The First Aquarian Commander


The story of President Manuel Ramon Gomez Garcia begins at Halloween time, 1986, in the historical period just before the Internet, two full decades prior to the iPhone. The future commander of the New Warrior Battalion is in ninth grade at Chestnut Junior High School, on the North End of Springfield, Massachusetts.

It had been decided at Manny’s birth that a wizard-rabbi would be sent to tutor him during his 15th year, preparing the teenager for 2032, the year foretold he would be elected 49th President of the United States.

It isn’t so easy getting his pupil’s attention, but when he does, Manny’s Merlin is finally making progress teaching the lad how to travel outside his physical body.

Then, unexpectedly, just as the teenager is beginning to take hold of his emerging supernatural powers— sinister forces converge around him.

The future warrior and world changer is called upon to face his ultimate enemies, prematurely. So much so that his secret allies are compelled to reveal themselves— much sooner than they could ever have anticipated.


Body and Soul

“People are misinformed that there’s merely one Grand Entrance when the soul comes into the physical body— and only one Grand Exit when it leaves.”

“Are we talking about reincarnation here— the idea that after we die, we come back to earth in another body— like what they believe in India?”

“What I am telling you, mi amigo, is that the spirit comes into the body— not like a passenger boarding an airplane for a long, long, non-stop flight — but more like a commuter taking daily shuttles. You fly up into the stars every night, and you land safely back down into your own body, every morning.”

“I don’t like that idea,” the fledgling magician declared, “Isn’t there a greater chance that if we keep going in and out of our bodies all the time— something can… go wrong?”

“Would you avoid using your legs to walk around on, making them grow stronger — by NOT using them?”

“No, the opposite happens. If you don’t use your muscles, they’ll get limp and then—“

“The same thing,” the wizard concluded, “when using your astral body for astral travel.”


Election Night, 2032

The Springfield Falcons’ arena erupted into utter pandemonium as his name came roaring out the KrystalKlear™ All-Surround Speakers.

“Manny! Manny! Manny!”

A second burst shot up when the 3D ImaxReal® image flickered on, and Garcia’s followers saw their man’s campaign slogan jutting out from a video loop of exploding fireworks.


“The Fuel for American Renewal”


As the victorious candidate emerged onto the platform, a Real-Time 3-D ™ image was projected, HUGE, above him. The president-elect shook hands, exchanged hugs, and flashed thumbs up while making steady progress across the stage. He greeted each member of his campaign team, and his political allies and his advisers. He bent over to kiss the First Lady in her wheel chair, and he hugged both his daughters, and their husbands, and each of his grand kids and, finally, his “cousin-brother” with the red hair, now turning gray. Then he stopped.

He had reached The Old Man.

The president-elect tenderly touched the 20-year-old scar that ran across his mentor’s face from the bottom of the left nostril all the way to the ear lobe.

At this touch, all the noise, all the excitement of the victory, all sounds in the arena— collapsed into silence.

Then the throng re-ignited into ferocious cheering.

The newly elected leader of the free world basked in all this adoration from his beloved Springfield, Massachusetts. Then he thought of all the handheld receivers, the smart watches, the video eyewear, the home monitors and the arena screens all over the planet, parading his image right then. Manuel Ramon Gomez Garcia made it his business to project the power of his spirit to the people.

From the crowd of supporters behind him, The Old Man called out, “Collect yourself, mi amigo!” Manny smiled, remembering the 15-year-old kid he was in 1986, an amateur magician, listening to those words for the first time.

The President-elect put his whole attention into breathing, as The Old Man had taught him. “Take cool air all the way down into your diaphragm, mi amigo, and then slowly breathe it out— warm— past the hairs of your nose.” He nodded that he was ready.


But the crowd would not be stilled.

The next President of the United States stuck out his jaw just a little bit further, pulled back his shoulders imperceptibly, then reached behind his neck to tug, once, on his ponytail. He looked out at the crowd lovingly before he closed his eyes, brought himself to center, and then withdrew into his astral body.

Now, the American people themselves would have to wait in silence until their new leader decided that they were ready to hear what he had to say

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