Prepare yourselves, my minions.
    The time draws near.  The reunion will be our moment of glory.  Soon, the entire universe shall see the power that is our society.
    We have waited long for this moment, where the barriers between the realm of the Gods and that of the mortals would draw close together.  That moment has nearly descended upon us.  We shall soon rule over all.
    And we shall spread our teachings... the bliss that is total oblivion...
 
 

Part 1:  Premonition

Chapter 1:  The Mother of All Migraines

   I woke up that morning drenched in sweat, as I had done the previous mornings for the past week when I had that dream.  It was the same damn thing every night -- the dark, vague figure, the prophecies of death and destruction, the scenes of violence and hopelessness.  Not exactly the kind of thing that leaves you rested and peaceful when the alarm rings.
    My head hurt.  Not the kind of dull feeling that you get in the back of your head after a particularly stressful moment, but rather the kind that feels like somebody taking a power drill to your temples.  The headache was also a new development, although it hadn't appeared until the second night I had the dream.
    Stumbling to the bathroom, I turned on the lights and instantly regretted it as the drill became a nail and sledgehammer.  I turned them off again quickly and fumbled for the aspirin in the dark.  Not that I felt it'd help much, but it couldn't hurt either.  As I waited for the stuff to kick in I stared into the sink, my arms positioned on either side to prop me up.  Say what you will about human society, but at least when you get a headache you can do something about it.  In Elfin culture they would've just told me to grin and bear it like a proper warrior.  Of course, with the high priestesses they got all the healing herbs they could eat, but for us future defenders of the clan it was another matter altogether.
    That was one of the main reasons why I'd left, really.
    When I finally felt like I could walk around without collapsing into a heap on the floor I made my way back into the bedroom and got dressed.  It was the basic ensemble, of course -- slacks, shirtsleeves, tie, jacket, holster.  Hey, as a member of the Universal Investigation Agency you have to be prepared at all times.  The shoulder holster was standard these days, but you'd occasionally catch some of the old timers still keeping their guns in hip holsters. I'd always felt they were too much trouble for their own good.
    I freshened up without eating.  Frankly, the way I felt at the moment anything I shoved down my throat would probably come up again quicker than a Whatsit to the sight of an apple.  I put on my long overcoat and, as a little extra, tossed in a pair of shades.  I'd probably need them.
    There was, of course, a little nagging sprite in me that was telling me to forget going to work today.  I'd only make myself miserable, after all, and I would be a major pain in the ass for my co-workers.
    That's the wonderful thing about consciences -- they're easily ignored.

    "Hmm, nice look Kirin.  So did you have one too many or did you just feel like going for the Cool Dude look today?"
    "G'way.  'M fine."  I mumbled.
    Sophia grinned.  "Okay.  Then you won't need the shades then," she said, plucking them off before I could do anything to stop her.
    "GAH!"  I quickly put my head in my arms.
    "Yep.  You're in peak condition, I can just tell."  I couldn't see her, but I could just tell she was smirking.  Sophia was the only other elf in the main office of the UIA other than me, but her shapely figure and facial features allowed her to turn the heads of pretty much every man of any species.  Short blond hair, a slightly upturned nose, and almost oriental eyes made her a visual treat.  She was also, unfortunately for most of the men, a practicing lesbian.  This, just by itself, was about as far from traditional elf values as you could get.
    "Just didn't get enough sleep.  Go 'way."  I grumbled.
    "I don't think the boss will appreciate you catching up at work," she replied.
    "Tell me, are you normally this annoying or do you just kinda attack when you detect blood?"  I growled.
    "Nah.  You're just easier when you're weakened," she quipped cheerfully.
    "Geez, Sophia, you wanna call off your dogs?" asked a familiar voice.  Thomas White was my partner and my best friend.   Handsome in the traditional sense and about eight years my senior, Tom has been almost like an older brother to me, especially after I left the elfin homeworld and thus established myself as an outsider to my own people.  Always well dressed, he simply radiated charm -- a stark contrast to cynical ol' me.
    "Aww, but you so rarely get an opportunity to really piss Kirin off," she answered, pouting.
    "Well if that's all you wanted to do, mission accomplished," I shot back.
    "So I've noticed."
    Thomas looked at me, concerned.  (Or so I pictured him as doing -- my head was still down on the desk.)  "Kryst*, Kirin, are you having another migraine?" he asked, sounding worried.
    "Migraine, bad dream, the whole damn kit and kaboodle," I answered.
    "That's it Kirin.  You've been dragging yourself in every single goddamn day with a migraine.  Frankly, it's a miracle you even made it here in one piece.  You're going to see a doctor," said Tom sternly.
    Damn.  If there's one thing I hate, it's doctors.  "Who, me?  I'm fine.  No problems here.  I'm in top shape!"  I said with forced cheerfulness, standing up.
    I took one step and fell flat on my face.
    "You were saying?" said Sophia, batting her eyelashes.
    Tom stood over me.  "See a doctor, Kirin."

    "Hmm... fascinating."
    Hell.  If there's one word you never want to hear from your physician as he looks at your cat scan, it's "fascinating."  This could mean anything from "Fascinating, you've got some sort of freakish body part" to "Fascinating, you have some brand new incurable disease."
    "Define 'fascinating.'"  I said.
    "Well, Mr. Torak, you have a Daiagen's Lobe, don't you?" he asked, looking at me.
    I blanched.  "Oh Gods, it's going into second stages, isn't it?"  I asked, somewhat fearfully.
    A Daiagen's Lobe is really something else.  It's basically a little extra part of your brain that, for reasons unknown, blocks the effects of any and all Level Five magic.  Level Five, for the unknowing, is entirely composed of spells that affect your personal status -- stuff like petrification, confusion, and the like.  While it occurs in one out of every fifty elves, it only occurs in about one out of every million humans.  Unfortunately, Daiagen's Lobes display a certain degree of cancerous properties, and occasionally an unlucky owner of such a lobe will go into 'second stages' -- namely, the lobe grows and spreads.  If caught early it can be removed, but it means the negating of the immunity and is also highly dangerous.
    The doctor raised his eyebrows, then chuckled.  "Oh, no, no, nothing like that.  Actually, it's far more fascinating.  Mr. Torak, I'm assuming you know a certain degree of Elfin history?"
    "Well, except for the fifty thousand or so stories the elders in my clan used to pound into my skull, no, not a lot.  Why do you ask?" I said flippantly.
    "Ah.  Then you are aware of the ancient forms of communication between the elves of old?" he continued.
    "What, you mean 'mental messages?'  Hang on a sec, are you going where I think you're going with this?"
    The doctor beamed.  "Indeed.  I follow elfin history and anthropology quite a bit -- it's kind of a passion of mine, you see.  And from what I can tell your Daiagen's Lobe very closely resembles some of the drawings of the ancient minds of your people.  Or at least the ones theorized," he said somewhat excited.
    "So I'm a dinosaur, eh?"  I raised an eyebrow.
    "Oh no, on the contrary.  I'd say you're a very lucky individual indeed.  It was assumed all the empathic elves died out in the Mental Genocide of two hundred years ago, but it seems some of the genes were still present in your bloodline."
    The Mental Genocide was a particularly tragic moment in Elfin history.  Basically, a good percentage of elves back in the good old days were psychic.  Then some sort of illness began to strike the elves with the ability -- basically, they would first go totally insane, then drop into a coma and die.  Almost eighty percent of the elfin population was rumored to have dropped dead that way.  The only ones spared were the 'unfortunate' non-empaths, who went on to create the population as it stands today.  The elves considered it a curse; however, modern human science has theorized that it was in fact a sort of viral disease that the  special Daiagen's Lobes had no protection against, and thus it targeted those with the greatest psychic energy.
    "So what does this mean?  Am I gonna flip out or something?"  I asked.
    "I certainly hope not.  Except for a near suicidal work drive, I don't think you appear to be particularly crazy."
    "So what the hell does this have to do with my headaches?"
    "Hmm... Perhaps the empathic portion of your brain has been activated for some strange reason.  Probably a particularly strong radio wave, or perhaps it's merely stress.  Have you been feeling stressed out lately?"
    "Not particularly.  None of my cases recently have been too strenuous."
    "Well, perhaps it's some sort of psychic transmission.  It's unlikely, but possible.  Have you had any odd dreams lately?"
    I was about to answer no when the dream came back to me.  The time draws near, the voice had said.  Was that dream actually a premonition?
    Still, even if it was more than it seemed, I wasn't about to tell him.  "Not that I know of, no."
    He didn't seem to believe me.  "Well, get some rest, at any rate.  You know, though, it could be dangerous.  I don't supposed you'd mind if you stayed --"
    "No."
    "It would just be for one nig--"
    "No, doc."
    "But you never know --"
    "Listen, doc, guns are standard in the UIA.  Wanna see mine?"
    "*gulp*  On your way, then, Mr. Torak."

    "Wow, that's incredible, Kirin.  Who'd've thought it, eh?"
    Tom was driving me back to UIA headquarters under my insistance.  The headache had lightened up somewhat since the beginning of the day, and I wasn't about to sit at home twiddling my thumbs and staring at my dying house plants.  Never let it be said that all elves are green thumbs.
    "Yeah.  I had to try and persuade the doctor not to run out and report his discovery.  I'm officially four hundred credits lighter, incidentally."
    "Ouch."
    "Indeed. Say, Lord Willard doesn't mind you doing this, does he?"
    "Nah.  Actually, he insisted that I do it."
    "Every bit the benevolent immortal, isn't he?"
    "Hey, his father wouldn't want it any other way, right?"
    Lord Willard was literally the son of the Creator of our world, the one who had reshaped the planets and allowed life to be restored after the great disaster which wiped out nearly all life in the universe and created the evil demon Xanteman.  He was what we called a level two immortal -- with the exception of others like him and the Gods themselves absolutely nothing could kill or age him (although he did seem to age a little every twenty years or so -- he looked about twenty five as he stood now.)  Once ruling over the entire universe, he retired from the job about a hundred years ago when he married.  He had one son, and after the wife died he founded the UIA and has headed the agency ever since.  People have often wondered why he hasn't just resumed control, or at least allowed his son to take over.  Personally, judging by how much he seems to enjoy his work, I'd say it's better the way things stand.
    "More importantly, though, I can't help but wonder if that dream means anything.  I mean, if I'm suddenly an inbox for every mental e-mail that floats around, does that mean that somebody's trying to communicate to someone else through that dream?"  I pondered, somewhat disturbed.
    "If there is, you can't do much about it now.  From what you've told me it's far too vague to give any real information.  It's probably just some nutcase, at any rate," said Tom reassuringly.
    Much as his explanation made sense, I was still disturbed.  "Yeah, just some nutcase..."
 

*short for Geezus Kryst, an elfin phrase which literally translates to "screw the Gods."  The similarity to a certain First World religious figure is merely a coincidence.
 

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