He sat, this lone figure.

Nestled in the lush silk of the armchair, his posture refused to give way to the comfort of the moment. His feet remained together. His back, perfectly ridgid and aware. His body seemed poised for some response.......or some attack.

Except for his hands.

His hands moved in a fluid, elusive motion, caressing the pages of mortal consciousness. Sharp eyes, faintly purple, scanned the likes of Shakespeare, Alighieri, Lewis, Vonnegut, Meltzer, and Moore. The sheer verbal artistry captivated his gaze as he read.....as he devoured.....the classic wisdoms of humanity.

"Whew!" Smith breathed, wincing as he waved a hand in front of his face. "Time for a bath, don't you think?"

The stranger merely looked up at him, the rest of the group coming up the stairs behind Smith.

"Is it?" he asked.

"Phil Smith...." the telepath offered, sticking his hand out. "...we met yesterday..."

"...on the beach, yes..." the stranger replied, accepting the handshake.

"Yeah...." Smith nodded, plopping down in a chair across from him. "...listen, let's talk."

Grissom strolled behind them, leaning up against the bookcase next to Smith. Bri and Ben slid into an 18th century sitting couch, Phillips still munching on his sandwich.

The stranger, watching everyone assemble in the room, quietly closed his current read. He placed it gently onto the adjoining endtable, and folded his fingers together.

"Okay." he nodded.

Smith glanced at Griss, and back again.

"Ever heard of a guy named.....Turkish Stringfellow?" Phil asked.

The stranger paused, as if searching his lack of memory.

"...no..." he finally answered sincerely.

"Right. Okay...." Smith nodded a bit, still staring at him. "...let me ask something different......why are you here?"

The stranger looked up at Grissom, and back to Phil.

"Because he invited me?" he offered with a keen honesty.

"Heh." Griss grunted, as Phil leaned forward shaking his head.

"No, no, no...." he tried again. "....I know why you are here, in the penthouse...I want to know why you are here...on La Perdita?"

The man considered the question a moment, looking off with a frown. After a great deal of struggle, he finally sighed...

"...I do not know..." he admitted. "....I am sorry I cannot tell you more..."

"Why?" Phil cocked an eye. "Why are you sorry?"

"...what?"

"Why should you care?" Phil asked succinctly. "I mean, you know us about as well as we know you. Why get involved on the beach? Why save us?"

The stranger nodded.

"Those are a lot of questions."

"...I'll say..." Grissom grunted, cocking his eye at Phil with that 'Ease up or you'll get nowhere' expression.

Smith replied with the standard 'Piss off I know what I'm doing' look.

"Why did I involve myself?" the stranger began repeating. "Why did I intervene on your behalf?"

Everyone listened, waiting for an answer.

After a moment, they realized that he was repeating the questions back to Phil.

"...that's.......pretty much what I'm asking....." Smith finally breathed. "...yeah..."

"I see." the man nodded.

The room went silent again, as they stared at the man. He, in turn, continued to say nothing.

"...well?" Grissom finally said.

The stranger looked up at him.

"I'm sorry." he confessed. "What was the question?"

"Are you fucking with me?" Smith suddenly asked. He quickly turned to Grissom, the thief coming to full stance. "Is he fucking with me?"

"Listen..." Montag began, a steady finger pointing at the man.

The stranger immediately broke into a guilty smile, raising his hands in a submissive posture.

"I...forgive me..." he half chuckled. "...it is these books..."

He waved his hand at all of the tombs lining the floor around his chair.

"They...excite me..." he breathed with a deep appreciation. "...my mind feels...rejuvenated...fresh..."

He stopped, looking up at them.

"I mean you no harm." he began. "I realize that you do not know me. I realize that I do not know you."

He centered on Smith.

"Why did I help you?" he began. "Because, I did."

Phil opened his mouth to question, the man cutting him off...

"I know, I know....." he nodded. "...you wish for more. You wish to understand my actions."

He paused, looking at everyone.

"And I wish for nothing more, for my very self." he continued. "Who am I? Why do I feel compelled to...aid you? For that, I simply have no answers to give you."

Everyone remained silent for a moment, Phil finally leaning forward.

"There is....no denying that you helped us....all of us....by pulling us out of that...thing..." the Vanguardian began. "...and, I want to thank you for that. However, you have to understand, given the very nature of who we are, and what we do.....we have to know that we can trust you. We have to have some answers."

The stranger nodded, looking down a bit.

"I understand."

"As a solution for both of our problems, may I offer a telepathic probe? Into your mind?"

The man looked up with a slight frown.

"You want to...look...into my mind?" he asked a bit confused.

"Yes, please." Smith nodded. "I think I might be able to find what we are looking for..."

The man thought about it for a moment, and, finally sat back fully in his chair.

"I accept."

Phil grinned, leaning back himself.

Everything was silent..............except for the faint chewing noises Phillips was making.

Montag looked at Phil, and, then, to the stranger. And then, back to Phil again, getting ansy.

"Well?" he asked.

Silence.

"Well?" he asked again.

Phil slowly turned his head to glare at his friend.

"...well....what...?" he stated very slowly and with a touch of menace.

"Well, aren't you going to read his mind?!" Montag insisted.

"I am reading his mind." Smith stated very sharply.

"...okay, okay...." Griss nodded, turning away.

Phil turned back to the man, his eyes going closed.

Griss watched them, turning back and forth again. He did this a few more times, becoming impatient.

"Aren't you going to, like, extend you hands to his hea--"

"Bri!" Smith barked, eyes still closed.

"...Griss, why don't you come sit down over here by me..." Brianna cooed, leading a glaring Montag away.

Griss dipped his head back over to Phil....

"...I own a company, you know..." he quipped, Brianna quickly pulling him back.

Phil sighed.

And his mind....drifted........moved.......searched.......

Quote:



.....a sudden breeze washed over his face, the salty air almost burning his nostrils. Phil opened his eyes to see the wide, blue ocean stretch forth before him. Red tattered rags hung to his body in protest, and a thick, bushy black covered his face and head.

He looked around, in this fragment of someone else. The ocean stretched as far as he could see. He looked down to see his bare feet standing....literally....on the surface of the swaying water. And it felt....solid, yet...not. More like smooth, glassy clay...molding to his feet.

Smith turned to find his bearing....to understand where the man was during this moment in his life. He slowly turned all the way around, his eyes suddenly widening with a horrible awe.

Before him, a wall of black stretched straight up from the depths of the ocean, all the way into the hazy clouds above. Stretching as far to his left and right, Smith tried to take in the scale of it all.

It seemed endless in all directions, perfectly limiting passage in only one direction.

Forward. South.

To La Perdita.

Phil reached out, barely grazing the wall with his fingertips. And, with a sudden force, rammed a single punch into it.

Solid. Unbreakable. Impregnable.

He nodded, closing his eyes again......





.....and the wind died away.

Opening his eyes back up, he stared into the face of the stranger.

"....he's telling the truth..." Smith announced, Grissom walking over.

"What did you see?"

"A...block...the largest damn block I've ever seen in my life..." he admitted, rubbing his face. "Griss...it's staggering....every single thing before...I don't know...about one-hundred-miles north, in the middle of the fucking ocean.....blocked off."

"Are you serious?" Montag frowned.

"Completely." he nodded. He looked up at the stranger. "Memory-wise, this man didn't exist until two days ago."

Bri stood up, walking over, even as BF looked at RoboSquirrel.

"...I'm not really getting alot of this..." he shrugged.

"This unit is recording all." the droid replied. "RoboSquirrel will allow playback for Bruteforce at a later date."

"It's...ah...'Brute' and 'Force'....two words..." the man corrected.

"RoboSquirrel stated name correctly."

"No, see...you didn't..." BF replied. "You said 'Bruteforce'....all one word....it's not all one word..."

"RoboSquirrel stated Bruteforce's name correctly."

"You did it again!" BF insisted, clutching a half-eaten fifth sandwich. "You did it again!"

"RoboSquirrel is now returning focus to other members of Vanguard." the rodent said, before hovering away.

Ben threw a pickle at him.

Smith, Montag, and Bri stepped over to the corner of the room, talking low to themselves...

"So? What do think?" Grissom asked.

"I'm not sure." Smith replied. "I still don't feel like we got any more answers. I mean, if nothing else, his amnesia is real, if not artificial..."

"You mean it's...planted?" Bri queried. "Someone...gave him amnesia?"

"Yes, definitely." Smith nodded. "There is no way what I saw was a natural occurence."

"What if he was just in an accident, you know?" Grissom began.

"Even if he was in an accident, there is no way a natural block like that would exist so....flawlessly. I'm telling you Grissom, what I saw was made. On purpose. It was a work of mental art."

"Hey, why not find this Turkish person?" Bri suggested. "Get him in here, and see if he knows why this guy is stealing his motif?"

"Good...." Montag nodded. "....but, I have no idea how to get in touch with Stringfellow."

He glanced at Phil.

"You?" he asked.

Phil, chewing on his fingernail, just shook his head.

"Then...what do we do?" Bri asked.

Grissom thought for a moment, pondering the routes he should take with this. Finally, he simply leaned back up, and began to walk back across the room to the stranger.

"So....nowhere to go....nothing to do?" Grissom asked the stranger.

"Not that I know of, no..." the man replied.

"Right." Griss shrugged. "Normal applicant description for this lot."

"So.....he's in?" Brianna asked.

Griss looked at Phil.

"....can't very well discriminate against the amnesiac...." Phil stated.

Griss glanced back at Ben.

"Input?"

"The more the merrier, I say..." Phillips nodded, finishing the sandwich.

"RoboSquirrel approves canidate."

"No one asked, you buggery thing..." Montag dismissed.

"...Griss..." Brianna chided, poking him in the ribs a few times.

"What do you think?" he asked, turning to look at her.

"I don't think we should turn down anyone seeking to help us." she replied. "Especially not these days."

"Right...." Grissom nodded. He turned to look at the stranger that was simply taking all of this in.

"How about you?" he asked. "You want to hang out with us? Have a few laughs? Get into a few scrapes?"

The man stared at him for only a moment.

"Accepted." he finally nodded with a small grin.

"Good." Montag smiled. "Now, what the hell are we going to call you?"

(To Be Continued)