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Authors: Arwen Jayne

Tags: #scifi, #spiritual, #conspiracy, #angel, #fairy, #bdsm, #metaphysical, #dolphin, #transcendence, #malakim

Don't Label Me!

BOOK: Don't Label Me!
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  1. Don’t Label Me!
    1. Left Hand
      Adventures Book 5

 

Arwen Jayne

Copyright © 2015 Arwen Jayne

All rights reserved

Smashwords Edition

 

While reference has been made to some actual
historical events or persons and some real locations all other
names, characters and places are fictional; the product of the
author's over imaginative mind. Any resemblance to actual persons,
living or dead, businesses or places is purely coincidental.

Disclaimer

This book contains sexually explicit scenes
and language that may offend. The author is not responsible for any
loss, harm, injury or death resulting from use of information
contained in this title.

Acknowledgements

This book would not have been possible
without the help and encouragement of my friends, my partner and my
family. Thanks go to my wonderful editor Jen for volunteering her
precious time, giving much needed polish to this work and being a
sounding board on the metaphysics. Any remaining errors in the book
are my own. I've tried to go with American spelling except where
I've used Australian slang. To my partner for his never ending
patience, encouragement, advice on weaponry and other technologies.
To Mary for always asking “when’s the next one out?” To have the
encouragement of my friends and family in fulfilling my lifelong
dream to write means more than I can say. A special thanks to all
who have read my other books and have encouraged me to continue the
series.

 

Author’s note

If you read this and think you might have
missed something I wrote the novella Guardians of the Rasselas as
an independent piece that might be considered book 4.1 in this
series. You may like to read it before you read this one but you
won’t miss anything vital if you don’t. Just understand that there
is another community of evolved humans and Malakim out there, the
Rasselas, that has joined with the dimension Boswell now exists
in.

Don

t
Label
Me
!

Left
Hand
Adventures
Book
5

Prologue

1
A
year
ago
...

2
Present
day

3
Boswell
School

4
George

s
flat
,
Boswell

5
Hideo

s
house
,
Boswell

6
Inside
Sauros
Enterprises

7
Boswell

8
They
did
what
?

9
Sydney

10
Borneo

11
Sydney

12
Borneo

13
The
Club
,
Sydney

14
A
suburban
street
,
Valeton

15
Boswell

16
The
Bushranger

s
Rest
,
Boswell

17
Boswell
Police

18
The
Cove

19
The
Guernsey
Islands

20
Valeton

21
Boswell

22
Boswell

s
sacred
grove

23
Phoenix
at
the
therapist

24
Boswell

25
Borneo

26
Boswell

Epilogue

...

Encyclopedia
of
Malakim
,
Human
and
other
sentient
interaction

Who

s
who

The
sentient
species
on
the
planet
:

The
spiritual
paths
of
the
Malakim
:

The
technology
:

For
more
about
the
author
and
her
books
visit
:

Books
by
the
author
:

  • Prologue
  •  

    Oxford, England, 1994

     

    George needed to go home. He knew his
    homeland was in the grip of a drought. He’d seen enough of the
    heart rending pictures on the TV adverts asking people to donate
    for the famine relief funds. Diseases like yellow fever and worse
    were breaking out. Tensions in the south of the country were
    brewing between the majority Muslims and the minority Christian and
    animist population. He knew his father had moved the family from
    their ancestral home in Khartoum to Darfur in the south where
    people were more sympathetic to non-Muslims. They were descended
    from a British merchant who had decided to stay and marry his love,
    adopting the Sudan as his home when the British left. The whole
    family were nominally Church of England. Not that George went to
    church much these days. He put his faith into practical action
    rather than surviving sermons. He preferred to mow lawns for the
    elderly in Oxford during the week and spend his Sundays manning the
    lunchtime soup kitchen for the homeless in London.

    Now as he watched the latest news on the BBC
    he worried how his own family was faring. He’d just finished his
    masters degree in engineering. He was an almost certain contender
    for a scholarship that would let him continue on to a doctorate.
    His research field, emerging sources of energy, was leading edge
    and grabbed both his passion and imagination. Yet, maybe, he could
    take a break to check on things with those he loved. He’d give his
    family a ring in the morning, then make his decision. There was
    something about Sudan’s new self declared president he just didn’t
    trust.

     

    Just before dawn George woke with a shiver.
    He’d left the heating on for the night but maybe the power was off.
    He pulled the covers up and tried to resettle, he’d worry about it
    in the morning.


    George, wake up!”

    Stunned, George shook himself and looked up.
    Unbelievably his father stood at the foot of his bed. At least it
    looked like his father but it couldn’t be because there was nothing
    on this planet that would ever get his father on a plane. From an
    early age his father had always clearly stated that planes had all
    the flying properties of a brick and that he had more sense than to
    ever get on one. George dismissed the reality of what he saw.
    Obviously he was just missing home and having a half-dream about
    his father. He ignored the apparition and laid back down to sleep.
    Engineers didn’t conjure people.

    George Morrisby senior laughed at his son’s
    antics. “I’m real son. At least as real as a dead person can
    be.”

    That got George’s attention. Sitting bolt
    upright again he stared at the apparition. “Dead, what do you mean
    dead?”


    A hit squad came to our town and
    rounded up all known non-muslims. We tried to hide your sister but
    they found her even before they dragged us from the house. We’re
    dead son. I only came to say goodbye and to tell you to not come
    home. I sensed your worry and came to warn you. There’s nothing
    left for you here.”


    But dad...” His father would know he
    had to check this out for himself.


    George, I know what you are thinking.
    If ever you believed me believe me now. An angel intervened to help
    me come here with this message. Finish your doctorate then go to
    Australia. A future awaits you there.”


    And what of you? What happens now.
    Who will bury you?”

    But the apparition didn’t seem to hear him
    now. “The light beckons son. It’s time for me to go. Know that what
    you are going to do in the future will help us all. We all love
    you. Goodbye.” The ghost faded into the shadow even as it spoke its
    final words.

    George’s adrenalin was pumping through him
    like fire. He grabbed the phone at his bedside and tried to put
    through an international call to his father, no answer. He ran to
    the shelf for a phone book and found the number for the airport.
    “Yes, could you tell me when the next available flight is to the
    Sudan. Yes I’ll hold...”

     

    Two days later, Southern Sudan...

     

    A sniper’s bullet whizzed past his ear.
    George hunkered down lower behind the concrete ruins of what had
    been his family’s home. It was too late now to worry about the
    wisdom of coming here. He’d had to check on his family, he’d had to
    see for himself. No way had his rational mind been willing to
    accept the words of ghost. It had to have been just a waking
    nightmare. At least that’s what he told himself as he continued to
    get no answer to his frantic calls to his family. He kept telling
    himself that as he boarded the plane. But here, now...George
    sighed. It wasn’t the first time his science trained skepticism had
    got him into trouble. Maybe it was time to admit his extreme
    skepticism belonged in the science lab, not real life. He’d remind
    himself of that if he ever got out of this debacle.

    The insurgent troops were circling in. He’d
    have to try and make a run for it.


    What the fuck are you doing here
    George? I go and break umpteen cosmic rules to send you a warning
    and you still turn up here.”

    George started in surprise. There was a man
    hunkered down beside him where there hadn’t been a man a second
    before. The man was slightly more tanned than the usual caucasian,
    wiry muscled and on the taller side of average. Close cropped
    coppery colored hair and the penetrating gray eyes gave him an
    almost military look but George sensed that was only a surface
    layer hiding an even more formidable, vast reservoir of power and
    knowledge. As if sensing George’s assessment of him the man
    confused him even further by grinning almost boyishly and passing
    him what even he in his ignorance of such things knew was an
    AK47.


    Don’t worry George. It’s simple to
    use. Safety’s here, switches it to semi-automatic or automatic.
    Automatic means it will fire and keep firing until you switch it
    back but it can be a bit unwieldy. You might want to stick to using
    semi for now. Just don’t point it at anything you don’t want to
    shoot.”

    The man then readied his own weapon. It
    wasn’t anything George recognised but it looked to be of heavy duty
    military issue. Precision made from the latest materials. German he
    guessed. He’d love to take a look at the operating mechanism.

    Again the man seemed to sense George’s
    curiosity, patting him on the shoulder. “It’s a Heckler and Koch
    G36, you can study it later.” He pointed at the assault team headed
    their way. “Right now we need to get you out of here. I’ll lay down
    some cover fire and you run for it. That way. Are we clear?”


    Crystal.” What wasn’t crystal clear
    was the weird notion trying to form in his head. That this gun
    toting rescuer was the so called angel that his father’s ghost said
    had sent him. Nah! He was sure a logical explanation would present
    itself later. Right now he ran for it.

     

    December the 27th 2004, Trincomalee, Sri
    Lanka...

     

    The harbor of Trincomalee was supposed to be
    a safe harbor. This morning it was anything but. Renowned for its
    unspoilt beaches, its hot springs, the medieval Koneswaram temple
    and its naval and air force bases the port city was a mecca for
    both the tourists and the military. This morning it was struggling
    to survive the holocaust that had unbelievably smothered it in the
    night. Somewhere, thousands of miles away, off the west coast of
    Sumatra, Indonesia, a monster of an earthquake had shaken the
    planet. With deadly stealth the resulting tidal wave had raced
    across the Indian ocean, boiling almost 2km inland into
    Trincomalee’s harbor.

    Sathi stepped as respectfully as she could
    around broken bodies and debris, ducking now and then to hide from
    both the looters and the military who patrolled the desolation.
    She’d heard the news when she’d been on the train coming home from
    a stay in the mountains with her mother’s Suddah relatives. She
    hadn’t believed it. Not until her train had been forced to stop
    outside the town because the rest of the track blocked. She’d
    hauled her small pack on her back and walked the rest of the way.
    Now she stood outside the gate of her home. By some fluke the tall
    imposing wrought iron gate, set sturdily in its ancient granite
    posts had withstood the wave. The rest had not. She stared
    unbelieving at the wreckage that faced her. Little remained. The
    retreating wave having scoured the site clean, sweeping all in its
    path back out to sea. She knew instinctively her parents, her
    brothers and their wives and children were all gone. Not even a
    single bird or monkey sounded a note of life in the broken remains
    of trees that that had once been the family’s mango orchard.

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