Mindless Times
- Infinity Gate Trilogy, Book One
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Science Fiction
by H. Michael Sweeney -- Time Travel
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Mindless Times
- Infinity Gate Trilogy, Book One
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What do Readers Say About The Book? Read a Sample from MINDLESS TIMES About The Infinity Gate Newsletter ORDERING INFORMATION - and a Special Offer
About The Author Personal Privacy and Security expert, H. Michael Sweeney, is author of 2 books on topic: The Professional Paranoid, & M C Realities. But before he took up chasing and writing about real-life spies and fascists, he wrote fiction, his favorite being science fiction. With a background which included several decades in photography, Mr. Sweeney is in international award winning photographer who has been involved in production of commercial films in 35mm format -- and has therefore naturally attempted screen writing, as well. Mindless Times,
for example, has been converted to a screenplay which lies in ready pending
any reasonable success of the book. The Infinity Gate Trilogy, starting
with Mindless Times, recounts the adventures of a young attractive woman
named Avencia, as she travels back through time from thousands of years
in the future in order to save humanity from a machine race. This is a
very sexy work not intended for young people, and represents an attempt
to provide story line twists without resorting to the cliche of endless
time loops or impossible time-paradox, such as someone coming back in time
in order to be their own Father.
Mindless Times sets the stage for the remainder of the Trilogy in barely perceptible ways (so as not to be too obvious,) but the adventure is indeed just beginning. The sequels, In Priceless Times and In Endless Times keep many of the old characters while introducing new ones -- and new perils with them. But there is yet more. Many of the characters have yet more adventures between points covered in the earlier and later trilogy volumes -- in the Infinity Gate Newsletter. Subscribers will even get to submit their own stories, too. Purchasers of any volume of the trilogy will be entitled to an a spcial advanced subscription of the quarterly newsletter for $6, ($10 Year regularly,) enabling them to keep up with their favorite characters all the way through time. Projected for 2004
Reader's Comments... Pending...
your comments welcome.
Ordering Information The e-book version is available NOW. All. e-books are sent as .pdf formats readable with Adobe Acrobat Reader, which comes free on every computer sold, and which is available free from Adobe.com. Web TV users cannot read e-books on their system, but EVERYONE ELSE CAN. It can be ordered by email or as part of a bundle on CD-ROM. Special bundle prices and order options apply. The paperback version ships early 2003, and can then be ordered through the usual resources (i.e., Amazon.com, traditional bookstores, or even requested at public libraries.) Advance orders being accepted at $20 (U.S. - add $5 for foreign orders,) for author inscribed and signed copies. Special Offer: The first 100 books will be especially annotated with serial number and certification. - a long term investment bonus. Special bundle prices and order options apply. |
Front Cover Mindless Times Table of Contents
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Dreams At The Wall, 2002 A.D. [excerpt from Mindless Times] The clouds were pretty, with patches of blue sky filtering in, here and there, as Martin floated gracefully along. A gentle breeze generated by his flight was brushing past his naked body, and the sound of itís rush was in his ears. With only the clouds and the sky above and below, the only sensation was that of pure exhilaration. There was no fear of falling. Martin could fly better, and far more effortlessly than any bird or plane.
Breaking out of the clouds into pure blue sky, there was not even a suggestion
of the earthís horizon. There was only Martin, the calm blue surrounding
him in every direction, and the clouds, now dissipating and distancing
themselves behind him. That, and the sun, directly ahead. He always flew
the same course, continually chasing that elusive, brilliant, but gentle
orb.
Occasionally, Martin would sense the loneliness of his flight, and as if by mental summoning, an eagle would materialize from somewhere over one of his shoulders, and fly beside him for a time. This was especially so when the relative boredom of cloudless skies set in, as it did now. On cue, the Eagle joined him, a helper on his noble mission. Martin liked to think that he and the bird understood each other as spiritual brothers. The bird was regal and aloof, far superior to all other winged creatures, as Martin himself was to his lesser peers. Today, like so many times before, the bird looked silently and knowingly into Martinís hungry, empty black eyes. They quietly shared visions of soaring high over the land, hunting for prey with razor sharp eyes, and diving and killing with unerring accuracy. The eagleís talons, just visible beneath his tail feathers, sported the bright red proof of his last kill. Martin pulled his own hands in before his face to discover his fingers, too, were crimson and wet. The thrill of hearing his last victimís tormented cries reverberated now in his memory, and remembering her last gurgling breath, he smiled a twisted smile. It had been a special killÖ Eventually, the sky would darken somewhat, as distant wisps of clouds veiled the sun. This was the eagleís cue to depart. It did so with a shrill cry that would echo gently for minutes in Martin's ears. As if the end to a beautiful story, it happened just this way. As the Eagle departed and the sound of his lonely farewell cry faded, the sky darkened further. Martin excused the bird's departure, but wished it had remained to mission's end. Apparently, only Martin had the degree of will, strength, and courage needed to endure. His companion would be missed, but Martin resolved that he could face whatever lay ahead alone. The clouds, still far away, gathered and grew quickly in size and darkness, and began to build into large billowing thunderheads which threatened to completely hide all traces of the distant sun. It was getting colder now, too. Martin grimaced in acknowledgment of the harsh changes in his environment. No turning back was possible. The only thing to do was to brave the approaching storm ó once moreÖ Soon, the clouds did obscure the sun. Only a light glow outlining some of the lesser plumes escaped. It was very dark now, and quite chilly. Martin shivered, but endured, as flashes of lightening, and deafening thunderclaps filled the sky ahead and above. In mere seconds he began to encounter the outer cloud layers, and the first drops of rain. This soon evolved into a ruthlessly cold wash of a driving, raging thunderstorm. The going was difficult, and gusts of strong winds frequently swept Martin well off course, or caused him to falter and loose altitude, or dive into a foggy cloud mass with loss of all visibility. Clenching his fists and pressing hard, he remained constant in his goal to stay on course and in the clear, and struggled valiantly against the forces of evil that tried to control his destiny. He thrust through the torrent of water and wind with grim resolve. Try as they might, they could not match his strength and determination, nor his cunning. Often, he would deliberately feign difficulty, dive to gain speed, and then fly under a nasty cloud, coming up behind itís offensive abilities. As always, the clouds eventually became more and more impenetrable. They became more solid than cloud?like, and their texture reflected this. They were now revealing patterns more like dark and massive granite boulders, than of rain filled clouds. Indeed, in lieu of harsh waters, these soon rained down a painful hail. As if this was not punishing enough, the hail quickly evolved into a mixture of small pebbles and even larger rocks. Many of these had jagged edges, which stung and cut deeply as they struck ruthlessly at Martinís naked flesh. Defensively, Martin held up his hands, but to no avail. Many still got through, and pelted him on his head, and the rest of his naked, defenseless body. Soon, as usual, he was covered from head to foot with bloody wounds, and a trail of red rain trickled from his feet into the black sky below. His enemies were growing in strength and, it seemed, were winning. But Martin would not allow them such a simple victory. He was too smart for that, and his vague remembrances of prior confrontations with the storm gave?him the courage of an experienced warrior. Calling upon his best strategies, he elected the means of his final assault. Picking out the largest, darkest cloud in the midst of the others, he headed directly for itís center. Looming before him, as it had done so many times before, he knew what he must do to cheat his many attackers. Though outnumbered by thousands to one, he had a secret weapon that would assure him a grand and glorious victory ó though dark and bittersweet it would be. It was simpleÖ ìI must sacrifice myselfÖî Martin flew up to within inches of the great, black, main?most mass, and grabbed it firmly by itís fissures with both hands. He stared with black, steely, curse?filled eyes at itís invulnerability. Without warning, he began pounding his head against itís heartless cruelty as hard and as fast as he could. Only the anger he felt exceeded the pain. Flashes of colors fought to replace his vision, and the pain soon faded as he continued to knock himself senseless. It was his will alone which granted a death?grip like hold and locked him into combat position. His eyes soon filled with blood, and he could barely discern the enemy's surface as it, too, became red with proof of his effective plan. Severe dizziness began to set in as the pain took second seat to efforts to remain conscious, to remember the noble cause, and to continue the headlong onslaught. But even this did not stop his bloody efforts. He would have his final victory upon this dark and terrible alter. In fact, the very rocks themselves seemed to acknowledge his nearness to final victory; the blood spilled upon them seeming to coalesce into the shape of a cross. As it formed, it began to glow magically in brilliant white hot shades of red. Or was this his imagination interpreting through the haze of diminished consciousness and a loss of blood to the brain. He did not care which, for the result would be the same... real or not, the cross was his sacrificial alter. Fighting off the lose of all consciousness, he paused to gather his wits and strength for one last mighty bashing. It was then that the wondrous magic of his undeniable resolve came once again to his rescue. Summoned up from some inner fear, or perhaps from the strength and purity of his heartís desire for victory, the white angels appeared somewhere behind him. They were out of sight, but he somehow knew they were there. For the very air itself, and the nature of the sounds of the storm, were somehow different. Quickly they came to his side, one grabbing his arm to give support, the other restraining his head from any further blows, seeming to simultaneously bind his wounds with a warm and miraculously?healing touch. Soft music infected and then vanquished the raging tumult of the storm, replacing it with a light hearted and playful melody. Then, with the mere touch of an angelic finger to his arm, a jolt of electric proportions put him into momentary muscular seizure. The pain of the touch was replaced by a flooding, growing warmth which spread quickly throughout his whole body, and he fell limply into their waiting arms. The storm quickly subsided, and vanished. The clouds began to diminish, soften, and turn into heavenly white tufts with silver linings. The blue sky gradually returned, steadily replacing all that had been before. The mild mannered sun once again showed itself even as Martin regained self control and full awareness. The angels were soon able release him their firm, supportive grips and allow him to sustain himself in mid air, alone. They stayed for a while, flying beside him as escort. But it dawned on Martin that the angels had not rescued him at all. Their faces were not sincere, nor kindly, as was first perceived. As it was so many times before, they had merely tricked him. He was cheated momentarily from his victory by deceit. Fearing he would succeed, the evil forces that fought him merely created the illusion of the angels, forcing him to stop his earnest assault, that they could safely retreat to battle some other day. It had worked this time, as it had before. Martin realized this now, and scowled at them in contemplative anger. Proving his suspicion correct, the would?be angels, confronted with the blinding truth revealed in his condemning face, now left him. They, like all of his enemies, knew his thoughts, and retreated before the truth, once openly expressed. Martin resolved not to let it happen again, even though he knew that countless times before, he and they had acted out this very same farce to the same, futile end, neither side gaining final victory. If only the Eagle had stayed and joined in the battle, he thought, then perhaps the Angles would not have dared to attempt intervention. Like endless performances of some successful tragic play, their acts were offered as if a first time occurrence. Each time it was so for Martin, only to come full circle to this same realization, to the same rejection of the angels and their intentions. The next time though, he believed he would be victorious before they could interfere. His would be a glorious death that not even they could preventÖ And so, in that glorious thought, he once more set out through the beautiful cloud filled skies, resting, and feeling joy as the fresh air filled him with strength and courage. Though it seemed all so familiar in so many ways, it was as though it were a whole new experience, and a whole new opportunity to pursue oneís destiny. The sky enfolded him with itís spiritual wealth, and sang to Martinís awakening senses. The clouds were pretty, with patches of blue sky filtering in here and there as Martin floated along. A gentle breeze generated by his flight was brushing past his naked body, and the sound of itís rush was in his ears. It had not always been this way. But Martin would not care to recall the times before. Those were the times of screams and confusion. Times of inflicting terrible violence and unstoppable fear. Times of enduring breathless running and endless hiding from the minions who would punish Martin for his small victories against evil things. Martinís memory would not allow him to recall such times in detail. Unaware of anything else, Martin Nesbitt stood before the wall once more, seemingly unmoved by any desires, untouched by any external stimuli. The endless dream continued. In the earlier times, the dreams had not been not so entirely different, but their violence and their blood were wrought real, in the real world. The reality of that time and world was perceived no differently to Martin than the twisted reality of his never ending dreams. But now, in this time and place, strong protective guards dressed in white now watchfully guarded against any tragic reoccurrence. Judging him safe from any harm to himself, they turned to depart his padded cell. One of them, a newly hired and rather young attendant with a cherubic face, brushed back his fair hair while the other put away the syringe. A pocket player played classical music out of headphones laying loose over his shoulder, the music Martin had thought angelic. Curiosity drove him to speak. ìPoor guy. I wonder what goes on in his head? I meanÖ he just stands there all day with his nose six inches from that same button in the cell padding. I donít get it.î His older, wizened companion, with a leathery face worn as a badge testifying to many conflicts with his more violent wards, understood the curiosity. ìForget about it. You don't really want to know what these straight?jacketed whackos think about. Theirs is a different reality, and it takes no heed of ours, believe me. They can sure cause a lot of pain in this world if they get loose in it.î The man's remark was delivered with such a solemn and stern look that the younger man winced inside. He didn't say a word in response. What the man spoke of, was Martin Nesbitt's many murders. Martin had horribly killed most of his own family, and then went on a killing spree among his neighbors. Eleven had died, including his younger sister and two other children. And the killing nearly continued at both the jail and when he was first brought to the institution. The guard had spoken with a kind of wisdom. When attempting to restrain Martin from harming the another patient, he had felt Martin's superhuman?like grip about his own neck. There was something about Martin's crazed eyes that spoke of a determination to kill that would never be quenched, and from which there was no good defense. Only luck had allowed him to escape from Mr. Nesbitt. He closed the door to the cell with no sympathy to the man inside. ìBetter just to leave well enough aloneÖî With that, the forces of evil departed far from Martinís perceptions, and he was left to continue on, unrestrained in his lonely flight. His mission was not yet fulfilled. But somehow, he knew that victory would finally be his in the end. He knew that eternal peace awaited ó if he could just catch the sun. With the Eagle's help, he could do it. It would all be over so easily if he could just once catch and touch the sun. The sun that endlessly taunted himÖ ìSo near, and yet so far awayÖî <end of quote - much more on topic in book Contact the author
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