“By Tutankhamun’s tomb!” he softly swore,
“They seek the TOE, and something even more:
My sketched design of forces nuclear,
The pyramid of power at its core!”

“By Tutankhamun’s tomb!” his spirit cried,
“The TOE they seek to wield with boundless pride!
My sketched design of nuclear demands,
Where force pyramidal does yet reside!”

Holy King Tut’s tomb! he exclaimed. They really want to control the world with the TOE! They are probably after my drawing, too, the one showing the pyramidal opposition of the weak and strong nuclear forces and the transition of the electric and magnetic forces.

His pistol nestled close beneath his arm,
He walked the streets, affecting casual charm,
When rang his phone with broken foreign speech:
“Your pyramid betrayed you—flee from harm!”

His pistol’s weight gave comfort as he strode,
While questions of discovery rode,
Till phone-spoke voice in broken accent sang:
“Your pyramid before your house has showed.

He patted his underarm, checking that his pistol was still there, and sauntered down the street. How did they find me? His cell phone rang and a voice said, “How find you, Mr. Fred, is by pyramid in front yard.”

Make haste unto the station’s northern gate,
Where nine-oh-five shall bear you from your fate.”
The line went dead with swift decisive click,
As Time’s swift hands did mock him while he wait.

Please proceed train station. 9:05 train north. Hurry. Click.”

The tunnel’s mouth before him grimly gaped,
Its center dimly lit, its shadows draped
By single bulb that cast its meager glow—
He pressed ahead, lest from his train escaped.

Fredrick walked and jogged a ways without further incident and entered a tunnel that would take him under the train tracks to the station. He hesitated, at first, seeing that the tunnel was dimly lit by only a single light bulb in the center, but then moved on in, not wanting to miss the train.

His phone’s shrill warning pierced the tunnel’s gloom:
“Four crimson KGB sedans spell doom!
They race from either end to trap you here—
Make haste to plot, or this shall be your tomb!”

His cell phone began ringing off the hook and alerted him as follows: “Four KGB red sedans arriving each end of tunnel. Make good plan fast!”

He shed his sweater in the center’s light,
Where lone bulb cast its beam through tunneled night.
The sedans’ screech and crash of dented steel
Announced his foes had come to end his flight.

Fredrick reflected a moment, sizing up the scene. He quickly walked to the center of the tunnel, took off his sweater, draped it over his shoulder, and stood under the lone light. He could hear the red KGB sedans screeching to a halt at each end, some of them going a bit too far and denting their fenders. Very poor and reckless drivers!

Eight agents moved with weapons raised to strike,
Their tranquilizing darts poised to dislike.
“Hands up!” the leader barked in English clear,
While guards stood watch at endings of the pike.
Eight KGB agents entered the tunnel and three of them approached from either direction, the remaining two staying back as rear guards, one at each end of the tunnel.

“No,” Fredrick answered, calm amid their threat.
“Raise hands or sleep!” they warned without regret.
“First tell me who commands,” he calmly spoke,
As closer still their circling dance was set.

“Hands up,” said the KGB leader, in English, as they all pointed tranquilizer guns at Fredrick, front and back.
“No.”

“Colonel Patov,” came the proud reply,
“With Captain Demetri’s team from rear draws nigh.
Submit to search and come in peace,” he urged,
“Or tranquilized and beaten you shall lie.”

“Must I repeat the command; raise up your hands or go to sleep!”
“No,” replied Fredrick, “I must know who asks me?“

The agents approached a bit closer. “I am famous Colonel Patov; you will follow orders or be subdued and severely beaten. Behind you is Demetri, my best and most merci–less captain, with his team. You have no-where to go, Fredrick. Raise your hands, be searched; come with us peacefully and we won’t even have to use the tranquilizer darts.”

“Since you insist,” spoke Fredrick with a smile,
His hands rose slowly in surrendering style.
“No contest here—I’ll pass the other side,
As lights go out in this dim tunnel’s mile.”

“Okay,” answered Fredrick, “as long as you put it that way.”
The agents approached slowly from Fredrick’s front and back as he began to raise his hands. They were about twenty feet away now. “No contest,” said Fredrick, “I’ll be passing on to the other side. It’s lights out for me!”

With swift resolve he smashed the bulb above,
His sweater fixed where light once shed its love,
Then shoeless, loosed a scream that seemed to fill
Each corner of the tunnel’s darkened grove.

Fredrick raised his hands quickly and smashed the light bulb, then attached his sweater to the fixture, having noted the spot beforehand, slipped off his shoes and left them there, and let out a blood curdling scream that seemed to echo from all directions at once.

The agents, thinking Fredrick charged their line,
Shot darts through darkness thick as ancient wine,
While he pressed silent ’gainst the tunnel wall,
As chaos bloomed within their grand design.

The KGB thought Fredrick was charging them, but in actuality he had just slipped sideways, noiselessly, without his shoes, and had squatted down, hugging the wall of the tunnel that had just been plunged into total darkness.

“Hold fire!” Patov called. “We strike our own!
Two men are down!” Their discord clearly shown.
“Join hands and sweep the walls,” the colonel cried,
“He lurks between us still, though not yet known!”

Darts began flying through the darkness, towards the screech, but Patov, a seasoned KGB veteran, called out, “Stop, we’re only hitting each other. I have one down. Demetri?“
“One as well, Colonel.”
Patov added quickly, “Link hands and sweep ahead, touching the walls; he is still somewhere between us.”

A coat brushed past where Fredrick crouched in shade,
While at his sweater wild confusion played—
Agents thrashing at his empty clothes,
Their blind assaults a comedy displayed.

Fredrick felt the edge of a coat almost touch him, but, just about then the agents reached his hanging sweater and his shoes on the floor there was an intense struggle with Fredrick’s abandoned clothes and shoes, some agents even punching each other out in the darkness.

Along the wall he crept with calculated stride,
Found sleeping guard whose coat he’d soon divide,
Then touched another form that gave him pause—
One more than Demetri had testified.

Thus, during this time, Fredrick scooted along, found the napping agent and removed his coat. While moving toward the end of the tunnel, Fredrick encountered another body against the wall and thought That’s funny, Demetri said only one was down.

The tunnel’s end showed hints of dawning light,
Where final guard stood watch in conscious might.
Above, the coming train announced its way
With whistle’s cry through shadows of the night.

Fredrick halted, noting that there was some ambient light at the end of the tunnel and that there would be no way to slip past the rear guard undetected. A whistle and a rumble indicated that the northbound train was arriving.

In borrowed coat, he spoke in Russian tongue:
“It’s Demetri,” the false assurance rung.
The guard’s brief pause proved fatal to his cause—
Swift pistol-strike, and past him Fredrick sprung.

Fredrick, wearing the borrowed KGB coat, walked calmly toward the rear guard, who tensed and pointed his weapon. Fredrick then whispered, in Russian, from several feet away “It’s me, Demetri“, and so the guard relaxed a bit, and it was in this split second that Fredrick leapt toward him and clunked him on the head with his pistol, took the guard’s shoes, and put them on.

In stolen shoes he scaled the platform’s height,
As northbound train prepared its hasty flight.
“I’m truly Rushin’ now,” he mused with pride,
While Oslo’s troubles faded into night.

He then ran up to the platform and jumped aboard the already departing train. I am really Rushin’ now.

Fate smiled upon our hero’s dining chance:
The duck he’d left behind resumed its dance
Upon the menu of his chosen car—
A feast to ease his northward-bound advance.

But through the window came a warning sight:
Five agents boarding in their vengeful flight.
Swift Fredrick rose and to the coupling ran,
Left half the train behind in comic plight.

It was Fredrick’s lucky day in that roast duck was on the dining car menu and so he ordered it. At the next station, Fredrick looked out the window and saw the five agents, minus one clunker and the two sleepers, running for the train and boarding the rear cars just as they were pulling away. Fredrick’s duck begin to take flight again as he ran to the end of the dining car and uncoupled the remainder of the train, pretty much leaving it sitting in the station. Good training.

To General Burkov word of failure flew,
Aboard his private train with pampered crew.
New orders given, wheels began to turn,
As Fredrick to another engine flew.

The KGBers then notified their top man, General Burkov, who happened to be in the vicinity aboard his own lavish private train, of their latest defeat (a misplaced clause?). Burkov gave new orders to his engineer. Fredrick jumped onto another train.

Through dining car and sleeper swift he passed,
Through baggage car his final sprint was cast,
His ToeQuest card convinced the engineer
To leave his post—the die was finally cast.

He ran back through the dining car, the sleeper cars, the baggage car, and onto the engine, showing his ToeQuest membership card and advising the engineer that he should leave the train for his own safety.

Behind him, Burkov’s train with thunderous might
Came roaring off the siding in their flight.
But Fredrick, wise to railways’ ordered ways,
Knew such close scheduling could not be right.

About then, General Burkov’s train came off a siding at high speed and onto Fredrick’s track, about three miles behind. Fredrick noted this oddity, thinking that trains are not scheduled this closely.

He stopped his train beside a mining track,
Threw switches there, then stepped a little back,
His dinner still in hand, to watch the show
As Burkov’s fate rolled down the ancient track.

Fred continued onward until he saw a signal for an upcoming siding, and stopped his train just beyond it, got out, and switched the main track onto the siding that led to an old abandoned mine, and just stood there to witness the action, carrying his roast duck. This should be good.

Too fast around the curve came Burkov’s pride,
Too late they saw the switch that would decide—
Their emergency brake proved futile there
As toward the mine shaft all were forced to ride.

Burkov came roaring much too fast around the curve, spotted the track switch too late, and tried an emergency stop, but his train kept going onto the siding and off toward the deserted mine shaft.

They leapt for life as eighteen stories deep
Their lavish train took its eternal sleep.
“No one does this!” raged Burkov from the ground,
“Send every agent forth, let no train keep!”

Burkov and friends jumped off at the last minute, just before the entire train plunged into the mine shaft and was swallowed into the eighteen story depths, never to be seen again. Shafted! Burkov cursed that “No one does this to me and lives! Send forth every agent and every train!”

But Fredrick, sampling duck with quiet grace,
Knew forest paths would give a safer space.
Ten miles to ninja shelter lay ahead—
A pleasant walk at peace’s gentle pace.

Fredrick hopped back on the engine, not planning to be on it much longer, for it wasn’t healthy and it wasn’t all that far to the ninja base, ten miles perhaps. He could take to the forest and walk. The roast duck was still with him and so he finally got to sample it. Ah, delicious.

A tunnel loomed ahead through forest shade;
“Not this again,” thought Fred, his choice was made—
He left the train and sought the woodland path,
Where giant bird showed where his route was laid.

There was a tunnel coming up ahead, and Fredrick thought, not this again, and stopped just before it, got everyone out and walked off by himself through the woods and toward the distant ninja base. A large bird pointed the way.

Then shadow stirred and took a living form:
“Good moves,” it spoke, “through all this recent storm.
Third degree now yours,” the Ninth declared,
“From Master Ninja, to tradition’s norm.”

In a while, a shadow appeared and came to life beside Fredrick saying, “Good moves, Fredrick-san. I give you third degree now. I am ninth degree ninja Grand Master.”
“Hello ninth.”

“Like wind I move, like water flow with grace.”
“I heard both functions at a different place,“
Fred quipped, while Ninja spoke of darkness arts:
“From nothing came I to this meeting space.”

“You not see me come; move like wind and go like water.”
“I heard you breaking wind and going water.”
“C’mon, that speech figure; beside, those awhile back. I wear black, come out of black between bush; appear as nothing.”

“In nothing,” Fred replied, “I hold degree.”
Then boom of explosion split earth and tree.
“Red engine meets our tunnel’s other end,“
The shadow smiled. “Now that was meant to be.”

“I am an expert on nothing.”
They heard an explosion. “We take care of light at other end of tunnel, some kind of speeding red KGB engine.”

“But where were you,” asked Fred, “when first I fought
Those eight who thought they had me surely caught?“
“I watched you learn—good training! Then I stayed,
You touched me once, remember? Second thought?“

“Thanks, but where was my protection from the eight KGB agents in the first place in the first tunnel?” asked Fred.

“Ah yes! The count seemed odd within the dark!”
“Just half of me was needed for that spark,
But splitting’s not my style!” the Ninja grinned.
Through forest depths they traced their woodland mark.

“Good training. But I there in second place in tunnel to protect you,” said the Ninja, “but you not need me.”
“You were there in the tunnel?“
“Yes, I there. You touch me once.”
“Oh yeah, thanks for being there; I thought I had an arithmetic problem. Okay, but was that it, just you?“
“That even too much, just need half of me, but I no like banana split so bring whole self! Ha-ha.”
“Good one, half and half.”
They walked on, for many, many miles.

“How goes it, Fred?” the shadow softly said.
“One foot before the other moves ahead.”
“Yes.” Then: “Sweet music comes to pierce the soul,
No preparation serves,” the Master led.

“How going, Fred?“
“I’m just putting one foot ahead of the other.”
“When cross zone, hear the sweetest saddest music ever. It go down deep, but also energize. No one can be ready for this.”
“I’m ready,” Fredrik spoke with certainty,
Until the notes flowed forth in purity—
Such sweetness mixed with sorrow touched his heart,
While tears revealed humanity’s deep plea.

“I’m ready.”
“OK, here come.”

“You spoke true words,” said Fred through misty eyes,
“No soul could ready be for such sweet cries.
They speak of human plight, yet give us strength
To aid the cause as far as power lies.”

Tears streamed from Fredrick’s eyes. “You’re right, there was no way to be ready for that; it reminds one about the plight of humanity, energizing one to aid the cause.”

Within the ninja base, tests did begin:
“What cola graces now this cup herein?“
“Not Coke nor Pepsi, but RC’s diet brew,“
Fred solved the riddle with a knowing grin.

“Now,” Fred, sir, “do some taste test: this Coke or Pepsi?“
“Neither; it is RC Diet Cola, from a can; nice try.”
“Ah, you have good taste. Now, what wine this be?“
“It’s a nonalcoholic sparkling grape beverage from Holland.”
“Ah, Fred, but what year.”
“This year“.

Through wine and duck the testing carried on,
Till taste itself became their wisdom’s dawn:
“Three classes of the buds,” Fred sagely spoke,
“Through vectors sweet and sour are withdrawn.”
“Now you taste this,” said Fredrick, as he pulled a piece of duck out of his pocket.
“Ah, yes, duck from Peking, south region. Very good. Now, what taste really consist of.”
“Well, although taste buds vary somewhat, there being three main classes, it all really comes down to the length of the vectors of the taste matrix of sweet, salt, bitter, and sour.”
“Yes, sir Fred. Fine taste. So, someone say something taste no good, then…“
“We don’t believe them, since their taste buds may be different from ours.”

“Some see the colors different than we see?“
“Yes, slight,” said Fred, “as different all may be.”
“That why some dress for darkness in the dark?“
“Why dress at all?” Fred matched his repartee.

“Some see different color too?“
“Yes, slightly.”
“That why some look like dress in dark?“
“We getting near outer zone of base, Fred; maybe see some magic stuff.”
“Really?“
“Yes, that could be, but you dress for the dark in the dark and go forth into the dark, so why wear anything?“
“Ah, good. Ha-ha.”

“What finest taste has crossed your knowing tongue?“
“Eternity’s sweet flavor,” Fred had sung.
“Ah, wise man you!” the ninja praised with joy,
While wisdom’s bells through both their laughter rung.

“Fred. What best taste ever?“
“The taste of eternity that I am tasting right now.”
“Ah, Fredrick, you wise man.”
“As wise as wise guy you.”

“Why not use pistol in the tunnel’s night?“
“No aim was true, the flash would give my plight.”
“If desperate?” “Then throw the cocked gun far,
Let chaos lead them from my path of flight.”
“More ha-ha. Why not shoot pistol in tunnel?“
“Well, there was nowhere to aim, plus they could have identified my position from the chamber barrel flash before I had a chance to shoot them all.”
“Good. What if they put light?“
“Then the better I know where they are to shoot them.”
“What if you get desperate or have to sneeze.”
“Then I cock the pistol and throw it where I am not, as I run away. Hopefully, it fires where it lands and draws their attention to it and away from me as I escape.”

“All this you planned within a minute’s span?“
“As traffic planner, that’s how thought began—
All directions must be weighed with care,
Through tunnel, sky, and every mortal plan.”

“All this plan in one minute make?“
“Yes, I am a traffic planner and must consider all directions, even up and down, and underground through tunnels.”

“Shall we sell tale to mystery’s DeMille?“
“I thought such tales from fancy’s simple will!”
“No, truth stands stranger far than fiction’s art,“
As wisdom’s laughter echoed through them still.

“Well, you mind if we sell story to detective mystery writer DeMille, make money?“
“Fine, go ahead, but I always thought they made these things up.”
“No, truth stranger than fiction.”

“How long’s a china man?” the ninja played.
“Yes, that’s his name,” Fred’s answer quickly made.
“No double positive exists!” came next.
“Yeah, right,” Fred smirked, their wit in masquerade.

“Any more tests?“
“How long is a china man.”
“Yes, that is his name.”
“No can fool you.”
“You hear of double negative, like ’didn’t see no duck’?“
“Yes, they cancel and a duck appears, for since I didn’t see everything but a duck, then I must have seen a duck, but even this is not for sure.”
“Yes, maybe you ate duck. Now, there no such thing as double positives!”
“Yeah, right.”

“What study calls you now?” “Just nothing’s way.”
“Ah, hardest state to hold from day to day—
For nothing needs a force to keep intact,
Then something fills the void we sought to slay.”

“Good one. What study you lately?“
“Nothing.”
“Ah, very hard state to maintain, so maybe not exist.”
“Really?“
“Yes, it would take a god or some force to keep nothing intact, but then not really nothing, for other stuff there. That my theory. It nothing really. Very little. A small point. A void to avoid. Not much. No big deal. Some zilch.”

“The Theory Of Nothing grows most long,
On ToeQuest’s thread where seekers throng.”
“True, Mr. Rick. First sleep, then rest, then void...”
“Welcome to NoQuest!” sealed their wisdom’s song.

“All right already; it’s not easy studying nothing, you know; but the Theory Of Nothing (TON) ToeQuest thread is one of the longest threads ever.”
“True, Mr. Rick. I like do nothing. But first I relax, then sleep, then rest up, then prepare do nothing, remove all thoughts, try not move…“

He drove and drove and drove some more and soon passed the foothills of the Rocky Mountains, where he was still supposed to practice some things; however, he had noted six dust trails or devils following him many miles behind.

Then Nobody’s dark warning touched his mind:
A future glimpse of mankind’s fate entwined
With warming globe—a wrong turn taken when
Through cosmic waves his path had been defined.

Prof remembered that Nobody, in a private message to all, had hinted at some dark and very probable futures for the Earth that he’d observed when taking a wrong turn in time during the CMBR trip, one of them being the fate of Earth from global warming.

Yet hope still flickered in this somber tale:
The ToeQuestors’ knowledge might prevail,
If wisdom’s race against the coming doom
Could grant them time to pierce the future’s veil.

However, all was not lost, for the goodhearted ToeQuestors could perhaps use their knowledge of the newly discovered TOE to alter the dim future, somehow, if only they could learn all the nuances quick enough over the coming years, ahead of the doom.

In visions dark with biblical disguise,
Profpat beheld what future might arise;
The Theory’s truth, if properly refined,
Could lift mankind toward wonder-gilded skies.

Profpat remembered watching the video of a possible dark future that was couched in biblical allegory for concealment of its revelations. Furthermore, the knowledge of the real TOE, if refined and understood well enough, could lead to amazing wonders that could never have even been imagined in this age, all good things, of course.

But governments with conquest in their hearts
Must never grasp these transcendental arts;
For naturalists would see such glory bright,
Beyond mere beauty nature now imparts.

Surely, it could not be trusted to governments with visions of dominance by conquest over Toequest. The naturalist, for instance, would be able to absorb with awestruck reverence scenes of overpowering sublimity far beyond the simple prettiness on offer now.

Musicians too would hear celestial strains,
Surpassing all that mortal ear contains;
The mystics’ spheres would seem as children’s toys
Compared to these supreme harmonic reigns.

A musician would be able to hear and play music more exhilarating and heartfelt than anyone had ever dreamed of. The celestial music of the spheres heard by the mystics would become as a child’s toy flute in comparison to this grand and ultimate symphony.

And lovers would discover pleasures new,
Beyond what flesh had ever wandered through;
By thought alone such ecstasy would bloom,
Pure joy untainted, guiltless through and through.
The sensualist would discover that what had passed for deep and passionate sex had been merely a pleasant prelude. Erotic pleasure of an intensity that flesh had never known would become enjoyable without guilt, even by thought alone.

The painter’s eye would capture realms divine,
In holographic splendor, line by line;
While scientists with minds expanded vast
Would pierce the veils where mysteries combine.

A painter or patron of the visual arts would be able to behold representative vision in a holographic reality of indescribable glory and completeness.
Scientists would be able to apply a googolplex of neurons to their thought experiments, rivaling Einstein’s fortunate ‘ah-ha’ moments, all of the time, to reveal much of what was unknown between heaven and Earth.

Old conflicts born of selfish, stubborn ways
Would yield to reason’s clear, enlightened rays;
As medicine would ease the mind’s dark pains,
And wars would fade like mist in morning haze.

Arguments by people insisting on their own selfish ways would melt into a new sense of increased reasoning, just as bad and aversive emotions would be greatly lessened by new and safer medical miracles. Wars would become much reduced, and humanity at large could finally progress beyond its everyday suffering.

Even mundane losses would decrease their hold —
Those keys and glasses lost in days of old
Would cease their vanishing along time’s tracks,
As human suffering’s tide began to fold.

People would actually remember their car keys and glasses that had often and usually piled up at the vanishing point of the ‘lost and found’, which was at the end of the converging railroad tracks.

Yet through all ages, glimpses rare and bright
Had blessed some souls with momentary light;
Like candles flickering in eternal dark,
Then fading swift into oblivion’s night.

Of course, throughout the ages there had always been those rare and mystical moments as described above, for some enlightened and peaceful souls or those in love, but they were just fleeting glimpses of a rare light that lit their minds for a while as a flickering candle, when all one’s thoughts perfectly conjuncted, but then, as always, they soon dispersing and moving on into the oblivion of forgotten dreams.

But would the sickness of our present age,
The power-drunk rulers on their mortal stage,
Destroy the noble ToeQuest’s sacred aim?
This thought did all their worried hearts engage.

Or… would the contagion of the sickness, immaturity, and ignorance of the present human condition of those in power thwart the best efforts of the noble ToeQuestors…

Thus did Profpat and comrades brave and true,
Beyond mere fantasy of comic view,
Unite in quest for noumenal divine —
Upon their strength fate’s tapestry now grew.

All of the preceding is why Profpat and the others escaping to safety had found a renewed vigor and strength and were now going way beyond the comic Fantastic Four to form a phenomenal team of noumena seekers, consisting of many talented and diverse individuals that the fate of the universe now depended on.

Through mountain roads with nitro’s urgent might,
Profpat sped upward toward the snow-crowned height;
While warnings crackled through the static’s veil:
“Make haste! The Feds approach! Take wing in flight!”

So, Profpat had driven across the plains through the badlands was now speeding up the Rocky Mountain road, having turned on his nitro tanks. He had just received an update: “Go faster, six more Feds and Fed-exes coming up other side of mountain; you need reach peak before them. Hurry, scurry, flurry; make haste; expedite. Click.”

With glider spread like eagle’s wings of steel,
He soared above where mortals often kneel;
Though tranq-darts traced their rainbow through the air,
Their arcs fell short, their threat could never seal.

Profpat turned on more afterburners, and finally reached the mountain’s peak, unloaded his hang glider, and took off above the clouds. He dipsy-doodled at first but soon got the hang of the glider. This is marvelous, he thought, it feels as if the wings are an extension of my self; I am a phoenix on eagle’s wings.
Some Feds fired at him from quite a distance with their high powered tranquilizer rifles, but the darts merely formed gravity’s rainbow.

For miles he sailed past Rocky Mountain’s breast,
Each thermal draft a gift, each touch impressed;
The Earth below seemed small, its conflicts dim
As ant-wars viewed from heights of eagle’s nest.

The hang glider responded to Pat’s slightest touch and he became acclimated to it. Passing hundreds of miles past the Rockies and not really losing much altitude, he learned to sense the updrafts or spot dirt fields from which the heat would be rising. Prof saw the Earth a bit differently now, being a skynaut, its petty squabbles now seen to be as meaningless as ants fighting over a crumb.

A cigarette, a coffee’s steaming share,
While drifting through the mountain-scented air;
The world beneath lay open like a shell,
Its vastness now his playground, free and fair.

Another, smaller, mountain range gave him some needed lift, and thus he sailed on, lit a cigarette, and had a sip of coffee. The world was opened as an oyster to him, and was also now his ashtray and his outhouse.

In San Francisco’s towers gleaming bright,
He landed midst the accountants’ domain of might;
To speak of GAAP and ledgers ancient lore,
Where debits dance with credits through the night.
Profpat landed in San Francisco and began his lecture on ‘Being Accountable’, in some colossal skyscraper’s conference room whose grandeur befitted the importance of Accounting, for where would the world be without transactions, the accounting of which was the very ‘language of business’.

But lecture’s dullness proved a secret boon,
As Fed-Ups charged like hares beneath the moon;
Sharp pencils flew like arrows through the air,
Some foes erased by graphite’s mystic rune.

The lecture was entitled: ‘The GAAP Between the CPA and the CGA in Using the IFRS’.
“The basic accounting principles of the double-entry debit-credit system have not changed since the days of ancient Greece and Rome, in that we must stay up all night until they balance, that is, until Enron dropped out of the Big Five that we now call the Big Four…”
Profpat threw very sharp pencils at them, greatly slowing them down, accidentally erasing a few of them, along with some quarks, income tacks, big accounts, and some green eyeshades, and then disappeared behind the curtain, and ran up the stairs toward the skyscraper’s roof, not even stopping for a smoke or at a pencil sharpener.
The lecture was about to go on, but it was so boring that Austin’s story allows the waiting Fed-Ups to immediately rush toward the podium.

Up spiral stairs our hero swiftly flew,
While down below the Feds’ confusion grew;
Their lawyer mocked: “These stairs that downward wind,
Do they not also climb to heaven’s blue?“

The Feds ran down the stairs, and found no one but their lawyer, who said, “You fools. These stairs that go down; do they not also go up?” So, he reversed his charges and sent them up, but a bit too late, for Profpat was already winging away, like a duck; no, wait, ducks were in Fredrick’s story.

Like fowl upon the wind he soared away,
While black sedans turned choppers joined the fray;
A message whispered of a stealth ship’s aid
Beyond the borders where the waters lay.

He winged away like a fowl bird, air-foiling the Federals yet again. The Feds called in six black FBI sedan helicopters (see, Profpat, maybe you should have bought one) to follow him, as he received another message: “Stealth black ninja aircraft carrier waiting for you beyond US boundary in international waters.”

Through clouds he dove with open mouth to drink,
Like mouse before the feline’s watchful blink;
Till fog consumed the chase like melting cheese,
And hunters lost their quarry’s trail to think.

Profpat flapped his seemingly real and movable organs for flying (wings) and rose and dove in rises and dives to outwit the helicopters and lose them for a while as he flew through a cloud with his mouth open to get a drink of the refreshing water droplets. It was cat and mouse for a while until the cheese disappeared in the fog.

The Golden Gate lent thermals to his flight,
As twilight faded into starless night;
But as the shore breeze died in evening’s shroud,
His wings began to sink from heaven’s height.

He then used the heat rising off the Golden Gate Bridge to fly on through the end of twilight, intending to use the darkness for cover beyond the city’s lights; however, this ending of dusk also meant that the ocean was no longer trading brisk breezes with the shore and that he would begin to lose altitude.

“O Death!” he cried, “Where lies thy victory?
While ebon wings enfold and set me free,
Where is thy sting?” as thirty feet per breath
He dropped toward the dark, eternal sea.

Death! where is thy Victory?
To triumph whilst I die,
To triumph whilst thine ebon wing
Enfolds my shuddering soul.
Death! where is thy sting?
(Shelley)

Sure enough, he began dropping 30 feet a second over the ocean and still had 25 miles to go…

All life’s accounts flashed past his reddened gaze—
The taught, the sought, the fought of mortal days;
Like stone he dropped, then spread his wings to soar,
The maddest scholar lost in ocean’s haze.

This is it; I’m an overdue account, pound foolish, though penny wise, but overdrawn. At least they didn’t get the TOE from me! Noughts, oughts, and all that he ever taught, bought, sought, and fought flashed before his red-inked eyes as he intentionally dropped like a stone for short whiles before flaring his wings to catch the air and turn potential energy into kinetic to gain forward progress out to sea, he far and away the nuttiest professor now.

“Time now to square accounts with heaven’s throne,
For seeking Truth that flesh has never known;
My life was borrowed, spent on fortune’s scroll,
Each debit matched with credit, joy for loan.”

Time to square accounts with my maker on account of my curiosity to account for Everything; money is of no account now; from Death my life was a borrowed debit, but I spent it, loved it, and lived it, on good fortune’s credit.

The brine rose up to claim its salted prize,
As Prof and Pat shared final compromise;
“We’re dropping out,” they smiled into the dark,
“Our number called beneath these starless skies.”

It was no use; Profpat was going to fall into the ocean. He could sense the moisture, almost taste the brine, and was soon going to swim with the smell of the fishes. Good try, said Prof to Pat, his other selfsame, but you’re not going to pass this course. It’s OK, said Pat to Prof, I’m dropping out; my number is up.

But lo! What light breaks through the shrouded deep?
A carrier’s halo gleams across the leap;
Yin-Yang in perfect balance shines below,
As heaven’s pattern wakes from darkness’ sleep.

Good old Prof was ready to yin his yang in the fine way that he lived: in the black, all the books balanced except for a spot of white in the darkness of the Yin. What’s that below?

One final push, one last heroic strain,
Thirty feet down to safety’s blessed plane;
The ninja ship receives its destined guest,
Then darkness claims the ocean once again.

The landing lights of the ninja carrier’s heliopad flashed on in the glorious pattern of heaven, heat, and light, combined with earth, dark, and cold, each revolving around the other, the Yin/Yang symbol of a cyclic and rounded life, and Profpat dropped thirty feet, gave one last push forward, and landed just as the carrier’s lights went back off.

“Welcome, Professor,” spoke a voice of night,
While pencil-point pierced through the absent light;
“You live through glory now,” the voice declared,
“Though death’s embrace makes life burn twice as bright.”

“Welcome, Professor” said a voice in the wilderness of the darkness of nothing, “Breeze die down so we come to you, at full power.”
“I’ll show you a thing or 2.5,” said Prof, pointing a pencil into the inky blackness of night.
“Ouch! I get the point, but really now, PatrickPro, you just live through great experience of glory of life.”
“To die for glory is not living!”
“Man who face death appreciate life more. This good training for future of save yiniverse and yangiverse.”
“Well, that is my questionable long and arduous search.”
“See, quest great expedition. I train you in number of things. I am 9.0 degree Grand Master.”

The Ninth Degree Grand Master, wise with jest,
Posed riddles that put wisdom to the test;
“What’s one plus one?” “Two!” “No, when sand piles merge,
They form but one” - thus was the truth expressed.

“Now, take two apples from three apples; what do you have?”
“One?”
“No, you took two, remember; they are in your hand.”
“Hardy-har, Proffer, what be one plus one.”
“Two?”
“No, they were sand piles and all lump into one bigger one.”

They traded quips of numbers, dark, and light,
Of dyslexia’s reversed delight;
“What’s darkest dark?” asked Prof, and Nine replied
With verse of Shadow, Space, and Love’s sweet plight.

“Do you know accounting, Grand Master, ninth degree ninja, emperor of the multiverse?”
“Just call me number nine. I no good account; get digits mixed up, but make million that way. What you do on other ledger side?”
“I color quarks through the prism of super strings and theorize the emission of an electron from the proton.”
“Nuclear ‘unclear’ to me. Have dyslexia. Am member of DNA.”
“DNA?”
“National Dyslexics Association.”
“Ok, ninja, good one, but it’s not good to make light of handicaps unless you really have one.”
“Ok, #9, what is fifty quadrillion, thirty cotillions, 6 pillions, and…”
“That too hard.”
“…times zero?”
“Oh, it be zip. Quiz: What correct grammar: Six and seven ARE fourteen or six and seven IS fourteen?”
“Thirteen.”
“Ah, that unlucky number, plus this part 13 of story.”
“I always stay on the 14th floor of hotels, so I am safe, plus I never include a chapter 11 in my books, for that is filing for bankruptcy. Anyway, 13 at the last supper works for me.”
“I have a #9 in my name but it silent.”
“Ho-ho. Are the ToeQuestors days numbered?”
“Yes, today August 30 on calendar. Now, what best digit?”
“The toe, but not at the moment since I stubbed it on your deck on a big black dot.”
“Want me call tow truck? Ha. So, how old you?”
“An uncounted, innumerable, untold amount.”
“How see four sunset in one day?”
“Run up a hill.”
“Want come in out of dark? Start training?”
“Yes, but what is the darkest dark of all?”
“‘I’m the darkest,’ said the Shadow to the Night.’
“‘No,’ said Midnight, ‘compared to me you’re bright.’
“‘You floodlights!’ said Starless Space, ‘Stop your fight.’
“‘The darkest plight is the lack of love’s delight!’”
“You good man, Prof. Come aboard.”
“Thanks, niner. How did they catch onto me?”
“Government try spend $787.00 from account on one screwdriver, come up 3 penny short; do some million-dollar audit.”
“Well, it was only a matter of time.”
“Here postcard from Fredrick. What say?”
“It says that the twaining of training is going well; he is learning diesel.”

The pencil proved extension of the mind,
As reality’s illusions were defined;
“The brain creates the world we think we know,
Like glider’s wings with self became combined.”

“Ah, good news. OK, now we do test of touch. Ah, see you have pencil.”
“This is my best pencil; let’s not ruin it. I began the theory of the proton with it, and the remainder of the theory is still inside this pencil somewhere.”
“We do no harm. Hold pencil and run it across chair seat fabric; no, wait, use eraser end so not write autograph; now, rub; you seem to feel texture at pencil end?”
“Yes, amazing, it feels like an extension of my fingers, but of course I have no sense organs way out there.”
“So then, brain fabricate reality, just like hang glider wing seem part of you.”
“True, so that’s why I couldn’t afford a helicopter!”
“Yes, PatProf, and so you ‘see’ that we only see inside of head where all is fabricate.”
“I agree. I fabricate you, scents and odours fabricate from molecule shapes in the nostrils, and sounds fabricate from air vibrations, as well as colors from waves and even the illusion of light itself in a dark head, especially during my favorite pastime of sleeping and dreaming.”

“You tune like TV to the world’s great show,
But sleep too much has dimmed your sensing’s glow;
I’ll teach you touch at distance, pole unseen—”
“With ladies near?” Prof jest’d, “I must say no!”

“You good illusion of physical world, being like some TV tuner receive broadcast from far. But, you somewhat out of touch from doze too much, so I teach you touch base ten feet away with invisible ten foot pole.”
“With my girlfriends around or not around? I don’t know about that.”
“That be touch down, but recall for illegal procedure.”

“What touched you last?” the Master slyly asked,
As Prof demurred, his private thoughts unmasked;
“Some matters best left wrapped in mystery’s veil,
While wisdom’s deeper meanings go untasked.”

“Now, what touch lately?”
“That’s personal.”

They spoke of Eden’s ancient touch of sin,
Of knowledge lost and found and lost again;
“One day we’ll hang the apple back,” said Prof,
“And heal Creation’s pain since time’s begin.”

“Ah, sorry. Why kids touch something when tell not to?”
“It all started in the Garden of Eden.”
“Ah, very touching story of dumb people made by smart god.”
“You’re still holding two apples.”
“Ah, yes, you funny. We make apple sauce and welcome you for training, Grand Master Professor and Temporal TOE Protector of Universe that can someday give good life to all.”
“One day we will hang Adam’s apple back on the Tree of Knowledge and hopefully help correct the distortion and sadness of all the 13.75 billion years of creation.”