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Message-ID: <40531asstr$1043100606@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: Crimson Dragon <dcrimsonp@nym.alias.net>
Subject: {ASSM} (New) Dawn of Time [001/157] (MF+, bond, control) {Crimson Dragon}
Date: Mon, 20 Jan 2003 17:10:06 -0500
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
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There is story below the rather long preface. Page down if you must,
but don't blame me if you end up offended. The preface was written
for a reason. Ignore it at your own risk.

====================================================================
Author's Preface:
====================================================================

Four years ago, I wrote a novel that some of you may have read,
entitled "Time Out Of Time". In the following four years, some have
been disturbed by the work, and some have been enthusiastic. Some
have even requested a sequel.

"Dawn of Time" is not a sequel, in a strict sense, nor was it
intended to be. In some ways, I think "Dawn of Time" is a more
mature piece that investigates different themes, and provides a new
perspective on fantasy and reality, and things that might or might
not be. I hope that I have learned a little by some of my failures
in "Time Out of Time". But you'll have to judge the effectiveness
of that yourselves.

Please be warned: "Dawn of Time" is unlike my other works. It is
harsher and grittier, necessarily differing from my short stories.
As writers, sometimes it is necessary to explore ourselves in unique
ways. If this kind of writing is not your cup of tea, please pass
this story by. Despite its novel length, and the sweat that went
into its creation, I will not be disappointed if you decline to read
it. It is not my wish to offend anyone. To make one think, perhaps,
and to make one consider the implications of strange situations,
yes, but offend -- no.

This story does contain scenes with sexually charged content. It
contains situations that are questionable in terms of consensual
behaviour and eroticism that are probably only suitable for adults,
and then only to a subset of those that happen to understand
responsibility. Please don't assume that a scene described in a work
of fiction is safe in reality. Play safe. Please. (Do I really need
to hold your hand and tell you this?)

Like my short stories, "Dawn of Time" is not overly explicit. There
is more to Eros than pumping hydraulics and instant gratification,
and this novel encompasses this. For a piece of writing of 157
chapters, there is remarkably little explicit sex. If you are
looking for a quick stroke piece, you should probably wander
elsewhere.

Unlike many serial stories posted here, "Dawn of Time" is complete.
It took me the better part of a year to write and self-edit it -- an
exhausting but fulfilling endeavour. While I choose for sanity
reasons to release it slowly, be assured that all 157 chapters are
complete and will be posted. Please also note that this was not
proofed by outside counsel due to its length. I wouldn't push such a
task on anyone voluntarily. However, as readers: caveat emptor. I've
probably missed many silly language mistakes.

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to people, living or
dead, is purely a coincidence. Well, for the most part anyway.
Those that lived through the story are very unlikely to admit it.
The universe does not accept paradox.

This is an original work, copyrighted by the author, Crimson Dragon.
Please do not use it as if it were your own. Enjoy the writing, but
do not archive or sell it in any manner without my written
permission. I'm easy to contact if you wish to redistribute my
words.

Lastly, I thoroughly enjoy hearing from people reading any of my
stories. Feel free to contact me with raves, rants, encouragement or
dissertation (note the lack of invitation for spam). I do try to
reply to all who are kind enough to drop me a note.

Now, if you are still with me, onto the story,
 - Crimson
   (dcrimson@yahoo.com)

http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Crimson_Dragon/www

====================================================================

Dawn of Time - Crimson Dragon (dcrimson@yahoo.com)

Chapter 1

====================================================================

(C) Copyright 2002 - All Rights Reserved

Crimson Dragon (dcrimson@yahoo.com)

====================================================================

The incessant fans in the lab hummed like the drone of a million
cars racing down an unseen highway, somewhere hiding beyond the
precipice of perception. Oblivious to the background hum, his
fingers tapped the soft keys in an easy rhythm, eyes glued to the
glowing orange characters racing across the screen.

One more simulation. One more.

He sat back, glancing up at the round institutional clock mounted on
the back wall relentlessly passing the seconds. Midnight. Where had
the time gone? Somewhere between the stroke of six, and the time
when the clocks hands met, the witching hour had crept upon him.

He sighed, rubbing at his eyes until psychedelic stars filled his
vision. Slowly, he ran his teeth over his lower lip, his right index
finger poised over the large key marked "Return".

Return to where? He smiled, only for a moment.

"I need to return," he thought. His head filled with visions for a
moment, his body reacting to hazy memories. It had been so long, but
until it was safe, he could not risk damage. Not to himself, nor to
those he chose, nor to the reality surrounding him. While the allure
of time swayed him, his sense of self-preservation overrode the
haunting Siren call. He shook his head, freeing the cobwebs.

His finger touched the key, gently sending the computer into a
frenzy, numbers and letters scrolling like a freight train across
the screen, orange mnemonics racing into the night. He watched the
output for a while, then tore his eyes away. He sighed. No way to
really tell, but this simulation was going to end up as all the
others had. Abject failure. Right?

He lay his head back, eyes staring at the ceiling, letting his mind
wander. It would be so damn easy to visualise the images, the
equations of thought, allowing paradox to infuse him, to permit the
fabric of that around him to fade. But the black outs still
frightened him, even through the wonder. No, he couldn't risk
returning. Not yet. Not until this damnable box, with its damnable
simulations told him he could.

Suddenly, nausea overwhelmed his senses, the familiar sense of
falling, disorientation, helplessness. The clock on the wall
stuttered, the second hand pausing mid-arc, jumping forward
hesitantly, and then halting more solidly. Desperately, he
struggled, forcing his mind from the equations, the simulations, and
trace of Time. God, he was tired. The floor rose as the chair
overbalanced, his cry echoing above the clatter of the fans.

And then it was over, his heart racing, his temples throbbing. He
dry retched, his hands clasped over his stomach. Desperately, he
struggled to return, it was dangerous here, wasn't it? But nothing
happened. Nothing.

Slowly, he opened his eyes. The room spun for a moment, but then
returned to an even keel. The computers remained humming, the lights
still flickered noticeably overhead, the second hand of the clock
resumed its smooth clockwise path.

"Shit," the man mumbled as he righted the chair and sat down
heavily. His shoulder ached slightly where he'd connected with the
raised floor in the lab. Absently, his fingers massaged his biceps.

He shook his head slowly, clearing his mind. How had he slipped like
that? It had taken much more concentration last time to create a
secondary timeline. And he hadn't even been thinking of the
equations. Not really. His mind had wandered to Christi, and Jane.
Only briefly, as a pang of regret had begun to fill him, just before
the phenomenon hit. He couldn't have caused it. Couldn't.

Realisation dawned as the computer in front of him continued to spit
out its mindless diagnostics.

Someone else.

Who?

And that thought frightened him more than anything else.

The computer stopped its churning, the final line burning into the
phosphorus of the monitor.

His heart still hammering in his chest, his lips pulled into a
slight smile. The strange episode suddenly a dim memory, and with a
satisfied sigh, he flicked off the monitor.

His footsteps echoed through the building's empty hallways, as the
lights dimmed as he passed. And despite his hammering heart, he
actually whistled, the tuneless sound echoing down the empty
corridors.


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-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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