Kumbaya, Space Hippie

by Paul Neuhaus

  You’d expect such a world-renowned tourist attraction to have lots of nice restaurants and shops. You’d be disappointed. There’re tattoo parlors, stores for stripper paraphernalia and an Army surplus place. Good thing for me the wig shop was still open at that time of night. I ducked in, bought a deep black Dutch boy wig and a pair of safety scissors. I had myself a space hippie wig in a matter of seconds. After that, I had just one more problem: my t-shirt had been shredded in my encounter with the Arae. Again, no big deal. A couple of doors down from the wig shop, there was a store with the tackiest bootleg tees you’ve ever seen. I first I thought I was going to have to settle for Biggie, Tupac or Tony Montana. I was delighted to find a black shirt of Taylor Chriss running his little heart out above the Improbable Pursuit logo. Wig and shirt in hand, I was good to go.

  I strolled right into the lobby of the Church of Reciprocity and was generally ignored. Those who saw me—the ones who shared my wacky haircut—nodded and smiled vacuous smiles which I did my best to mimic in return. I walked unhindered to the big oak doors and passed through. On the other side was a wood-paneled hallway with deep purple carpeting and tasteful brass appointments. It looked more like the inside of a venerated financial institution than the headquarters of a cult. I guess, in some ways, it was a venerated financial institution. The space hippies probably owned more Southern California real estate than any other entity.

  Fortunately, there wasn’t anyone else walking the halls right then, but I did a quick scan of the environment anyway. I wanted to get in and out as quickly as possible (before someone either killed me or converted me). Along the left wall, there was an elevator and that seemed like my best bet. Upper management would probably be on the top floor and Prometheus was definitely upper management. I slipped in and was immediately disappointed. There was only so high I could go. The absolute top of the building could only be accessed with a key.

  Okay, not the end of the world. The ghost of a plan was already forming in my head. After the elevator door closed, I picked up Steve and said to him, “This thing you do… Is it quick or is it like some involved ritual kinda thing?”

  “It’s quick,” he replied. “One word to hypnotize followed by the phrase of your choice.”

  “The phrase of my choice?”

  “Yeah. Like ‘you’re a chicken!’ or ‘gimme all your money!’.”

  “Do you say the phrase, or do I say the phrase?”

  “I say the word. The hypnotizing word. After that, you say the phrase.”

  “Okay. You put ‘em under and I’ll tell ‘em what to do.”

  “Alright.”

  I punched the button for the highest floor we could reach and took a deep breath. I had a funny feeling the dress code would change the higher up in the structure you got. Even space hippies need accountants and middle management. That meant ties and dresses. It also meant my outfit would be less effective as I got further away from the ground. Whatever I was planning to do, I needed to be quick about it. “When the elevator stops, I’m gonna move fast,” I said. “Whenever I point you at anyone, just do your thing.”

  “Gotcha.”

  We had to put the process to the test immediately. As soon as the doors opened on the tenth floor, we were faced with a woman in a red dress with bobbed black hair with the Flock of Seagulls point in the front. I snapped Steve up in front of me and he said, “Hupakouo!” That’s a Greek word and it’s pronounced “hoo-pa-KOO-oh”. IT means “obey”. As soon as he said it, the raven-haired woman went glassy-eyed. Well, more glassy-eyed. Somehow, I thought there’d be more to it than that. Of course, I realized it wasn’t just that Steve said that particular word, it was also that he had the power to cloud men’s minds.

  Wasting no time, I said, “Give me your key to the eleventh floor.”

  “I don’t have a key to the eleventh floor,” Ms. Red Dress replied.

  “Fine. Go to sleep.” In an instant, my first victim fell to the ground, deep in the arms of slumber. I brushed past her and looked both ways. To the right was a dead end with a sculpture affixed to the wall. It depicted two crossed gladii with a burst of fire between the points. To the left was a short hall leading to the floor proper. Fortunately, there weren’t many people about since it was fairly late in the evening. One such person was a thirty-something man with a shaved head and a gray suit. I say he had a shaved head, but he did have one vestige of his old hair—a point in the front like Flock of Seagulls. He said, “Hey. Is there something wrong with Willa?”

  Willa was obviously the woman sacked out on the floor. I snapped up the hierophant and he said, “Hupakouo!” Baldy stopped dead in his tracks.

  “Give me your key to the eleventh floor,” I said again.

  “I don’t have a key to the eleventh floor,” Baldy replied. “Carl Shier got the promotion instead of me, and, ever since, I’ve been— “

  “Go to sleep!” I said and Baldy dropped not far from Willa. “I didn’t realize they could still be chatty once they were hypnotized,” I said to Steve.

  “I can’t change their basic personalities,” he replied. “I bet everybody hates that guy. He seems like a load.”

  The hallway we were in ended at a little lobby. Running off to the right from the lobby was a long passage of offices. Fortunately, a secretary was sitting at the desk in the lobby. I had to fairly run to her since she was looking at the floor and the two recently k.o.’ed space hippies. “What did you—?” she said, but I raised the charm around my neck before she could say any more.

  “Hupakouo!” Steve fairly shouted.

  Just like the others, the secretary’s expression changed. She looked like she had a nice buzz on. “Give me your key to eleventh floor,” I said.

  “I don’t have a key to the eleventh floor. I wouldn’t— “

  “Where is Carl Shier’s office?”

  “First one on the left,” she said pointing.

  “Go to sleep.” I felt a little bad since her head thunked onto her desktop pretty hard.

  “Good thinking,” Steve said.

  “Yeah, let’s just hope Shier’s working late.”

  He was working late. He was also, to the best of my recollection, the first African American space hippie I’d ever seen. The Dutch boy-shaped afro with the curl point in the front was surreal. He looked up from his computer and said, “Who are you? How did you get— “

  Up came the hierophant. “Hupakouo!”

  Shier became much more amenable. “Give me your key to the eleventh floor,” I said to him. I almost expected him to have some kind of excuse, but he stood without comment. With a smile on his face, he took out his keyring, peeled off a particular key and handed it to me. “Okay, great,” I said. “Sit back down.” He complied. “Now put your head down.” He did. “Go to sleep.” Before we were back outside of his office, we heard him snoring quietly.

  With our task complete, we retraced our steps back through the lobby toward the elevator. The secretary, Baldy and Willa were all still asleep. I pressed the call button and, before the elevator arrived, I strode over to the dead end and pulled one of the gladii off the wall. “Isn’t that thing strictly decorative?” Steve asked.

  I ran my thumb along the top edge. “I dunno,” I replied. “It feels like it might get the job done.”

  When the doors opened on the eleventh floor, I was greeted with a strange tableau. The entire floor was open. In the middle of the space was an enormous rock—much like the one Prometheus had been chained to for thousands of years. This rock differed from that one because it had a square space cut into it near its base. That made it into an enormous throne. Sitting on the enormous throne was, of course, Prometheus himself. He was wearing a toga but no sandals. At his feet, also wearing a toga but no sandals, was Taylor Chriss. Chriss had a bowl of water and a rag and he was studiously washing his boss’ feet. As soon as he saw me, the action star sprang to a standing position and charged me.

  I pulled off my ridiculous wig, threw it aside and point
ed the hierophant at my would-be attacker.

  “Hupakouo!”

  Chriss skidded to a stop in front of me. His expression was strangely contented. “Don’t move,” I said to him as I went around his still form.

  Prometheus didn’t look alarmed in the slightest. In fact, he looked happy to see me. “Pandora! I’m so glad you— “

  “Hupakouo!”

  I was happy to see the hierophant could work his magic on even a mighty Titan. Prometheus’ face took on the same drunken cast as everyone else’s. “Will everything he says to me be the truth?” I asked Steve.

  “Yep,” he replied. “My power does have that effect.”

  I looked down at the godling who’d given Man fire and said, “Why’d you do what you did? Why’d you change the world and release the Evils from my pithos?”

  Prometheus’ eyes were glassy, but he smiled. “I was only trying to help,” he replied.

  “Help? What do you mean help?”

  “I brought fire down from on-high, so Mankind could get out of the caves. I foresaw agriculture. I foresaw cities. I did not foresee the current sad state of affairs.”

  “How would you characterize the current sad state of affairs?”

  “Soft. Mankind did all the things I wanted him to do, but then he turned inward. He became contemplative and lazy. He no longer challenged himself. Now, instead of seeking adventure and bettering himself, he is sedentary and petty. The men of today are like children. Indolent, cranky children.”

  “And how did changing the world back to the way it was in ancient times help that situation?”

  “The world as we knew it—you and I—had two sterling virtues. It was beautiful, and it was dangerous. It was, by its very nature, challenging.”

  “And releasing the Evils? What was that meant to do?”

  “When was the last time you met a hero, Pandora? A hero that wasn’t born during our own time. I myself have looked high and low in the seventy years since I was freed. I can’t find any. Not even one. And why do you think that is? I have my own theory: Without monsters, heroes have nothing to test themselves against. Having fewer monsters means having fewer heroes.”

  “Can you change the world back to the way it was before the Conclave of Universal Consciousness?”

  He smiled again. “I cannot.”

  I was afraid he’d say that. “Can you regather the Evils?”

  His smile broadened a little. “Even if I could, where would I put them? I cannot make a pithos. I am not Zeus.”

  Well, there it was. I wouldn’t be able to undo the harm Prometheus had done to the world. At least I’d warned my friends ahead of time. I didn’t even bother to ask him what his plans were beyond what he’d already done. They didn’t matter. I kneeled down so he and I were eye to eye. “Disassemble the Church of Reciprocity. Divest all of its wealth and redistribute it to… The American Cancer Society.” (For a moment, I’d struggled to think of a good place to put all those millions of dollars. Cancer research seemed like a safe and worthy option.) “When that work is done, I want you devote the rest of your life to working for… The American Civil Liberties Union.” (I pulled the second one out of a hat. I do lean a little Left politically, but that wasn’t why I said the ACLU. It was the first thing that came to mind.)

  “But I cannot die,” Prometheus replied.

  “Exactly.”

  I stood up and headed back toward the elevator. As I walked past Taylor Chriss, I said, “Stop making such shitty movies.”

  That’s where it would have ended if Samoa Joe hadn’t entered when he did. He was carrying several bags from In ’n Out Burger. When he saw me, he dropped the bags and, like Chriss, charged toward me. I had just a moment of panic before I raised the clay charm around my neck.

  Steve said, “Hupakouo!” but Joe had a lot of momentum behind his bulk, so I was already out the window.

  I closed my eyes and prepared myself for the inevitable splat into Hollywood Boulevard. I remember hearing somewhere that one story of a building equals roughly ten feet, so that meant I had roughly one hundred and ten feet to fall. I know I’ve mentioned to you at least once I’m not a superhero. I don’t have any magic powers, so the same thing would happen to me after a plummet like that as would happen to you—IE guacamole.

  About halfway down, I jerked to a stop.

  Actually, that’s not true. About halfway down, I was pushed violently in another direction. From down to a more lateral vector. Not only that, but my torso hurt. It hurt because it had big old claws digging into it. I opened my eyes and looked up. I kind of knew what’d happened before I did that, but I still needed the visual confirmation. I was right. I’d been snatched out of the air by the Arae who, thank gods, hadn’t listened to me when I’d told her to fuck off.

  The cliché thing to say here would be, “Out of the frying pan, and into the fire”, but that wasn’t true at all. Fate had intervened and, for once, she was on my side. Only my left arm was free, but that was more than enough. I reached up to my neck and grabbed the hierophant. I held him out and, of course, he exclaimed, “Hupakouo!”

  Here’s the rub, though. Nothing happened. The Arae flew on down the Boulevard toward Vine Street, completely unaffected by Steve’s mojo. Was she immune? Had Steve used up all his mojo? What was the deal? “Try it again,” I said over the rushing wind.

  “Hupakouo!” my necklace said, this time with just a shade more conviction.

  Nothing. The little bird woman pushed on, undeterred.

  In my right hand, I still held the gladius I’d stolen off the wall at Reciprocity H.Q. It wasn’t the real deal but would’ve been more than adequate—even as bludgeon—against a creature with hollow bones. I say “would’ve” because, my right arm was pinned against my side by one of the Arae’s taloned toes. (Bitch had huge feet.)

  I decided to try another approach, weak as it was. “What part of ‘leave me the fuck alone’ did you not understand, you glorified budgie? Put me down right now!”

  As soon as I finished shouting the Arae arced upward, flapping furiously to gain a higher altitude.

  “I think she’s going to take you up on it,” Steve said. “I think she’s gonna drop you.”

  He was probably right. Then again, that didn’t make a whole lotta sense. I yelled up at her again. “Why didn’t just let me fall back there?” I said. “I was already gonna die!”

  “I do revenge,” the Arae answered. “Accidental death not revenge.”

  Well, she had me there. I developed a sudden, grudging respect for the pride she took in her work. She was gaining altitude. Soon, we were at least one hundred and ten feet high again, and I was damn short of ideas. The only thing I could think of to do was something I’d thought of a short time before but discarded because of its recklessness. Desperation had a funny way of altering plans. I bent up at the waist and grabbed a handful of the plumage on the Arae’s chest and yanked down. Almost immediately, I let go, cocked that same arm and socked her right in her creepy little face. Right away, she lost her bearings and stopped flapping. Because he stopped flapping, we lost altitude. The Arae shook her head to banish the stars in front of her eyes and started flapping again. After we’d regained less than ten feet of altitude, I repeated the action. Grab, cock, punch. Same effect: we fell, she regained herself and then we recovered about half the height we’d lost. “I can do this all night, Tweety. Why don’t you just put me down on the sidewalk and we’ll call it a draw?”

  We weren’t nearly as high as we needed to be in order for the Arae to drop me and kill me, but she did exactly what I would’ve done if I’d been in her place: she dropped me anyway.

  I didn’t bother to look down. That would’ve been suicide. Instead, as I fell from her grasp, I reached up with my left arm and snagged one of her ankles. With my right arm, I swiped at her with my prop gladius. I did it with the flat edge since I wasn’t sure the blade would cut. The effect was still good, though. Imagine you’re a creepy bird woman and, while yo
u’re trying to fly, someone swats you with an oar. The blow caused her to jerk her torso rigid and expel a deep, throaty “oof!”. We dropped another few feet and I did it again. Swat! Oof! Another drop. Again. Swat! Oof! Another drop. By then, we were only ten or fifteen feet off the ground. I did the logical thing: I let go, tucked and rolled. I won’t say impacting with the concrete tickled, but it also wasn’t fatal.

  As soon as I was sure I hadn’t died, I raised my head. I did it just in time to see the Arae make a less comfortable landing than the one I’d made. My letting go had jerked her in the air so she hit the ground and rolled end over end. I wasted no time. I rose to my feet and brought up the gladius, holding it like a cricket bat. I took a few steps toward my attacker and said, “We’re back in my element now, bitch. You wanna go another round?”

  She stood up and stumbled. She was dizzy from the descent and couldn’t find her bearings. She looked at me and, even though I’m sure her vision was still blurry, she took to the air again. For a moment, it looked like she’d crash into one of the buildings on the other side of the street, but she corrected her trajectory and flitted off into the night.

  “What now?” Steve said.

  I shrugged my shoulders. “We walk back to the car, and we go home.”

  7

  The Plan