Altered Fates: The Cult free porn video

(Author's Note: This story takes place after Altered Fates: Return to Kennet Cove, and contains spoilers for that tale.) ALTERED FATES: THE CULT By BobH (c) 2004 June 7th, 1968. Barry Hudson, gunned the motor on his ancient VW Beetle, urging it on through the choking dust thrown up by its passage over the bumpy dirt track leading to his destination. "C'mon, you Nazi piece of crap," he said through gritted teeth, "just get us over this rise and we're there, I promise." When his editor on The Hartford Courant had sent him to California to report on what he described to him as "nut cults", Barry had been thrilled. To a 21 year-old growing up in the late 1960s, California meant Hippies, free love, psychedelia, lots of dope, and great West Coast bands to see live. Unfortunately, it had not quite worked out that way. Oh, all those things were there, but so far his assignment had not taken him anywhere near them. Even this year's Monterey Pop Festival, which he had planned to attend, had been cancelled at the end of last month. After having already checked out several would-be messiahs, Barry found in every case it was the nut that ran the cult. Then again, what 'free love' there was in these groups seemed to be reserved for the cult leader, so perhaps they were not such nuts at that. Nonetheless, he had hopes for this one. This particular cult-leader ran his own commune on a farm that was allegedly at the end of the track Barry was currently struggling up, one that, according to local legend, included a significant number of particularly beautiful women. Barry hoped local legend was right. When he finally reached the top of the rise, Barry stopped the car and stepped out leaving the motor running. There was a sudden strong gust, and it caught his shoulder-length brown hair, whipping it around his face. As the dust cleared, he saw the farm in the valley below. Absently playing with one end of his 'Zapata' moustache, he regarded it thoughtfully. The farm looked to be a reasonable size, and Barry could see tiny figures working the fields. From this distance, it reminded him of the toy farm that had been part of the model train layout that Mikey, his kid brother, had built a few years earlier. Looking at the high hills that surrounded the farm, it was clear to Barry that radio reception was likely to be a problem once he was down among them, so he switched on his car radio to listen in to the news. It was always possible something might have happened he should know about. He spun the dial, looking for a news station, hearing odd snatches of music from Motown artists, British bands, local acts, and far too many stations playing Simon and Garfunkel's 'Mrs Robinson', currently the nation's number one record, as he sought one. Finally he found it. As he expected, the news was still full of yesterday's assassination of Bobby Kennedy at the Ambassador Hotel in L.A. This had been a terrible year. First Martin Luther King had been gunned down in April and now they had got Bobby. He did not know who 'they' were exactly, but like many of his generation he was convinced there was a right-wing conspiracy to eliminate the liberal leadership in America, one that had started with the assassination of President Kennedy in Dallas five years earlier. Andy Warhol had been shot in New York four days ago, of course, but Barry did not think that one was part of the conspiracy and, anyway, Warhol was still alive if seriously injured. Barry understood the crisis of faith that had led so many kids to seek out cults like those he was investigating. He was struggling with that same crisis of faith himself. What with the war in Vietnam, the recent race riots in cities across the nation, and the murders of the only politicians who had given his generation of young Americans hope for the future of their country, what was there to believe in any more? There was a war between good and evil being waged in the US, and the forces of darkness were winning. Climbing back into his VW, Barry released the hand-brake and set off down the long, gentle slope leading to the farm. It was time to meet his next messiah. August 6th, 2003 Mike Hudson examined his reflection in his shaving mirror critically. His hair was thinning and graying, and his face bore more 'laughter lines' than it had once done, but he was mostly satisfied with what he saw. "Not too bad for a 51 year-old," he said to himself. As a general rule, beyond being clean and presentable, Mike was not all that interested in how he looked. It had not been an important consideration during his three decades as a newspaper editor in Des Moines, and was even less of a consideration now that he was a roving investigator for the specialist journal he currently worked for. Today, however, he would be going backstage at a TV show whose presenter had promised him a pass, and everything had to be just right when he confronted the man responsible for his brother's disappearance thirty five years ago. Pulling on his pants, Mike surveyed his hotel room and sighed. He had spent too much time in hotel rooms lately, too much time away from Gretchen, his wife of thirty years. This was something he intended to change as soon as his current assignment was done. Of course, this detour to Los Angeles was a personal matter but, given the circumstances, he hoped his employers would not object. Shrugging his shirt over his shoulders but leaving it open Mike reached absently for the medallion on his bedside table. It was not there. Assuming he must have knocked it to the floor in his sleep, Mike searched around the table and under the bed. There was no sign of it. Gripped by an increasing panic, he frantically searched the pockets of all his clothes, went through all his baggage, stripped the bed and shook out the sheets, all to no avail. He distinctly remembered placing the medallion on the table before turning in last night, was stone cold certain of it. Which could only mean one thing. The Medallion of Zulo had been stolen. June 7th, 1968. Barry Hudson was surprised to find a young woman looking very much like a receptionist seated behind what looked very much like a reception desk just inside the entrance to the main farm building. She was dressed smartly but casually, a beaded headband holding her long curly brown locks in place. "Good afternoon, Mr. Hudson," she said, "I'm Sister Linda. We've been expecting you. I'm afraid the Leader is unavailable until early this evening and won't be able to see you until then. He asked that Brother Clyde show you around our retreat in the meantime." She gestured behind him. Barry turned to see they had been joined be a young man several inches taller than his own six-two and considerably wider than he. Brother Clyde looked to be in his early twenties, was built like a linebacker, and had a shock of untidy red hair with a mess of accompanying freckles. Barry might have pegged him for a hayseed if not for the obvious intelligence in his eyes. There was something else there too, something Barry recognized as religious fervor. "Pleased to meet you," said Brother Clyde, holding out a massive paw. Barry shook his hand. Brother Clyde led him out to the fields, which were being worked in by dozens of young men and women, most in their late teens and early twenties, who appeared to be toiling away quite contentedly. Erected beside the main farmhouse were rows of tents, which all looked neatly kept. "We grow all our own produce," said Brother Clyde, "raise and butcher our own livestock, and we've even started laying down our own wine for future sale. It took a while, but the retreat is self-sufficient. We take the surplus we produce to market and the money raised there enables us to buy in those things we can't produce ourselves. There are more of us on the farm than can be accommodated in the farmhouse, hence the tents." "That's all very laudable," said Barry, "but what's your leader's agenda?" "Agenda?" said Brother Clyde, sounding puzzled by the word. "The Leader has no agenda beyond bringing peace and enlightenment to the world, beyond taking our burdens on his own broad shoulders." It was an answer that told Barry nothing useful. He was about to press the point when they were joined by a young woman. "Blessed Claudia," said Brother Clyde in greeting, bowing from the waist. "Brother Clyde," she replied, acknowledging his bow with a slight nod of her head. She was, thought Barry, one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen. "And you must be the reporter who's come to check up on us," she smiled, looking at Barry in some amusement. "You make it sound like I'm a narc or some other agent of the Man, but all I am is just a humble reporter, honest," said Barry, pulling his cigarettes from the breast pocket of his denim jacket. "I'm afraid we don't allow smoking in the commune," said Blessed Claudia, a frown momentarily creasing her lovely brow. "Alcohol, caffeine, tobacco, marijuana, and all other recreational drugs are forbidden. Honest toil provides all the intoxication a healthy body should require." They did not allow any stimulants? That *was* a surprise. Most of these cults seemed to revolve around getting high and having orgies. Clearly, this one was different. "Can you give me a little background on your leader?" asked Barry, placing his cigarettes back in his pocket and taking out a notepad and pencil. "I know a little about him but not enough for any sort of profile." "Certainly," said Blessed Claudia. "It's right and proper that your readers would be curious about the man who will one day lead them into a new age of peace and harmony. As you may know, before he found enlightenment the Leader was concerned with more worldly matters. He started out as a bodybuilder, and eventually won the Mr. Universe contest, which is not a surprise for he is very fair of form and pleasing to the eye. He was in Texas, though not in Dallas itself, during the terrible events of November 1963. It was shortly after the assassination of the President that he achieved enlightenment, that he had the revelation as to what his purpose in life must be. And so he came to California, began preaching his message, and established this retreat for his followers. For now we are few, but his word will spread, and in time we shall be many." Her eyes shone with the light of true belief, just as Brother Clyde's did. Despite himself, Barry was intrigued. He found himself looking forward to the evening and to finally meeting the mysterious Karl Stark. August 6th, 2003 Karl Stark. Even after all these years, Mike Hudson could not think about the man responsible for his brother's disappearance without his gorge beginning to rise. Stark had been released from the state penitentiary at dawn today. He had been greeted by a small contingent of his followers, and driven directly to the very hotel Mike himself was staying at. This was not a coincidence. The hotel reservations had been arranged and paid for by the L.A. Metro News Channel. It was they who had secured an exclusive first interview with Stark, to be broadcast live this very afternoon. The interviewer would be Julia Tamm, a friend of sorts whom Mike had met five months ago at his son's wedding, and whose acquaintance he had renewed three weeks ago when they both found themselves on assignment in the Maine town of Kennet Cove. Julia had promised him a backstage pass to her show when she interviewed Stark, and he had wheedled the hotel details out of her during a phone call a few days ago. There were three rooms reserved for Stark and those who had met him at the state pen. According to Julia, these were Carol Erhardt, a woman who had been an acolyte of Stark's since the early days of the farm commune back in the 1960s and the public face of the cult during his long years of incarceration, and two young followers in their early twenties - Paul Schott and Steven Romano - about whom he knew nothing. On checking in to the hotel last night, Mike had bribed the desk clerk to put him in a room next to theirs, only to discover that two rooms had been booked on one floor, and the third on another. Not knowing which one Stark would be using, Mike had taken a chance and chosen a room next to the solo room figuring Stark would be sharing a room with Carol Erhardt and so want to be away from the others. Right on the first count, wrong on the second. Mike now found himself in a room next to Romano while on the floor above this Stark and Erhardt were sharing a room, with Schott in the one next to it. He wondered at this odd arrangement and thought he had struck out until he heard a knock on Romano's door. Quietly opening the door to his own room, he poked his head out then quickly withdrew it again. It was Karl Stark. Mike Hudson had come prepared. Once upon a time all he could have done was put a glass against the wall in order to catch as much of the conversation between Stark and Romano as he could. These days, listening equipment was much easier to come by for the ordinary citizen. Placing the sound sensor against the wall, he turned up the volume on his headphones and listened in. The first voice he heard belonged to Karl Stark. "Do you have everything ready?" said Stark. "Yes, Leader," said Romano. "I only wish I could be with you in the TV studio this afternoon to witness the miracle." "That won't be possible, I'm sorry," said Stark. "After this afternoon I am going to be mobbed. I won't be able to go anywhere or do anything without a media frenzy attending my every move. No, I need you gone and out of the way of such scrutiny before it starts. Are you clear on what you must do?" "Yes, Leader," said Romano. "Do you have any doubts?" "No," said Romano. "I do not. If anyone else had suggested this I would never do it, but for you I would do anything. My belief in you is total." "Good. Now let me see the rifle." There followed some muffled sounds that Mike assumed were those of a case being opened and its contents removed and inspected. "Very good," said Stark. "Have you been practicing?" "Yes, Leader," said Romano. "Ever since you gave me this task I've been honing my skill so that I would be ready when the unbelievers released you. I can now hit a target at the required distance every time." "Excellent!" said Stark. "It would be best if it was done with a single bullet. Now you must leave. Only two hours remain until the interview commences. You must be well away from here before the miracle." "As you wish, Leader," said Romano. There was the sound of a case snapping shut, followed by that of the door opening and closing. Mike Hudson opened the door to his own room, peering around the edge just in time to see Stark and Romano get into an elevator. Romano was carrying a single, small case. Mike leaned back against the wall of his room. "What the hell did I just overhear?" he wondered out loud. June 7th, 1968. "Ah, Mr. Hudson," said the Leader in a strong, commanding voice. "It's good to meet you." Karl Stark took Barry Hudson's hand in his own and shook it firmly. "Uh, good to meet you, too," replied Barry, taken aback by the strength of his own reaction to Stark. Though he had heard rumors, Barry was still stunned by the sheer power of Stark's presence. He was six foot ten tall, physically imposing, and as charismatic as hell. He was handsome, with long dark hair and neatly trimmed beard, had piercing blue eyes that seemed to look into your soul, and the kind of voice people would follow anywhere. It was easy to see why he attracted so many followers, particularly women. As Barry had noticed, his immediate circle of acolytes, those closest to him, were all women; some of them pregnant, all of them beautiful. "We wouldn't normally allow an outsider to witness the Ceremony of Ascension," said Stark, fixing Barry's attention with his irresistible gaze, "but I've decided to make an exception in your case. I think you will find it instructive." They were standing in an open space between the farmhouse and the tents. Night had fallen early for this part of California thanks to the long shadows cast by the surrounding hills, such light as there was coming from lamps on the farmhouse porch, several large fires and a number of burning brands that had been rammed into the ground. All of Stark's followers were sitting on the ground, forming a rough semi- circle in front of him, all clearly looking forward to the ceremony. Barry, however, was curious about something else. Stark wore a denim vest over his bare torso, and a medallion on a long chain around his neck. The medallion was a crudely-fashioned, and ugly looking thing, vaguely golden and with what looked to be an image of a fairy or an angel, or even possibly some sort of demon on its face. It looked tacky, and oddly out of keeping with Stark's general affect. "May I?" said Barry, indicating the medallion. "Of course," said Stark, holding it out to him. Barry touched it, tracing the roughly carved figure with his fingers. "It's African, I believe," said Stark, letting it fall back against his chest. "Now, if you'll sit down with the others, the ceremony can commence." Barry did as Stark asked, sitting down on the grass with his flock and awaiting what was to come with both curiosity and anticipation. He did not have to wait long. No sooner had he sat down than Stark called out: "Bring forward the one who would ascend." Two women in the long flowing robes that marked them out as members of Stark's close circle led a person clad in a similar robe through the throng. Where their robes reached the ground, his stopped just below his knees and was a much tighter fit on his far larger frame. They brought him before Stark. Barry recognized him immediately. "Brother Clyde," said Stark, placing his right hand on his follower's shoulder, "you have been chosen to ascend, to join those tasked with working closest with me, to do as I ask without question and to play a special role in carrying my blessings to the world. You have been with us long enough to learn what being one of the Blessed entails, of the sacred trust and responsibility it lays on you. Yes, you will know pleasure and joy, but also a great burden. Are you ready to accept that burden?" "Yes, I am, o Leader!" said Brother Clyde, his features glowing beatifically. "Then follow me," said Stark, leading him into the farmhouse. "Is that it?" asked Barry of the person next to him. It was Sister Linda, the woman who had been on the reception desk. "No, of course not," she said. "This is the part of the ceremony that is for their eyes only. They'll only be gone a few minutes, but when they return we'll see the true miracle." "You've seen the ceremony before?" "Oh yes," said Sister Linda, eyes shining with fervor, "five times now. I only wish I'd been born male so that I might ascend, too." Barry was about to ask her what she meant by this when the main farmhouse door opened and Stark and Brother Clyde reemerged, walking down the steps and standing in front of the sitting and now feverishly expectant throng. Whatever the secret part of the ceremony involved, it clearly did not take very long. The two faced each other, Stark taking Brother Clyde's hands in his and turning that formidable gaze on him. And there they stood, immobile. Two people just standing still should not have been very exciting, but the intensity of expectation Barry could feel in the people around him, their fervor and their rising excitement, was almost palpable. "It's happening!" shouted someone, and a murmur of agreement spread through the throng. Puzzled, Barry looked more closely at Stark and Brother Clyde. Then he saw it. Brother Clyde was changing. Slowly, but inexorably, he was shrinking, that solid body growing smaller. That short crop of red hair was getting longer and turning brown while his freckles faded and that ruddy complexion became paler and more translucent. Barry watched transfixed as the transformation proceeded, realizing just exactly what was happening to Brother Clyde when he noticed his robes start to bulge outwards over his chest to accommodate the rapidly developing breasts beneath. It was impossible, but Brother Clyde was turning into a woman! Barry could barely breathe as he watched that burly six-foot five man become a slightly built woman little more than five-three tall. The robe that had seemed ridiculously small on him now fitted her perfectly. Barry had no idea how much time passed while he sat there, awed by the miracle he was witnessing, but when the transformation was done, Karl Stark released the young woman's handsand said: "I give you Blessed Andrea Starshine, our new sister!" Andrea turned to the crowd and smiled shyly at them. This was their signal to burst into wild applause. Stark smiled at his followers, drinking in their approbation, then raised his arm. The applause instantly ceased. "Now we leave you so that Blessed Andrea might receive the sacrament from me and be initiated into the inner circle." With that he took Andrea's hand and led her into the farmhouse. As the door closed behind them, Barry sat there, staring down at his trembling hands. A miracle! He had just witnessed an actual fucking miracle! He had thought all these would-be messiahs were charlatans, but Karl Stark was the real deal. Now what did he do? August 6th, 2003 "A private interview?" said Julia Tamm, taking a long drag on her cigarette. "You must be crazy. There's no way the station would allow that. I'm about to do an exclusive interview with Karl Stark live on my show. I still don't know why he chose to do it with me, but it's going to be picked up by all the networks. Why on Earth would the station let you have ten minutes alone with him in a room first? Why would I, come to that?" They were standing in the tiny garden at the rear of the L.A. Metro News Channel building, a small, fenced off patch of greenery that employees of the station would come to on a cigarette break, extinguishing their butts in the planter full of sand provided for that purpose. "It's not for any rival news organization, I swear," said Mike Hudson. "This is purely personal. I promise I won't make public anything said in there." "'Personal'?" said Julia, her curiosity piqued. "What personal business could you have with Stark?" "I want to ask him about my brother," said Mike. "Barry was a reporter, too. He went to interview Stark in 1968, and he never came back. Stark claimed Barry stayed on his cult's farm for a while then left, and that was the last he saw of him, but I don't believe him. I know Stark is lying." "So that's why you were so keen on getting a backstage pass." said Julia. "Even if I could swing it, what makes you think Stark would agree to see you?" "His arrogance. I interviewed him once in prison, thirty years ago, and it was clear to me then that he had a monstrous ego, that he enjoyed playing with someone over whom he thought he had the upper hand. No, tell him who I am and I guarantee he'll see me." Mike had not been sure whether Julia could or would swing the interview for him but, somewhat to his surprise, she did. He was impressed. She obviously had more clout with the station management than he had imagined. "Not a second over ten minutes," she said as she led him to a small interview room. "Stark readily agreed, just as you said he would, but I used up a lot of goodwill in arm-twisting my bosses to agree to this. Don't make me regret it." When Mike entered the room he waited until Julia shut the door behind her as she left before he turned to face its occupant. There he was, the man Mike had obsessed about and hated for more than thirty years: Karl Stark. He was older and greyer now, a full sixty-six years old. His hair was cut short and thinning, his face lined, his brow more deeply furrowed, and there was a scar across his nose from a fight early in his prison stay, but for all this he was still physically imposing, the eyes just as piercing as ever. "Michael Hudson," he said in that almost hypnotic voice, his tone amused. "Still trying to discover what happened to your brother?" "Karl Stark," said Mike, voice icy. "Still trying to con the gullible into believing you're some kind of messiah?" "People need leadership and guidance," said Stark, "that is their nature. I'm the one destined to provide that leadership and guidance. That is mine." "Oh, cut the crap!" said Mike. "I know all about the Medallion of Zulo and what it can do. You had it back in the sixties, didn't you? You convinced people its powers were your powers and used it to set yourself up as some sort of guru, admit it." "You know about the medallion?" said Stark, in some surprise. He looked at Mike thoughtfully, then shrugged his shoulders. "OK, why not? Since no one would believe you if you repeated it anyway, yes, I did use the medallion. It was given to me in November 1963, when I was working as a waitress in a diner in Fort Worth. Are you surprised I used to be a woman?" "Not really, no," said Mike. "I know how the medallion works, remember?" Stark seemed disappointed, but he continued. "I didn't know how it worked, not at first," he said, "but I soon learned. I experimented with it in private until I'd figured out what it could do and exactly how it operated. It's a strange thing, but the first time I used the medallion I experienced a powerful feeling of deja vu, almost as if I'd been transformed by it before but had somehow forgotten this. I obsessed over the medallion, thinking of little else for weeks, spending hours holding it and concentrating on it. I don't know if this would happen with anyone who did the same or if it's something only I can do, but I became attuned to it. I could always feel exactly where it was, and I could tell if someone had been transformed by the medallion just by looking at them, even if I was only seeing them on film or on TV. About six weeks after I got the medallion, Carl Stark came into the diner. He was a former Mr. Universe and was on the road doing promotional work. As soon as I laid eyes on him I knew he was the one. I flirted outrageously with him, and he took the bait. I led him back to my apartment - I lived nearby - for what he thought was going to be a mid-afternoon quickie. You can imagine his shock when we started changing after I handed him the medallion. He freaked out, of course, pleaded with me to change him back. I told him - or rather, her - that I would but that first I wanted to spend some time seeing what life was like for the other half. I told her that if she took my place and did my job, that if she did whatever I wanted her to in bed, then maybe in a week or two I'd switch back with her. That was never going to happen, but the stupid bitch believed me, of course. Man, those first few weeks were sweet! I banged her every day and trained her to be a world-class cocksucker. Best of all, though, was knowing the cute little chick chowing down on my choad used to be a big, macho guy. Nothing in the world beats that for me. That's when I knew I'd found my thing, and with the medallion I had the means of creating more little hotties just like her. And later, I did. I used to wear a replica of the medallion in public and keep the real thing locked away for use in my Ceremony of Ascension. As for the former Mr. Universe...after two weeks, I lit out, leaving her to her new life as a waitress." "Any significance to you spelling your first name with a 'k' rather than the 'c' as that body's original owner did?" asked Mike, intrigued by how much coarser Stark's language was when he let his mask slip. "Personal preference," said Stark, smiling. "So why start a cult?" "Not a cult, a religion. The only difference between the two is time and numbers. Soon we'll have the numbers, and the time will take care of itself. As to why, I'd have thought that was obvious. In this country, in the nineteenth century, a religion was founded by a snake- oil salesman, while in the twentieth century another was founded by a second-rate science fiction writer. The former is now respectable, and the latter is getting there, but I'll give the people something neither ever could." "And what would that be?" "Why, miracles, of course, Mr. Hudson," said Stark. "I'll give them miracles the like of which haven't been seen in two thousand years. And unlike in politics, if you start your own religion no one can vote you out of power, and power is what it's all about. Ultimately, it's what everything is about." "Power to do what?" "Whatever I want to, of course." "Which brings us to my brother, Barry," said Mike. "What the hell happened to him?" "I've got no more to tell you about that than I did thirty years ago," said Stark, smirking. "It's for me to know and you to guess." That smirk infuriated Mike. He decided to puncture Stark's smug certainty. "I suppose you think you've come a long way since you were Magda Shaw," he said. The color drained from Stark's face. "What the fuck...?" he said, visibly shocked. "I've never told anyone who I used to be. How can you possibly know that?" "That's for me to know and you to guess," said Mike. Stark looked like he might have said something more, had the door to the room not opened at that very moment. "Time's up," said Julia Tamm. June 15th, 1968. "That was wonderful!" said Barry Hudson, as he rolled off Sister Linda's naked body and slumped down beside her. Sated, he nonetheless continued to caress her dark nipples and finger her clitoris, knowing from experience that simultaneous orgasm was not the rule but rather a happy exception and that it usually took women longer to climax. He tried to be considerate of his lovers' needs, both because he *was* naturally considerate and because that way he got laid more often. Afterwards, the two of them just lay there, smiling at each other, and Barry reflected on how much his life had altered in just one week. Witnessing that transformation, a genuine honest-to-God miracle, had changed everything for him and nothing could ever be the same again. For someone who took a materialist view of the universe, an agnostic who leaned towards atheism, it was a totally life-changing event. He had asked to stay on at the commune, unsure at first whether he was chasing the biggest story of his career or embarking on his own spiritual journey. Stark had agreed, and he had been put to work in the fields with the others. The work was hard but fulfilling. Showering in the shower block at the end of a day of strenuous manual labor was blissful even if it was cold and communal. It also turned out that 'free love was practiced and indeed encouraged on the farm, hence his current liaison with Sister Linda, though not with the Blesseds, the transformed beauties whose favors were for Stark alone. "Y'know, I still can't get used to the idea that all of the Leader's concubine's used to be guys," he said. "They're not concubines," said Sister Linda, exasperated, "they're his brides and servants of the faith, just as nuns are brides of Christ." "Yeah, but Jesus doesn't make conjugal visits," said Barry. "And why guys, anyway?" "Because that was the nature of the Leader's revelation and of the power bestowed upon him," said Sister Linda, "that an even greater Leader, his son, might one day be born of a union between him and a woman born a man." "If so, I suppose I can see why everyone who gets chosen to Ascend considers it a great honor," said Barry. "Has anyone ever turned it down?" "No. Never. To join with the Leader, with one on whom God has bestowed such power, with the possibility of being parent to the child who will one day save us all, why would someone refuse such a thing?" said Sister Linda, giving him a quizzical look. After a moment's pause, she asked him the question he knew she eventually would: "You've been with us a week now," she said. "Have you found what you were looking for?" "What makes you think I'm looking for anything?" "I know you are, because our whole generation is," she said. "Can you honestly say you're happy with what's happening out there in the world, with the war, the assassinations, the riots? No, of course you can't. You're looking for a better way, too. Well, the Leader *is* that better way. Follow him, and he'll lead us to the promised land. Now that you've spent some time in his presence, what do you think of the Leader?" "I think he's amazing," said Barry. "His sheer presence, the unbelievable power he wields...I'm beginning to think I'd follow him anywhere." "Even to bed?" "W...what?" said Barry. Sister Linda leaned forward, staring into his eyes earnestly. "Join us," she said, "become Brother Barry, and it's possible that, in time, you might be called to Ascend. I envy you that possibility. I'd give almost anything to have it myself." After a week of living and working on the farm, and particularly after the miracle he had witnessed, Barry had already all but decided to join the cult, to become a follower of Karl Stark. He had found a peace and a sense of calling in the past seven days such as he had never before experienced. What would he do if, one day, he was called on to Ascend? The very idea was absurd. And yet, there was a small part of him, the part that wanted to belong to something bigger, that was oddly excited by that possibility. Still, it was something that was not very likely to happen and if it did...well, he would cross that bridge when he reached it. August 6th, 2003 "No, I'm not going to take this to Julia," said Dale Ely, putting his arm out to prevent Mike Hudson from walking on to the set, "and I'm not letting you do so, either." It was only after Julia had led Stark from the room Mike had realized that, in his determination to get to the truth about Barry's fate, he had not remembered to question him about all that stuff he had overheard concerning the rifle. He had rushed to the set where Stark, Carol Erhardt, and Julia Tamm were sat waiting for the countdown to going live while technicians fussed around them performing final equipment checks, but the floor manager had blocked his way. "All you heard was talk about a rifle," said Ely, "for which Romano might hold a permit. Were specific threats made against anyone?" "Well, no," admitted Mike, "but..." "No," said Ely, cutting him short, "no 'buts'. Take this to the cops later if you want, but I'm not taking it to Julia." Mike gave a frustrated sigh. The final countdown had begun, so it was too late now. He looked at Julia and her interviewees intently. She was raven-haired, beautiful, confident, while Karl Stark looked commanding and greatly amused by the whole proceedings, his charisma shining through even though he had yet to speak. Carol Erhardt was in her early fifties, her dark hair shot through with grey streaks, her body having succumbed to middle-aged spread. She looked like someone's aging mother which, if Mike recalled his research correctly, she was. Only the frequent, adoring looks she gave Stark hinted at her fanatical devotion to him. "And so it begins," said a voice next to Mike. He turned to see he had been joined at the edge of the set by Paul Schott. The young acolyte was fair-haired and slightly built, his eyes locked onto the form of his leader with feverish intensity. "Good afternoon," said Julia, "and welcome to the L.A. Metro News Channel. I'm Julia Tamm and you're watching 'Tamm Talk'. My guests today are Karl Stark, the cult leader released from prison this morning after serving thirty five years for his part in the death of a museum guard, and Carol Erhardt, a follower who was the public face of the cult during the long years of its leader's incarceration. So, if I can turn to you first, Karl, how does if feel to be free after more than three decades inside?" "Well, Julia," said Stark, smiling, "I'm glad that my time in the wilderness is now ended and that I can join with my followers and continue my holy work." "Your 'time in the wilderness'?" said Julia. "That's a curious way to describe a prison sentence for second degree murder." "I deeply regret the death of the museum guard," said Stark, looking contrite. "When my followers and I attempted to gain access to the Shroud of Turin during its visit to this country for testing, it was never intended that anyone should get hurt. The death was an accident, one I took full responsibility for. But my time in prison was indeed my time in the wilderness, a time in which to reflect on my mission and to fortify my faith while my followers continued my work in the world beyond those walls. Now that I am free, I shall be renewed both in purpose and in body." "In...body...?" began Julia, then stopped, her jaw dropping. Mike could see it too now and so, from the buzz spreading like wildfire around the set, could the stage crew and technicians. Stark and Erhardt were changing. The grey was fading from their visibly lengthening hair, the lines on their faces starting to fade. "They're getting younger!" whispered Mike, knowing instantly what this had to mean. Stark had the Medallion of Zulo! He had obviously used it on Erhardt and himself immediately prior to walking on set, probably in conjunction with clothing they had last worn on the farm during the sixties. "Yes, Julia," said Stark, grinning, "it's a miracle, and it's happening right now on live TV. By the time this interview concludes, Carol and I will be as we were before I was incarcerated, the years washed away by the power God has seen fit to invest in me." Mike looked around him, taking in the faces of the people in the studio. The color had drained from their faces and all looked stunned, many perspiring freely. He knew the medallion was responsible for the apparent miracle they were witnessing, but how could he ever convince anyone else? Julia continued with her questions as best as she could. Unlike the watching studio crew, she looked more appalled than stunned by what was happening before her. By the end of the interview Stark and Erhardt had indeed been restored to the prime of their youth, just as Stark had said they would be. He looked to be about thirty, his now long hair thick and dark, his skin unlined, the scar on his nose now gone. He radiated youth and virility. As for Carol Erhardt, the overweight women in late middle-age had been replaced by a slender, beautiful girl in her early twenties, one who looked odd in the now too-old for her clothes she was wearing. "Any final words?" asked Julia, as the end credits started to roll. "Now that I am restored to my prime," said Stark, "I will be returning to my mission, to spreading the word. The crusade begins here, tomorrow morning, on the steps in front of this very building. I urge all those who seek enlightenment to be there." After the final fade out, when the channel switched to another studio and their main news desk, the technicians and studio staff all surged forward. On every face, Mike could see the same thing: awe. They had bought it! They had to be as cynical, as agnostic, as most newsfolk, but they had actually bought Stark's act. If it was affecting them like this, how must it be playing in the rest of the country, among those more receptive to such things? Mike had a very bad feeling about this. Uniquely among first world nations, America had third world levels of religious belief and Stark could tap right into that, attract unprecedented numbers of followers. Most religions could only offer people faith. He could give them miracles. August 4th, 1968 "Bring forward the one who would ascend." When Barry Hudson had first heard those words two months earlier he had been a curious onlooker, not realizing he was about to witness a miracle that would change his life. This time, he was not an onlooker but a participant. He was nervous as Blessed Angela and Blessed Claudia led him through the throng but also excited, feeling self- conscious in his too-short robes yet elated at being chosen for this great honor. They brought him before Karl Stark, who looked magnificent in the flickering light from the many fires. "Brother Barry," said Stark, placing his right hand on his follower's shoulder, "you have been chosen to ascend, to join those tasked with working closest with me, to do as I ask without question and to play a special role in carrying my blessings to the world. You have not been with us very long, yet long enough to learn what being one of the Blessed entails, of the sacred trust and responsibility it lays on you. Yes, you will know pleasure and joy, but also a great burden. Are you ready to accept that burden?" "Yes, I am, o Leader!" said Barry, his heart pounding in his chest. "Then follow me," said Stark, leading him into the farmhouse. Once inside, they entered a small anteroom that was always kept locked. Inside was nothing more than an examination table with a bare mattress on it and a wall shelf holding a small, padlocked wooden box and a number of plastic bags each containing a single item of clothing. "Lie face down on the mattress," said Stark. Barry did as ordered. Face down, he was unable to see what Stark was doing but he heard a key turning in a lock and the rustle of a bag being opened. Stark placed something cold and metallic on Barry's exposed neck then dropped what felt like cloth of some sort on top of this. As cloth contacted metal so a strange tingling sensation briefly spread through Barry's entire body. The items were then removed, there was the sound of the padlock being closed, and Stark said. "This part of the ceremony has been completed. It's time to rejoin the others." Stark led Barry outside, coming to a halt in front of his expectant followers. Stark turned to face him, taking Barry's hands in his, locking onto Barry's eyes with that powerful, implacable gaze. Barry felt the changes beginning in his body before they became noticeable to those watching, but he did not, he could not look down. As his body slowly contracted and reshaped itself, as breasts budded from his chest, his shoulders narrowed and hips widened, his hair darkening and lengthening as it flowed in long cascades over his shoulders and down his back, and even as his penis shrank away and became a clitoris, he could not tear his eyes away from the hypnotic gaze of Karl Stark. Nor did he want to. He had been adrift when he came to the commune two months earlier, lacking faith and unsure of himself. Now, he was a believer and what he believed in was Karl Stark. Stark had given him faith and, more importantly, certainty. On his first day here he had witnessed a miracle. Now, he was the object of that same miracle, going through a rebirth in which he cast away who he had been, willingly being born again in the service of his Leader. He swelled with pride and awe at the honor he was receiving so soon after joining Stark's flock. "I give you Blessed Corinne Moonflower, our new sister!" proclaimed Stark. The woman who had been Barry Hudson turned to the crowd and grinned at them. They burst into wild applause, an ovation that only ended when Stark raised his arm. "Now we leave you so that Blessed Corinne might receive the sacrament from me and be initiated into the inner circle." With that he took Corinne's hand and led her back into the farmhouse. She went with him willingly if slightly hesitantly as she learned to compensate for the new way in which weight was distributed around her body and the motion of her breasts as she walked. Watching a transformation was one thing, experiencing it quite another. She was filled with wonderment at the change she had undergone, and more sure than ever that Karl Stark was the real thing, the chosen of God. She knew she would follow him anywhere. Stark led her to his bedroom. Once inside, he turned to face her. "Kneel before me," he commanded. Corinne did as he asked, eyes widening as Stark undid the zipper on his jeans. Corinne was momentarily fazed, but only momentarily. Realizing what this meant, she parted her lips and leaned forward, ready to receive the sacrament. August 7th, 2003 "Jeez, there are reporters from just about every major news organization in the world here," said Mike Hudson, taking in the banks of television cameras, the satellite trucks, and the reporters interviewing members of the crowd, microphones in hand. "Pretty much," said Julia Tamm, cracking open a can of Coke, "and there's no shortage of long time Starkists in that crowd either." The police had erected barriers at the foot of the steps in front of the L.A. Metro News Channel building and were keeping the crowd back. And what a crowd it was. Several thousand people had turned up to see Stark give his address from the top of those steps. The channel had erected a lectern up there, now festooned with microphones, one with their logo prominently displayed. "I'm surprised you're not up there, Julia," said Mike. He and she were standing on the other side of the street to the building, behind the main body of the crowd. "They gave it to the guys who usually report the evening news," said Julia, disgustedly. "Stark may have personally requested me for his first interview, but this is now too big a story to be handled by someone whose beat is entertainment." "Have you checked out the coverage of your interview on the internet yet?" asked Mike. "No," said Julia. "What are people saying about it?" "The prevailing opinion is it was all an elaborate hoax," said Mike, "that what aired wasn't really a live interview but pre-recorded, with the apparent deaging of Stark and Erhardt being nothing more than cgi special effects." "If I hadn't seen it happen in front of me with my own two eyes I might think the same," said Julia. "It's a pretty fantastic thing for most people to swallow, after all." For a moment, Mike toyed with the idea of telling her about the Medallion of Zulo, then decided against it. Without proof, proof he did not have, she would never believe his story of a magic medallion. "There are plenty of people who did swallow it," he said instead, "only a fraction of whom have turned up here today." He scanned the crowd and was about to say more when something caught his eye. "David Reiner!" he said, in surprise. "What on Earth is he doing here?" "Someone you know?" said Julia. "What?" he said, momentarily distracted. "Oh, uh no, not really. It's just...he should be in Baltimore." He turned back to the crowd, but Reiner had gone. "Look!" said Julia. "They're finally coming out." Paul Schott came out first, followed by Carol Erhardt, taking their places at either side of the lectern. Mike was struck by how amazing Erhardt looked. It was hard to believe this slender young woman, clad in a simple cream mini-dress and matching pumps, had been an overweight and somewhat frumpy middle-aged woman less than twenty four hours earlier. A cheer went up from the crowd as Stark appeared, taking his place between his acolytes at the lectern. He looked oddly uncomfortable and ill at ease, almost as if he was unsure of himself. Mike frowned, puzzled by this. What happened next, he would never forget. When Stark opened his mouth to speak a shot rang out. The back of his skull exploded as the high-velocity round that punched through the front of his head smashed through the rear, covering the technicians behind Stark in a shower of flesh and brain tissue, blood and bone. There was shocked silence as Stark fell backwards, then pandemonium burst out as people started screaming and falling over each other in their haste to get away. Julia gripped Mike's wrist and gripped it hard, but both of them stayed rooted to the spot. "Oh my God, oh my God!!" said Julia. She was in shock. "Julia, get a grip!" said Mike, grabbing her shoulders and shaking her. Startled she focused on Mike, swallowed, then gave a little nod. "I'm...I'll be OK," she said, shaking his hands loose. "But Stark...someone killed him, but who...?" The shot had come from above and behind them, from the building directly opposite the L.A. Metro News Channel building. Even now, police were rushing it, their guns out. Mike scanned the fleeing crowd, surprised to see that Schott and Erhardt had also fled into the street. As Schott reached the sidewalk, a dark-colored van screeched to a halt beside him and he was bundled inside. The van shot off at speed, not slowing until it took a corner a hundred yards further on. As it did so, the side door slid open and Schott was thrown out before the van sped away. He landed heavily on the sidewalk. Police were beside him in an instant, and they led him away. "What the heck was that about, I wonder?" said Julia. She had lit a cigarette to steady her nerves, and held it in trembling fingers. "Beats me," said Mike, "but look at the newsvans and the reporters. Most of them are still reporting." It made Mike proud to be a journalist. A half-hour or so after the shooting, police emerged from the building where the shot had come from, carrying a body on a stretcher, its face covered with a towel. After killing Stark, the assassin appeared to have taken his own life. When the body was being loaded into an ambulance, the towel fell off and before it was hastily replaced Mike got a glimpse of the killer's face. It was Steven Romano. November 10th, 1968. Corinne Moonflower rested her hand on her abdomen as she often did these days, and smiled. She had not started to show yet, but she was carrying the Leader's child and it filled her with pride. She was not the only pregnant Blessed among the ascended but she felt no jealousy about this. It was only right that the Leader should share his blessings among many and that they in their turn should serve him in whatever way they could. Gazing into the mirror, she moved her hand up her body and gently caressed a breast. It had taken a while for her to get used to the unaccustomed weight of these soft mounds of flesh on her chest. Now, it would feel strange if they were not there. Soon they would be filled with milk and she would have an infant suckling on them. What would that be like, she wondered? Some women did not care for it, she knew, switching to bottle feeding as soon as they could, where others described a bonding experience with their babies that they would not have changed for anything in the world. Corinne hoped the latter would be her experience. She surveyed her face, those pretty features that had seemed oddly familiar and which she had eventually recognized as belonging to a minor TV actress. With that recognition had come the realization that all of the ascended were dead ringers for equally minor though beautiful actresses and models. She still had enough of her reporter's instincts to be curious about this, but her devotion to Karl Stark had stopped her from investigating it. If the Leader wanted her to know why this was so he would explain it to her. If not, then she did not need to know. There was a sudden commotion outside, the sound of people running and shouting. As she was wondering what was going on, the door burst open and someone strode in. "Corinne!" she said. It was Sister Linda. They had not seen much of each other since the ascension, and certainly not here in the living quarters of the farmhouse where only the Leader and the ascended were allowed. Given their previous relationship, encounters between then tended to be a little awkward and uncomfortable. "Linda?" said Corinne, startled. "What is it?" "It's the Leader!" she said. "He and our brethren who went to San Francisco to get the Shroud, they've been arrested! The police are saying a museum guard died. We don't have any more details but it's not looking good." "What...what do we do now?" asked Corinne. "The Feds are bound to raid this place soon," said Sister Linda. "They've been itching to crack down on groups like ours and this gives them all the excuse they need. We'll give the appearance of cooperating, of course, but it's the end of the commune." "The end?" said Corinne, slowly. This was all going too fast for her. "Yes," said Sister Linda. "The Leader always knew this day might come. He put together a contingency plan to deal with it. The authorities will probably put him away for a long time. It will be up to us to continue his work, to keep the dream alive until the blessed day he returns to us. He left instructions on what we must do, and he has a very important role for you." She was carrying a number of items. She gave one of these to Corinne, a small padlocked wooden box. "This contains the Leader's medallion," said Sister Linda. "You must guard it with your life." "His medallion? But why?" said Corinne. "I held it my first day here. There's nothing special about it." "Not then, no," said Sister Linda, "but before setting off on his mission to San Francisco, the Leader transferred most of his God-given power to it, just in case anything went wrong. Now that it has, the medallion must be kept safe until his return." "Ah, then it will be my honor," said Corinne. "What else is required of me?" "The Leader wants you to take a husband," said Sister Linda. "What?!" "Oh, don't worry. Male followers have been selected for all of the ascended," said Sister Linda. "You will marry them and you and they will ensure the Leader's offspring are raised in a balanced family environment." "Anything else?" asked Corinne, shaken. "Yes," said Sister Linda, handing her an envelope. "You and the other ascended don't have legal identities to go with your new bodies. These have now been arranged. In that envelope are all the details and documents you'll need, as well as your new name." "New name?" "Of course," said Sister Linda. "Those hippy names the Leader gave you are cool, but you'll all need real ones to function in society in the years ahead." Corinne opened the envelope and fished out a driver's license. There, next to her photograph, was her new name. "Carol Erhardt," she said. "Hmm, well I suppose I'll get used to it." August 12th, 2003 "So do I get to see him or not?" said Mike Hudson, hands palm down on its surface as he leaned across Carol Erhardt's desk in the Los Angeles office that served as the headquarters of the cult and which had been besieged by the press since Stark's death. One of the burly guards behind her moved forward menacingly, but she stopped him with a gesture. "It's OK, Bill," she said, "I'm sure Mr. Hudson won't give us any trouble." "So?" said Mike. "Brother Paul is under no obligation to see you," said Carol Erhardt, "in fact he's refused all press requests for an interview. However, he *has* agreed to give you ten minutes, off the record. Brother William here will take you to him." The burly guard led Mike to another room. Inside, sitting in front of a computer at a desk of his own, was Paul Schott. "Hello, Mr. Hudson," he said when Brother William had left them, "you know, don't you?" "Yes," said Mike. "It wasn't too difficult to piece together when I put my mind to it. And how calm you and Erhardt are, given your leader was cremated yesterday and only died five days ago, confirms it. Shall I lay it out for you?" "Please do." "I could kick myself at how long it took me to figure out Stark had taken the Medallion of Zulo, particularly when he told me himself he could always sense where it is. But when the penny did belatedly drop, I realized that having taken it from my hotel room he knew that room was next to Steven Romano's, which in turn meant I was supposed to overhear that conversation between him and Romano. Why? Because of Stark's arrogance, of course. He's always needed an audience, and he wanted to give me just enough to know something was going on but not enough to stop it. He dangled it in front of me, knowing I wouldn't put everything together until it was too late to do anything other than marvel at how clever he'd been. That deaging stunt, appearing to bring about a genuine miracle on live TV, was a nice move, but Stark was smart enough to know that, given the medium and the nature of modern technology, a lot of people would dismiss it as mere computer trickery. By itself it would never be enough, but then it was never intended to stand alone, was it? No, it was the first part of a one-two move, done to set people up for the second, bigger miracle, the one that could not be dismissed. I didn't know it at the time, but Stark clued me in on what he was planning when we talked before the show. What was it he said? Oh yes, 'I'll give them miracles the like of which haven't been seen in two thousand years'. Two thousand years. It was only after the assassination I remembered his words and realized what they must mean: resurrection. After arranging to be assassinated with the world's press watching, and after a thorough police autopsy followed by a cremation, Karl Stark was going to return from the dead! When I saw him that day as he prepared to speak, I was puzzled by how hesitant and uncertain he seemed. Stark is many things, most of them despicable, but he's never hesitant and always totally certain of who he is and what he's doing. Which meant that wasn't Stark up there. No, Stark had used the medallion to switch bodies with someone and it was that person who died. As to who Stark had switched bodies with, well that had to be you. Given it was his only way of transforming himself and pulling off his 'resurrection', Stark would have kept the medallion very close to him, kept it on his person, in fact. So when Peter Schott gets snatched and is then discarded moments later after a period just long enough for someone to take the medallion from him, well, you do the math. There's one thing I haven't figured out, though, and that's whether the real Paul Schott knew what he was letting himself in for when you and he swapped bodies. Care to enlighten me?" "Paul was a true believer," said the transformed Karl Stark, "he would have followed me anywhere and done anything I asked of him." "Which doesn't answer my question," said Mike. "Did he know, or didn't he?" In reply, Stark just gave a small smile. So," he said, changing the subject, "you're smart enough to figure it all out yet still not smart enough to find out what happened to your brother all those years ago. That must be really frustrating." "As frustrating as losing the Medallion of Zulo not once but twice must be," said Mike, smiling grimly. "I assume you gave it to someone for safekeeping when you were imprisoned, yet it was back in circulation within a year, and now you've gone and lost it again. Tch, tch." "I got it back once, I'll get it back again. The resurrection of Karl Stark hasn't been prevented, merely delayed. The Medallion of Zulo will be mine again, and soon. Now, I think it's time you left. I have work to do." Leaving the room, Mike Hudson reflected once again on what he had witnessed the day of the assassination. He had been unable to see who was driving the van when Stark was grabbed off the street, or who it was who had tossed him out soon after, but he had seen who was in the passenger seat. It was David Reiner. Mike had to pass Carol Erhardt's desk again on his way out. As he did so, he paused and turned to face her. It was a long shot, but he had to ask. "You were there, on the farm," he said. "Can you tell me what happened to my brother?" "No," she said, looking him straight in the eye, "no, I can't." "Can't," said Mike, "or won't?" "He's gone," she said. "He's been gone a very long time, and he's not coming back. Let it go." The problem was he could not let it go. Mike knew he would continue in his quest to discover his brother's fate until his dying day. August 8th, 2003 In a room in Nevada, a man in a Colonel's uniform sat at a desk, turning an object over and over in his hands. The object was a medallion, and it looked exactly like the one he wore around his neck. That one was a fake. The one in his hands was not. At long last, he had the real Medallion of Zulo. Now Project Zulo could finally begin. The End. *** (Author's Note: David Reiner's story was told in ALTERED FATES: THE X- FILE REOPENED. Julia Tamm's in ALTERED FATES: TEMPEST, and Mike Hudson's in ALTERED FATES: A QUICK STUDY. How Mike Hudson knew Karl Stark's original name will be revealed, along with so much else, in the forthcoming ALTERED FATES: PROJECT ZULO. This is already written and will be submitted as soon as this one gets posted on fictionmania. It will provide the climax to all the Altered Fates stories I've posted here to date, with lots of revelations and conspiracies uncovered. Oh yes, and the secret history of the world. It contains spoilers for, and resolves dangling threads from, most of those earlier stories. I wrote them out of sequence, but I always knew where each of them fitted in the overall scheme. Read in order, the larger story should all fall into place with what might have seemed stray characters and random bits of business all connecting up. Even if you read the individual stories as they appeared here, they should repay being reread in the correct order. Seriously. And if you've never read them, well, the revelations in ALTERED FATES: PROJECT ZULO won't have quite the same impact. Their chronological order is: 1) I Was a Stranger at My Own Wedding 2) A Quick Study 3) X-Files: The Scam 4) G.I. Blues 5) The X-File 6) Tempest 7) The Bitter Bridegroom 8) The X-File Reopened 9) Triptych 10) Return to Kennet Cove 11) The Cult 12) Project Zulo Comments on older stories are always appreciated, of course.)