Upon Handlers and the after effects of prolonged Astral Travel

Why some psychics need Handlers or sympathetic assistants.
After effects of prolonged Astral Travel.

Excerpt from Negotiating Limïer
"You should know that a Handler is someone who not only assists me, watches out for me, but guides me when I become preoccupied with metaphysical and paranormal functions.
It is easy to loose your way and it is better for me to have someone I can trust on hand to return to. You guys act as an anchor in an oscillating world where reality, as you know it, does not really exist for me.
I work between time, between past and present and future. I work in possibilities of futures. I experience futures whenever I have future visions and when I return from these visions my current may have changed . . . "
He sat behind me, mulling the words over in his mind.
"Then I am here to guide you back to sanity?" he wished to know, so innocently and sincere I could slap him.
Instead, I burst out into tears, an after-effect of working too many long hours without adequate rest.
"I'm so sorry, Major!" he exclaimed, coming over to squat down next to me, offering a handkerchief which I gladly accepted to cover my eyes and cry into.
"Astral Moods," I told him between sobs.
"What?"
"Ennui, world-weariness and sudden mood changes," I dried the tears. "Occupational hazard. When you were out of your body for any length of time and have to return to this . . . flesh encapsulation . . . one tends to experience different reactions.
Sometimes euphoria and happiness, sometimes depression. The Astral Walker Assistants or AWAs call it Astral Moods.
It basically means what you just stated. Our assistants guide us back from the brink of insanity."
"But Slick did not experience this? He was fine when I left him."
"How long did he sleep?"
"About eight hours."
"I had none so far. Been going since getting into the Pod. My brain has not yet rested. I have not yet slept. Do you understand what I am trying to tell you?"
He stood up, walked away from me while processing the information, returned to sit down on his chair.
"Then what are you doing now?" he waved a hand at me. "What are you busy with now, why are we sitting here in the sun?"
"I am trying to wind down so that I could get some rest and maybe, if I am lucky, some sleep soon."
"Then you are still hyped?"
"I'm always hyped."
"Okay. Do your meditation thing and become un-hyped. I will be here when you return, but I am seriously thinking this assignment is a bit beyond my qualifications."
Nōrwal made me smile and I felt happy while smiling. It was an odd emotion that needed more scrutiny.
Copyright © 2009-2018 H Gibson Chronicles of Han

A bit of murder on the sideline (Excerpt from The Chronicles of Han Storm Books)

Excerpt from The Chronicles of Han Storm, Preserving Creata

A bit of murder on the sideline

"

    Psychic weapons!

    Small wonder the Government wanted to control all of us.

    I lay thinking about the man who had killed Tucker. I had followed his life-memory before. I could find him if I concentrated.

    Relaxing, I slipped my spirit out of my body onto the plane of active entities. This place presented itself to me as a dark background with tiny pinpricks of light moving around within it. Every light represented a living entity with a distinct aura around each one.

    This was how I found 'missing' people. By concentrating and matching their vibrations to their auras, I could pick them out of the crowd.

    I orientated myself by concentrating again on the aura I had seen within the recordings. I knew the area where I should start seeking and the intuitive response to the 'feel' of the energy always helped me.

    I soon came across the group of entities I was looking for, the group where I would find Regent, my enemy.

    Found him!

    I forcefully bumped my enemy out of his body. He knew immediately who I was and what was happening.

    Untrained and with no natural psychic abilities, it was like taking sweets from a baby.

    I excused my stolen body from the card-game and went to a public comm in the passage.

    While dialling Morgan's private line, I ignored my enemy's silent screams.

    "Yes!" Morgan shouted.

    I did not waste time. Speaking with my enemy's voice, I gave Morgan the ultimatum.

    "I have him with me. I'll bring him to your yacht. One hour. Be there" I told Morgan, hanging up before he could say anything.

    Fear welled up in my enemy's body.

    **Keys?** I requested.

    **Right pocket** came the involuntary response.

    I went outside, ignoring questioning glances from colleagues. They knew better than to ask uninvited questions.

    **Vehicle?**

    **Yellow Mont-Marie.**

    This was probably too easy.

    I squashed any doubt.

    I found the topless sports-vehicle. It turned out to be a real joy to drive. A feeling of pride from the owner came through telepathically. It was followed with a feeling of regret.

    We made good time to the pier where the yachts were moored. We arrived early and I invaded my enemy's memories to confirm that his boss' vehicle was not there.

    Driving past the parking bays, I hid the little yellow vehicle behind some containers at the water's edge.

    Checking the firearm in the shoulder-holster, I thought it would do perfectly for my purposes. Using my enemy's memory, I found the right yacht.

    I expanded my senses to check that no-one was on board before hiding in the cabin.

    I did not have long to wait as Morgan walked into the cabin a few minutes later. He did not have his usual body-guard with him.

    It was a foolish thing to do. He had a habit of coming alone onto his yacht, which I was counting on.

    He was totally surprised to see Regent here. Surprise turned to fear when I lifted the fire-arm.

    It kicked into my palm, but the hand holding it was strong and the body well trained. The sound was deafening in the small area.

    Morgan dropped to his knees, a red patch forming over his heart.

    I was trained as an accurate shot in the Academy. My enemy never missed a target. We made a lethal combination.

    Once more the trigger was pulled.

    A second explosion and a second patch of blood on Morgan's chest.

    His body-guard should be on his way already.

    A third explosion and Mr Custos Morgan's body perished.

    I left the body of my enemy. He was done for anyway . . .                                 "

Copyright © H Gibson Chronicles of Han Storm. All rights reserved. 2009-2015

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