The state of TIAH
December 7th, 2006
Alternate Historian's Note: Stephen Payne has more work as our Guest Historian, Guest Historian JD finishes off his Piltdown timeline today, and, of course, our NaNoWriMo novel continues. We hope you are enjoying this change in format – let us know how you feel about it in comments or by emailing us. This will be the format of TIAH throughout the holiday season, unless we receive a great outcry about it. Speaking of the Holiday Season, keep in mind those who need help year-round and keep yourselves safe and happy, as well. And, should you feel generous inclinations towards our guest historians, you can visit the sites of those who have separate ones from TIAH; generosity towards us here at the Academy is always appreciated, too, and you can find ways to help us out all over the site. Right now, we'd appreciate a lead on a good day job, but any good wishes you have towards us can be emailed here.
in 0, Mullah Elijah Rafsanjani reflects on the kidnap option in the town of Bayt La (Bethlehem). Would the removal of the family from the Middle-east prevent the ministry of Jesus? Or would it create a Dharmic religion headed by Jesus? He might return to a 2126 only to find an Arab holocaust at the hands of south-east Asians, not the European criminals of HIS pre-jihad era. -entry by Steve Payne from Counter History in Context - You're the Judge!-
in 1919, the World Crisis initiated by the greatest necromancer of the age, Grigory Rasputin, is over. The deadly strain of influenza known as Spanish Flu recedes across the traumatized continent of Europe as the reign of the four horsemen of the apocalypse ends. Let the roaring twenties begin! -entry by Steve Payne from Counter History in Context - You're the Judge!-
in 1953, The Minister for Health rushed into the staff offices, his face deathly pale. In stammering words, he explained that Piltdown...was awakening.
In seconds the surgical theatre was filled with frightened professionals, staring down at the body. It was whole and well-formed but hairless, pale and covered with thin, almost translucent skin. And it trembled and shook.
Not a word was spoken. Not a move was made.
The man raised his hands, as if to push away at his surgical drapings. And then...a deep groan, as if from the depths of the soul. And another.
The man's eyelids fluttered, and opened...revealing pupils of brilliant blue, visible for just a second as the man's eyes slammed shut again, his face screwed up in an expression of extreme pain
One hand slowly went to his forehead. It was clear the man was suffering, yet all were at a loss at how to proceed.
Finally, his lips slowly parted, and all unconsciously bent forward in keen anticipation
One deep breath, another halting one, and then a thin, belabored voice...
"....what did I DO last night?"
We have no record of the subsequent events. - entry by Guest Historian JD -
in 1990, a fleet of oil tankers enter the Persian Gulf from the coast of occupied Kuwait, destination Great Britain. Inside the tankers are the seaborne alien creatures who have allied themselves with Saddam Hussein Abd al-Majidida al-Tikrit. Meanwhile Mossad agents parachute into Osirak in a desperate attempt to find a weakness in the giant spider. They make two discoveries – the crater is full of automobile sized eggs. And after testing just about every possible substance on the eggs, they discover an intolerance to salt. -entry by Steve Payne from Counter History in Context - You're the Judge!-
Sergeant Morris looked over at Kevin. “What?”
“Somebody just signed onto the network here.” Kevin checked the user log again. “I reactivated the wireless network when I turned everything back on. Maybe it's just somebody's computer connecting automatically.” He scrolled through the activity log. “Or not. Are we the only team here?”
“Far as I know.”
“Then we're not alone.”
Sergeant Morris stood and drew his gun. “Can you tell where they are?”
“No, but the wireless isn't that strong. They have to be near the building.” He tried to see what the user was connecting to, but it was encrypted. “”They're good. I can't tell what they were lookin' at.”
“We need to search the building.”
“OK.” Kevin stood up and walked over to the door. “Should we split up? Cuz if we do, I ain't got a gun, and I don't know if my computer skills are really gonna impress somebody who might be hostile.”
Morris paused, then nodded. “OK, I guess we stick together. Let's start at the ground floor and work our way up.”
Janice found Crawford.
She focused in more tightly. That had to be the small town; it was in the right direction. She hadn't seen any signs saying something like 'Welcome to Crawford', but it had the look. Now she widened her search a little to the outskirts of the town.
Raymond would have loved to be here. He would have told her he could locate the ranch in seconds by remote viewing. She would have let him, too, even though she didn't believe in remote viewing. At least it would have given her a break from scanning the horizon. She lowered the binoculars and stretched her neck. She was getting stiff all over, and her arms were sore from holding the binoculars up for so long. Her stomach was growling, too. She had skipped breakfast to get here, and it was heading towards lunchtime.
She dug into her backpack for the last of her energy bars and munched on it. Time was running out on her. She was going to have to leave in a couple of hours in order to get back to the motel where Miss Raintree was hopefully still waiting. She decided that she was going to have to find the ranch by 2 at the latest.
She finished off the bar and swallowed a little of her bottled water. She lay down on the roof and stretched out her back. The gravel on the roof was uncomfortable, but the stretch was good. She could fall asleep if she stayed like that much longer. It reminded her of that time in Baton Rouge, when she and Darla had camped out on that old roof watching for the ghosts that were supposed to be haunting the neighborhood. That had been a hard job; two days without sleep, and all to find some kid with a sick obsession at the root of it all.
She closed her eyes for just a second, just to rest. She was tired, and not as young as she used to be. It used to be that something like this would energize her, keep her engine running as long as she needed to be active. Now, she was just tired. Maybe it was the fact that this was so serious in comparison to some of the other cases she had investigated. Maybe she was just getting old.
Her eyes snapped open to the sight of two men in hazmat suits looking down at her. One was kneeling at her side, reaching his hand out towards her. The other was holding a gun.
“Miss,” the kneeling one was saying, “are you all right?”
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