Revealed: The existence of extra-terrestrials, the truth behind our species, and the galactic politics that Planet Earth is embroiled in!
Revealed: The existence of extra-terrestrials, the truth behind our species, and the galactic politics that Planet Earth is embroiled in!
UFOs. Reptilian shapeshifters. Pleiadeans. Telepaths. Greys. Abduction. The Face on Mars. Atlantis. The Bermuda Triangle. Shamballa. Ancient Egypt. The Maya. The Mahabharata. 2012. The Illuminati. The Conspiracy of Silence.
Join Team Fortune as they untangle the web of lies, deceit and disinformation, revealing the true history of this planet and its species, and what awaits mankind outside of our solar system!
Patented technology is shared for flying saucers, electrogravitics, magnetohydrodynamics, plasma thrusters, aerogel, rail guns and even for how to increase the gas mileage performance in cars to “super-carburetor” levels!
Excerpt
“The Team Fortune Chronicles: Part 1: On Your Mark” is copyright 2012 by Luke Fortune, all rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-105-53486-7
PROLOGUE
“What you are about to witness is real. Names have not been changed, events have not been modified, and elements are portrayed exactly as they actually occurred.”
“Well, except for the stuff we made up.”
CHAPTER 1: LIFT-OFF
Sixty-five million years ago, an asteroid larger than Mt. Everest slammed into the earth, ending the Cretaceous Era in a violent maelstrom of environmental change. This was not an accident of nature: it was an act of war.
In the thousands of millennia that would follow, this important tidbit of information would be lost to the planet, but not to the combatants in the heavens above…
In a vale in the mountains of the Pacific Northwest, a small encampment was buzzing with activity. Last minute visitors jammed the quiet back road and driveway of the parcel of land affectionately known as “Spaceport Deuce” jockeying for positions to view Team Fortune’s initial test flight out of the Earth’s atmosphere. Security had been set up denying access to the latecomers, an unfortunate necessity. A lone figure at the entry gate, Rylan, laughed into his walkie-talkie: “Black Knight to the Castle—seems we got us some Puke Dragons after all.”
Rylan Johnson is the head of security for Team Fortune. He had gone to high school with Luke, and they had become friends early in their sophomore year. Rylan was six feet four inches and about 245 pounds, and that was just in high school. He played football, but without much heart. His joy was in boxing. Rylan’s mother didn’t want her baby boy getting killed in the ring, so his training was covert. Luke held modified pads and they worked a punching bag made out of an old carpet and a ripped tent for Rylan’s drills.
Within the complex, albeit a good distance to the back of the property, a group of visitors were handed welding masks and lead aprons. Aiden, Rings and Arbis fielded the questions from the audience of reporters and cameramen with good spirits. Before this group sat the hanger—doors opened and 200 feet of railroad tracks spilled out to a terminal point between two equally spaced water towers. Peaking out from behind the doors sat the CFH, the saucer-shaped craft that all hopes and dreams were pinned on, resting upon an old-fashioned wooden railroad car. To the crowds’ right sat the control room, an unassuming building that looked like a guest cottage. On either side of the viewers’ bleachers, large flame cauldrons were burning, reminiscent of the Olympics.
Within the control room, Team Fortune buzzed with the last minute plans and computations for the initial preparatory test flight out of the atmosphere. Beef, Mayhem, Guy, Deuce, Luke, Tagg, Bhupinder, and Fearless were each respectively hunched over separate computers, franticly typing away.
"There's a low pressure front coming in that will reduce it to partly cloudy weather for your return, Luke, only a 30% chance of rain," said Mayhem, a touch of relief in her voice.
May Rovanien was known as “Mayhem” for as long Luke or any other member of the Team had known her. Back in the third grade she had organized a protest against the school shortening the recess periods by five minutes. Nearly two thirds of the school refused to re-enter afterwards, disrupting the morning’s classes. The principal was furious and punished the kids by taking away their afternoon recess and giving May after-school detention. She obliged the principal by starting a massive food fight at lunchtime with a single well thrown side order of mashed potatoes. The entire chaotic assembly was quelled twenty minutes later, only to be disrupted by a fire alarm. “Mayhem” stuck. And to no one’s surprise, she became the class president for every school year thereafter.
At college, she was studying to be a geneticist, but fell in love and got pregnant with twins before reaching her degree. Now divorced, she was raising the two children by herself, working as the receptionist at the SPACE Trust.
“Thanks May,” replied Luke. “Grateful you’re looking out for me. I think that--”
Luke was interrupted by DA bursting through the door. “I didn’t miss it yet, did I? I’d hate to think that I missed the mighty Luke Fortune’s day in the sun!”
Andrew DuChamps was known to everyone as “DA”, not because of any interest in law, but because of his position to always have a counterpoint to what someone else might say. He first met Luke in 8th grade biology class. They shared a fetal pig to dissect that they unanimously named Wilbur. That seemed to be the only thing that they could agree on, ‘though. Luke would remind others that the “devil’s advocate” position had a place in the decision making process, and that they shouldn’t rule him out for it.
Tagg rolled over DA; “Rover, Spot, Fido, & Laika all report you are clear for take off.”
DA fired back: "Those are lame names for satellites Tagg."
A single left handed flip-off arose from Tagg’s workstation, his bearded face not bothering to look up. Tagg Jarlstrom wasn’t particularly tall, but was not short either. A bit plump for his frame, he had a good natured approach toward most things in life, excepting his interactions with DA. Tho’ he had known Luke for some time before, Tagg met Deuce a few years ago, after being hired to design a robotic assembly for Deuce’s nursery. Fully automated and computer controlled, Tagg’s work in robotics had no equal.
Luke smiled and said, “Better late than never. Glad you could make it, DA.”
“That makes one of us,” said Tagg with some vitriol. Bhupinder grinned as DA reached for a friendly handshake that was interrupted by Boop’s radio: “Positioning for final substructure microfracture test.”
Boop answered “Danyebat, Dewey. Backscatter logging nearly complete.”
Bhupinder “Boop” Chandra Gupta was Luke’s friend since the 2nd grade, and the reason why Luke became interested in flying craft. Boop’s elder brother Vinesh used to regale the boys with recitations from the Mahabharata, of particular interest were the war stories involving the vimana – Rama’s mighty flying throne seemed to be equal to the space ships of the boys’ favorite science fiction TV shows, and both young Bhupinder and Luke dreamed in Technicolor.
Dewey “Nerdock” Murdock found Team Fortune by way of the internet. One night listening to a radio show Dewey heard Luke interviewed about his books, the Aerospace: Declassified series. Dewey was majoring in plasma and fusion physics at college; this was right up his alley. Two books purchased and many email correspondences later, Dewey was examining the CFH before her maiden flight.
“Nerdock, I read indistinct on last quad, X-axis 194, Y-axis 12. Please reposition, Dood.” Boop’s accent always made Dewey smile. He was half Hindi and half Punjabi, capable of speaking both languages, but his English had a touch of surfer-boy slang.
“Can do, Boop.” Over his radio, Dewey heard the beginning of an argument.
Back in the control room, Tagg and DA’s exchange had become more heated:
DA fired off, “Did they really have to be dog names? Couldn’t think of anything more creative?”
Tagg responded, “Creative?! 1990 called—Trent Reznor wants his wardrobe back.”
“All that from a man with the fashion sense of Greg Brady!” jabbed DA.
Tagg belted out, “Screw you, Du Shbag!”
“It’s DuChamps, not Du Shbag!” The irritation was obvious.
Beef interjected, “I’m pretty sure Douchebag is just as accurate. Hands?” Beef raised his hand in the air as example. Tagg fired his up, followed by Boop, and even Fearless raised her arm, albeit with a “what could I do?” look on her face. Guy laughed out loud, although he hadn’t raised his arm.
Jeff “Beef” Bachman was a former ranger and sharpshooter who was involved in the first gulf war, Desert Shield. Through a mutual friend he was introduced to provide manpower for a freight contract that Luke managed. They became good friends. Beef had a love of firearms and introduced Luke to the range. One night early in their decades-long friendship, Beef approached Luke, concerned that his apartment was going to be robbed. Beef worked as a bartender at that time, and in an open discussion with customers had talked about military service and his own personal 9 mm. The customers knew he worked late, so one of those less-than-savory customers had attempted a burglary while Beef was at work. Fortunately, he had his sidearm with him, not at the apartment. Beef responded by taking the next Friday off and told everyone he was flying to Florida to see his sick mother. But this was only a cover story. Beef and Luke waited, in the dark of his unlit apartment, silently for the burglar to come, as he had come the previous Friday. Beef sat with his 9 mm, Luke with a baseball bat, in this ground floor apartment, agreeing that Luke would strike the burglar first, and Beef would only use his piece if absolutely necessary. His apartment had a concrete patio a few feet off the ground. That night, the wind was blowing and the rain drizzling, making it hard to hear any one coming. So they sat, in near pitch black, from 9:00pm until 4:30am. At half past four, there was a loud ‘thud’ with a grunt, the ‘padding’ sounds of footsteps, and a car racing off. Beef and Luke ran to the patio, just missing the make and model of the escape vehicle. Beef looked sheepishly at Luke and said, “Oh yeah, I forgot that I put Vaseline all over the ledge to keep anyone from climbing up onto the patio.”
Deuce spoke up: “Guys, NASA is reporting a CME. They say that communications might be temporarily disrupted.”
“What’s a CME?” asked Fearless.
“Coronal Mass Ejection,” answered Boop.
“Like a solar flare,” added Beef.
Arbis opened the door and Skylab burst through, bounding with all the playful enthusiasm that a 4 month old chocolate lab puppy could generate. Around the island of computers he ran, full tilt, and then jumped into Luke’s arms and lap.
“Luke, they’re ready for you.” Arbis’ calm voice was tainted with a touch of the Montanan cowboy accent.
Fearless jumped up and rushed to Luke, straightened his tie and de-tousled his hair. She paused ever so briefly as she touched his hair, something that caused Beef to raise an eyebrow. “You are guaranteed the cover of Vogue thanks to the wrangling of yours truly. Don’t blow this.”
“Vogue? Not Time, Aviation Weekly or Scientific American, but Vogue?” asked Luke with an almost hurt tone in his voice.
“Baby steps, Luke” said Fearless with a smile.
“One small baby step for man, one giant baby leap for mankind,” chimed in Deuce with a grin.
“And we can all recognize a giant baby when we see one,” fired off Beef.
“Ha ha, nice one,” responded Luke. Beef walked forward and grabbed Luke’s hand in an ‘arm-wrestling’ grip handshake and pulled him in to a hug.
“Yesterday don't mean shit,” said Beef.
Luke responded, “Strength beyond strength.” Turning to the group he announced: “Alright team; let’s do this. Tagg, will you look after Skylab while I’m gone?”
“Count on it, Luke,” said Tagg, taking the pup.
Guy interjected, “Remember to take a picture from where the atmosphere changes from blue to black for the Radioactive Strawberries album cover.”
Guy Beautemps had been a friend and classmate of Luke since the 6th grade. They shared a few classes together in junior high and high school. Every science class that Guy had to take, Luke helped him pass by letting him copy off of his paper. Guy’s sister Etienne was the drummer for the Radioactive Strawberries, a musical group that created the genre of ‘Punkabilly.’ The girls came out in overalls and cowboy boots with rainbow colored Mohawks and enough piercings to set off any metal detector from a distance of three feet away. They were a cover-band that took old country classics from Hank Williams and ‘sang’ them in a punk manner, or took punk classics by the Dead Kennedys, Sex Pistols or the Ramones and played them as twangy, steel guitar ballads. In either case they managed to annoy most all people who came to their concerts. Etienne was convinced that this was a sign of their coming greatness.
Deuce, Fearless, Luke and Arbis exited the building to face the crowd of spectators, leaving Beef, Guy, Mayhem, Tagg and Bhupinder to man the command center. Immediately the questions started, and Luke answered “I will address all questions as soon as we get to the craft!”
The sounds of electric guitar erupted from the large cauldrons’ flames, plasma loudspeakers serenading as the group headed toward the hangar. D-A-E, D-A-E the opening notes of “Cowboys From Hell” brought a smile and an unearthly calm to Fortune as the questions continued and the bulbs snapped.
Once at the hangar, the music decreased in volume as the crowd spied the saucer shaped object resting on the old wooden railroad car. The crowd of reporters was herded onto the bleachers on either side of the craft. Nerdock finished retracting the microfracture test equipment. “The CFH is all clear!” he beamed.
One of the reporters shouted out “What does CFH stand for?”
Arbis fired off, “Cowboy From Hell, in honor of the greatest power metal band that ever lived, Pantera!”
Luke took over and quieted the crowd. “What you are looking at is an electrogravitic craft with a secondary magnetohydrodynamic flight system. The drive systems are explained in full in Volume 1 of my AEROSPACE: Declassified book series, “The 20th Century’s Greatest Secret”. You will notice that the hull of the craft is aluminum, covered with rows of wire that are actually coil windings. These coil windings along with the capacitor at the back of the craft are the primary flight system that this baby uses to get off the ground and into the big blue. And they will make this craft glow like a miniature sun.”
“If it glows like the sun, why didn’t you name it the Sunbird or the Phoenix?” interrupted another reporter.
Deuce answered, “The phoenix has to die before it can be reborn. None of us are planning on dying today.” The crowd chuckled.
Returning to his explanation, Luke continued: “These large square propulsor plates located at the front and rear of the craft are powered by a high-voltage resonance transformer that feeds into them. Each plate is what is known as an asymmetric capacitor stack, made from a combination of barium titanate, clay, and aluminum sheets laid in an alternating pattern. The arrangement is such that powering the different plates produces a different direction in flight. Dewey, pop the top and show the good folks what’s inside.”
Nerdock activated the opening sequence, and the upper portion of the craft swung open under motor power. Inside, a giant bi-polar Tesla coil sat underneath the pilot compartment.
“You will notice that this resonance transformer, which is capable of producing several million volts, actually uses comparatively little amperage. The entire assembly is water cooled.”
“But isn’t water electrically conductive?” blurted out one of the reporters.
“Normally, yes,” Luke answered. “This uses water so pure that you can’t drink it. It would actually leach minerals from your body. When water is this pure, it acts as an insulator.”
Taking over, Arbis addressed the crowd: “Now folks, we got us a schedule to maintain to keep on the good side of the kind folk at NASA and the FAA. Please take your seats.”
As the crowd shuffled back to their seating area, Fearless advised everyone to have their welding masks and lead smocks in place. Luke and Deuce disappeared into the back of the hangar and returned a few minutes later in flight suits with helmet and oxygen tanks.
“Godspeed guys,” said Nerdock.
“Thanks Dewey. Peaches?”
Dewey produced two Georgia peaches and tossed them over. Both Deuce and Luke took a bite from their respective peaches, eyes closed, and sighed. “Ain’t nothin’ in the world like a fresh peach right off the tree.”
“Amen, brother.”
Peaches have been a tradition since the original earthbound testing. During the initial flight test of the CFH, the primary burst through the electrogravitic system was activated at 3 million volts. A single burst of only one second duration was fired. The calculations indicated the craft would end up somewhere over Eastern Oregon. Instead, the craft stopped over Georgia. So of course Luke had to land and buy peaches from the farm he was over. Greeted with shotguns, the farmers were panicked and believed that an alien invasion had started. It probably didn’t help that Luke’s first words were “We come in peace!” In the end, everybody had a good laugh, and the farm became the distributor of the official peach of Team Fortune.
Deuce and Luke climbed into the CFH. Luke stated incredulously, “I can’t believe you’re actually going to do this with me.”
“I wouldn’t miss this for the world,” smiled Deuce.
What if something goes wrong?” Luke asked.
“Pain heals…” started Deuce, then Luke joined in with him: “Chicks dig scars, glory lasts forever. Shane Falco! The Replacements!”
“What about your wife and kid?
“I left them in Guatemala so I could come take part in this. Every day is a gift from God.”
The craft rolled out to the mid-point of the railroad track. “The Star-Spangled Banner” played through the plasma speakers as the trademark Fortune Aerospace flag was raised beneath Ol’ Glory.
“Not too late to turn back, bro,” grinned Luke.
“Not a chance,” replied Deuce with a smile.
Nerdock lowered the canopy, and then climbed off of the railroad cart. He joined the crowd, donned his lead apron and welding mask. Tagg and Beef radioed final checks to the pilots of the CFH. All clear.
Tagg’s voice boomed his countdown over the flame speakers: “Ten, nine, ocho, siete, vee-aye, five, four, five, six, OW! Stop hitting me Beef!!”
“Would you stop f@<#ing around and take this seriously?!”
“OK!! Five, four, three, twooooooooooooooooo, and – ONE!”
The flames went out on the plasma speakers next to the audience, and the craft came to life. At first a hum came from the CFH, growing more audible with each moment. The coil windings outside the craft began to glow. It began to float off of the railroad cart, and the air surrounding the craft began to glow next.
A few seconds later, at about 50 feet in the air, the craft was no longer definable. It was a singular glowing mass, a miniature sun beaming over the crowd at Spaceport Deuce. With a whine and a firecracker pop, the craft shot out of view into the sky with a speed far greater than any bullet.
Inside the command center Beef, Tagg and Bhupinder made a sigh of relief, when Tagg’s computer started beeping a warning. Satellite Laika suddenly reported interference—a satellite had spontaneously lost its orbit and began tumbling towards the Earth.
Startled, Beef asked “What is it? What’s going on?”
“Appears a communication satellite is going down, and it’s a big one.”
“Vhat heading it is taking?” asked Boop.
“Collision.”
From the cockpit of the CFH the view had changed dramatically, from blue to star-spotted black in literally only a few seconds. The cockpit window was sheathed in a glow of plasma, liquid lightning outside the craft.
Suddenly the shining white view turned to black as the satellite appeared before the CFH. A fraction of a second later the collision happened.
Professional Reviews
The Team Fortune Chronicles: Pt 1: On Your Mark
By rogercamden Mar 3, 2012 I am blown away by the content of this book. The author gives away the patent numbers and technology to improve gas milaege in cars! The writing opens your eyes while making you laugh. I have a friend with a degree in physics who pointed out that the technical parts about fusion are spot on. The parts about dark matter and quantum physics are mixed with ancient mysticism and Victorian science. He showws you how new particle physics guys are jsut spouting ancient creeds like it was some kind of new ideas. The Team Fortune Chronicles is like a cross between Heavy Metal and The Adventures of Buckaroo Banzai, only even more intersting. I only wish the author had more time to write more amterial. I couldn't put it down!
The Team Fortune Chronicles: Pt 1: On Your Mark
By Dominique Beltrand Apr 15, 2012 Excellent book of semi-fiction... Luke doesn't tell us which part of the story is real and which is not, but it let you see interesting revelations.
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