The original, 5-page short story version of

"The Misguidance of Forces Redirected"

Copyright © 1983 by Roger M. Wilcox. All rights reserved.
(writing on this story began 13-April-1983)

The original draft was written on an electric typewriter, as a writing assignment for my 12th-grade English class. All spellings, punctuation, capitalizations, nonsense about nature-fuelled psychic powers, etc. are as in the original.

You have been warned.

The old psychic was being badly defeated by his technological adversaries. He had been running from them for over an hour through the concrete jungle that was the city, knowing that they were chasing him only because he had stopped the technological progress into the East Woods that had been planted but a century earlier. Now, with their army of seven and their device-oriented superiority, they were determined to destroy him completely.

His body was in considerably good condition for a man his age, even with modern body improvement techniques taken into account, but he carried no devices save the loose-fitting robe which offered him some protection when he couldn't control the outside temperature. He had escaped death recently several times by detecting the presence of his adversaries when they were hidden, and had also slowed them down by sending out 11 Hz sympathetic vibrations, but since there was no Nature around for him to draw his power from, he really had no chance against his foes.

In Nature there existed a form of energy connected directly into the vastness of the entire cosmos itself, capable of bringing life or death, among other infinite things. He knew it existed; all psychics knew that. Dr. Wilhelm Reich discovered this form of energy that had baffled psychic and philosophical alike, and ever since that time in the early twentieth century, psychics could really come out in the open, knowing exactly what it was they were doing. Yet outside of Nature, and in inorganic substances especially, this form of energy, called orgone, was all but non-existent in any credible quantity. Without this form of energy, a psychic was at a complete loss to do much of anything.

Something suddenly snapped the psychic to attention. There was a presence very near him; a lethal presence. Spinning around and ducking simultaneously, he was just able to avoid the first attack. The white beam of destructive energy thundered through the air just centimeters above his head. Startled at the miss, the woman who had fired hesitated long enough for the psychic to charge into her and knock her down.

The psychic would probably be bruised from the impact, but she hardly felt a thing through her dense layer of reinforced fiberglass body armor. "Well, old man," she said with a particularly malevolent tone, "It seems we've found you again. You can't keep running forever. You can detect our presences just before we sneak-attack you, but no matter where you go, the city's sensors will track your path down to your every footstep. Just give it up," she enthused, and fired once more.

His attacker on the ground and himself recovered and upright, the psychic easily avoided the second beam as he dove for cover behind a concrete pillar. He was now at a considerable disadvantage, knowing that the other six were probably searching for him in this direct vicinity and himself being out in the open, at least thirty meters from the nearest building. As he felt behind himself and heard a third shot bounce unreluctantly off the pillar's rear side, he was relieved to find that the pillar had a door in it. Working its lock with what little telekinetic power remained in him, he opened the door, drew himself in, and locked it again from the inside.

The Woman, noticing that the psychic had disappeared behind the pillar, got to her feet and approached the area. As she did, two of her comrades appeared on the scene, each clad in the same thick, multifaceted, white armor and helmetry she had. "He's in there," she proclaimed, pointing to the pillar. "He can't get away this time."

The three sentinels poised themselves in front of the doorway, as one of the men said, "We know you're in there. You can't teleport or anything fancy like that. Come on out or we'll blast our way in!"

The old psychic did just that. He thrust open the door suddenly, knocking back one of the people who'd been standing too close. The one man still standing normally poised his gun to shoot him, but before he could fire a powerful hand whisked by and disarmed the man instantaneously. The psychic rolled and tumbled past them on the ground, a maneuver which allowed him to avoid a blast from the woman who'd attacked him in the first place.

He successfully made his mad dash to the side of the nearest building. 'This will buy me some time,' he thought, 'But time like this doesn't really matter. What will I gain by delaying my own demise by a few more hundred seconds? I'll only deplete the universe of more body-energy which could go to others who might have a chance.'

He was breathing hard as he braced himself up alongside the building. He concentrated on the far-off technologies still heading in his direction, and noted the arrival of three more. Concentrating, he willed himself into a relaxed state of mind and allowed his brain to send out 8 Hz vibrations - the kind that make people relax and feel good - in the direction of his attackers. By now they should have been strolling in his direction instead of walking, but they continued their inexorable, marching pace. It was then he recalled the purpose of the helmets they wore.

'Damned mind shields!' he thought.

In the coolness of the building's shadow, his light-blue robes fluttered gently in a solemn breeze. Blue to him represented orgone energy and its apparent color, not the blue of the seas or the sky above.

The sky? Of course, the atmosphere! Had he been so dense all of his life to think that Nature flows only from the woods and the trees? So what if he wasn't on the homeworld of human birth; this place had a life-sustaining atmosphere that was as much Nature as were the withering woods. Excitedly, he raised one hand into the air and began to draw from the Nature around him.

His hand began to shake. His whole body was taking on an eerie yet natural bluish glow, the same exact color as his robes. The field of energy then began expanding, turning the blue outline of his body into a blue sphere. There was a crackling in the air about him much like static ionization.

Majestically, he turned his gaze from his hand to the sky, and almost instantly stormclouds began to gather. A distant rumbling began mounting in intensity, and at last the first bolt of lightning this planet had seen for over a decade flashed down to the planet's concrete surface just meters away from the six technologists.

The thunder of the return-stroke left everyone stunned as the psychic gallantly walked out into the open. A strong wind was beginning to blow. "Now, users of technology, feel with what devastating energy Nature strikes you!"

Each of the six tried to aim and fire, but the wind prevented them any accuracy. The one who got her pistol up and managed to get off a shot before it was blown away missed by several meters.

"I control the forces around you. I know now, as I always have, that no force of technology can stand beside the might of the universe!"

And then, suddenly, the storm clouds dispersed and the wind died down. As the blue glow faded from the psychic's body, he felt totally confused - but only for an instant.

The technologists immediately opened fire amongst a chorus of cheers from themselves. As the misused beams of energy tore through the old psychic's bodily self, a single thought stammered in his mind:

'Damned weather control satellites!'

Author's notes from 2014:
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