Daklakht, Dagrolyt and Dawalasat, Our Three Noble War Heroes, have returned from their adventures in the Himalayas, which has finally made it possible for me to assemble this chronicle by personally interviewing them-- Art
Thursday, April 2: As all you avid readers of this Document already know, the human race's most unknown and perhaps most dangerous enemy ever, the despotic Yeti Elder Da-starda-hat of the Secret City of Shamballah, got himself killed right in the middle of attempting to wipe out all electrical technology with a world-spanning EMP. He had also been fermenting a war among the Nokhon race, for his own personal desire to commit cruelties and atrocities upon innocent victims and to dominate as many slaves as he could. All those evil aspirations ended abruptly with his death, as well as the political authority of his corrupt Starda Faction. I offer that résumé simply to give this chapter some structure, as a familiar starting point for the previously unreported events that followed, way over there in that ancient but still secret tunnel complex under the Himalayan Mountain Range.
The City of Shamballah was suddenly liberated and its inhabitants, finally free after years of despotism and cruel tyranny, were euphoric. No one lamented the fall of that tyrant except those who had also been guilty of abusing their authority along with him. So yes, we're starting this off with the Happy Ending.
Saturday, April 4: A Full Moon. Being an academic and holy city, the sexual frenzy of a kha-rat was usually not permitted within the confines of Shamballah, but this time the entire population insisted that the release and communion of a mass orgy was perfectly okay. The Ultimate Nine Elders of Shamballah had been decimated and corrupted by the Starda Faction, five unworthy brigands had infiltrated the ranks of the Nokhon government to such a detriment that the Ultimate Nine could no longer assemble into the One Mind. The five Starda Faction thugs were now removed, but would have to be replaced by five new Elders, hopefully better qualified for the position. Qualification was determined by factors such as intelligence or empathy, but most important was how the entire collection of personalities cohered as a whole. Auditions and tryouts would be held, experimental combinations of Elders, anyone could apply, male or female, young or old. The final constellation would be known to itself upon assembling, due to the eventual wisdom achieved. The One Mind would recognize who it wanted. Da Jaakt was nominated and Ma Silla, his mate, as were several of those who had fought against the Starda Faction, and he was accepted by the four original Elders. But not all revolutionary firebrands are necessarily good leadership material. Nor was it a popularity contest-- the public might emotionally favor a hero but the One Mind made final decisions based upon logical wisdom. Also, there was never any actual final decision; the Ultimate Nine would continue to fine tune its membership as it went. Both Daklakht and Dagrolyt were offered Elderships if they would remain in Shamballah, but both wished to return to Aket. They were considered heroes for their part in ending the Starda Faction's cruel rule. Wallace, or rather Dawalasat, was ineligible because of not being an actual Nokhon, but he also wanted to go home anyway.
Our Three Heroes were not as self-congratulatory about the success of their mission as were the rescued residents of Shamballah: Wallace felt ashamed that he had shot and killed an unarmed squatch, even though a second's hesitation would have resulted in his own death as a deadly psychic cannonball had been launched directly at him. Dagrolyt felt he had done almost nothing heroic; he'd never even seen Da-starda-hat, spending his efforts upon running around tunnels without really arriving anywhere-- except when he did arrived just in time to save Wallace from the enthralled Daklakht. Who was himself downright embarrassed about that, and especially his utter failure to take on the enemy and becoming the enemy instead. DAKLAKHT: It is good that Da-starda-hat was stopped before he destroyed your civilization, but I would not have done it that way. You humans solve your problems by killing other humans: that is not the Nokhon way. Although that was Da-starda-hat's way so perhaps I should simply shut up. I was certainly no help in ridding the world of that tyrant, having become enslaved once again by his psychic domination. I realize that was only possible because his mental powers had expanded far beyond any normal limitations, yet can't help but feel ashamed of how easily I surrendered to his will. I was useless-- no worse: I became quite useful... to HIM! I would prefer to not remember anything I did while under Da-starda-hat's sway, but instead I recall everything. I served him gladly and he loved that I was his faithful lieutenant once again, just as in days gone by. I felt no moral compunctions about obeying his most perverse commands, content to be doing my duty to my beloved Master. Now I am humbled I realize that slaying him was the last-instant rescue of many lives, both Nokhon and NokhSo, and that there was no possibility of any other option in a now-or-never situation. Dawalasat was himself against committing murder, but he had no more choice than I did. He too was, in fact, being controlled and enhanced by a syssk, generated by a mysterious NokhSo "Swami" he'd been manipulated to meet. As if it was all pre-arranged on some cosmic level, beyond any mortal's control. We can only hope that Da-starda-hat was a completely unique creature: the most powerful psychic in the world-- ever --in the entire history of all people. For three days he ruled the whole world, even though he seemed to be unaware of what he could do with it. Fortunately for us all. I don't want anyone to take control of me like that ever again.
Wednesday, April 8-- After helping the citizens of Shamballah adjust to their new living conditions, repairing the damage done to their society, our three heroes decided it was time to begin their journey back home, on the other side of the world. It would take them a very long time to walk home from the Himalayas, sneaking across borders and swimming across oceans, so it was determined that Dawalasat should try to make arrangements with their friends in the Pacific Northwest. Wallace was the only one who spoke English or even partially understood the complications of getting Sasquatches back into the USA, or even himself, without passports or papers. Their return plan had always been via the contraband "air force" connections from Katmandu, but that would have to be arranged with Wallace's old WWII buddy Marcus. They still had the cell phone we had issued them, which they'd been using as a voice recorder, and the direct number to Marcus was already encoded in it. All they had to do was call. But there was no possibility to contact the outside world from Shamballah, neither by telephone, radio, nor Internet. One might send a telepathic message to Aket, but that wouldn't facilitate contact with anyone who could get them on an airplane. Wallace would have to make another trip to the Outpost. Daklakht and Dagrolyt could accompany him as far as Shamballah North, Yetis were commonly seen there, but Nokhons were never seen at the Outpost, it didn't seem to be allowed. WALLACE: "It's a fair-to-middelin long stroll through that dark tunnel to Shamballah North, I wuz glad Dak n Dag offered to go with me. Nothin like a thousand pounds of Bigfoot back-up to make a little twerp like me feel safe in the spooky gloom. They'd never been in S. North, where mostly those little human Tibetan monks live instead of Yetis, so they wanted to see it, like tourists. They'd hafta wait there, Nokhons couldn't ride to the Outpost with me; humans only, I s'pose. Don't know why, but I never saw a single Yeti there. Although I’s seen a few Chinese folk there, who ain't never s'posta know 'bout the underground tunnel complex, at least no commie Red China folk." The three of them arrived at the tunnel intersection below Shamballah North and went up to the temple town. Both Nokhons were surprised by the sight of an entire temple town painted that bright red color, every temple, every little shack. Wallace was half-expecting his usual English-speaking guide, Aaravi, to be waiting for him again, but not this time. He was almost disappointed that the all-wise gurus hadn't automatically somehow known that he'd be arriving at this exact moment. But they had barely begun to walk up the hill towards the main temple when a Yeti came down to meet them. He introduced himself as Da Soots and said he'd been assigned to be guide for Daklakht and Dagrolyt, so Wallace could simply head off for the Outpost; the lorry was waiting for him down at the terminal. So Wallace had another 6-hour ride through the dark tunnel with the same Sherpa driver he couldn't speak with. He managed to sleep this time and woke up at the Outpost terminal nicely refreshed. He went to the main office, where he already knew most of the personnel and asked if he could make some long-distance phone calls. The New Zealander Mister Baily said he was welcome to. No one complained about the expense, it seems they were well aware that Wallace had rescued all telecommunications around the whole world by stopping some evil Yeti shaman at the last moment, just like in a James Bond movie. It was never mentioned how they knew. "It wuz purty lucky I still had the "cell phone" you an Adam had given me, considerin’ that Da-starda-hat had taken it from Da-zinta-hat's chamber, so it was gone. He wuz doin’ a recordin’ into it when I... anyway, I got it back. So I had it in my hot little hand, all charged up and ready to call the other side o the world. I'd say it wuz magic, but obviously not magic 'nuff to work without the "connection" I'd had to travel so far to get. Wallace had only two contacts encoded in that phone, one to my number here at the Hacienda, and the other to his old war buddy, Marcus, the Air Force general who’d gotten the three of them to the Himalayas. He tried to call Marcus, the phone rang for a long time, but nobody picked up. He tried several times, without result. Then he did the math: it was a half-hour over noon where he was, therefore 3:30 in the morning over there in Tacoma, Washington. The number he had was for the General’s office, not a private phone, so it would be closed at that time of night, he'd have to wait. So he called me instead. We all know the feeling: the telephone rings in the middle of the night and we think: Oh-oh, who just died? But it was the other kind of surprise to hear : "Hi-ya, Arthur, greetin's from the Himalayas!!" "Uncle Wallace? You're alive!" "Shore do seem ta be. So's Daklaht an' Dagrolyt. In fact, we's gettin ready to come on back home soon's we kin find a way to do it..." I was glad to hear from him, of course, even if it was at that time of night. This was nine days after we here in the Hacienda had all been traumatized and mystified by the inexplicable syssk attack, and the only explanation we'd ever gotten was by a shared group vision during the last Kha-rat. So we'd been informed that Da-starda-hat had been killed, but not that it was our very own Uncle Wallace who had shot him. I think Nokhons were downplaying that detail, probably because they don't believe in killing anyone, although they really did need to get rid of him before he succeeded in murdering most of the human race (although it could be some Nokhons are ambivalent about that) (except for maybe the danger of causing a war with angry noisekiller-toting survivors). We were also glad to hear that our guys were coming home, alive and intact. Sometimes it was difficult to understand exactly what Wallace was saying, between long-distance static and his version of the English language the message got muddled, but I managed to catch the main points: 1) he was trying to get his old army buddy Marcus to fix them up with air transport again, and 2) but Marcus wasn’t answering the phone. I offered to try calling Marcus from here in the local area but Wallace said he'd better do the negotiating himself: "I knows that what Marcus done for me ain't perzakly kosher Air Force bizness, an’ I don't wanna say the wrong thing and get him in trouble with the brass." So he would try to call again later on in the day, when the office should be active. Later Wallace told me how that conversation went:. He'd waited four hours then called again and again, but no one answered the phone for after ringing 20 times. Until finally he heard a click of connectivity and a strict-sounding gravelly voice said: "Major General Stevens office, who is calling this unlisted number? It's supposed to be discontinued and classified." Wallace called forth own most military voice, from way back in 1945: "This is Wallace Forest, a veteran, I needs to talk with General Marcus Wisson." "General Wisson?" The guy sounded surprised, then his voice got a whole lot less strict, "um... er... I'm very sorry, sir, but the general passed away two months ago:" "What? Passed away? You mean died? How?" "Well, I assume by natural causes. He was 94 years old after all." "Consarnnation!" I think sometimes Uncle Wallace makes up his own swear words. To me, later on, he said, "Marcus was lots younger'n me, how could he just die already? I tends to forget that I'm older'n any man has a right to be an that most o’ them I kente from the old days is already long gone." The telephone voice from the General’s office says he's sorry and asks, "should there be some ongoing business you had with the General?" "Aye, by crackee," Wallace insists, "did Marcus make any arrangements for some “Bigfoot” bizness?" "What?” “Or mayhaps “Squatch” or “Nokhon”? I dunno whatever code name he might be a-usin.” “Not to my knowledge," the voice says, "unfinished in what way? An open case?" "Maybe," Wallace says hopefully. There follows a long, complicated, confusing exchange that leads them to discover a single folder marked "code word: NOKHON". Another General is called in and reluctantly takes over the case, who then becomes rather negatively aroused and starts complaining about "misappropriation of resources" and "instigating an international investigation", and over in the Himalayas Wallace is thinking "this ain't good, could be we's stuck over here." But just when he was about to give up and hang up the phone, another player stepped into the scene: Marcus had been mentor to a younger agent with military intelligence connections who knew about “NOKHON” at a top government level and had enough authority to tell the angry General to shut up. He introduced himself as Agent Stinger and arranged for Wallace and his squatch companions to meet up at Katmandu airfield eight days forward and be flown back to the USA without complications from customs.
Meanwhile, in Shamballah North, Daklakht and Dagrolyt had followed their Yeti guide, Da Soots, to the 9th level of the main temple building and been presented to top guru Johmsumma, who welcomed them as guests. Here too they were recognized as instrumental in ridding the world of the dangerous Da-starda-hat, and here too no one was so rude as to mention the embarrassing assassination. DAGROLYT: "It was interesting to find ourselves in a town where Nokhons and NokhSos coexist although there are only a few Yetis compared to many Tibetan monks. The size difference causes some practical problems, and of course, the cultures are completely different. Those monks studied the Bön religion, which is not Atli. Like all humans, the monks socialize around food and drink, which is not our tradition. To sit at a table with others and drink warm tea from a cup? That is so very alien to us. Although... okay, I've actually learned to like it. "Admittedly, I have spent some time at the Hacienda and Refugee Camp with Dadamet's NokhSo family and have become somewhat accustomed to the interactions there-- like watching TV and eating ice cream! That seemed normal to me after a while. So I guess you can get used to anything." Da Soots took us for a tour of the temple town. At one shrine they had us listening to the sounds the Tibetan musicians played. I didn't recognize it as melody at all, just strange noises. I recalled Dadamet introducing his NokhSo myøsik to me and how quickly I learned to enjoy it and dance in step with the rhythm, later to assist his 4-instrument orchestra in making their own songs, with words that fell together in magical patterns. I assume that one could also learn to enjoy these strange Tibetan sounds if given enough time."
Thursday, April 9: Two days after Wallace had left for the Outpost he found Dak & Dag again in Shamballah North, telling them their journey home was arranged. All they had to do was hike through the Himalayas to Katmandu within 8 days. So suddenly they were in a hurry. They rushed back to Shamballah Central But they were lucky. As they were saying their hurried goodbyes to Da Jaakt and Ma Silla, young Da Ving and his friends came by. When he learned that they had to go southward through the gigantic mountains that surrounded Shamballah Da Ving mentioned that he knew of a tunnel that could get them past the highest peaks. There were discussions about the wisdom of trusting an unexplored tunnel that could lead them to a death in darkness, in favor over a tried and true route through the mountains. Actually, they had gotten lost several times on the way to finding Shamballah, but Daklakht felt he could find a way south. But he was not certain they could make the trip in only eight days, the tunnel could be a lot faster. If not blocked somewhere. Da Ving assured them that the tunnel was open, claiming to have hidden in it many times and come to an open valley two day's march to the south. If so it would save at least a day, perhaps more. Da Ving offered to guide them out and his friends decided to come along too, just for fun. It was decided to take the tunnel. The travelers had to retrieve their mountain climbing equipment from where they had hidden their backpacks half a year earlier. The tunnels would be warm, but once they came out of them they would still have to traverse many miles of the cruel elemental conditions of the Himalayan Mountain Range. Once ready, they set off through the underground tunnel system. It was dark, there were no illumination rods in this part of the tunnel complex, but the young Yetis had a generous supply of phosphorescent moss with them and were quit jolly about being on an adventure, so the trip was not so gloomy. "It wuz a little noisy, tho," Wallace noted, "all them youngsters shoutin to make echoes an’ sometimes soundin’ a little hysterical-like. Because they wuz also spooked by that deep underworld darkness. Funny: for normal human-folk the idea of Bigfoots in the dark is scary 'nuff, they ain't ever gonna think that it's Bigfoots who's skeerd 'bout whatever else's out there in the dark.” But the tunnel finally ended, they came out into a snowstorm. And then night fell. Rather than to try going on they retreated back into the tunnel to spend the night. There was sunlight in the morning but the snow was quite deep. The youngsters headed back for Shamballah and the oldsters put on their winter gear. Even big bushy-haired Sasquatches could be thankful for some extra insulation against the bitter cold, and Wallace even more so. All dressed up in white, they were also almost invisible against the ice and snow they had to traverse. Which was good, there could be Chinese troops on the way to Nepal.
Saturday, April 18: Even after the tunnel short-cut, it took them four-five more days of trekking through frozen landscapes before they finally came below the snowline and upon open roads again. Traffic began to show up and sometimes they got away with secretly hopping onto passing trucks under cover of night to speed up the journey. They arrived at the airfield outside Katmandu a day early and had to sleep in a forest, then wait for the Nepalese Military airplane to arrive. They had been advised against going into Katmandu proper. Although some Nokhons had been coming into the modern world in the USA and Canada over this last year, not one Yeti had ever yet come down from the Himalayas. Two Nokhons openly showing up in Nepal could cause a media storm that might lead to an intensified search for the Secret City of Shamballah, which was unwanted. Their identities might also be revealed, since Dagrolyt had been introduced to the media world by the famous Bigfoot musician, Adam Leroy Forest himself, so it could be deduced that customs and immigration legalities had been violated if he was spotted outside and then inside the USA with no official documentation of flights or passports, giving unsympathetic immigration officials (and there are some) an excuse to interfere with the NNP. Wallace alone might have slipped in and out of Katmandu without attracting attention. He could resemble an everyday human tourist, a little old American hippy, bearded and long-haired, one of many. But the only money he had access to was via an emergency credit card we had loaned him, any transaction on which could be traced to us in Monroe and lead to questioning about how my uncle had just happened to be in far-away Katmandu. It would be best to keep a clean paper-trail. About noon a red and white twin-prop transport plane landed at the airfield. It was a Nepalese Army-Air CN-235 scheduled to fly on to New Delhi later that day. The crew had been informed they would have three special passengers, so special that they were not allowed to ever meet or see them. The plane docked to one side of the airfield as the crew went to eat lunch. One man in civilian jacket set stood beside the airplane and took made a show of taking out a cell phone. Wallace's phone rang and upon answering an American voice said, "Okay guys, make it snappy, we've got everybody looking the other way right now." They jogged to the plane, where they were immediately ushered into an area sectioned off from the Nepalese flight crew, so that none of them would see the two Sasquatches and the little old coot all dressed in winter whites. Abominable Snowmen with a twist that would make for some good headlines. They had the passenger part of the plane to themselves, so there was seating--although for humans, not Nokhons. They found that they could just lie back, if they put up all the arm rests and took a whole row of three seats each. Almost comfortable. The agent who welcomed them seemed unawed by the two gigantic Nokhons, as if he'd met some before. He also seemed to know quite a bit about them, such as exactly who Dagrolyt and Daklakht and Wallace were. He even spoke a few polite phrases of Nokhontli, although not much, and had to address them mostly in English through Wallace. Wallace was certain he'd recognized the telephone voice of "Agent Stinger" and sure enough, that's who'd met them: a trim, athletic man; late 30s; grey flannel suit with blue tie; crew-cut hair, clean shaven, dark sunglasses; your classic government-agent type. So he'd come all the way from McChord AFB in Tacoma to meet them in Katmandu. Of course, there was a reason for Agent Stinger's presence: "I need to ask what you guys know about a major geophysical event that occurred a few weeks ago, producing a fluctuation in the entire planet's electro-magnetic field. "At first it seemed to be a natural phenomenon, but then it became directional, patterned, definitely manipulated. We were getting readings from all around the world indicating early stages of what could have potentially resulted in a world-wide EMP. One that could have short-circuited all electronics everywhere at once, which is certainly a matter of national security. And not just American security, everybody else's too. It could have been a technological Apocalypse. But then it just went away. Poof." "Why ask us?" Wallace asked, playing it dumb. "Because the scuttlebutt is that you three somehow stopped it from happening. So we need to know if the danger is over or if we should be taking some kind of action." Wallace thought about just how much he wanted to admit, talked it over with Dag and Dak, then they agreed that he should say: "Naw, we's purty sure it ain't gonna happen now. It was all on one troublemaker an’ he got kilt off in action." "Yeah, that's what we've heard," Agent Stinger commented, "I've just got to double-check." "Okay, sonny, our turn to check: where could you have heard about this?" "Sorry, that's a secret. But I will allow myself to mention that our informant claims to have telepathically hacked a kha-rat, whatever that may be." That confused them more than no answer at all.
Wallace asked Agent Stinger why he was involved with "codeword: NOKHON", which had never been a military priority, as far as he knew, but only referred to a personal favor from his old friend Marcus. The Agent told how General Marcus Wisson had been his friend and mentor, confiding some ancient secrets from WWII days, when Wallace and he had recruited an unofficial secret unit of Nokhons (known as Trolls in Europe) to fight against an equally-secret Nazi project attempting to capture and enslave trolls to be super soldiers, controlling them by syssk, of course. They had a co-operative Sha-haka, a Nazi troll. (No, it was not Da-starda-hat that time, seems he was not the only bad squatch ever.) They had succeeded in thwarting the nasty Nazi plan and rescuing a mlønoli of trolls as well. During their discussions about the deceased General Wissen, Wallace learned that Marcus had died of a Corona Virus, which had caused a deadly pandemic a few years back and became notorious for killing off older people. He couldn’t help but reflect: "That coulda been me, I only got to be this old because I live and eat like a Nokhon, but I ain't a real one. They's immune to most human diseases, but I'm not, so far's I knows. Sure, I've lived longer'n most men, but I gotta die someday relativish soon. Can I live to be 120 years old? Feels like it right now, mayhaps, but 130? Some Nokhons can be twice that, but can I? Got no idea. Instead I might catch one o them viruses and be gone tomorrow, jus’ like Marcus, no tellin. Waall, ain't no point to frettin 'bout it."
The flight to New Delhi took only two hours and then they were transferred into a USAF transporter bound for Tokyo, Japan. On that flight were three more American Intelligence operatives very interested in interviewing them about the potential EMP attack that had been averted. To include both squatches Wallace had to translate, of course, but he deliberately made his special form of English a little extra crazy-old- coot-like to keep those government men at a distance, obfuscating and mis-communicating often enough to confuse them. Especially because they were becoming a little too interested in Daklakht, whom they fantasized as a potential super-super-spy, so Wallace threw in a communications problem to discourage their interest. They had also been interested in recruiting Wallace until he told them he was 112 years old. Dagrolyt and Daklakht were both astounded at the apparently endless size of the Pacific Ocean. They enjoyed looking out of airplane windows, which had not been available on the cargo carriers on their way from Seattle to Katmandu. Clouds hypnotized them They did an overnight touch-down on Midway. Remaining secret, the three of them and Agent Stinger spent the night in the plane and then were covertly transferred to a USAF C-139 Hercules to USA. Once in American air space they relaxed the secrecy efforts because there were no more international borders to cross and the presence of Nokhons were now common enough in American society that they no longer caused panic in the streets, due to our very own Nokhon Nation Project. So then it was San Diego, Oakland and finally: Tacoma, Washington.
Thursday, April 23: Our weary travelers arrived at Lewis-McChord AFB, home to the 62nd Airlift Wing, Air Mobility Command, neatly avoiding US customs and immigration. Pokey and I picked them up in our van, and we were back at the Hacienda by six o'clock that evening, where a reception party was already going on. Sometimes Nokhons behave just like all the rest of us, happy to be reunited with loved ones who have been missing too long and worrying about life and death. Heads bobbing instead of kisses, but tears and embraces are universal. Old Uncle Wallace and his equally-old squatch wife Mazaza were obviously overjoyed to be together again. They immediately went off into the woods to consummate their reunion in private. It seems that the little old guy still has quite a bit of energy and enthusiasm for life. Dagrolyt hugged and cuddled his wives Myrølla and Misma, wrestled with his brother Dabronat, embraced his good friend Adam, all at the same time. He then asked if we had any pie and/or ice cream, two of his favorite forbidden pleasures. Since we knew Our Heroes would be coming home, Elaine had made sure to buy supplies especially for Dagrolyt, even though she is semi-morally opposed to trafficking any kind of sugar to squatches. Daklakht tried to be dignified and proper, but his daughter Masnia was having none of that, nor was Magga, they insisted on dancing with him to their favorite song, Ha mm-kro wo'ha, which was erotic enough to be a real challenge for maintaining any kind of Alutna-jii dignity. Weary of traveling, our guests were glad to relax and recuperate with us for a while, at least until they decided where to go next. Daklakht felt he should go back to Aket and resume his duties as Alutna-jii. Dagrolyt was content to stay a while with family and friends, and learn more English so that he could explore the NokhSo world some more. Uncle Wallace stayed a few days just to be social, then he and Mazaza went back to their cave somewhere up in the Cascade Mountains. "It's a right cozy cave," he said, "an’ there ain't all these temptations to drag a man into-- like poison food, polluted air an’ the constant racket o skesk-noise. Ain't no wonder all these people-folk gets sick n’ dies young." "I wonder if we'll ever see him again," Elaine muses, "he IS 112 years old." "Yeah," I counter-muse, "but can you imagine him dying of old age?" "Not at all. He'll probably outlive us all." "Yeah, especially since we eat and drink everything he avoids." "Yes, but at least we enjoy it," she reminds me. I almost say something pithy, like "until we don't," then decide to just let her be right.
Thursday, April 30: I posted the transcript of the 9th Shamballah Report as Chapter 48: Victory It'll end up out of chronological order, but you already know about Da-starda-hat having been bumped off, so it won't be a big spoiler. I'm still working on transcribing the 10th Report, sometimes good ol' Uncle Wallace's special brand of English is pretty hard to decipher.
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