Outwrite's owner Philip Rafshoon set the mood for the tribute which included authors, publishers, LGBT community activists and several members of Harris' family. Far from being a session of sad songs, soliloquies of sorrow and tales of regret, the event was instead upbeat - almost a celebration. And that is how E. Lynn would have wanted it.

Philip Rafshoon: "I'm not sure if any tribute can attest to all that he did and represented for the community, writers and the world but we are certainly here to give our best. E. Lynn showed us that every life is a story worth telling and he was an inspiration for many gay writers who may have once been afraid to tell their own stories. It wasn't that he was the first black gay writer to come along with a great story.

But he took it to a whole new level - he opened up the minds of people, straight and gay. Many of us remember E. Lynn Harris when he wrote his first book, Invisible Life. We have had him with us in this store for every one of his book signings and it has been a fantastic journey that we have taken together. And until this country acknowledges our community with equal rights and equal respect, the journey will need to continue."

J.L. King, New York Times Bestselling author: "His influence on the publishing world was amazing - he really had clout. In terms of my own career, E. Lynn touched me and motivated me to write my book about the down low and then other projects.

And what was great about him is that he helped others get their foot in the door and their books into the hands of the public. Some people have debated about who will fill his shoes but I would say that no one really can. There will never be another E. Lynn Harris."

Cindy Barnes, College Friend: "We've been friends since college at the University of Arkansas and he and my brother pledged Alpha Phi Alpha together. When my brother died from AIDS in 1995, E. Lynn was there for him and for our family - he became my brother and an uncle for my children. He had a way of uniting people and had a heart as big as they come."

Jessie Phillips (Aunt "G"), Aunt: "He was more than a nephew to me - he was more like another one of my sons. Lynn was a compassionate man and loved people. He especially enjoyed taking me and my sister [Harris' mother] to one new city a couple of times a year that we had never visited.

I remember one time we were in Philadelphia and a young man shared how much he [Harris] had inspired him. The young man admitted that before reading Lynn's novels, he had never read a complete book in his life - and he enjoyed it!

He had it rough growing up and his stepfather tried to beat his "gayness" out of him. His mother never knew that but if she had known, there would have been real trouble. With all of that it's amazing to me how beautiful a person he became.

"I remember when he quit his job at IBM - he was very unhappy and said he wanted to write. I told him if that was his passion then he needed to write but I also told him that he would have to be willing to sacrifice in order to make that dream come true. Then I made a deal with him - I told him he could stay with me and work on his book. He would read a few chapters to us at a time and I was amazed at his talent.

"That first book was tough for him. He lived at Kinko's getting it printed and could not find a publisher so he did it himself. He carried books in his car and went to barber shops and beauty salons and house parties. I even took books to my office.

He had some hard knocks along the way and some friends let him down. But his mother and I both reminded him that sometimes people will let you down - but you have to keep going.

"We had many memorable family gathering and while he was always on a diet, that boy could put some food away. I am grateful that God game him to us for 54 years. That was a true blessing. I have three sons - but E. Lynn Harris was my fourth son."

Christopher Bennett, Author: "If it had not been for E. Lynn Harris, I would never have become a writer. His memoirs actually touched me - it was like I knew some of the people in his books and after reading his first book, I began to write my own.

I wanted to write the first great American novel and just the thought of him left me star struck. I reached out to him when I was close to finishing my first book - well, I only had three chapters really done, but he actually read them.

He sat down, read carefully and told me that while he expected it to be mostly trash, that he was very impressed. As I continued to write, he would reach out to me periodically to see how things were progressing. That meant so much to me. Today is like closure for me."

He told me he believed in me. I mailed my mother a copy of Invisible Life and told her that the main character was her son. I could not have done that without E. Lynn Harris in my life. "

Fiona Zedde, Author: "I came to the United States from Jamaica and lived with my aunt during my teen years when I was beginning to understand that I was attracted to women. My aunt knew what I was going through and she actually gave me a copy of Invisible Life to help me with my coming out process.

It was the first time I had ever read a book with characters that were experiencing the same highs and lows that I was. Reading his book helped me overcome my own challenges and when I started writing he was my inspiration."

Clarence Nero, Author: "E. Lynn Harris gave me my start in mainstream publishing. He opened the door for me and he encouraged me and was kind. I knew I had to be a part of this tribute to tell the world how special he was to so many writers like me."

Laura Gilmore, Adopted Mother: "I was so touched when Lynn told me that he was going to dedicate his last book to me. But that was just Lynn. He loved to spend time with his family and I had the pleasure of working with him for five years as his personal assistant.

His mother was always foremost in his mind and I was always included with her and his Aunt Jessie. We miss him so much that I cannot tell you how much it pains me to know he is no longer here for me to talk to. I still have the last message he left for me on my answering machine - I will never erase it."

R.M. Johnson, Award-winning Author: "We met in 1999 at a book signing event for Omar Tyree in Chicago. My first book, The Harris Men, had not come out yet and I really wanted to talk with him about it. But I was really hesitant because I figured he would flick me away like a fly. But he was so gracious - it was the start of a 10-year friendship. He was the only person to give me a blurb for my book and that was really helpful. There are so many new and emerging authors that he helped like me. During those ten years we took road trips together and had some candid conversations. He was really cool people and I am going to miss him - and the black man could write!"

Eric Jerome Dickey, New York Times Bestselling author: "I still miss E. Lynn Harris - hearing his voice on the telephone saying 'what's up frat?' He was a funny man and a real card. There are so many stories that most people do not know of how he helped writers get started in the business.

For me I have said it before and I will say it again - E. Lynn Harris sent me out on my first book tour when I was barely making ends meet by working as a substitute teacher.

I didn't even know him then. But he footed the bill so I could go to three cities - something that my publisher at that point wasn't even willing to do."

Etta Mae Harris, Mother: "Lynn was my only boy and my first child and he always signed his cards 'your number one son.' After the divorce he became the man of the house for me and his three younger sisters. He was a blessing to us all."

Harris' mother, who was the final speaker, chose to end her comments at that point, clearly overcome with emotion.

E. Lynn Harris introduced us to Yancey, Basil, Kyle, Raymond and the irascible Ava - characters that reminded us of ourselves, our friends and our lovers. He showed us that love should not be defined by the narrow parameters of a close-minded world. He illustrated how there can be victory and joy even in the painful process of "coming out" - admitting to others that we are different than they may have imagined. He helped us see that the only box we need to fit in is the one the Creator planned for us.

Years from now his stories will continue to live on, inspiring future generations of straight and gay youth to love themselves and to have the courage to openly love the man or woman that makes their hearts skip a beat and brings them joy.

Not to be deterred, Glave helped found the Jamaica Forum of Lesbians, All-Sexuals and Gays (J-Flag) while in Jamaica to pursue post graduate education opportunities and continues to speak justice to a situation of injustice.

Glave next read excerpts from "Out There," which is an account of an exorcism held in a small Jamaican village where the natives burn down the home of an admitted homosexual while he is still inside and refuse to allow him to exit, unless he wishes to accept mutilation and death at the hands of machete-wielding men.

"The story isn't based on an historical account but it well could be," he added. "I was interested in how easy it is for some to participate in such atrocities when we do not know the person. In such cases our fellow humans view their victims not as people but as a thing - an object. And somehow that make it easier.

One is considered in a different class based on their color and that is part of our lasting legacy of being a colonized nation."

"I chose to use multiple voices in "Out There" and sought to provide it with its own energy and propulsion," he said. "I wanted to establish the tableau so that it was clear that the story was not written for a North American audience. I wanted the reader to be able to see what it was like to live in that town and to understand that the stakes were different for the main characters because while both gay, only one of the characters is from Jamaica. This story was difficult for me to write because I felt imprisoned by language and its constraints. I wanted to see if I could free language and give it [language] its own expansiveness. "

Glave says that his stories are pieces of fiction and almost never, except on one occasion, based on real people. Still, his characters speak to him and - he listens.

You could say that I was experimenting with his words and attempting to show it on the page grammatically and make it read clearly to a Jamaican audience.

"The issues that Jamaicans face are not what African Americans experience here in the United States. Understand, Jamaica is a black country but the degrees of black and brown define one's social class and the opportunities that are either present or denied because of their skin color. 

African Americans seem to have that same tension [recall American literature about house slaves versus field slaves where the lighter-skinned slaves were given the privileged position of being indoors] but don't tend to feel it as much as we do in Jamaica. In Jamaica it is more desirable to be "brown" not "black."

But for those who were brown [lighter] we were instructed to call them by their title - mister, misses. Even my relatives who were darker were not accepted like I was. And as for my friends, I was not allowed to have too many "black" friends. It's still a complicated situation."

Glave continues to push the button and challenge notions of conformity in all of his work. He is currently working on a piece of fiction that examines life for the middle class and how they live within the confines of their black-brown obsessions.

He says that besides language, one of his primary concerns is the lasting impact of slavery and colonization on the people of Jamaica.

I think it is because we have not dealt with our bodies - the many women and men who were raped by their colonizers. The result it that Jamaicans are both very sensual while at the same time repressed - almost puritanical. We live in a world with a lot of contradictions because of our former English rulers. The strange thing is that you find rampant expressions of homosexuality in the most unexpected places."

To read the work of Thomas Glave is to experience his penchant for listening which manifests itself in how he tells a story. And it is clear that each word is carefully chosen before he puts it down on paper.

Even the music is included in the language and the sounds that I seek to recreate. Sometimes just a simple "uh hum," can mean so many different things. 

If you are looking for more from Thomas Glave, this writer recommends his edited anthology of gay and lesbian writing from the Caribbean - a collection that has been described as an "unprecedented literary conversation" on LGBT experiences throughout the Caribbean and its "far-flung Diaspora." 

With authors representing 37 countries, some who still live in the Caribbean with others having moved to Europe, Canada or the United States, the pieces are urgent messages from teachers, performers, activists and community organizers.

Glave is a former Martin Luther King Jr. Visiting Professor in the Program in Writing and Humanistic Studies at Massachusetts Institute of Technology and is currently Professor of English at SUNY - Binghamton where among his course offerings he is now engaged in a class that introduces students to contemporary black gay/lesbian writers.

"The course is called "Politics and Courage: Contemporary African-American 'Queer' Writings," and in it we will cover an assortment of essays, poetry, short stories and films," Glave said. "The span of history is about 25 years and that includes everything from Essex Hemphill's Brother to Brother to the words of Audre Lorde. 

I think the course is extremely relevant for my students but it is also a strange

I recognize how complicated this material can be - it's complicated because many of the authors were responding to other black writers who came before them and who were not gay. So the texts on which we concentrate are exploding a lot of stereotypes.

"Adding to the difficulty is helping students understand the nuances of black culture. One of my tasks therefore is to help my students grasp the historical context of the black experience in America and that too is quite complicated because it is so regionalized. [Being black in Atlanta is a different experience than being black in Boston.]

" There are more black gay films that we can access and study. The result is that there is a lot for the students to take on but so far it has been a great deal of fun. 

Sometimes I have to explain what the authors are talking about like in Essex's poem "American Wedding," where one black man is talking about placing a cock ring on his lover's penis. My students could not appreciate how Hemphill is playing on the image of the wedding ring with the cock ring if they didn't know what a cock ring is - and many didn't.

"The material has heavily sexual themes and deals with black bodies and so before we can discuss these profound works, 

I have to get some of my students past their shyness. We are moving along through the material quite well and in a progressive way but again, there's so much to cover that I don't even attempt to tackle figures like James Baldwin although he is referenced throughout the course - that could be a course all by itself."

Look for an opportunity to listen to Glave when he makes an appearance in your town. And read his books. You will go away enlightened and changed forever. 

Thomas Glave can be reached at tglave@binghamton.edu or tglave@mit.edu.

Jared's personal development flourishes with the help of Bruce and Scott, his neighbors; helping him immerse into the gay lifestyle. Meanwhile, Malcolm still was struggling with his own identity especially after being take advantage of sexually, by Mr. Williams and his son Norman; the father and brother of his ex-girlfriend, Nora.

Going to parties, making new friends, having wild spontaneous sex, and going out to dance clubs help for both Jared and Malcolm to grow into the gay culture. All of these different things were entertaining and only lasted for short period of time.

The story focuses on a beautiful Jamaican woman, Naomi McElroy, who finds that her life is incomplete, despite having a lovely little girl and all the comforts of home.

One night during a family vacation in Negril, she leaves her young child in the capable hands of her mother for a night on the town - hoping to finally make her dreams of seduction at the hands of another woman come true.

But Julia is no ordinary lesbian. She is part of a secret clan of vampires that is led by the towering, tempting Silvija - whose sensuality and skills of lovemaking cause men and women, mortal or immortal, to yield to her touch and melt in her arms.

For Naomi, one moment of pure ecstasy results in her becoming one of the undead as she becomes "Belle." And while Julia's plan is to make "Belle" her personal love-slave, Silvija stands in the way - first because she finds a woman whose will is as strong as her own.

But more than that - the two women discover that they are "soulmates" and are unexplainably drawn to one another.

Before they know it, Belle and Silvija, much to the chagrin of Julia and the rest of the vampire clan, have fallen in love.

And she must face emotions like anger, resentment and jealousy, which she realizes, almost too late, are feelings shared by beauties and beasts alike.

Fiona Zedde is the author of numerous short stories, three novellas and four best-selling novels.

She describes her work as lesbian fiction and says she focuses on erotica because she believes so strongly in the power of love and romance.

Zedde, who lives in Atlanta, is recently "divorced" and can be reached at www.fionazedde.com. Look for her interview in our March edition.

Johnny moves to the nation's capital first where he is determined to get his life back on track - even enrolling in college to follow in the footsteps of the men of his family.

And while his family knows full well about his homosexuality, they are determined to steer him in a "new" direction, including an attempt to fix him up with a beautiful southern belle.

But James, always flamboyant but extremely faithful and in love, refuses to allow the well-to-do Lomack family to keep him from his man - even if his man believes that he can assume a heterosexual lifestyle and keep his real desires on the down low.

Nero tackles several sensitive social issues in this novel including the plight of public schools, discrimination against homosexual teachers and homophobic hazing at the hands of a college fraternity.

The author states that his book is based on real life situations that he found "disturbing" including the firing of a co-worker whose sexual orientation was used as the grounds for his dismissal.

When Johnny is viciously attacked by his fraternal brothers after they discover that the new pledge is gay, James springs to action.

Nero employs great courage and creativity as he uses this platform to criticize the ignorance and fear that is still associated with homosexuality and how it jeopardizes real brotherhood and sisterhood for both straight and gay Greek letter members.

How far would you go for love? That is the question that Johnny and James must face.

Nero's novel entertains us with colorful, well-developed characters and a powerful plot. But it also raises topics that are sure to spark vital conversation about the quality of life and the dreams that all Americans share - no matter who they chose to love.

you were a carabao lifting rice sacks under the Pangasinan sun
a handsome sailor on his way to Greece instead found a Filipino nurse
who hummed Elvis tunes she thought America would be a Technicolor beach
but arrived during the coldest Baltimore winter surprised by foods like pizza

you bought a house with a fireplace it was romantic mom said while mom
worked late shifts taking care of crack babies in south east DC you watched
basketball the bounce of your belt breaking me when I was three
for twisting the controls of the portable tv called me destroyer

you fed me the finest adobo, stews of blood garlic, chili peppers
when driving me to piano lessons you said you could never eat a piano
you could turn so red & jelly you convinced all the neighbors that you
should play Santa Claus when you were really hiding a temper that fists

thru doors the house you bought is boarded up with too many holes
to be sold your belongings strung outside a yard sale for the damned
the gorgeous cherry tree you killed with insecticides gone too
did you even know what you were doing pisces man lover of seas

whose hot spit I felt on my cheek the way my head spilt bloody
beaten by the boy across the street you lifted me by the neck
told me how you were slapped by Japanese bayonets don't cry
it doesn't hurt shaking me like a wet umbrella I want to know if you
ever saw me dad you hiding behind a hammock and sunglasses

saw the boy you made rub your back for a nickel I am tired of growing fat
like you know that you've become that apathetic sack of rice
buried in the fields what can I do to make it worth the miles
I want to play a sonata of love for you arpeggios of anger scaling

thirty-two years of tears for you metronome clicks for disappointment
in you my hands reach out to lift you higher than the volcanoes
Where gods gave men rice and from the altitudes of angels
I am not afraid to say I've come home

Every house on our street had a tree in front of it and the tops of those trees stretched up and out across the middle of the causeway, forming an amazing arch that provided us with plenty of shade in the summer, and a lot of leaves to both play in and eventually rake every fall. As the tree tops intertwined, they looked like dancers meeting for the very first time.

This was my street, these were my trees and I was five-years-old.

Then one day - the trees were gone. I don't remember how old I was but I know I was no longer the precocious, snaggle-toothed boy that believed the world had been created for his pleasure. Something had gone terribly wrong in my childhood Wonderland.

But I couldn't understand why a doctor couldn't heal them like my mom did whenever I scraped my knee or came down with the sniffles.

And so the City sent big, strong men with even bigger machines to cut down the trees - severing the arms, legs and torsos of my dancing companions from their once magnificent forms leaving only angry, ugly stumps with nutrient-deficient roots as reminders of their once mighty grandeur.

My father, a robust former gridiron star with a bellowing voice and a gentle soul, complained about the protruding roots and unsightly stumps that remained saying that the City should have removed the trees completely so that our sidewalk wouldn't have to be repaired when the roots made

But I didn't care about all of that. I just wanted to sit on our porch, tussling with the family dog, sipping kool-aid with a crazy straw from my favorite superhero cup (Batman was the man) and watch the wind blow our dancing trees like lovers engaged in a sensuous tango.

I missed my tree-friends and longed for their return but there would be no abatement to my disappointment. It would be my first time learning about the cycle of life and death and at that point in my young life, I could not have imagined that it was only the beginning of a malevolent malaise that would slowly overtake our neighborhood, the proud citizens of Detroit and eventually our way of life - forever altering the beauty that was once Motown. It would not be my last lesson in the fragility of life.

My child care provider before and after school who watched and fed me until my parents or my older sister got home from work, Mrs. Hunt, was coincidentally, the babysitter for the children of the late and great, Marvin Gaye.

Mr. Gaye lived on Outer Drive on Detroit's West Side, three blocks from my own home. And after the Jackson Five had signed their contract with Motown, which was also at that time based in Detroit, it was announced that the group would be performing at a popular, outdoor summer event, the State Fair. The annual outing to the State Fair was our last hurrah before school doors opened once again in September and it was always an exciting adventure.

Mr. Gaye was married at that time to Barry Gordy's sister, Anna - one of the nicest women I have ever met.

One summer afternoon, which had been particularly fun with little Marvin running around the house and getting in every one's hair, Mrs. Gaye told us that Michael and his brothers would be singing at the State Fair and that she wanted to take us all to meet the boys.

After a lot of screaming and hollering and making sure it was okay with my parents, she loaded us all into her Rolls Royce Silver Shadow, a car that I liked so much that I begged my mother to get me a Matchbox (car) replica, and whisked us away like Glenda, the Good Witch of the North, to the concert.

Of course, being children with the Gaye family, Motown "kids," we received special treatment. For example, we didn't have to fight the crowds because Mrs. Gaye just kept driving and driving - on grass and sidewalks and around barriers and blockades that were mysteriously removed as her car approached. Finally, we got out of the car and stood in front of a trailer - and then, the five brothers came out and simply said, "Hello."

But what I remember most, both before Michael went on stage and the next day during the party and before the Jackson Five had to leave for another city and another concert, was the sad look in his eyes. It never really registered with me until just recently that even then, despite having it all, or so I believed, more than anything what Michael really wanted was the opportunity to do what I did every day and took for granted - enjoy being a little boy.

Maybe that's why he built Neverland on his sprawling estate. Perhaps that's why he invited little boys and girls to his home for celebrations that other adults could not understand. Maybe.

One writer who interviewed Jackson said that one of his greatest unfulfilled desires, when he was still a young boy, was to go outside and join other children, children that he did not know, on a playground and just … play.

 And maybe now he is happy - at least, I would like to think so.

When I was a boy, we all wanted to be Marlon or Jermaine, Tito or Jackie, or of course, Michael, but I wonder, if I could have really switched places, would I have been able to embrace my new life and all of its challenges. When I look at the mountains that Michael Jackson was able to climb and the valleys that sometimes appeared to swallow him whole, I wonder if perhaps I was am actually the lucky one.

And I have decided to be satisfied with who I am and hold on to being an ordinary brother from Motown and celebrate the memories of a childhood when Detroit was a little like "heaven."

The essay above is from Kevin's collection of essays that he is currently completing for publication entitled, Growing Up Motown: When Detroit Was "Heaven."

When the Terrans landed on the first colony planet of Thessaly, there were no children in the crew. Multiple births were encouraged through the use of fertility drugs. The children came soon enough, for it was planned that there would be a five-fold increase in numbers during the first generation.

The thousand females and males aboard the transport ship represented the cream of their generation: genetically strong, all of superior intelligence, and all with histories of superior clan health. The gene lines had been searched for longevity factors, for this thousand had to assure the survival of their race. Life continued. Life spread and multiplied throughout the quadrant onto the worlds of Carthagia, Demetria, and eventually to the planet Aidennia. It was only one world within The System that had been civilized for many millennia.

The weak died before they could produce offspring, yet the infant mortality rate was frightful for thousands of orbits. But the Terran species displayed its surprising adaptability. The land changed Terrans before Terrans changed the land as they spread north and south from the first settlement of Novice along the planet's equator.

The race's physiology was subtly altered while outward appearances changed very little. Muscle tissue became denser, motor reflexes became sharper, perceptions broadened, optic capacities widened. A whole new range of physical and mental abilities began developing, just to allow Terrans to live under normal condition on a planet where weather changes were drastic, whose sun had a variable as to heat and to light intensity.

They had to do what worked - fast. Those who did not let nature stand in their way did not allow other Terrans to do so, either. In building, as in adapting, the primary rule was to survive. Once a civilization began to come together on Aidennia, Terrans began to turn their attention on values. The Aidennians took as an assumption in their lives the fact that there was a right and wrong in the Universe; to kill was wrong, to give someone food as right.

Through generations of slavery, warfare, and of Terran sacrifice in the name of progress, the population of Aidennia ached inwardly for tranquility. They became a people of magnificent social organization, culture, art, and commerce. They turned away from being a military people; they thrived instead, on their remarkable mercantile abilities.

In centuries to come the Aidennians and their allies would live eventually a harmonious existence under a constitution set into motion by The System's elite senate seated by The Echelon.

The Echelon themselves were a caste of terran life forms that were the off-spring of genetically compatible parents from any number of sentient races belonging to The System. Like any result of interspecies coupling, mutations arouse that were better at adapting to new environments and situations.

Systemite planets were bureaucratic monarchies. While Echelon spiritual vicars or "priests" dominated the government and while the senate had some ministerial functions, the principle role of the senate was that of CEO of The System; for the Systemites operated their territories as businesses, and entrepreneurships. While the bulk of the population enjoyed the wealth of interplanetary trading, the circumstances of that trade were tightly controlled from the senate. Beneath the senate was a large administration of scribes and bureaucrats who carefully regulated production and distribution both within The System and without. This administration kept incredibly detailed records, which exercised a great deal of control over the economy.

The concentration of wealth produced social equality; the wealth was spread pretty liberally. Society became organized around kinship lines rather than to be organized around "class," that is, economic function. Life was good for just about everyone. In addition, there was no inequality along gender lines. Cultural equilibrium was achieved, tranquility soon followed.
The inhabitants of The System became tranquil too soon. That was to be their downfall.

Unknown to The Echelon was a power hungry and restless saurian race who called themselves Taurus Lacertilians - meaning bull lizards -- or Tauron in Systemite Contemporary Lingua. Totally alien in form and thought, they were an obsessive and dominant force.

As time wore down the rhythm of war, The Systemites forgot the extent of Tauron treachery and concentrated all energies on the time twisting of deep Space travel. To once again reach out into the void and spread life amongst the coldness of Space. In 6752 A.T., as Aidennia began its first colonization mission to a remote uncharted star and its serene satellite, the Taurons began a mission of their own…

A tranquil sphere hung in Space under a white cloud.

From a vantage point some four hundred kiloretems above, Medical Commander Dara Lidasiress was watching it beyond the thick syntheglass of an observation viewport; the sight was dizzying, fascinating.

The cloud shrouded planet was called Aidennia and seemed to lie almost in the trajectory of the Orbiter 1: Aidennia Station. The light of a strong, middle aged sun cataloged as Pintarus 19 fell on the cloud. Every so often, its rays illuminated attractive patches of blue and green on the surface of the planet concealed beneath its halcyon mass, giving hints to the planet's life abundant waterways and of its dense forests giving way to grasslands.

Over millions of cycles, the continents of the planet Aidennia had drifted apart, jostled together, and regrouped to form new landmasses. It now was a world of two broad regions.

It was a lush green world covered in a tropical and sub-tropical paradise whose continents were lined by mangrove swamps behind which were dense deciduous rainforests, where each landmass had developed distinctive endemic animals and plants, natural selection had favored the most adaptable. Water levels and global temperatures were high - the spread of flowering plants filled the forests with fruits and scents, and in the dense, heavy, and mobile waters marine fauna and flora thrived. Life was sweet in the forests and waters that clothed the planet. Life grew healthy on diets of leaves, vines, roots, and fruit. In the forests was a menagerie of large vertebrates such as winged aviators, hoofed plant-eaters, and clawed carnivores. The warm planetary climate meant that the complex coral reef ecosystems flourished, as did the diverse off shore aquatic mammals, fish, and rich plankton and krill that roamed the globe.

Magnificent parishes populated by great engineers and architects, building magnificently towering structural constructs in cities with hot and cold fountains, statuary, communal dining halls and stone walls plated with precious metals, harbors and docks, spaceports, meditation temples, arboreal parks, athletic and cultural centers.

The very heart of The System hummed and grew, governing and guiding hundreds of solar groups and their populous worlds down there, on the lush, verdant world; a wealth of Aidennian culture thrived.

The people of this world possessed great wealth thanks to the natural resources found throughout their planet, living simple, virtuous lives. Here was a planetary society interacting with many different interglobal cultures.

Aidennia was thought of as a world rather than nations. Freedom of religion and cultural practice were guaranteed. No one culture or group was able to dominate the rest.

Within that framework of diversity, it was also guaranteed that all individuals on

The land, air, and water of Aidennia were in the common stewardship of the terran family, and not owned by any individual or group. The fruits of an individual's labor belonged to the individual, and were not appropriated by another individual or group.

At the same time, terran labor on Aidennia - and throughout The System - was part of a communal enterprise, given to the common good. Aidennia, as were all Systemite economic systems, reflected both these facts, balancing self-interest with the interests of society at large.

The goal of planetary as well as Systemite economics was not 'sustainable development' but a sustainable prosperity for each planet's biosphere. Therefore, each planet's landscape itself had certain 'rights of place' that were honored.

The goals of environmental alterations were minimalist and ecopoetic, reflecting the values of universal harmony. Only a porton of each System planet lower than the five-kiloretem contour were made terran-viable. Higher elevations, constituting some thirty percent of a planet, remained in something resembling their primeval conditions, existing as natural wilderness.

As such it was perceived in those formative times that colonization should be undertaken in a spirit of reverence for the planet and for the scarcity of life in the Universe. What was done in those first settlements had set precedents for further terran habitation of solar groups, and suggested models for the terran relationship to those planets's environment as well.

Thus The System's first worlds, or Core Worlds, occupied a special place in history, and were remembered when the necessary decisions concerning life anywhere were made.

A giant oceanic storm lay framed before Dara's eyes, capturing the image of a hurricane coiled to strike the Western Continent's gulf coast of Cheves Province. High clouds, borne on a hundred- kiloretem-a-node jet stream, sphinctered together as they coursed diagonally across the observation viewpane before her.

Dara's attention refocused as her peripheral view caught a glimpse of her reflection coming off the window. A tall, powerful slender, fine-boned figure, with high cheekbones and penetrating chocolate eyes that gave a look of great delicacy foundated in extraordinary resiliency framed by a neatly cropped mane told that she was no shallow youth, but a fully mature adult.

Her figure was snug inside a flight hibernation oversuit, firm and svelte. Her angular features were still unlined for all of her seventy-plus cycles; seventy had become the new fifty. An athletic siress of three, she well-carried the biological rewards bestowed upon a terran female who had lived the majority of her life in a germ-free environment.

A simple gene-booster treatment could have erased the silver salting of her pepper hued hair, but she elected to keep her hair natural. It served to remind those younger around her that she was of the generation that still valued the aging processes.

A skilled practitioner of Space medicine, she had taken up a position here on Orbiter 1 after her spouse and she had been promoted within the ranks of the Aidennian-System Spacecorps. They had three children to their credit, all of who had achieved success and recognition in their own chosen fields.

A warm feeling pervaded her being as Dara thought of her clan, all together, all successful, and all about to embark on an adventure where survival would be a game with the life forces of the Unknown.
She and her clan, along with several other families, composed of scientists and terra forming specialists, were the leading figures in the Mira Probe Mission.

The colonizing team was to conduct a manned landing on a new planet discovered by deep thrust telescopic probes. A distant star beyond the known limits of The System, scientists called Mira.

It was a remote and uncharted celestial object serving as a primary solar body to Mira IV, a planet sized satellite. Yet it had shown favorable evidence of supporting System life and ultimately, it might solve the current population explosion that was ringing throughout known Space.

Aidennia had been selected by The Echelon from the myriad of inhabited worlds to be the first planet to colonize the Unknown. Since Aidennia was the hub of The System's peaceful administration, and the most technologically and spiritually advanced, the choice was obvious: Aidennia was to play the role of trail blazer.

Within heart beats, she and those she had grown to know, love, and respect would be ushered off into deep Space, spending the next three and a half months held in a state of suspended animation and re awakening automatically as the Saarien entered Mira's solar group.

Beyond the vapor of the Aidennia's atmosphere, hung two attending satellites, each of their mass approximately one eightieth that of Aidennia. The two airless orbs housed mining teams, scientific communities, security bases, and industrial plants. Revolving around them were Orbiter stations staffed with medical and administrative personnel.

Together, the Orbiters and the moon colonies formed an entire planetary support system and provided much of the research for the Mira Probe Mission. Dara grinned with some happiness knowing she and the others were doing a service for their race and its allies.

Saying good bye had not been easy, especially to her elder sibling, Aspera. A native Aidennian, Dara was born the second daughter of Whilhelm Berlsire and Lida Maesiress. Dara's siress was a brilliant neurologist while her sire was the founder and owner of Aero-Space Engineering Corporation, a large firm famous for its air-spacecraft navigation systems designs; she inherited the brilliance of her sire, and her capacity to heal from her siress.

Her parents enrolled her in a private academy catering to the needs of gifted children. Dara had a normal childhood despite her obvious intelligence, goods looks, and clan affluence.

That all changed shortly after her elder sister Aspera had graduated from an engineering lyceum in Bensalem Province, her parents were killed on re-entry from a moonbase business/pleasure trip when the shuttle they were on broke up due to faulty wiring and crashed. Aspera took over running Aero-Space Engineering

Aspera Lidasiress, along with friends and business associates, were all supportive of the Mira Mission venture; yet there had been tears and sorrow at the departure. A sadness that had kept a small place in her heart now pulsed as Dara viewed Aidennia below.

As Orbiter 1 spun, its arc brought it directly over the planet's Western Continent. Aidennia's landmasses inhabited districts were divided into territories governed as administrative population units. Seen from orbit, cities resembled toy villages in paperweights.

Many of them had smaller domes all around their districts that had merged to become a kind of greater cityplex, covering

One cluster of development caught the physician's eye. It was cosmopolis built entirely within a caldera, occupying the round floor. A collection of forested parks, penthouse skyscrapers with arcuate balconies, glass elevators to rooftops with heliports, pistes, flying freeways …the entire crater covered in a city.

Dara couldn't help but to take one more look at her natal soil, Ashtangi Province. Stepping over to the observation window's control panel, she tabbed in a few key commands. Quickly a holographic-overlay eclipsed itself across the vast and blue and shining, spinning globe of Aidennia.

In the center of the picture, tucked between two gentle folds in a caldera landscape, were three massive domes covering a breathtaking panorama of city buildings; all the metropolises on Aidennia were domed, because at twenty-seven kilometers high the air was a tenth as thick (thirty or forty millibars) as it was at the datum - or sea level.

Massed glass towers rose, some 102 floors high, almost to the transparent dome roofs, where landing pads for helicopters and aircars were located, giving residents a variety of alternative travel options. Busy thoroughfares connected the towers. Small craft jetted about in the air.

Boasting no crime, no pollution, and no over-crowding, Ashtangi Province was a veritable utopia, able to accommodate up to 3,332,000 people.

An abundance of wild animals roamed the oblong plain famous for its various geysers, hot springs, and other geothermal features. Lakes, rivers, and meadows dotted the mountains. Food supply for the province came from farms in the surrounding countryside just beyond the metroplexes circular highway, as well as greenhouses, fish tanks, and a meat cloning center next to agrostations.

It was a well-balanced, ecological synergism between land and urbanization.
It would be quite some time before Dara Lidasiress' gentle eyes would see this sight again. She turned away, not wishing to view more she discontinued the 3-D close-up veil. As the observatory port cleared, she sat in a nearby sofa and rested her head meditatively in her hands.

If he turned 180 degrees, he would see the same sight, where another metro- population center merged into another. Aidennia seen from Space looked extraordinarily lovely to him: a perfect disk of blue, stippled with white masses of clouds.

The outlines of the continents were surprisingly indistinct, vaguely apparent amidst a wondrous swirl of atmospheric vapors against the vastness of the waterways that gave Aidennia its beauty from this vantage point.

Like all weather, marine cyclones were fueled by heat of sun-drenched topical waters, which powered the storms by sending warm, moist air rushing toward the frigid upper atmosphere like smoke up a chimney.

As the surrounding air was sucked in at the base of the storm, Aidennia's rotation gave it a twist, creating a whorl of rain bands. Those whiptails of thunderstorm activity were strongest where they converged in a ring of rising, spinning air, the eyewall, which enclosed the cloud-free eye.

The tempest up for inspection was propelled to an altitude of fifty thousand retems and was climbing more as the rising air finally vented itself in spiraling exhaust jets of cirrus clouds.

To occupy his mind, Commander Capel surveyed the scrolling dropsonde sensor data and found the engine that manifested this great weather came from surface waters of eighty noches Heit or more, moist air, and little wind shear - a difference in wind speed at the surface and aloft that could tear apart a developing hurricane.

Tropical climate shift brought warmer waters and reduced wind shear allowed the Tethys Ocean to spawn this aquatic demon. Spaceborne infrared sensors revealed more details than ordinary satellite images that showed only cloud tops, charting the size and shape of the warm eye, and satellite radar and microwave sensors mapped the rain.

From the corner of his eye, Perezsire followed the purposeful orbit of a weather metamorphose satellite as it aimed a suppression antenna planetward. A beam of deionization energy struck the vortex of the mighty storm from the antenna's barrel and instantly the typhoon began to spiral apart.

A powerful downdraft was generated, counter to the cyclone's updraft. The whirl began to slow, to shudder. And then, with one water-flattening whoosh of air, it was blown out. It became nothing more than a benign tropical storm - an unremarkable cluster of thunderstorms. A kraken slain.

Quick flashes of memory suddenly came to mind as he drifted off into a private past-life of merriment and celebration, of laughter and determination, and of accomplishment and felicitations.

Born the fourth child of an Eastern Continent's leading scientific family, Capel learned at an early age that hard work and determination had its rewards regardless of his good looks, athletic prowess, and high intelligence that gave him an edge over most children of his generation. Perezsire's life had been one of popularity and reputation in both academic pursuits as well as athletic accomplishments.

His interests in geology and astronomy had led him into the field of Planetary Geological Sciences when he enrolled in Spacecorps. Graduating with honors he quickly tackled degrees in Astrophysics and Applied Planetary Geology.

Along his rise in position, Capel had acquired many friends and associates that were saddened but congratulatory when the announcement had been made that he and his clan had been one of four teams selected to be onboard the probeship AST Saarien when it left as The System's first test colonization mission in almost a century.

There had been parties and celebrations after the cycle long training for the mission. With the rigors of mission training and the congratulations for boarding behind him, Capel was growing restless.

He was eager to leave Aidennia and the stable environment it provided for himself and his family. The need for the opportunity to work in the field of geo-astrophysics under some more practical application called to him.

The moons turned constantly against the black star-flecked background of Space, brilliantly white, their scared faces unique in their beauty - of a different kind - excited Capel Perezsire too: their starkness, their simplicity, their airless static unchangeability of them.

The closest moon was approximately 356,000 kiloretems (221,600 mets) distance from Aidennia, while its fraternal twin's orbit was approximately 406,997 kiloretems (252,950 mets). Each moon was made visible by reflective sunlight and had a slightly elliptical orbit. Each mark on their surfaces was a fascinating kind of inspiration: the long record of time, each a long poem that had taken billions of cycles to create and demanded admiration for their immensity.

For Perezsire, his homeplanet's natural satellites white faces held only purity, each a beautiful austerity, a wonderful cool majesty that seemed almost something sacred. Each moon was an exciting, intellectually stimulating place with constant expansion going on.

The civilization on Aidennia was mature and sedate, but the moons were the frontier, with all the wild energy that frontier challenges inevitably called forth.

It was time for expansion. It was a good thing, leaving for Mira 4. Good for his clan, his species, he told himself, trying to suppress subtle doubts that were bubbling up inside.

"Commander…" a Spacecorps yeoman called his name from the room's opened doorway. The male stood gesturing like a juggler, hand-signaling the movers what to take next as he simultaneously carried on a conversation with another petty officer via a collar-pinned communicator. "Commander, excuse me. The briefing is about to begin and General Ondon Yisire has requested your presence."

Nodding, Perezsire moved purposefully alongside the eager male down the echoing metal corridor of the office suite and back toward the domed conference room. The corridor was brightly lit and filled with people.

Spacecorps garbed males and females hurried passed him, a few chattering at the people nearest them, others striding along without speaking while staring straight ahead - it was a motley sea of black form-fitted uniforms with polychromatic stripings. Occasionally, a hovercar filled with people floated passed, scattering the crowd with a sharp whistling sound.

At the touch of her hand and after speaking some key words, the station's stand-by legend faded and the display glowed a light pattern that formed the words Level 4, Area-J. An overlay of the level appeared with a glowing locator on it that indicated the designated area.

Over the Public Address system announcements in Contemporary, Anglia, and other languages added to the hustle and bustle of the station and its thoroughfares: "Shuttle Flight One-Zero-Three-One to Orbiter Three Sigma, leaving at Zero-Two-Forty-Five from Concourse C, Gate five"; "Suborbital flight twelve-twenty to Sivananda Province, Concourse B, Gate fifty, now boarding"; "Suborbital Flight Five-Zero-Three to Tada Drashtuh, now boarding, Concourse A, Gate nine"; "In-System Flight forty-one-eleven from Sheey now disembarking Concourse D, Gate twenty-five…"

Perezsire kept his stoic expression and avoided the passerbys eyes as they strode passed him down the corridor.

He paused at the observatory vision ports, wide-eyed with admiration, his internal thoughts abruptly and utterly forgotten, including the hurrying yeoman. It was easy locating the supership amid the clutter of alien and Spacecorps vessels daisy-chained around the points of the station's docking pylons; its emblem graced its sleek hull like a beacon.

The spacestation and the probeship were both tidally locked in orbit around Aidennia, hung poised together with Saarien's starboard airlock on its upper most deck kissing one of the station's tubular docking bays while its ventral hull was held protectively in the dock's spaceframe scaffolding. Both orbited at seven planetary radii, affording an excellent view of most of Aidennia's surface.

Orbiter 1 itself was of an old-fashioned doorknob-locking mechanism hybrid design, with its two knobby ends jutting away from a central command-operations hub that in turn had habitat thoroughfares bristling off its pivot to connect to an encompassing outer utility ring.

On this vast concentric hoop were attached the station's engineering, maintenance, defense, and docking bays.

Its basic design form was that of a set of staked regular orbs built out from a vertical stepped-cylinder core that served as the focal point to a spinning ring housing tall sweeping pylons with wide buttresses.

It was to one of these massive assemblages of alloy and composites that the probeship was linked and it was from one of the axis command-operations deck viewpanes from which Perezsire observed.

Capel couldn't help but enjoy his point-of-view's vista and the dance between station and ship as seen through the transparent sectioned viewbank.

The Saarien had a beauty that was different from any other spaceship yet seen, a slim soarer, as swift and tireless as an aquatic raptor.

It was a series of six majestically streamlined, composite welded sections divided into forty-two decks accessible via a series of service tubes, travellators, and lifts linked together in a straight line by a central spine.

Its silvery photoreceptive hull was embedded with nanoretem-scale sensors that constantly monitored the outer skin's materials' condition.

Self-healing materials made of long-chain molecules called ionomers kept the probeship airtight. The probeship's first section was the command module from which the Saarien was piloted.

The second module was used as a lab, medical and life support facilities, primary crew's accommodations and relaxation compartments. Next were the gourd-like designs of the navigation and computer section, followed by the area containing the service airlocks, stowage racks, and maintenance and hangar bays.

The fourth module tapered away from the rounded hulls of the service and maintenance modules to form the triangular dimensions of the main water and atmospheric recycling units section followed by the fifth module housing the probeship's nuclear furnace.

The spacer's architecture resembled a grand musical score composed of a sprawling metallo-bio-cyber-construction.

Perezsire knew the probeship's specifications evolution from drawing board to construction.

As he observed the visual fruition of that progression it delighted his sparking eyes, tickled his memories.

He marveled at the Saarien's command section, the upper most structure of the spacer that thrusted off the tapered superstructure's mainframe like a majestic curved crest.

This module was ten decks tall and within its walls were the majority of the probeship's command facilities.

On decks 22 through 32 were segmented compartments dedicated to medical experimentation, life support's hibernation center, and food preparation labs for the probeship's hydro-and-aeroponic farms, dining areas, storage facilities, and bio/chem. terraforming labs; and a separate section that included the hangars and service bays.

The remaining decks down to 42 were basically an industrial area containing all the recycling facilities required to make the probeship self-sufficient, and the necessary control centers for Saarien operations should the upper level control stations ever become useless.

"Commander," came the urging whisper of the escorting yeoman. The male stood expectantly in the opened hatchway into Mission Operations.

Perezsire had been taking a momentary flight-of-fancy on a virtual tour of the majestic conglomerate in his mind.

It was a familiar scene to Perezsire. There was a command console, supporting desks round the perimeter in a horseshoe. Beyond the conference spread there was another larger central command area, seen through a panoramic window where several technicians were moving about on routine chores.

The Mission Ops chamber was alive with electronic equipment and monitoring devices reaching toward the curved ceiling. As everywhere, Spacecorps personnel filled the room. It was full of controllers, troopers, maintenance personnel - along with syntheform androids of varying models and sizes, all of who were diligently involved in preparing for the launch of the AST Saarien.

The officers Perezsire had to see were busily engaged around a great circular console centered in the horseshoe desk configuration, their attentions riveted to a hologram flashing brilliantly colored readouts. A holographic representation of the federated worlds that comprised The System was up for review.

The planets Carthagia, Thessaly, Demetria, Osprey, Thebes, Thrace, Asenath, Potiphar, Heliopolis, Trano, Yama, Ettarre, Aidennia, Sheey, Calliope, Doria, Mantilles III, Januria, and Venita comprised the Core Worlds. This cluster of planetary suns consisted of stars set less than a light-cycle a part, held so close together by their gravitational affinity that the area of Space they occupied was constantly bathed in a lovely yellow light.

Ondon Yisire, wearing the uniform of a Spacecorps general, straightened his tall frame as he noticed Perezsire's entrance.
"Officers," he called out, getting the room's top officials to quiet down and focus in his direction. "We're at Tee-minus Two nodes and thirty. This briefing is the finality to a mission that has taken cycles in the making."

A few more touches and the hologram of the rotating orb zoomed in to show its topography close-up. "And, Site One."
Perezsire edged closer to the ring of admirals, generals, and fellow mission commanders.

This was all rote for him by now, but he understood the significance. It would be some time before he acknowledged orders from Headquarters.

The general was going on, saying, "…each Portable Off/On-world Domicile or POD will disembark from Aidennia-System Transport Saarien out-solar group half a light-cycle and make their way in-solar group at sublight speed for touchdown at Site One approximately five nodes post-reanimation."

"All the alternatives for the establishment of Site One have been studied, all the resources evaluated, all the hazards taken into account; moreover, the settlement plan itself has been carefully mapped out so that the site along with link-up with AST Saarien fit into the final pattern, whose purpose is to outline the landing path to Site One."

A few more touches from Ondon and the holographic presentation converged into a sea-level view of Mira IV. The general went on, "Site One will then serve as a landing beacon for future settlements.

As you know once Site One has been successfully established, it is hoped to have at least ten thousand new colonists transported each cycle.

Architectural plans for urban expansion and celestial map as well as astronomical

The topographical image shimmered and then became that of the crested javelin-shaped probeship parked amongst a myriad of celestial gems. The Miran solar group took up a position in the distance, providing a realistic backdrop.

"AST Saarien will stay stationed out-group for the duration of the terra-forming mission along with future transporter carrier convoys, acting as in-group support and HQ relay to the colonist," Ondon said. He then turned to the line of mission commanders.

"The thoughts and wishes of all Systemites go with you and yours. Oversoul speed to Mira."

There was a brief moment where each officer clasped forearms with another, then the ever present Orbiter 1 computer announced tirelessly, "Tee-minus Two Nodes and Twenty-Six and counting. All teams to Prepping Facilities."

His face was intense and handsome, mouth sensitive, eyes dark and enigmatic. His hair was smooth, auburn brown, rather fine, with temples that had acquired streaks of gray on both sides, and he looked freshly and cleanly shaven: no mustache, no beard, no facial affectations of any sort.

Capel Perezsire was a male of controlled passions. Dara looked up and smiled. He slipped his arm around her comfortingly.
"Thought I'd find you here," he murmured in her ear. "One more look?" he asked.
"Aidennia is so beautiful."

"And just as beautiful will we find the planet around Mira." He nibbled at her ear lobe affectionately.

Her smile broadened, and she shook her head. "No, Capel. You're always dreaming things like that.

"You have to have faith. What's the use of this whole expedition if we don't have that?"
Dara looked deeply into his eyes. "I do have faith."

"Good. You've read the reports that came back from the probes and their BioType D-8 Syntheform crews. Mira Four has confirmed findings of a breathable atmosphere, safe levels of radiation, an Aidennian-like gravitational field, a plentiful water supply, and an excellent climate. It even has a habitable moon."

"How romantic, and promising -- a choice of two worlds."

"Quite," Perezsire said as he smiled. "You're a scientist; your eyes and senses have all the facts. Now we must join the others. It's time."

"Happy to oblige." She rose and thoughtfully followed behind Capel's lead.