“Yes,” Neon agreed, “she is all that.” She looked directly at him to think the next directly into his eye. “What am I? Desiree, Milo, Ramses, Keita—they were born for this. No fucking way Desiree Quicho was going through life without having captain stuck to the front of her name, and not bullshit captain but save-the-goddamn-universe-one-last-goddamn-time captain. I gotta admit to you, ball sack, sometimes I have to stop myself and wonder am I supposed to be here. Shit’s happening that’s changing the entire damn world…and Neon Nichelle Temples is riding shotgun.”
At this point, she felt the full octomind open up to her; a gate swinging, a curtain parting, the cracked seal.
A pronouncement.
The moment impending. Take me to Jesus, Bobo; let that aquatic wisdom fly, she thought.
Bobo the Mag, scourge of MUGA sharks (Make Undersea Great Again), unrequited love of several porpoises, holder of the secret tenth brain of R’lyeh (keeping Cthulhu in check in a mental voidspace since nineteen twenty-eight), and the true Poseidon of all waters’ reach, let himself sink to settle atop the wavy crags of a coral stack, as ineffably slow as a balloon settling on the moon.
If you weren’t here, you wouldn’t be in a position to receive advice from an octopus. When you doubt the firm truth of that, just remember: thus spake Bobo to ya. You are here to befriend me.
“We friends, Bobo?” Neon said with a grin she wished she felt.
For life.
“You bond with every woman you pick up in the sea?”
Only those actively attaining their higher selves. With that, Bobo executed a flip and reversal of direction sharp as any UFO’s, jetted down toward his favorite grotto, and tucked all of himself away, except for a foot or so of arm, which he left conspicuously visible. Motionless, even.
Signal to be still?
Maybe.
Probably.
Made sense. What else was there for her to do about any of this?
Be still, be you, be cool.
“Bobo is a genius.”
The arm tip flipped upward.
“We might be here a few more days,” she sent toward his net of brains, aloud mostly for herself. “Cap’n’s in full Phantom of the Opera mode, playing that weird hurdy-gurdy crypto like a fiend. What do you know about cancerous economic systems, Bobo? Rebuilding civilizations, you up on that? ’Cause this is scary as fuck. Fighting ninjas on the moon is one thing, but what’s going down now is affecting solid people right here. A lot of ’em. Like, everybody. Folks making it through the day. Families. I don’t know that I’m equipped to handle that guilt if we fuck up.”
She watched the gentle undulations of Bobo’s single arm, then another extended out. Very gradually, he brought himself forth. Octopi had a weird way of being in motion, then freezing, as if stopping time solely for themselves. Bobo did so, roused himself, swam to her, and let her stroke his head again.
It occurred to her that she was no longer remotely squicked out, and it occurred to her that it didn’t matter to her that it occurred to her she wasn’t squicked out. She wasn’t in any mood to analyze or remark on small changes. Desiree was orchestrating financial collapses, Keita had her hands in soul guts, the Doctor Evil Scientist Lady was probably about to rip a hole in spacetime. That left one very important person free. Neon commed her. Yvonne said she’d be right there.
Up close, Keita’s hair smelled like coconut oil and jasmine. Her skin had hints of sea salt and citrus. Her breath smelled of the pencil eraser she’d absently chewed to a nub before meeting Yvonne and Neon in the examination room.
She shined a bright light into Neon’s other eye.
“You only do that because you think it makes patients think you’re cool,” said Neon, trying not to move.
“True, but I’m not an MD, which automatically makes me cool.”
“Nice industrialized-medical-complex burn,” said Neon.
“As an engineer,” said Keita, “I can tell you your eyeballs are functioning perfectly. Totally within specs.”
“And since the eye bones are connected to the brain bone…”
“You, my dear, get the pleasure of another brain scan.” She patted Neon on the shoulder. “Vanh will look you over when they’re done assisting the elves with a surgery. Learning.”
Neon got off the padded stool, removed her shirt with its metal buttons, and met Keita at the other side of the room. The A-line tee shirt Neon wore showed her sculpted arms to perfection.
“Flex for the doc,” said Yvonne.
“Bro, do you even?” Neon shot back. She nodded at the fancy, slick MRI. “You just like sticking people’s heads in your gom jabbar.”
“Language, luv,” Keita said with a swat to Neon’s butt. She tapped the table mat. “You know the drill. By the way, I’m digging the puffs.” Keita patted her own.
“I wanted something simple for waiting out the end of the world.” Neon adjusted herself till she was comfortable, then closed her eyes, evened her breathing, and let herself become diffuse. The scan only took five minutes, but five minutes of zero stress was nothing to waste.
And she’d learned to go out fast.
Keita and Yvonne spoke privately over the hum of the machine.
“Anything worrisome you’ve seen?” asked Keita.
“She’s been watching French TV while we’re here.”
“I told her not to do that. Nigerian, Nigerian only.”
“We’ve all seen her suddenly spike.” Yvonne cast a concerned look at her friend, whose head was swallowed by a white technological box. “As long as I’ve known her, she’s never been one for ennui. She flows and adapts.”
“No history of depression?”
“Grew up in a shitty hood. That count?”
“Does to me.”
“Show me a Black woman without a history of depression, and I’ll show you God’s talking dildo. It’s not depression. Girl’s changing.”
“I don’t begin to understand the mind of a psychic—and I’ve tried. Bubba Foom has been in my box—” She stopped, nodded at Yvonne. “I hear it; my MRI many times and I still don’t have a complete map of the highways he takes to zip his brain from A to B.”
“What about the soul?”
“Or the soul! This wasn’t on any of the syllabi when I got my degrees.”
“We’ve got Hashira-san.”
Keita raised both brows at the honorific. “That flowed easily.”
“Was stationed a year in Sendai.”
“Picked up language bits?”
“Not enough.”
“Do you need me to keep distracting you from worrying as much as you’re containing?”
“Yes, but no. Desiree doesn’t seem worried.”
“You’ll never know she’s worried till she’s saving your life.”
“Aye.” Yvonne gazed quietly at the even rising and falling of Neon’s chest. “She told me she bonded with the octopus.”
“Next, she’ll be camping with Bigfoot.”
“Not likely. You meet him?”
“No.”
“Keep to that.”
“There’s nothing anomalous in her vitals”—she held her pad up and tapped its casing—“Surgery must be over. Vanh did a remote check. Her pupils did the big/small thing like they should, so brain autonomics seem fine. Even if this scan compares well with her last, I think I’ll keep her on a schedule of regular scans. Hopefully, Bubba will be back soon.”
“Isn’t there another psychic who can help?”
Keita hedged. “Maybe…but Neon and Desi have agreed they’d rather wait for Bubba. Unless…”
“Unless she goes fucking Dark Phoenix on us.”
“Which is unlikely.”
“Yeah.”
“If we’re desperate, we could go to that New Age Mack. Seems to be history with him and Bubba, which might also suggest ability,” said Keita.
The brain jabbar reached the end of its scan.
“Last resort,” said Yvonne.
; “Last resort,” said Keita.
The table slid Neon’s head and shoulders out of the enclosure.
“Agreed,” said Neon, sitting up. “Last resort.”
“You read us in there?” said Yvonne.
“No, y’all talk loud enough. Am I simply learning new powers, Pot? I’ve always picked up things quickly.”
“Aside from the French TV you’ve been watching, the ennui may just be growing pains. You’re expanding; there will be cracks. Anything more than that…”
“Anything more than that,” said Yvonne, “and I’ll binge-watch Trek till I learn to mind-meld.”
“Even Trek Five?” said Neon.
Yvonne nodded somberly.
“Fuck, I love you.” Neon hopped down and crossed over to one-arm hug both of them.
“Tell you what: anytime you go talk to the octopus, make sure I’m with you,” said Yvonne.
“Will do.” She retrieved her shirt and buttoned it.
“What does he think of me?” said Yvonne.
“Thinks you’re cute. Personality-wise.”
“I’d hope that’d be his only criteria.”
“No, he’s into boobs, too. Remind him of jellyfish.”
“Son of a…”
“More importantly,” Neon overrode, “he liked my hair.”
“Head boobs,” said Yvonne.
Neon shook her head. “Just before you got to the tank room, Bobo the Mag told me there was power there.”
“Bobo the Mag told you that? The Mag?”
“It’s how he thinks of himself.”
“And he’s into Black power,” Yvonne said.
“Bobo’s seen stuff. Done stuff. Desiree trusts him. For some reason, he specifically wanted me thinking about my hair. The puffs.”
“I get the sense it’s not for some reason,” said Keita, “but that you know. What did the Mag tell you?”
“Afro puffs,” Neon recited, “are the antennae of the universe.”
“I think,” Keita opined, “we need Po.”
“Not I,” said Po. “Pil.”
“Phil?” said Neon.
“Pil.”
“I’m hearing ‘Phil.’”
“Pil has studied the physics of biology for seventy-five years. Wait here.”
Po left.
“I don’t think I’ve met Phil,” said Keita.
“Pil,” said Yvonne.
“This is Neon’s fault. Yes, Pil.”
“Sounds like ‘Phil’ to me,” said Neon.
Po returned with Pil. Pil had puffs, many puffs, tiny rows from crown to long braids dangling at the back of her neck.
Mullet elf.
Rick James elf.
Preternatural elf of mysterious ways. They saw it in her eyes: glistening obsidian with piercing bits of sparkle radiating from the blacker holes of her pupils.
Pil saw Neon and right away nodded. “Your Magnificent correctly assessed,” said the elf. “She hears the cosmos.”
“I don’t want to hear the cosmos right now.”
“Why would that be?” said Pil.
“It plays a lot of sad songs.”
Pil hadn’t listened to human radio since nineteen seventy-nine, but she understood just as well.
“The Dogon have been broadcasting encouragements, wisdom, and theorems to those willing to receive for thousands of years. This is your birthright, child. Receive it.”
“How does this work?” asked Keita.
“You study the cosmos but you don’t hear it,” Pil stated.
“Not in the same way,” said Keita.
“Am I in any danger?” said Neon.
“On this planet? Constantly,” Pil said sadly. “From the cosmos, no.”
“What, exactly, is the cosmos?” asked Yvonne.
“The universal consciousness,” Pil said, blinking as though this was obvious to even the most inattentive child.
“Oh, shit,” said Neon with the full weight of What Now bearing on her. “I’m becoming a space baby.”
Keita stepped in. “No, you’re not. Educated guess: the geometries within your puffs are amplifying your ability to pick up the signals apparently bombarding us all the time. But this means the Dogon have relay stations to compress signal width and boost speed. Sirius is almost nine light-years away; what are they using—you said thousands of years?”
“We experience time differently from them,” said Pil.
By now Keita was in her own head. “What are they using? Can’t be anything conventional…”
“Pot,” Yvonne said, “pertinent matters.”
“Right. I mean, this is pertinent but… Right. Does that soul we’ve got on ice figure into this?”
“She means BE,” Po offered.
“BE and the soul,” said Keita. “They’re inextricably linked.”
“BE,” said Pil to the honeycomb golden walls, “are you an influence on the esteemed human?”
“No. But this has given me an idea. Please stand by.”
“Can you be more specific than ‘stand by’?” Keita said before it zipped off.
“I’ll be offline in two days for a period lasting seven days. Desiree and Hashira-san are now aware.”
“Wait,” said Yvonne, wide eyes picturing disasters on top of calamities. “The fuck?”
“Precisely what the captain said,” said BE. “I’ll announce the temporary absence of the Paradise Foundation this afternoon. Nine days for necessary upgrades.”
“Desiree is gonna be piiiissed,” said Neon.
“Desiree is gonna be so pissed,” said Yvonne.
“Maximum protective undergarments,” said Keita. “Okay, you cannot do a cold shutdown on us. You have tickled the clit of the hornet’s nest and none of us have our beekeeper’s gear.”
“You’re hanging around Neon too much,” said Yvonne. “But I ain’t mad atcha.”
“Things will be quiet during,” said BE.
“And afterward?” said Yvonne.
“Expect epic fuckery from all sides.”
17
The Hornet
“You are literally the deus ex machina and you go away now?” said Desiree.
“The machine needs to learn the body. That’s going to take all my resources.”
“I doubt that.”
“I choose to let it take all my resources.”
“Can’t the machine shut down Nonrich first?”
“I’m being quite surgical in my efforts,” said BE. “I’m sure you appreciate that.”
“I do. I—” She stopped herself. “Do what you gotta do; world’ll be here.”
“It will, and it will be ready for wonders.”
“I’m gonna hold you to that.”
“Nine days,” BE said.
“Nine days.”
Before the announcement of the nine, there had been five days of: BE’s rampage of economic healing; Desiree’s anonymous leaking of sensitive, damaging information—some of which she gleaned herself, some with the help of BE and various agents—with an increasing number of people freed from the thrall of financial insecurity, all prompting Aileen Stone’s decision to be on the flagship of an oceangoing fleet, a decision that not only felt right, it felt vital. She didn’t want Atlantis experiencing an envoy situation, she wanted them to know that the full goddamn weight of the entire Nonrich enterprise sat on their collective chests like an exponentially increasing graviton mass until the wheeze that escaped its lips sounded like one word, to them a word they’d never forget:
Aileen.
Plus, she had it on authority from Count Ricky that Atlantis’s defenses were shit.
By the last fuck of Christ, this upheaval would be over. Every faction against her, over. The fact that she was not openly regarded by every nation as God Empress of Earth, over.
It was time to lean in so far, she’d pierce skin and push on through to the other side.
As rampages of healing went, the basic structure was sound enough that shifts didn’t crac
k the walls. Ebullience, a rare public thing, kept spirits high during the Paradise Foundation’s lull for “infrastructure upgrades.” Not that things weren’t hectically insane underground.
Meaning the Sahara.
Desiree was jumping.
Day Four of Nine:
“Boss, you’re gonna wanna see this,” Neon said, dashing past random coffee cups set every damn where to Desiree’s keyboard. This was a sentence never followed by heartwarming video. “Agents of Change popped it through on priority.” She glanced at Desiree’s screen as she pulled up the transmission. “Which I see you missed because you’ve got seventeen thousand tabs open.” She looked from the screens to Desiree’s face. Bags under the captain’s eyes looked fit for purchase. “What kind of sleep you get last night?”
“This real time?”
“Yeah, this is right now. Pulled from a Nonrich satellite tap. They did this quick and maximum hushed. Seriously, you gotta stop pulling these all-nighters.”
Ships. Many, many ships. Largish ones. Too large for whales against them. The Ann wouldn’t stand a chance. Twenty ships traveling bunched, meaning they weren’t military. Nonrich.
“Bearing?”
“The Blank,” said Neon.
“BE, you here? Any part of you? If you could disable some ships, that’d be great.”
Nothing.
“What do we do with your understatement, captain?”
“Communications?”
“Agents say the ships’re throwing out serious blockage and stealth.”
Desiree immediately threw bullet points at Neon: “I need to get word to Shig. I need you and Bobo hauling ass on the Ann; he can show you zip points—” To Neon’s questioning stare: “Roving dimensional points that have to line up perfectly; Bobo can sense when they do that.”
“Little mini Blanks.”
“Little mini Blanks. Get Yvonne on the Aerie, the two mercs with her. First, get Keita to slap the Entrance back together—get Dr. Evil with her—and tell the Hellbilly he’s with me. Load everybody up for the biggest bear they’ve ever seen.”
“I been feeling this coming.”
“Time, goddess, has come today.”
No point asking if the captain was sure she wanted to do this. Even the Hellbilly quietly suited up and stood off to the side, waiting.
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