Afro Puffs Are The Antennae Of The Universe

by Zig Zag Claybourne

  Being in caverns twenty feet high, however, kept her in bug mode. In order to keep up with a walking elf, she had to scamper. Nowhere else would she allow herself to be associated with the word scamper.

  For the first time since Desiree’s telling her to suit up for an off-planet mission, she felt relaxed. Po-Sib-Lay, walking at just a fraction below normal rate, was, arguably, the most intellectually curious among the Saharan contingent; looking like the offspring of a large ant and a sexually curious human, with his sharp-chinned head and obsidian skin that had the look and feel of shell, at ten feet tall he was definitely the tallest, and the most muscular, as well as most accident-prone (Keita had yet to figure out how he managed to bang his forehead on a twenty-foot arch, and Po totally laughed at her suspicion that Silica Elves could fly). But there was no being on Earth Keita felt safer around, not Desiree, Raffic the Mad Buddha, or even Fiona Carel, which was ridiculous because everyone felt safe around Fiona Carel.

  “I should have brought two cases,” she said to the hulking elf.

  Po-Sib-Lay fluttered long, pointy fingers in Elvish tut-tut. “One will suffice. Two, perhaps vice.” The hand returned to its place in the pocket of his woven-silver vestment.

  Which meant he had no plans to share this with anyone but her. Which meant something had particularly intrigued him, hence the call to her to come over.

  The sand hive spiraled inward, making quick escape impossible, not that anyone would try to enter or exit a Silica Elf hive uninvited, and the population density became undeniably guard-like the closer to the center, which is also where their libraries were traditionally situated. Knowledge was meant to start inward and radiate outward. Unlike human and ant libraries, whose inhabitants’ wee brains were less attuned and constantly in need of silence, Silica Elf libraries were raucous, lively, and perfect places for sartorial tastes. Keita and Po passed debates, arguments, meditative kissing sessions, and learners surrounded by intricately twisted goblets of drink beside plates of perfectly spiced food.

  Po led her to the chamber housing the Bilomatic Entrance. They nodded at the majestic elf lounging just outside the doorway.

  “Tash-Bon-Nay,” said Keita. “You are well.”

  “I would not be otherwise for a friend,” the elf answered in the traditional response. “The machine sleeps.”

  Something in the way she said it twinged Keita’s frown muscles. As a trained scientist, she had excellent control of her what-the-fuck face, be it over large puzzlements like a senate science committee chair stating excessive solar panel use would deplete the sun, or small like Tash being the second elf she’d spoken to who’d referred to the BE as more than a transdimensional portal. A woman would constantly appear as if tasting lemons if she let this world get to her. She placed the lemon face on hold at Tash-Bon-Nay’s status report.

  She, however, pulled it all the hell the way out not much later when Po sat her down, cracked open the Prosecco, poured for her, waited till she’d sipped, poured for himself, then said, “We will speak softly. It sleeps but it listens.”

  “I’m getting a weird vibe.”

  “You don’t feel it?”

  Keita shrugged.

  “The soul,” said Po. “The soul inside it?” Po tended to forget that Keita, wonderful as she was and ever open, was not yet the goddess she would be, and thus things of the world were not as clear to her as they were to, well, pretty much everything that wasn’t human. Poor lizard brains baked in the sun too often. Po constantly had to remember to rein things in for his human friends.

  “I’ve felt curiosity coming off this machine,” he said. “There’s something very unusual at play.” He poured himself another draught of Prosecco, which effectively polished off one bottle.

  “It has a soul,” she repeated. “You mean that literally or figuratively?”

  “Poesy.”

  Which made it a very important pronouncement indeed.

  “I’ll keep it company a bit longer to provide a more rounded narrative to you,” he said. “For now, know that it is safe, unbothered, and quiescent.”

  “Sounds almost like you think of it as an egg, Po.”

  “It’s a device meant to deposit you from one place, which is state, to another. That is life. Is birth. Egg.”

  She calculated all the things that could or would go wrong with this mission, but instead decided to toast the gigantic elf instead. Prosecco sloshed as she raised her goblet. “To things being quick, to things staying easy.”

  Po smiled and raised it up.

  The crew actually relaxed. As a group. It felt wonderful. The fact that lunch was fried plantains, mango rice, and fish didn’t hurt either. And one of the best things about this lunch was its open forum.

  The talk revolved around identity, which naturally devolved into a talk on codenames, a matter of high importance to Neon.

  As codenames went, “Tata” and “For Now” weren’t the most dignified in the world.

  “Ninotchka’s not taken, is it?” asked Neon of her captain.

  Ni-frikking-notchka, thought Desiree.

  “She can work on that,” said Yvonne. “Myself? Tags.”

  “Tags?” said Desiree.

  “For the dog tags I gave Ramses,” said Yvonne.

  “I’ll allow it.”

  “Ninotchka.”

  “How about we keep yours simple. Neon’s already a pretty cool name,” said Desiree.

  “Neon Temples,” Ms. Neon said, testing the weight of it.

  “And if you’re in trouble,” said Yvonne, “you can use the code phrase ‘There are thieves in the temple.’”

  “Maybe not,” said Desiree.

  “Neon Light,” Neon tried out.

  “There we go,” said Desiree. “But I’m just gonna call you Neon.”

  Neon did a triple skewer of everything on her plate. “So, what’s next? Giving the president a vasectomy? Hitting the Himalayas?”

  “We just came from the be-damned moon,” Yvonne reminded her friend.

  “The Bilomatic Entrance is safe,” said the captain. “There hasn’t been much chatter about it, which tells me Kosugi’s suppressing the hell out of it.”

  “No chance of us being attacked here?” said Neon.

  “None,” said Desiree.

  “So, of course, you want to leave,” Yvonne said, directed at the captain.

  “I’m going to Atlantis. I got a house to work on,” said Desiree. Plus, it’d be a nice surprise for Smoove for being in interstellar space, missing out on butt squeezes. “Keita can handle things here. I got room for two more.”

  “Maybe Keita doesn’t want to handle things here,” said Neon.

  Desiree keyed the comm. “Keita?”

  “Yep.”

  “Where are you?”

  “Elf control. Po says hello.”

  “I’m hitting Atlantis for a couple days. You got this?”

  “Hell with that; I’m going to Atlantis. Tash’s on security now.” LaFleur raised her voice. “Tash! If I go to Atlantis for a couple days, you got this?”

  “I will help,” said Po-Sib-Lay.

  Keita relayed to Tash, “Po says he’ll help.”

  “I got this,” Desiree and the ladies heard back from Tash-Bon-Nay.

  “I always got room for three more. All right,” said Desiree. “We’ll give things another day to settle. If it stays quiet, we hug Shig in thirty-six.”

  It stayed quiet.

  They relayed to their private port in the western edge of Africa between Mauritania and Senegal for Desiree’s oceangoing second home, the Linda Ann.

  The Ann, with all aboard, swam off with nary a ripple.

  Midafternoon, under a magnificently clear sky and high, bright sun, Keita emerged to show off her preparedness.

  She had so much gear, Desiree was tempted to check to make sure it was the engineer under there.

  “I’ve never been to Atlantis,” the bespectacled, magnificently ’froed lady said. For that matter, she hadn
’t been on the Linda Ann since helping repair it after the False Prophet Buford had handed the Jetstreams their asses not so very long before. Of course, Desiree then turned around and scraped the good ship nice and hard against the crusty hide of Leviathan. Poor thing.

  “None of this is offensive,” said Keita of her boon.

  “Wellll…” said Neon.

  “Tactically offensive, you magnificent cow,” said Keita.

  “What Neon means to say,” said the captain, “is you look like shit.”

  “Acknowledged,” said Keita. “But if Leviathan wakes, you’ll be damn glad I’m packing four extra respirators in these thigh pockets, and my backpack 3-D printer can serve as a flotation device.”

  “How about we use the printer to print up things for the house,” said Desiree.

  Keita nodded and went belowdecks. She returned momentarily, outfitted in standard grey-black breach suit, goggles dangling at her neck to fit over her red heart-shaped glasses, and custom-painted red boots, which she hadn’t had on before. She addressed this. “Hey, if we’re gonna have fun, my feet get to have fun. Say hello to my traveling boots.”

  “You’ve got massage treads inside those, don’t you?” said Desiree.

  Keita LaFleur smiled.

  Neon grinned even wider. “This. This is why I love her.”

  Yvonne’s statuesque, commanding self exited the wheelhouse and came to stand beside the captain, whose mane of curls enjoyed a rare freedom from the tyranny of the ponytail scrunchie, bobbing and weaving with the Ann’s passage. “I checked the course,” Yvonne said. “We’re not putting into the capital port?”

  “Nope. Shig’s meeting us at the house. This is as low-key a visit as we can make it. We owe him that,” said Desiree.

  “Agreed,” said Yvonne.

  Desiree nodded toward the standard-issue weapons strapped to both Keita’s thighs, Keita being ambidextrous. “This does not mean, however, that we go in eyes closed. Prudence is a wonderful thing.”

  Keita smiled again.

  Desiree continued. “But please don’t bedazzle our weaponry.”

  “Plebeian,” said Keita.

  “Captain Plebeian. Navigator-in-training?”

  Yvonne stood straighter. “Ma’am?”

  “Care to leave this vessel on auto for a minute and help prepare fruity drinks?”

  “Provided there’s hard liquor, ma’am, yes.”

  Nothing too hard, though. It was true: Leviathan was still around; vampires and the Thoom had been routed from Atlantis, but each was like a burr on an ass: hard to shake and, even if one solitary piece was left, damned annoying. They’d hit the Bermuda Triangle and the Blank—the secret-to-most, naturally occurring, invisible, dimensional curtain leading to the shifted pocket of Earth called Atlantis—soon. Traveling the Blank sloshed or sloppy wasn’t an option. Granted, entry was always smooth, no pyrotechnics, but a dimensional shift was a dimensional shift; the smart traveler respected it.

  “Who’s got good money on whether Milo’s come up with new cuss words for being out in space?” said Yvonne.

  “They’ve tossed him out an airlock by now,” said Desiree.

  “We planning any underwater recon while we’re there? Check up on certain sleeping whales?”

  “Nope. This is strictly a hammer-and-nail adventure. Two days of nobody needing us, nobody wanting us,” said Desiree.

  Neon, helping Keita wrap and tuck her hair under a scuba cap, told Keita, “I can’t believe you’ve never been to Atlantis.”

  “Me and the Gang don’t do a lot of fieldwork,” said the engineer, flicking a speck of sea schmutz off Neon’s cheek. “I think that might change.”

  “I think it should,” said Neon with a smile, wiping that same spot on her own face.

  “All right, crew,” said Desiree. “Let’s see how fast we can get there and get some drywall up. This place is going to be magnificent.”

  “You named it yet?” asked Neon.

  “Home,” said the captain.

  “Pedestrian as fuck,” said Neon. “This is your Shangri-La. Your Fortress of Solitude. Punch upward.”

  “You like naming things, don’t you?” said Desiree.

  “Is how I map the universe,” said Neon.

  “Then I leave it in your hands. Naming rights when it’s done,” said Desiree.

  “Sweeeet!”

  The shell of the home was huge. Of course the two captains would choose waterfront property. Their ships, the Linda Ann and the Semper Fi, were vital parts of any concept of home. Proper docks had been the first things constructed.

  Yvonne guided the ship in surely and safely. Neon hopped the Ann’s railing and scooted down the dock’s main ramp, quickly tying the ship off and standing at mock attention as the ship’s complement filed past, smiling at the smile on Keita’s face.

  “Ms. LaFleur,” said Desiree. “Care to be the first ashore?”

  “With pleasure, captain.” Keita descended the long stairway, stepped off, and turned back to face the others.

  “Welcome to Atlantis,” said Desiree.

  The engineer immediately dropped her pack, freed her hair from the skullcap, plopped to the ground, doffed her red shoes, and rolled off her bright blue socks. The grass was warm and very resilient. It felt like thick, happy carpeting. The air, soil, and water of Atlantis conspired to greet her, and she liked that. A sense of vibrancy was a wonderful thing.

  “How much of this is yours?” Keita asked.

  “As much as I want,” said Desiree. “Nobody lives here yet.”

  “I want a guest shack.”

  “Okay.”

  “Me too,” said Neon.

  “Smoove swims nude a lot,” Desiree said.

  Neon: “Rethinking my position.”

  The framework was fairly large and fairly simple. The two captains had decided on a tri-pyramidal structure: three pyramids in a row, each sitting on the butt of the other. The middle section was walled already, which was a definite boon. Roughing it the next couple days was one thing. Saying hello to every animal that happened to walk by was another.

  “I think we can skin the solar tiles on the center section,” Desiree calculated. “There’s enough of us to knock that out and drywall, too. Flowerpot, if you see a skinny Atlantidean who looks like he’s lost, that’ll be Shig Empa. He’s our cook for the night. Whatever you thought you knew about barbecue, delete it. There is no barbecue till it’s been prepared with Yuffuh wood. Oh, and if you see any red mounds in the grass with a circle of dead grass? Avoid it. Burr ants. Tiny but territorial.”

  LaFleur still had the doofy smile on her face. “Noted.” She made a quick perusal. Nothing but green grass around her, and she was finally noticing its slightly sweet scent. She plucked a blade and chewed. “The Gang are gonna freak that they missed this.”

  “They come next time,” said the captain. “Probably get this thing finally finished with them along.”

  “Finished, upgraded, and capable of intercontinental flight,” agreed Keita. The engineer in her wanted to do a cartwheel, just thinking about the possibilities. The wild child in her, however, was enjoying the taste of sweet grass as she chewed another fat blade which, as it stood, was enough.

  For someone who rarely ate vegetables, Shig cooked them to perfection, grill marks nearly mathematical in crisscrossed precision. He liked cooking on this thing, this “kettle drum” as Desiree called the beast-sized cylinder of metal and tubing she’d left at the construction site when first given permission to build. It was black and sooty and very likely not a hundred percent hygienic (“seasoning,” they called it), but it produced food better than anything Sip or Abba had to offer, plus left the cook feeling earthy and somewhat powerful.

  Yes, Shigetei Empa agreed, turning zucchini and large broccoli florets over, I am a barbecue god.

  The new one approached with a platter to carry off the latest. He noted she’d been subtly avoiding him but wasn’t sure why. He planned to ask the others about
that when he got a chance, which happened when he caught his sleeve on fire so much, he had to drop and roll. Yvonne helped pat the fire out. This felt way too much like backyard barbecues at her cousin’s house.

  She lifted him to his feet. “Jesus, Shig, why are you always halfway dying?”

  The sleeve was ruined.

  “Are you hurt?” she asked.

  He removed the shirt.

  Neon passed them. “Shig, you freaky bastard.” She continued on her way.

  Shig could cook…but he always caught fire. (“Seasoning,” some would say.) For this reason, he always lotioned up with protectant beforehand.

  Seeing him unhurt, Yvonne busied herself with tongs and vegetables to give him a moment to compose himself. She told him Keita’s aloofness meant she respected him enough to study him to see if she might like him. “You do the same thing,” Yvonne said.

  “Do I?”

  She nudged his naked shoulder. “You’re just used to us being boisterous and saving your life.” She noticed Desiree approaching from the Ann with one of the black undershirts of a standard breach suit.

  “I’m glad I haven’t offended her,” said Shig.

  “Dude…if you’d offended her, she’d have built something to send you to the moon by now,” said Yvonne. “No worries.”

  All throughout dinner, Keita continued to watch him but got better at it, so he didn’t notice. He was helpful, he was kind, and she got no sense of evil from him whatsoever, not that her acuity was infallible. There was a Thoom agent with a metal-wrench knot on his head to attest to that.

  But…he was from Atlantis; he treated Desiree as though she lived in Atlantis and he was in her home, not as if he tolerated her presence—or Neon’s, or Yvonne’s—because spurious fashions dictated it.

  After a certain point, Keita stopped studying him and started laughing with him. And he, for his part, stopped worrying whether she liked him and instead decided he liked her. She would be his construction partner: he was new to building, she was new to the other side of the Blank. Perfectly matched.