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Love Story:

In The Web Of Life

By Ken Renshaw


Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2011, Ken Renshaw

Smashwords Edition, License Notes.

Thank you for downloading this free eBook. Youare welcome to share it with your friends. This book may bereproduced, copied and distributed for non-commercial purposes,provided the book remains in its complete original form. If youenjoyed this book, please return to to discover other works bythis author. Thank you for your support.

This book is a work of fiction. Names,characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’simagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actualevents, or locales or persons , living or dead is entirelycoincidental.



I would like to express myappreciation to Dr. J.K. Parker for her reviews, editing andencouragement. I am indebted to Dr. R. Targ and Dr. E. Rauscherdeveloped the 8-space theory that provided the scientific basis forthis book. Darlene Bowe's extensive and patient additions to storystyle were welcomed. David Strom contributions to the storystructure were valued. Gayle Oksen's gave me encouragement with herreview when needed most. I thank my fellow writers, andPaula Cizmar atRough Writers for their support and comments. Kelly Wade's carefulfinal editing gave me the confidence to publish.







Earlier Explorations By

Ken Renshaw

Science,Remote Viewing and ESP

TheSecret Of Your Life Script

Penelope Bat: Her Odyssey With the Spirits ofNature

Some Of Ken's Essays

WhyQuantum Entanglement Works

DescribingAcupuncture Energy Flows With Electromagnetics


Table of Contents





ChapterFour THE WAVE

Chapter Five ROCKY BUTTE

Chapter Six BACK IN LA


Chapter Eight THE TRIAL






And therefore as a stranger give itwelcome.

There are more things in heaven and earth,Horatio,

Than are dreamt of in your philosophy.


Act 1, Scene 5


Chapter One


Things were not going according to plan. Onthis fine, spring soaring day, I had planned a simplesailplane-flying task. I would fly forty miles across the MojaveDesert from CrystalAire airport and return. Now, I was strugglingon my return trip. I was over Rosamond Dry Lake, and all thethermals had vanished. I was down to a thousand feet, flying in twohundred foot circles in weak lift. The gravity force from flying ina forty-five degree bank pushed me down in my seat. I was sweating.The control stick was wet in my hand. I opened the cabin vent. Thelift petered out. I widened my circles to hunt for other lift. Ifelt my right wing nudged up. I turned in that direction to searchfor a weak thermal. No such luck.

I slowly lost altitude. My attention turned tolanding on Rosamond Dry Lake, an expanse of dry silt about fivemiles wide and five miles long. I would land near the westernshore, within a couple of miles, walking distance, of a highway,near scrub brush, which I could tie my sailplane to if I had toabandon it and walk.

I had landed away from the airport before. Asailplane pilot always has a potential landing spot in mind,another airport, a dry lake, or, sometimes, a farmer's field whereyou might be greeted with a pitcher of lemonade, a beer, or ashotgun depending on who lived there. Today, there would be onlydry silt greeting me.

I put down my landing gear, set the flaps,glided down to about ten feet above the lake, and stretched myglide until I approached the shore. I opened the drive brakes andlanded, stopping about a hundred feet from the border of lake. Iopened the canopy, took a big breath of the eighty-degree desertand sat, disgusted with my planning. I worried the desert heat ordryness had done something to my vision. I had seen intense lashesof light, appearing first in my instruments dials, then on thecanopy and along the wings. I was alarmed. Pilots can't have theireyes playing tricks on them.

There are only two real moving parts in asailplane, the mind of the pilot and his eyes. The mind findsthermals and feels the joy of climbing at five hundred or,sometimes, a thousand feet per minute and then flying at a hundredmiles per hour to the next thermal, ten or twenty miles away. Theeyes have to see where to find that thermal.

I picked up my radio microphone and called,"CrystalAire this is King Romeo."

No answer! Out of radio range! Shit!

I undid my shoulder harness and parachute,climbed out of the sailplane, took a big swig out of my waterbottle, and started the hot, sweaty labor of pushing the sailplaneover the dry silt of the lake to a clear area at the shore. I satin the shade of the wing, panted and drank more water. As my tonguepassed over my lips, I tasted the salt from the sweat of theday.

I picked up the microphone from the cockpit andtried again.

"CrystalAire this is King Romeo."

No answer!

"Any pilot, requesting a relay."

No answer. Damn!

I would have to walk to where there is cellphone coverage. Shit!

If it had been the middle of summer, with atemperature of over a hundred degrees, walking would wait until thecool of the evening. Today, with the temperature in the eighties,it would be ok to walk if I drank lots of water.

I reached behind into the compartment behindthe cockpit, grabbed my land–out pack, and pulled out an energy barand a can of Gatorade. I picked up the microphone from the cockpitand tried again.

"CrystalAire this is King Romeo."

Disappointing silence.

"Any pilot, requesting a relay."

Damnable quiet.

Feeling desperate, I took out my cell phone. Itread, "No service."

While cursing my luck, I shouldered the packand began walking toward the highway to find cell

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