Date: Mon, 11 Mar 2024 23:47:13 +0000 (UTC)
From: Joseph Klimczak <at3unit3@yahoo.com>
Subject: The Tales of Sol 79A

The Tales of Sol 79A
By Joe at3unit3@yahoo.com

This is a fictional story; it is not intended to imply that any members of
the Backstreet Boys, Nsync, or 98 Degrees are gay, or any of the other
celebrities mentioned are homosexuals. If you are not old enough to read
these stories, do yourself a favor and don't get caught. The same goes for
those people whose countries have these sites made illegal. And for
everyone else enjoy

Captain Planet and related characters were created by R.E Turner and
copyrighted by AOL Time Warner Company and Trademark by TBS Productions

Babylon 5 and all related characters and props were created by Michael
Straczynski and copyrighted by Warner Bros.

Star Trek and all related characters created by Gene Roddenberry.
Copyright Paramount

Transformers and all related characters, and props are trademarked by
Hasbro Inc. Copyright Rhino Home Videos and AOL Time Warner Entertainment
CO

He-Man, She-Ra, related characters, and props are trademarked by Filmation
1980s

Buffy, the Vampire Slayer, Angel, and all related characters created by
Joss Whedon.  Copyright 20th Century Fox.

Batman, and all related characters created by Bob Kane. Copyright DC Comics
and Warner Bros.

X-MEN and all related characters were created by Stan Lee. Copyright Marvel
Comics and 20th Century Fox.

To those who've been reading Tales of Sol. I want you to know that there is
sex in this story. That is not its sole purpose and yes I do hope the sex
sense makes you all hard and gets you off.

Sol is an adaptation from my childhood favorite show Captain Planet and the
Planeteers. The cartoon showed us that the world can be a better place if
we take a few moments to care for it.

Tales of Sol is meant to express hope.

It also shows how music can have an impact in our lives. I don't know if my
favorite bands 98 Degrees, Backstreet Boys, or Nsync have ever read
this. They saw me through some of the hardest moments of my life and
offered in their own way hope. To them, I say thank you.

I dedicate the Tales of Sol to all of my brothers and sisters of the US
Armed Service past, present, and future.

I like to thank my friends whom I had the privilege of showing these
chapters with. They helped with editing and inspiration, John Rivera,
Albert-Russ Alan Rivera-Odum, Derbe.D. Hunte Yvette Ortiz Samuel Diaz Jr
for all their help in Making The Tales of Sol an enjoyable story to write.

And I have a few other names starting with the beginner of this universe.

James is the author of Tales of a Real Dark Knight. I still hope to
reconnect with you dear friend and all the rest of this series.

Blake the author of Tales of a New Phoenix

Jeremi author of the Tales of Young Mutants

I am adding a few more remarks. I have entered into the 21st century of AI
editing, I have been using various AI programs to help with grammar checks,
clarity, and improvements to my story.

This story was edited with the help of GPT Workspace, Grammarly, Microsoft
Copilot, and Quill Bot AI software.

AI Use Disclosure: I used GPT Workspace to generate some text for my story,
Grammarly to check my grammar and spelling, Microsoft Copilot to write some
code snippets, and Quillbot to paraphrase some sentences. I verified the
accuracy and originality of the AI-generated content and cited the sources
that I used for reference.

References:

GPT Workspace. (2024, January 9). Version 1.0. [AI tool]. GPT Workspace
Inc. https://gptworkspace.com/

Grammarly. (2024, January 9). Version 5.6. [AI tool]. Grammarly
Inc. https://www.grammarly.com/

Microsoft Copilot. (2024, January 9). Version 2.3. [AI tool]. Microsoft
Corporation. https://copilot.github.com/

Quillbot. (2024, January 9). Version 4.2. [AI tool]. Quillbot
Inc. https://quillbot.com/

The Tales of Sol 79A

Bringing Hope

The day was consumed with the work of restoration, but by twilight, the
rubbish and recyclables had been tidied and whisked away, leaving the venue
prepared for what was to come. Outside, eager fans queued, their
anticipation palpable in the growing dusk. Soon, the Backstreet Boys would
bring their music to the heart of Hilo.

Side stage, I stood alongside Stacey, sharing a quiet moment before the
spectacle unfolded. "Mike, I can't quite figure out how, but I have no
doubt you played a big part in getting this setup done in time," she
remarked, her tone laden with appreciation.

Just then, the familiar strains of "I Want It That Way" filled the air, the
instrumental intro washing over us. As the melody enveloped the space, a
sense of calm settled within me. The music, with its soothing undertones
and nostalgic tempo, served as a salve, penetrating the layers of
despondency that had lingered after the day's trials. It was the balm I
didn't realize I needed, and I absorbed it gratefully, gearing up for
whatever lay ahead.

The resonance of the song caused a shift within me, a vibrancy that dulled
the sharper edges of recent memories. "This music, this moment--it's as
much for my healing as it is for the island's," I murmured, barely audible,
yet the sentiment as strong as the music itself.

Raising my voice so Stacy could hear, I added, "This concert is a turning
point, a necessary catharsis. What unfolds on that stage tonight isn't just
for entertainment--it's a symbol of recovery, of resilience."

Stacy's gaze lingered on me, her understanding dawning slowly. Seeking to
bridge the gap in comprehension, I continued, "It represents a community
coming together to heal through the universal language of music. It's hope
manifesting--through harmony, rhythm, and the shared experience of
song. This will be a memory that shapes futures, that reminds us all why we
rise after falling, and how we find light amidst the darkest times."

"Stacy, this concert--it's a milestone for everyone here. We've all
witnessed the formidable power of nature, a force that's sculpted forever
the face of this island," I explained, tying the volcanic activity of Mauna
Loa to the gravity of this event.

Her brows drew together in a frown, the pieces not fully connecting for
her. "But what's the relevance of having a concert now?" she queried, her
confusion clear.

The answer flowed from a place of understanding deep within me, a fusion of
Captain Planet's legacy with Sol's mission. "This performance--it's a
declaration. It's defiance in the face of destruction and a celebration of
survival. It's about taking this moment of transformation and fear and
turning it into an affirmation of life. It's a beckoning call for strength
and solidarity in the aftermath, a reminder that we are resilient, and not
defined by the adversity we face but by how we rise together after it
strikes," I shared, the conviction in my words echoing the sentiment of
heroes past and present.

"Stacy, look at it this way: just as nature finds a way to emerge stronger
from ruin, so does the human spirit," I offered, as if drawing a parallel
that branches beyond the physical realm. "Sure, Mauna Loa's wrath has
reshaped the terrain, but from its ashes, new life, and new possibilities
will inevitably bloom. The land will reinvent itself."

I gestured towards where the stage stood as a proud testament to our
unbowed resolve. "That's exactly what hope does--it takes the remnants of
turmoil and molds it into a force for good. The concert tonight isn't
merely a performance; it's a symbol of that transformation. Folks aren't
flocking here just as fans--they're coming for that palpable sense of
beginning anew, for that collective surge of strength that tells them 'We
can rise again. We can rebuild.'"

With each word, I could see the realization dawn upon Stacy, her expression
morphing from uncertainty to reverence. "This event--it's about more than
just music. It's a beacon of renewal and solidarity for Hilo and everyone
who calls it home," I concluded, knowing full well that the rhythms and
melodies would soon weave together the tapestry of recovery for a community
in need of healing.

"Mike, what you're saying--it carries a lot of significance," Stacy
acknowledged, her voice tinged with a newfound understanding and
respect. "Your perspective--it adds a profound depth to what we're doing
here tonight. Thank you for that clarity," she said, reflecting upon the
insight I had provided and how it resonated with the larger picture of the
community's journey to recovery.

The energized strum of "Larger Than Life" reverberated throughout the venue
as Brian took to the stage, his voice anchoring the performance. The fans
erupted, their adoration palpable, singing along to the renowned lyrics:
"Every time we're down, you can make it right. That makes you larger than
life." Each word Brian crooned amplified the crowd's fervor.

Rob Thomas graced the stage, his voice melding with Brian's, infusing the
seminal Backstreet Boys track with a unique timbre. The collaboration was
seamless, a harmony of different worlds, and it electrified the atmosphere.

Stacy looked on, amazement etched into her features. "You were right,
Mike. This was necessary," she affirmed, witnessing the effect the music
had on everyone present, the upliftment it brought after days of fear and
uncertainty.

As the concert unfolded, the Backstreet Boys dazzled--belting out classics,
teasing with new tunes, each number a strand in the tapestry of this
night's narrative. Other artists took the stage at their invitation, each
contributing their essence to what was rapidly becoming an unforgettable
gathering.

Amid the success, I was gently tugged away from the festivities. It was
Johnny on the line, his reason for reaching out undoubtedly
important. Whatever he wanted to discuss, I knew the night's spirit of
resilience and hope would not be dimmed. Even as I stepped away to take his
call, the music and the message it carried continued to resonate.

Nestled away in a serene corner, I dialed Johnny's number, my curiosity
piqued. "Hey, Johnny. What's the news?" I ventured as the call connected.

Johnny's voice burst forth, a torrent of excitement. "Mike! The concert's
an absolute smash hit, a knockout success," he enthused, his words brimming
with elation. "It's brilliant that you got Stacy to go through with it," he
continued, attributing the decision to my persuasion.

Holding the phone steady, I felt compelled to clarify. "Johnny, you should
know Stacy was just being prudent," I stated firmly, eager to advocate for
her initial judgment. "The concert's success isn't about mismanagement on
her end. She had every legitimate concern to call things off -- we've been
lucky it all turned out well," I explained, stressing that Stacy's stance
was one of rational caution, not managerial failure.

"Oh, I do, Mike, I do. Seeing the images out of Hilo, who wouldn't?" Johnny
replied, his tone a mixture of relief and exuberance. "I was squarely
behind her call--you know that. But I'm overjoyed to see how things panned
out. You, the Boys, putting on a show amidst it all? It's nothing short of
heroic," he said, his delight virtually palpable over the phone.

"Johnny, it's heartening to know you support Stacy. She was in a tough
spot, what with the extent of the calamity here," I assured him, comforted
by his understanding.

My attention was momentarily diverted by something flickering in my
peripheral vision. "Hey, Johnny, I've got to bounce," I interjected, the
urgency in my voice snipping our call short.

From lively to instant concern, Johnny's mood shifted. "What's going on?
Talk to me, Mike," he pressed, his worry clear as day, anticipating another
episode in the day's saga of unexpected turns.

"There's a situation here--I need to check it out," I stated, the
seriousness evident in my voice. With that, I ended the call and approached
the figure lingering in the periphery of the event's brightness.

It was Steve La'Tola, the former director of the USGS, now just a
silhouette among the shadows. My approach was tinged with a hint of the
scorn he'd brandished towards me previously, reversing the roles from our
last encounter.

As I neared, it was clear the tables had turned. Gone was the brash,
dismissive air he had carried. Instead, the man stood deflated, his posture
sagging with defeat. In his eyes, I read a story of downfall and
desperation--his spirit seemingly crushed, the weight of his public failure
a heavy mantle.

Approaching with caution, I prepared to deal with this unexpected
visitor. There was no telling what his state of mind might bring about in
these tumultuous times.

"I came to say I'm sorry," he said, surprising me with his humble attitude.

"I'm sorry?"  I wasn't expecting an apology from La'Tola, not that I was
even expecting him to show up to an impromptu concert.

Steve La'Tola's words caught me off guard, a whisper of contrition in his
voice. "I came to say I'm sorry," he mumbled, a shadow of his former self.

"Excuse me?" I was still at a loss, the word a mirror reflecting his
regret. La'Tola apologizing, and at a concert no less -- this was a reality
I hadn't anticipated.

"You were spot on," he continued, his voice heavy with the weight of his
errors. "Had I heeded your warnings and alerted the public, we could have
spared so many from the devastation." His frankness was revealing, a
departure from the facade of confidence he'd upheld before.

"As much as I tried to convince you otherwise, downplay the risk, deep
down, I saw the truth in your eyes. You weren't swayed by my
reassurances. And you were right not to be," he conceded.

His admission was a testament to the gravity of the outcome had I not
intervened. It also spoke volumes of his own evolution, the growth that
comes when one faces the consequences of their actions head-on.

"You're only human, La'Tola. Mistakes are part of the job," I stated, my
tone even, devoid of any particular sympathy for the man before me. His own
actions had led to this moment, and while his apology was a step towards
amends, it was the consequences he'd now have to live with.

 Steve shook his head and verbal venom was coming out of his mouth, all of
it directed back at himself, "You don't get it. I lost colleagues trying to
prove you wrong on the slopes of Mauna Loa. Our parks lost some of its most
knowledgeable people who had been with the USGS for years, and they all
said the exact same thing you did: those numbers didn't lie. And I led them
to their deaths," he said, breaking down. Steve was a broken man. I
couldn't sense any hope left in him. Before we could continue our
conversation, La'Tola left without another word. I was a bit
shaken. Absentmindedly I returned to the concert not sure what just
happened. It took my love musically voice to bring me back around.

At Kilauea's rugged edge, a solitary figure stood, gazing into the fiery
belly of the volcano. In his hands, he clutched a photograph--a talisman of
happier times--depicting a young boy, his son, radiating innocence and
happiness. The man, Steve La'Tola, was lost in a sea of remorse, his voice
echoing with anguish across the molten landscape.

"My pride... my damned pride," he lamented, the sorrow in his words as
palpable as the heat that rose in waves before him. "I had the power to
save so many, to spare them from this... and most of all, to protect you,
Tag."

The photo trembled in his grip as he was momentarily lost in the memory of
his son's admiration for the grandeur of Mount Kilauea, for the deities
that governed the island's fiery heart.

Tears streaked tracks through the ash on his face as he beseeched the
silent gods, his plea a raw, ragged thing that pierced the smoldering
silence. "Why? Why take my boy?" Steve La'Tola's grief was a father's
deepest lament--a soul crying out for the cherished life lost, for the
chance never taken, for the warning never heeded.

Painful clarity dawned on Steve La'Tola in that desolate moment as he
clutched the photo of his son. He understood the ferocity of Pele's
response--a divine indignation towards his own negligence. The realization
left him shattered, a man irreparably pierced by guilt.

"I should have heeded the signs," he whispered into the searing winds. The
tales of a Guardian -- a legend foretold among their people -- had
materialized before him in flesh and bone, bringing forth a premonition of
catastrophe. "He stood before me, a harbinger of what was to come, and I
turned him away," La'Tola conceded, each admission a knife to his own
heart. "In my hubris, I failed you, my son."

The grief-stricken father recognized the Guardian's hidden hand in the
events of that night--the concert that uplifted the spirits of a
beleaguered community. "Guardian, you are our sentinel, the light in our
darkest times. I now see that it was you who ensured the Backstreet
Boys--the band you adored--lifted our spirits." His voice was laced with a
profound reverence for the hero who had offered solace amidst loss.

He envisioned his son, Tag, jubilant and vibrant, where he should have
been--in the pulsing heart of the crowd, not a casualty of his father's
folly. "You should have been celebrating, not commemorated," La'Tola's
voice broke.

Surrendering the cherished photograph to the elements, he watched as it
spiraled down into Kilauea's molten maw--a final, searing tribute. The
flames embraced the image, claiming it in an instant, a symbol of closure
for a father who'd trade anything for a chance to rewrite the past.

Amidst the loss and the embers of regret, Steve La'Tola's resolve took on a
somber finality. "I'm coming, son," he whispered--a statement as much for
himself as for the boy he'd loved and lost. His eyes, filled with the pain
of realization, gazed upon the churning inferno. "This is where I was meant
to be," he murmured, the path forward now laid bare by the sacrifice he
could not undo, but toward which he felt inexorably drawn.,

With heavy steps, Steve La'Tola moved toward the precipice, his form
silhouetted against the fiery glow of Kilauea. He relinquished his hold on
the world, surrendering to the chasm's infernal embrace. As he descended,
his voice carried a final plea, "Pele, accept this offering -- safeguard my
people from my failings."

The fires closed over him, the lava claiming him in its fervent clasp, and
just like that, his presence was extinguished, swallowed by the Earth's raw
elemental power. In his final act, he sought absolution, hoping his
sacrifice to Pele would atone for his mistakes and perhaps, in some small
way, protect those he had left behind.

Back at the makeshift event the concert unfolded into a truly epic
performance, one that transcended the majesty of mere performance. As the
melodies wove through the crowd, every note seemed to knit the fragmented
spirits back together. The joy was palpable, each song an anthem of
resilience, a testament to the enduring power of community and shared
experience.

In a profound moment, voices united in a choral offering that harkened back
to the collaborative spirit of the Bravo All Stars. "Let the Music Heal
Your Soul" cascaded through the venue, a poignant reminder of music's
restorative strength. Lyrics and harmonies offered solace, a balm for
wounded hearts.

It was more than a concert. It was a collective exhale, a gathering where
the island's inhabitants could lose themselves in the catharsis of rhythm
and song, where they could find solace in shared humanity. As the
Backstreet Boys and fellow artists sang, it wasn't just the music that
soothed their souls--it was the promise, the memory, and the confirmation
that even in the darkest times, healing was possible, one note at a time.

Rob Thomas' presence lent an extra layer of warmth and richness to the
night. As the final notes of the last song faded, a collective sense of
accomplishment permeated the air. The exhaustion was the good kind, the
kind that comes after shared laughter, cathartic tears, and the unfettered
release of pent-up emotions into a healing atmosphere.

We all departed from the arena feeling lighter, our steps easier, and our
hearts a little more whole. As Brian and I returned to our hotel room, I
marveled silently at his visage -- even wearied from the day's events, he
exuded a quiet radiance.

He flopped onto the bed, his voice a mixture of contentment and
fatigue. "Mike, it was just what we needed," he yawned, reaffirming the
concert's transformative power.

Before I could respond, my phone interrupted the intimacy of the
moment. "Get some rest, love. I'll be with you soon," I reassured him,
watching as he settled into the soft sheets, his body already yielding to
sleep's gentle embrace.

I stepped to the side, my hand reaching for the phone. "Hello?" I answered,
my voice subdued,

"Mike it is Dave," I heard my mentor

I quickly said, "Give me a moment Dave Brian has finally fallen asleep,"
easing out of the door to take the call as Brian drifted into a
well-deserved slumber.

When I found a seat in the living space I said, "Okay Dave what is up?"

Dave apologized, "I am sorry for keeping you from Brian, especially after
that amazing concert, but I have some terrible news,"

I didn't respond, I heard Dave's voice carry a somber timbre. "Mike,
there's been a development. Steve La'Tola... he's passed," he delivered the
grave tidings, his words striking like a sudden chill.

A wave of sorrow and disbelief washed over me. Despite the tumult we'd all
witnessed, I carried a sliver of hope that tragedy had not claimed
Steve. "How did it happen?" I found myself asking, clinging to the need for
some semblance of reason.

"The USGS has footage. He... he walked into the heart of Kilauea," Dave
shared, the truth of this revelation echoing hollowly between us. "As for
why he did it, that remains a mystery," he admitted.

I exhaled a heavy breath, the weight of this news settling over me. There
was a raw finality to it, an ending that left more questions than
closure. With few words left to exchange, Dave said goodbye, and I ended
the call, the screen's glow dimming alongside the conversation.

In silence, I joined Brian in bed, my movements careful not to rouse him
from his rest. As I lay beside him, the reality of Steve's end a stark
contrast to the warmth of my partner beside me, I pondered the fragile line
between despair and hope, and the continuous thread of life--and loss--that
binds us all.

The moment I was within reach, Brian's arms enveloped me in a reflexive
gesture of comfort. With his head resting wearily upon mine, he sensed the
disturbance in my demeanor. "What's going on?" he murmured, barely above a
whisper.

I didn't mask the sadness in my voice as I relayed the
news. "La'Tola... he's gone. He took his own life after the concert," I
confided, the stark words falling into the stillness of our room.

The revelation jolted Brian from the cusp of sleep, his body tensing as he
sat bolt upright. "Are you shitting me! You can't be serious!" he gasped,
the weight of the information cutting through the fog of fatigue.

I nodded solemnly, sitting up alongside him as I shared the details of
La'Tola's unexpected apology and admission during the concert--that he had
come to terms with the grievous outcome of his inaction regarding Mauna
Loa. It was clear in his final words that the burden of regret had been too
much to bear. "If that wasn't proof enough, Dave says there are records at
the USGS of the former director walking into Mount Kilauea"

Brian softly swore, "Damn"

We clung to one another in the quiet of the night, the sadness and shock
binding us together in mutual solace. As Brian listened, a depth of
understanding in his eyes, I poured out my remembrances and regrets. "If
only I'd known, maybe...," I lamented, the weight of 'what ifs' heavy in my
heart. But Gaia's teachings echoed in my mind--a reminder that even with
powers like mine, the scope of salvation had its bounds.

Exhausted from the emotion, Brian sank back into the softness of his
pillow, drawing me along. We held each other tight, seeking the consolation
that only proximity could provide. Softly, yet with conviction, Brian
voiced a prayer into the stillness, "May you find peace and forgiveness,
Steve La'Tola," a gentle plea for serenity in the aftermath of regret.

Wrapped in each other's arms, we found a rare moment of peace amidst the
turbulence of the day's events--a sanctuary within the storm that had
claimed more than we had prepared for. Our embrace was a lifeline, and in
it, we found the strength to face the uncertainty of the days to come.

To be continued

Hawaiian volcanoes aren't the only things that explode, while I never said
there wasn't going to be sex in my story I hope those who find them in my
story get off on them. There is going to be plenty more sex to come, but
they aren't the reason for this story. Hawaii is about to come to an end
with only a few more chapters to go. There are still some things to come
both good and bad.

Please remember to Donate to Nifty

Please tell me what you think at3unit3@yahoo.com

All comments are welcome

I also recommend the following stories. It was because of them I got into
writing in the first place.

"Tales of a Real Dark Knight" by authorjames

"Marvel Knights" also by authorjames

 "Tales of the New Phoenix" by Blake

"Tales of a Superhero Band" by Leo

"Tales of a Young Mutant" by Jeremi

"Tales of a Thunder God" by Tony Justiss