translated & edited from Nokhontli by ADAM-- A few days ago, during our last kha-rat, a telepathic scream for help was received world-wide by every Nokhon under the full moon on this planet round: four Nokhon females, among them a telepathically adept young girl named Maqualama, have been taken captive to be used as shyøma-driven sex slaves by wicked NokhSo gangsters threatening them with noisekillers, somewhere in your oh-so "civilized" world. A cry went up among all Nokhons, a rescue is demanded and I, being Alutna-jii, must take charge of the situation. Crowds want to volunteer, but I know that a select task force is always more efficient than a hysterically rampaging horde incapable of waiting until we have more information upon which to base an effective strategy. Especially since this will necessitate entering the incomprehensibly alien world of those tiny-but-deadly NokhSos, with all their noisekillers and perhaps even worse forms of evil skesk weaponry. I happen to be at the "Hacienda" at this time, along with Masnia, Magga and my "son" Dadamet, whom I asked to assist me, since he knows the NokhSo world far better than I, or any other Nokhon. Culturally he IS a NokhSo. Magga and Masnia wish to help too, but which I deem to be too many participants. Mostly because I do not wish to put them in danger from a wicked band of nasty little human gangsters who will gladly harm innocent Nokhon females, such as those four they have kidnapped. I could maintain my one-way psychic connection with Maqualama for a day but it finally broke when she fell asleep, weary of terror. I am not adept enough a telepath to simply re-establish that lost contact with her from afar, but I know who is: my good friend the Elder Da-nama-hat. Every day he becomes ONE entity as a member of the Three Elders of Aket and they have vast psychic powers. Since he is a personal friend to all of us, he can sense when we wish to contact him, even if we are at the Hacienda and he is a day's foot-journey away in Aket. And so he contacted me, already well aware of the situation. He had fixed his own mental connection with Maqualama, which might lead us to her. He connected her to me again. By the time she had awakend the blind ride in the skesk-truck had ended, but she could not tell us where they had been transported to because she had no points of reference in the human world. There had been a confusing midnight exchange from the vehicle to a large high-lofted bakhl (building), then passage through dark city alleys and underground tunnels, eventually leading to a bare square concrete room, where the females were bound hand and foot then locked in. There are also many more NokhSo captors involved now, those small almost hairless males dressed in black-colored fabrics and brandishing fright-inducing skesk-weapons. She was afraid of those men, but could smell that they also feared her, which only made them seem even more dangerous, constantly jabbing their deadly noisekillers at the captive females. Maqualama reported that the men were obviously conflicted and confused by their uncontrollable desire for their Nokhon captives, since they found huge hairy women repellant but could not resist having enthusiastic sex with them anyway. Non stop, again and again. They were also many (10-20?) males and only four females to share the onslaught, so it was frantic, like a pack of dogs swarming around bitches in heat. It was then, while Maqualama was being used by those men, with each a pistol shoved in her face to frighten her into submission, that we all sensed her psychic scream for help. Physically unable to vocalize her fear and rage and disgust, her telepathic power was unleashed with an intensity she had never managed before. But the full moon passed, the shyøma dwindled as did the men's engorged dakhs and the orgy fell apart. Those men became embarrased about having been so enraptured by these "grotesquely hairy women". And worst of all, finding themselves involuntarily treating them with something like gratitude and tender respect, as a male tends to do after sharing a pleasant yøram with a sexually generous lover. Perhaps those soldiers felt shame and disgust with themselves for having succumbed to their own nicer selves, then over-reacting with anger and meanness, reminding themselves to fear these powerful women with superhumanly muscular bodies and frightening white teeth that could easily bite right through any part of them if they didn't constantly beware. We learn that the four females are wrapped in thick nylon nets, unable to use their hands or to stand up, lying prone upon too-small fold-up cots. Their captors have shaved off all their body hair to make them more naked for the male pleasure. They have been repeatedly raped by many males, but being Nokhons, are probably glad for the relief from their own otherwise unquenchable shyøma lust. Although they may hate those nasty, ugly little males and have no wish to offer them their marats, at least they suffer no trauma about the sex. The humandakhs are too small to do any physical damage to the females, but they are in constant fear of what those men might eventually do to them once their shyøma-lust fizzled out. We had to ascertain where in the world they were being held. It's easy enough to tell what direction a psychic message is coming from, but not from how far away. Through my enhanced telepathic connection-- and some other Sha-hakas situated around the world --our good Elder Da-nama-hat can compare relative directions and triangulate Maqualama's location. Inside the Hacienda bakhl Dadamet laid out some "atlas books" with colored images of continents and oceans, islands and mountain ranges, which we had to physically look at so that Da-nama-hat could telepathically visualize them over in Aket. Dadamet knew that Da-nama-hat had some forbidden skesk in his office (paper and pencil), and because his NokhSo education has taught him what the world can look like if you have enough skesk to fly. Dadamet helped Da-nama-hat draw what he calls "a map" of the land we live upon, as if seen from above, delineating areas of water from dry land, also notating significant NokhSo reference points, such as very large cities. Da-nama-hat studied the drawings through Dadamet's eyes for a while. It was tedious, took a while but ended up indicating that the captive females were near some very large lakes far to the East of us, near an imaginary borderline that separates the lands called "USA" and "Canada".
"Dj'iess!" Dadamet says, "Looks like they're somewhere in the city of Toronto in Canada." I understand that our world/planet is round, as are the sun and moon, I've also seen Jupiter and ringed Saturn on some clear nights. I have myself flown in a NokhSo sky-skesk (airplane) to and from the Great White Mountains (Himalayas) and seen the curvature of the earth. It was Atli that first informed me that we live upon a immensly large stone in space, but it is always good to personally verify such information. I have therefore observed that the Earth is quite large, but not infinite. "So let us fly there," I say, ready to go. I, who should be enforcing all rules against any usage of skesk! Dadamet looks at me as he sometimes does, when I say things that do not fit within his concept of my inflexible Alutna-jii mind set. But then he bobs his head (shrugs) and says, "Ra, I guess we must." "But first let us ask Agent Stinger to join us," I suggest. Dadamet concurred: Agent Stinger could be the perfect guide through the NokhSo jungle of national complications and political regulations. It was he who assisted Dagrolyt, Dawalas and myself in returning from Katmandu to America. When we'd flown to Shamballah-- without his help --it had taken far too long, although mostly because we had to do it in secret, to protect in turn the secret that Shamballah actually exists. Maqualama and company could not wait for so long to be rescued.
Dadamet and I conferred with our Hacienda friends, now finally alerting some NokhSo authorities that four Nokhon females are being sex-trafficked by human gangsters and that we are out to rescue them. Agent John Stinger happened to be at his Nokhontli lessons with Pokey in the Mead Hall, so he was quickly briefed on the situation and volunteered to help. So I decided that our rescue team should be minimal: only two men, John and myself. Dadamet was disappointed, naturally wanting to be of help, but his females were relieved that he not go into danger. I was more concerned about the logistics of transporting too many big heavy Nokhons in vehicles designed for the tiny NokhSo folk. And of course we will be going up against gangsters who kidnap and rape females, and we already know that they carry noisekillers just like the bad guys on TV. Dadamet may not be ruthless enough to face them, but John is. I also know that John and I work well together, having stopped attempted murders by that paramilitary unit who had attacked the Hacienda before. Hmm, could these soldiers be more of the same? Anyway, John taught me to drive cars, so he's my friend. I like him and understand that he is something like myself; a legally recognized authority with dangerous skills. We can best pull off this mission just between the two of us: I can find the females by following Maqualama's telepathic presence, but I'll need John as guide and translator among the NokhSos. As for any physical confrontations ensuing, I can easily overpower many puny humans at once-- but if absolutely necessary, John can always shoot them with a noisekiller. Oh, I'm not supposed to say that? Oops. But before we can take any action at all, we have to determine precisely where Maqualama and her fellow captives are being held. Our only connection with them is telepathic, now that Da-nama-hat has helped me reestablish connection with her.
Agent John Stinger is my perfect mission partner, seeming almost magical in his talents: he knows who to call, where to go and how to get there. He has a "special priority identification"-- well, several-- under various names. One needs some kind of authorization to enter different compartments of a "USA spy agency", and he always seems to have two (one for each of us) of whatever is needed. Of course my name did not exist in any human registrations. So John arranged a quickly-delivered agency guest ID card through his connection to that unidentified agency. My official NokhSo name becomesDak Lakht Forest, and we are suddenly on our way to the "Boeing" airfield south of "Seattle" and then boarding a military cargo sky-skesk, setting out for a far away destination called "Toronto". It was was a complex journey that John had arranged, many stops and changing of "airplanes". I gave up trying to understand where we were flying to, having to do with "available fuel" and "prearranged schedules", but we flew ascross "America" in relative comfort, sitting on stacks of "corn in burlap sacks". John explained that I was too large to sit in a seat of any "commercial airline", but he had usable connections to what he called "patriot cargo services". It was quite different than my first sky-voyage to the Great White Mountains, not nearly so painfully long and tedious, and especially better this time because we were not hiding from the crew. We were offered some military (C) rations, which were ghastly and inedible, but I did like the beers. I did not like the "airports", they were restricted rooms full of skesk, flimsy furniture and far too many NokhSos, I was the only Nokhon to be seen and all those people stared at me as if I was a "Bigfoot" (which it seems that I am). Fortunately, Ma-ellia and Ma-elaina had sewn me some clothing resembling a blue-colored militia-like costume to imitate the generic unmarked uniform John was wearing. I was diguised as a NokhSo XL. John is a good traveling partner, he knows a lot and teaches me things I should know about to understand the NokhSos. The concept of different countries, where they each speak separate languages instead of just one, as do we Nokhontli. He taught me about the country we were going to, how "Canadians" were slightly different than "Americans". All very interesting and informative. A little while before we landed a final time, passing close over a place John called "Niagra Falls", I'd been looking down through a transparent hole in the wall, fascinated by the sight of all those bakhli (buildings) and slow moving traffic spreading out under me, when I caught sight of a wide river that became an enormous waterfall, which was spectacular. Then we were flashing over an almost endless body of water (which John called "Lake Ontario"), As our sky-skesk was slowing down and descending to yet another city on the other side of the lake, I noticed a surge in Maqualama's psychic signal. Up to then I had always been feeling her presence floating somewhere ahead of me, as we continued to travel in her general direction. But I abruptly felt her psychic pulse dropping below and behind me. Very-very fast, like lightning. I realized that we had just passed over her ground location and were now flying away from her. I briefly thought I'd have to jump out of the "airplane" before she dissapeared too far behind us. But John signalled me to stay still. All considered, I didn't know how to open that weird door anyway, and a drop from so high up would probably hurt. Looking back upon the receeding city streets of "Toronto" I caught a last fleeting gimpse of a brightly blue-colored aura pulsing around a gray building, revealing to me exactly where she was! But it was gone in a speed-blur as we were landing just up ahead, not far away. I assumed that once we were down on land we could easily backtrack into the city on foot to find her. This was going to be so easy!
When we landed at the "Airport" our machine was diverted to a place John called a "joint military zone", informing me it that had political affiliations with the NokhSo-designated country we evidently lived in, called "the USA", where Monroe and Seattle and Aket are located, as well as many other cities I know nothing about. We were required to wait in line to show our "passports" to some authority-figures: first to the "Americans" to be allowed to exit the plane. It was parked inside a big hollow building full of other sky-skesk machines, where the tempature was quite cool because of what John called "air conditioning". The air hurt my nostrils. The authorities we needed to please so that we could pass their control gates into Canada were having a problem deciding if I was human or not. My size confused them, they were aking questions like "What IS that?" I can speak enough English to say "I am what you call a Bigfoot." But they only laughed at that. Fortunately John had special permissions from his undercover-spy friends that identified us as "special agents on an undercover mission" and we were allowed to pass on to the next gate, where "customs agents" would question us. That was more of the same, although equally alien to me. They too wondered if I was some kind of dangerous ape and if they dared to allow me into their country. But John spoke for me and convinced them to listen to me speak just to prove that I was not an animal. Of course, I do not speak English very well, but I can recite a few phrases I've learned. One of the longest phrases being: "Hello, my name is Daklakht, and among my own people I am considered a high-ranking police officer." They were impressed by that and welcomed me as a fellow officer. They were quite polite and friendly. I still had that connection with Maqualama going on, although it was becoming increasingly difficult to keep it active-- the mind wanders you know. It was only a vague feeling, neither words nor images, I am not so adept at telepathy as Da-nama-hat. But Maqualama is a real talent; she had been keeping the connection active for this long. Although not even she could keep it going forever, so we needed to hurry. A boyish-faced Canadian half my size faced us from behind a glass wall, a "customs agent". I could smell that he was nervous about me; of my size, of my proximity, my hairiness, my Nokhonness. But he bravely did his job and asked us: "What is your business in Canada?"
We had decided to go with the truth even though it might be unbelievable, lies would only be problematic. So John answered: "We are here to rescue four Bigfoot females from a sex trafficking ring and we believe they are imprisoned right here in Toronto."
The customs agent looked at me with timid eyes, pointed a finger my way. "And what about this..uh.. sasqua.. uh.. gentleman?"
"Well then," the customs agent asked, "what nationality are the kidnappers?" By this time we had attracted some attention from those around us. Another customs officer spoke up: "Eh, he means Adam Leroy Forest of Squatch & Friends." "Yes, and this man..." John made a flourish to point me out, "...is his father."
The questioner looked at my passport again and read the name aloud: "Dak Lakht FOREST." I was prerparing to crash through the glass wall and on into the town to where the females were being held. Maqualama's presence was now losing clarity, becoming frantic, sputtering as if she was unble to concentrate, perhaps in pain. But I knew it would be unwise to go wild; these Canadians seemed sympathetic, but they were NokhSos and could be dangerous. They did have handy noisekillers on their belts. They could easily kill us with those weapons, I've seen it done to my boyhood friends. Not by these particular men, but NokhSos anyway. So I clenched my teeth and withstood the temptation to grab those little men and shake them as precious time slipped away. The furniture there was too fragile for me to sit on, so I squatted in the middle of the floor, perhaps blocking passage around the big room. I hoped. My perception of all paramilitary NokhSos is not flattering, having been involed with an attempted murder of Art and Elaine by others of their ilk. Admittedly, I don't like humans as a group, I am definitely prejudiced against them. In fact, it's my duty as Atlutna-jii to keep my own people away from them. But I also have human friends, like John and Art & Elaine. I'm tempted to regard my "son" Dadamet as a semi-human, since he does not think like a Nokhon. Then again, I believe he may just be the most intelligent person I know. Finally an older, fatter, balder customs man came out to us from a glass door, half-running, hurrying, shouting what sounded like "Oh sir! Oh sir!" again and again, which John later translated as a greeting of respect. Which I considered to be in just about time. "Eh, we apologize for the delay, sorry, sorry. But now we'll assist you in your rescue endeavor. A police unit will be sent with you to arrest those kidnappers!" Within a heartbeat it was like we were suddenly living in one of those TV cop shows I've seen at the Hacienda: four or five police cars, shining skesk, blinkling blue lights and revving their engines, jockying for position, hurridly loading equipment and a unit of NokhSo alutna (cops) in uniform, then off with a roar into the city of "Toronto", siren howling. What drama!. John and I could just fit into the open back of a "personell carrier" together. It was almost fun. But it was I who must find Maqualama via our telepathic link: she was still there, somewhere in all that busy, crowded, dirty city ahead of me. I was looking for a block-sized gray bakhl with that pale blue aura I'd seen from above. I told the cops the way as I discerned it myself, following Maqualama's faltering signal. I hoped to make it before she fizzled out and was lost to us forever. We found the building, but it was very large and there were many doors. We left the vehicles and went down dark tunnels on foot. Truthfully, those young cops seemed very young to me and far too excited to be bearing noisekillers. When we went down dark tunnels, I found it frightening to have them following close behind us, all those noisekillers pointing forward-- at our backs? And yet, it was fascinating to be walking the aziili (streets, paths) of this weird NokhSo village; the smells, the sounds, the myøsik, the smoke and colors, all so alien and mysterious to me. Most Nokhons are alike; we speak a universal language and study the Atli-- most even obey it. But we pay little attention to the destructive workings of the NokhSo civilizations around us, ignoring them when we should be warning them. One thing we Nokhons should be aware of is that all those "human races" are drastically more different from each other than they are from us. The people in this town seemed amazed by me. I was by far taller than anybody else in the aziili, and even more odd to them when I took off my irritating jacket and they could see my impressive musculature and glorious hairiness. They were shocked. I'd expected some reaction but it was just too uncomfortable to keep my jacket on any more. I'd have preferred to take off my pnts too, but I'd learned that there was a social taboo about that. I'm not accustomed to wearing clothes, no Nokhon is. Unless maybe Dadamet, my "son", but he has to be an exception. The scene was distracting but I could sense that Maqualama was still ahead of me somewhere, and that we were getting closer to the end of the chase. We were amidst old well-worn buildings made of wood and stones, rather than new "skyscrapers" made of glass and steel. We left the crowds of people behind as we descended into a tunnel complex. I had to duck slightly so as not to scrape my head against the ceiling, the passage also became quite narrow, we had to go single file. Well, I did. I suddenly had to stop walking, face almost up against a rusty old door made of iron and wood. I could feel that the females were on the other side. It was locked but I nudged it open with a minimum of damage. Our police escort almost protested, but I kept going before they could decide what to say, so they followed. Finally we came to a checkpoint in the tunnel, where two human guards in black uniforms sat at a desk behind a barrier of metal bars. They were armed with short little noisekillers on their belts. The guards were quite surprised to see a unit of Toronto Police coming their way. And me, a male Nokhon almost too tall for the tunnel. But they did not point their weapons at us, having no intentions to start a noisekiller exchange with the local cops. But they did say: "Excuse me, but this is private property. You can't just come in here without a warrant."
"We are looking for some kidnapped...er...lady Sasquatches," a Canadian cop said politely, "have you seen any?"
Meanewhile, one of the policemen was reporting to some authority over his skesk-phone, and suddenly called out: "Wait, fellas! We can't go in there, this is one of the Senator's properties! Go back, go back!" I could not understand all of the words being said but easily sensed that the meaning was unacceptable. So while they were discussing politics I pulled up a healthy charge of haka from the Earth, kicked the bars of the barrier with one of my famous Big Feet. The metal bars distorted and went wide open and I rushed past guards and cops before anyone could stop me. Actually, none of them tried to, but flinched away instead. I hurried down a tunnel with doors on each side, not wasting effort to open them, still following the last sputtering vestiges of telepathic signal. But then it blinked out and was gone. But now I could smell the females! There were other doors in my way but they were flimsy and went down easy. The policemen behind me were shouting words I could not understand, although I'm sure they were commands to stop. Eventually I did stop-- in a room with four Nokhon female captives and the signal expired. They were all chained to the cots they laid upon, unable to move. I could not see which one of them was Maqualama, so I called her name and she responded, "Eh'ha." That's me. I felt a final telepathic fluttering, like a sigh of relief, having done the duty to bring us here. She was young, like my daughter Masnia, with big bright green eyes, the youngest among those females. I tried to free her from the bonds that pinned her to the cot, but they were made of some artificial stuff (ed. nylon) that resisted my strength, even with haka flowing. It had to be done with intelligence rather than brute force, also adjusting metal pieces that fit together as a puzzle-lock. I fumbled with it for a while, even as the policemen were trying to stop me. Politely and carefully, still a bit afraid of me. Then John caught up with me and with one look was familiar with how such a lock worked and freed Maqualama. She rolled off the cot and almost fell to the floor, her body so stiff from being bound for days. But she managed to stagger to her feet as the entire crowd of cops finished their charge into the room, stopping in surprise when they saw the females, suddenly not knowing what to do. Meanwhile, John continued releasing other females, until they were all free and standing, each stiff and half-paralyzed. A couple of those policemen chivalrously tried to assist the females to move their bodies, supporting their unstable attempts at walking. But most of the cops were visibly shocked at seeing those very large, very "naked" women, now deprived of even their body hair which had been trimmed off by their captors. The poor girls were now covered only with trimmed stubble and pale never-tanned skin, not looking lovely at all. The Canadian alutna were afraid to touch them. "What if they are diseased? Or infectous?" one cop asked John, who told him: "These are innocent kidnapping victims, not lepers from Hell." Some of those alutna seemed to be quite shocked now that they could see who we were rescuing.
Just then the older, fatter, balder customs man came rushing into the room, breathing heavily, as if he was not physically accustomed to hurrying, ever. "Stop, stop, everyone stop!" He then told John that he and I had to leave the country immediately or the American Government would have us arrested for interfering with one of their Senator's endeavors. I was asking the females the same question, but of course they had no awareness of any human place names, since Nokhons are always isolated from the NokhSo existance. Just as I myself had never known that I was living in a land humans call "the USA" until Dadamet informed me of it. But we could not know where these girls were from, since they didn't either. (It would be a while before they think to mention the town of Cobalt, since they had never heard the name pronounced.) John says: "They could be from some backwoods in Canada or America, California or Alaska, no way to tell where they came from." Talking with the ladies, they told us they'd each come from different places and had met on their way to a kha-rat in a mlønoli where they'd never been before, looking for a lifestyle change. They'd heard rumors of a "Nokhon Nation" being organized, a cooperation between squatches and humans where obedience to Atli was more relaxed. That had sounded good until they actually met those horrible little human men who took them captive and mistreated them so badly. But now they had also seen that humans John and the Canadian cops had helped me-- the Nokhon's official Alutna-jii --to rescue them, obviously working together. Which helped to moderate their opinions about humans . So I told the females they could come with us, but it would have to be right now, since we had to leave. I mentioned that my very own "son" was the guy organizing that "Nokhon Nation Project" they'd been seeking so they were intrigued. They decided to go with us. Anywhere away from their evil captors. But the Canadian cops also had to agree about what they should do about the females. Protecting a politician's technically legal diplomtically-immune property, whether you liked it or not, was one thing, but re-chaining these squatch-women all over again and stuffing them back into their obviously illegal imprisonment and potential torture chamber was too much "obediance" for these honest young cops. "But what shall we do with these Sasquatch women?" they were asking each other. "They've lived all their lives out in the woods," John told them, "just let us put them back there. They'll effectively vanish, as Bigfoot always does, and be no problem or embarrassing dilemma for the Canadian government." The cops agreed to assist us in that endeaver. So we and the females were escorted back to our awaiting military cargo sky-skesk machine at the Toronto Airport. We clarified that were on an "underground spy agency-approved rescue mission", so we had no argument with the flight crew about taking four extra passengers. We took off and flew the whole long zigzag way back to the place they call "Boeing Field". The females were quite frightened to fly at first, screaming as we ascended, then hypnotized by the view, eventually bored as the flight went on and on and on. Re-terrified by the various landings along our route and more screaming while taking off again, after having stopped for fuel (John explained), but casual about surviving in the end. I felt the same, but refrained from screaming. Just barely. Pokey, our little red human, came to take us home in their famous concert tour bus, the one which announces "Squatch & Friends" for all to see. It was entertaining: people waving at us, calling out greetings as we passed by them, exuberant groups of NokhSos waiting just to see us. Our secret mission was obviously not a secret any more.
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