Deja Vu AscendancyChapter 340 Radio Blobs
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Invasion Of The Communist Space-Blob free porn video
Loosely inspired by the 1958 film "The Space Children."
* * *
March 17, 1958:
My advisor in grad school, Dr. Gardner, thought a wise scientist should
always keep a journal. He always told me: "Jack, right down your
thoughts. It'll help you sort things out in the future!" I know I've
been lax at it in the past, but I think it's of significant importance
now. So many unforeseen components in life affect us (and indirectly our
experiments) -- a vivid record of our lives is essential for both we and
our progeny.
My family and I will be leaving for Fort Newman soon. I'm terribly
excited about the prospect of working for a military installation and
doing my own small piece to help safeguard my country. I only hope my
family feels the same way.
March 22, 1958:
We've just arrived here at Fort Newman -- my family and I that is -- my
wife Laura and our two daughters Jane and Cindy, ages 7 and 10
respectively. Laura isn't too thrilled to be here. She's suspicious of
the military industrial complex and had hoped I'd find work in the
corporate sector. But the job we're doing at Fort Newman is essential
for national security. I'm only a small cog in it -- an electrical
engineer on the imaging team, but it instills a great sense of pride in
me to do my small part to help guard our liberties against communist
aggression!
The girls are too young to appreciate this yet, and right now just moan
being away from their school friends. Laura is a great woman, but I do
wish she'd help foster more American pride in the children. I'd hate to
have any children of mine grow up with strange ideas about what their
father does and what America is all about.
They're such innocent little kids right now -- running carefree
outdoors, in short-sleeved shirts and denim shorts. Soon enough Fort
Newman will get a school though, and they'll be back in skirts and won't
be able to run quite so free. I guess that in the long run it's good for
them to enjoy a carefree existence right now. They'll grow up quickly
enough, I'm sure.
March 24, 1958:
The past days have been a whirlwind of activity. Project Thunderbird is
proceeding ahead of schedule! It's great to be an American. Colonel Berg
told us Thunderbird is at least THREE YEARS ahead of its Russian
counterpart. Ideally, we'll be able to do a test launch sometime next
month, weather-permitting. The imaging circuits still need some
re-wiring, but Dr. Adams (the project leader) seemed to think with our
"capable" new staff additions (of which I am proudly a part of!), we'll
easily be ready by the colonel's new deadline.
On the home front, life is still a bit rocky. Laura has met some of the
neighbors -- Stan and Frieda Mitchell and their children, Peggy and
Mike. The kids all get along great together, running carefree along the
beach, playing all those games children play when their groups finally
get large enough for some good-natured, rambunctious fun. Their healthy
exuberance will be dampened when Fort Newman gets that school we've been
promised this fall. But for now, I say let them enjoy the world and
their youth. Their days of discipline and formal attire are too soon on
the horizon.
Laura doesn't like them having such freedom -- she worries too much. And
she doesn't get along well with Stan and Frieda, either. We had a
weenie-roast tonight, mainly just for the kids. But instead of making
pleasant conversation while we watched the children at play, Laura had
to stir up trouble by asking the Mitchells what they thought about our
policy of "military aggression."
Stan Mitchell is a good man and part of the ballistics-rocketry team. He
smiled and said it's all right by him if we have to nuke some reds to
achieve peace of mind. Our way of life demands no less! Frieda sat next
to him and gushed with devotion and agreement like a good wife. Laura
spent the rest of the night fuming. She's a good American, but resents
having to live at Fort Newman. She'll adjust.
March 30, 1958:
All the bugs have been worked out of the imaging circuit, and
Thunderbird's test has been moved up to a launch window comprising the
first week of April. There was a rumor circulating that President
Eisenhower would be coming down personally to view the test, but that
turned out to be false. Colonel Berg says it's not that Project
Thunderbird isn't important enough -- we're key to national defense! --
but the president wants us to remain a well-kept secret for the time
being. Sure, the Russians know about us (Krushchev's red spies are
everywhere), but their Thunderbird is a couple years behind us, so
there's no need to alarm innocent American citizens with worries yet.
They beat us with Sputnik, but Thunderbird is going to be so much more.
At home, things improved for a while. Laura's been quiet and won't argue
politics anymore. I suspect this is mainly because she's spending her
time around sweet Frieda Mitchell -- a good woman, but flighty and
without a head for serious issues. She's no mind for encouraging Laura's
political fights. I like Laura's spunk -- I always have. But I do
confess it's nice for her to have a good quiet woman as a role model
now.
Laura's still upset about the children though. Jane and Cindy have been
playing with the Mitchell children in a small cave near the beach. She's
worried that the children have no supervision and might get hurt. Mike
Mitchell is an older boy, almost 12, and capable of watching out for his
sister Peggy and our girls. I've tried to soothe Laura's mind, but so
far no good. Some women just need things to worry over all the time, I
guess!
April 2, 1958:
Colonel Berg announced we'll try for a launch the day after tomorrow.
Apparently, word came from the top to step up Thunderbird and it's
sister projects. If the skies are clear, we'll be testing Thunderbird
very soon. Colonel Berg also told us our sister project at Cape
Canaveral (Codename Atlas) tested earlier in the week and met with
complete success. And we've heard Edwards has had success with Project
VZ-4DA as well. Everyone is very excited about our own prospects. Though
I know it's top-secret information, I'm so filled with anxious
anticipation that I just have to tell someone about the scope of our
project. I trust my journal entries won't be tampered with, so here it
is:
Thunderbird is not just another Sputnik. We'll be launching a satellite
into a geosynchronous orbit above Russia, but our satellite won't just
bounce back radio signals. Thunderbird carries six atomic bombs that can
be targeted with our imaging circuits. It's not as precise as we'd like,
but with an atomic explosion one doesn't have to be perfectly precise.
We'll be in a good enough position to target a site above the Soviet
Union and rocket an A-bomb down on them from the sky.
America will finally be safe from the communists! They won't dare put
their Thunderbird in orbit knowing we've got ours already watching them.
It'll be a grand day in American history.
I just wish Laura and the girls could appreciate all of what's going on.
Laura seems more and more on edge lately. And the girls have been
distant. Jane and Cindy came over with the Mitchell children this
afternoon after having been playing down at that cave by the beach. They
all had very vacant looks in their eyes. Laura seemed to sense something
was wrong (women have an intuition about things) ... but she seemed
almost afraid of the kids and wouldn't say what's on her mind. When a
woman like Laura won't talk, you know something is afoul. I'll have a
talk with the girls tomorrow morning about not fretting their mother
needlessly.
April 3, 1958:
Something is terribly wrong and I don't know where to turn! I don't
think I CAN turn anywhere else. But I have to tell someone, so if
everything goes awry there will be at least my journal entries
explaining these fantastically awful events!
I started the morning sitting down with Cindy and Jane to talk with them
about worrying Laura lately. The girls were quiet. They just sat there
nodding at me, with vacant eyes.
I got angry. I stood up and I yelled at them. "What's wrong with the two
of you?" I demanded. But I got no answer. I grabbed Cindy by the
shoulders. I never should have done that, but I was so angry and
frustrated.
That was when it happened. Everything went blurry for an instant, and
when I looked up I saw my own faces ... with now distant, vacant, cloudy
eyes.
I screamed. A high-pitched squeal came out of my mouth. I looked down
and saw tiny feet in tennis shoes and bobby socks attached to tiny legs
wearing denim shorts.
I had become my 10-year old daughter Cindy! ... and little Cindy was now
me -- Jack Thorton!
Cindy, now in my body simply walked away, with Jane following right
behind her ... or him now. They ignored me completely, walking out the
door and moving slowly along the compound -- towards the launching pad.
Someone was controlling them. And that same someone now had me in its
grip as well. A communist mind-control plot, no doubt! That had to be
what lurked behind all this. I thought to run after them, but I
couldn't. Something had affected me as well ... I found all I wanted to
do was sit quietly and play with dolls. I found myself running, with a
child's gait, into Cindy's room, leaping on her bed with an energetic
bounce, and pulling up some dolls onto the bed.
Part of my mind screamed against this. I'm not Cindy ... I'm her father.
I'm an engineer. I help build rockets. I work for the government. I help
fight communism.
But it was no good. The exertion on my mind was too great. I couldn't do
anything but sit and play with dolls on my bed all morning. Laura came
in once or twice and asked where Jane was. The worst feeling about this
entire ordeal was that I could only say, "I don't know, Mommy. I think
she left with Daddy to go somewhere."
I couldn't call my wife by her own name. I wanted to, but the words just
wouldn't come out. It wasn't as though someone else was pulling my
strings and literally putting words into my mouth. Rather it seemed as
though any thought I had was somehow twisted into something more
appropriate for a 10-year old girl.
That was what gave me the idea to check out the cave by the beach. The
kids had all spent a lot of time down there -- perhaps that's where the
communists agents had their mind control device established. Going down
to the beach would be natural for Cindy.
As soon as I'd made up my mind, I jumped off the bed, hurriedly stripped
off my shirt, shorts, underpants, socks, and shoes and pulled on a tiny
sky-blue children's swimsuit. I didn't really want to, but the little
girl censoring my thoughts said I had to be ready to play in the water.
After all, going to the beach should be fun!
I ran enthusiastically down to the beach, and sure enough, there was the
cave. An ominous, foreboding, dark formation between a pile of rocks and
the cliff face from above. The white sands felt hot under the afternoon
sun, and my tender pink feet had to dart quickly across the beach to
avoid being burned.
I nervously entered the cave ... halfway knowing somehow what was there.
My little heart pulsed rapidly and my breathing grew shallow. I rounded
a corner and there it was -- the most horrible thing ever.
A pulsating mound of rotting, putrid gray-white flesh sat on the cave
floor. The huge, gelatinous blob bubbled and seethed with a powerful
odor. I wrinkled my button nose.
And then the thing spoke to me ... or maybe it just sent out waves of
thought to me. Somehow, I heard a haunting, echoing voice all around me.
"YOU ARE NOT THE YOUNG ONE."
"I'm Jack -- her father," I found myself answering without intending to.
I felt nervous in this monstrosity's presence, and I tugged absently at
the ends of my shorts suddenly feeling very small and vulnerable.
"YOU WEREN'T SUPPOSED TO BECOME HER YET."
"It couldn't be helped," I found myself answering, again without knowing
why. "I tried to hurt her, and she had to take my body sooner than she
wanted."
"THEN THE OTHERS MUST TAKE NEW SHAPE NOW AS WELL."
"Why are you doing this?" I asked in a quiet, hesitant tone.
"I AM ONLY THE DRONE OF OTHERS FROM BEYOND. THEY ARE ANGERED BY YOUR
CONQUEST OF SPACE. IT IS NOT YOURS TO USE FOR THE BARBARIC DEATH-GAMES
YOUR SPECIES PLAYS."
"But why take our children from us?"
"ONLY YOUR CHILDREN HAVE THE REQUISITE INNOCENCE TO UNDERSTAND US. WE
MEAN YOU NO HARM. BUT WE CANNOT PERMIT YOUR VIOLENCE TO CONTINUE
UNCHECKED. SLOWLY, YOUR WEAPONS WILL BE NEUTRALIZED. ONLY THEN CAN YOU
BE TRUSTED."
"So that's why you've put our children in our bodies?"
"ONLY SOME. THEY WILL USE THEIR MATURITY MORE WISELY THAN YOU HAVE.
PERHAPS WITH A NEW PERSPECTIVE YOU WILL GROW UP MORE PEACEABLY
YOURSELF."
"I'll tell on you! I'll tell everyone about you. You won't get away with
this. We destroyed the Nazis, we were about to destroy the Communists,
and we can destroy the Space-Blobs too! Never underestimate America!"
"IT IS TOO LATE. THE PROCESS HAS BEGUN. IT MAY TAKE ANOTHER 30 OR 40
YEARS TO COMPLETE OUR TASK, BUT IT WILL BE DONE. YOUR WORLD WILL BE MADE
SAFE FROM YOUR OWN SHORTSIGHTEDNESS. YOU MUST NOT TRY TO FIGHT IT."
"I will fight, though. Oh, I'll fight it ... I'll run and skip and play
hopscotch. No, I'll ... I'll ... I'll go home and play with my dollies
... I'll have a tea party ... I'll be a ballerina when I grow up."
My thoughts grew fuzzy and I found myself actually wanting to do the
crazy things it was forcing my mouth to say. The thing had taken my free
will. All I could do was run home in a blind panic. I wanted to cry. But
instead, I've gotten the journal and written this. Maybe someday someone
will find this and make sense of what's happened. This last part will
look so odd, in a little girl's penmanship. But it has to be told ... I
can't speak my mind, but I can still write my thoughts.
April 6, 1958:
Thunderbird didn't launch. It blew up on the launch pad. No atomic
explosion though. Somehow the space-blob disarmed us first, but still
destroyed the rocket and it's payload completely.
Jane isn't Jane anymore either ... she's Colonel Berg now. Little Peggy
Mitchell is Dr. Adams, my former boss. And Mike Mitchell became Major
Jackson, the colonel's aid. We all get together and play on the beach
now. We can't talk about what happened in front of other people. But
when we're just alone, we seem to have the power to say what's on our
minds.
The space-blob left. At least it left the cave. It is probably still out
there somewhere, hiding safely from us. But we don't have the power to
tell people about what happened to us ... and about what it wants to do.
Mommy ... I mean, Laura seems happier now. I think that's because Cindy
is very peaceful in my body. Very quiet and agreeable on political
issues now. Of course it could be that someone else is in Laura's body
now as well. These things are hard for me to contemplate. My thoughts
seem fuzzier. And Mr. and Mrs. Mitchell seem changed too, but we don't
know if someone else is in their bodies or not. Everyone at Fort Newman
seems to think the communists aren't that bad and we should stop
building bombs. I think we've all been changed.
It's a chilling thought really. The idea that we can all be so easily
manipulated by the space-blob (and whomever it works for!) frightens me,
and sometimes I wake up crying in the night, clutching my teddy bear.
But most of the days I am able to forget about it and just concentrate
on playing jump rope or jacks.
I think that the scariest thing of all though ... is that in the fall, I
have to school!
Bree
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