super-powered beings were a “menace.” I think what the Cabal doesn’t like about ultras is the fact that they're wild cards. People aiming to enslave and impoverish the population of the entire globe don’t like wild cards getting in their way. I didn’t think that it was any coincidence that the Washington Swamp choked up a dedicated anti-ultra agency like Aladdin to help with their world-conquest plot.

I changed the subject. "Does Ashwin know anything about this red-headed babe who appeared last night? Can it be that she and Ashwin are sorority sisters in the same cult?"

Sarn frowned. "We interrogated the prisoner intensively to plumb her knowledge, but she’s as hard as nails. We’ll have to put our questions directly to the half-dressed bitch, once we have her locked up.” The doctor glanced toward Wrath. “Escort Mrs. Blake back to the hangar; there's no time to waste."

#

Our task-force was shuttled to the mainland by boat. A string of vans carried us to a corporate airfield. This collaboration between government and international corporatism was typical. The International Cabal -- often called the Deep State in the U.S. -- operated under a complex organization. A cadre of mostly-independent interests were colluding together in the manner of the Mafia. The central banks provided the brains, while the government kept the common people in order and fleeced them so that the super-rich wouldn't have to spend their own money. With control of the Justice Department, they could nullify the whole American law enforcement apparatus.But it was the international corporations that were proactive in the dirty deeds department, doing the things that were too risky for government bureaucrats to undertake. These included mass censorship, election fraud, organizing riots and insurrections. And backing up this dirty combo were the foreign despotisms. These wanted to take by force what the American people had built through honest labor. The worst of these foreign vultures was, to no one's surprise, China.

The transport assigned to our operation was ready and waiting by the time we arrived. With Wrath watching me, I had to carry on in a business-like manner, just as he was doing. But my fatigue was coming back; I could barely stay awake while reading the mission book. My own role in the operation, fortunately, turned out to be relatively simple. I would monitor the action and keep HQ appraised in detail. Wrath was the hotshot wrangler who would be ramroding the scam.

But had to keep on top of things if I was going to protect people I cared about. This mission was supposed to be aimed at Necromantra, but I knew that it was going to veer off target and go after the wrong person. I needed to warn Lauren and get her out of danger. Sure, my interference would change “future history.” But if I could keep her out of a fight with N-ME, it had to be a positive thing.

Naturally I couldn't call Lauren by phone, not as long as I was in a beehive of Aladdin agents. Instead, I had to try to contact her by means of a telepathic link-up, the same way I had reached Pinnacle. Because she and the local Mantra -- whose body I possessed -- had been in mental contact previously, and because her Mantra powers were so strong, I thought the mind to mind linkup would work with her. I'd only began to enter the necessary trance state when Wrath came over with a cup of hot coffee.

"Nervous about flying?" he asked.

I glanced up and accepted the java. "No, it's not the flying. The fact is, I've gone too many hours without sleep and some terrible things happened to me last night."

"I met your daughter while things were at their hottest. She's a cute girl."

"Yeah, I think so, too. But what has me most on edge is riding with that machine. I jabbed my thumb toward N-ME. It feels like I'm on a tour buss with a ticking bomb. How do you control him, Wrath?"

"Wrath is my working handle, Mrs. Blake. My name's Tunney, Greg Tunney. I feel privileged to be working with you."

"I guess you're referring to that European operation I did. I'm only glad I got back alive. In the interest of staying alive, I hope your method of controlling N-ME is fool-proof."

He answered my question affably enough and actually hung around for chit-chat. Wrath had a down to earth charm that might or might not have been genuine. I had to remain wary, though, lest his conversation was really an interrogation. He mentioned that his dad had been one of Aladdin's earliest recruits after its founding. As for Tunney himself, he had served with the Marines right out of high school.Once out, Aladdin recruited him, probably on the basis of his father's repressive record with the Company. Greg's sounding so gung-ho on all things Aladdin creeped me out. In fact, he said that if he ever had a son, he'd want him to join Aladdin, too. Well, I just hope my own kids can do better than that. A lot better.

When I fell into a yawning jag, Tunney left me to my rest. I lay back, mulling over the many possible scenarios that could lead to disaster during the next twenty-four hours. And then I fell asleep.

I just couldn’t help it.

TO BE CONTINUED IN CHAPTER 13