Morningstar (Crossroads of Crosstime)

by A. J. Curry

  We were sitting in what was now our home. The thrift store sofa had been traded out for a suede sectional that Murphy’s old gray tabbies were just as inclined to use as a scratching post when no one was looking. The books and records were now on nice new shelves − but they were still the same obscure books and records, now mixed in with some of mine as well. But the wine was the same, and so was Murphy.

  Well, sort of.

  “It pays well enough,” I said pouring more wine. “Better than my job, for sure.”

  “Baby, you haven’t had one single job in the entire time I’ve known you that you didn’t think sucked.”

  “Yeah, I suck.”

  Murphy chuckled. “I wouldn’t say that − I think you’re pretty awesome.”

  “I can be a pain in the ass sometimes.”

  He shrugged. “Most people are. You’re still the best thing that ever happened to me.”

  “I still suck.”

  “What’s wrong? You don’t look happy.”

  “I’m not, Murphy.”

  “OK, tell me about it.”

  How do you tell a man who adores you that you’re bored out of your mind? How do you tell the charismatic and slightly weird guy that charmed you into marrying him that he’s losing the charisma and getting weirder? How do you explain to someone you married because you thought your life was a dead end that marriage is beginning to look like more of the same?

  I couldn’t… at least not then.

  “I’ve been thinking a lot about what you said the last time we went to see Shannon.”

  “I say a lot of things − which thing was this?”

  “The thing about how much you like it up there.” Shannon Smith had been pretty close to my only friend in high school, moved to Alaska about the time I started seeing Murphy. I hadn’t expected Murphy to like the Pacific Northwest the first time we went. Add it to the list of things I didn’t really know about my husband. He loved it.

  “Well, I do. Beats the hell out of Texas.”

  “Would you ever want to live there?”

  “Maybe − would you?”

  “I’ve thought about. Thought about a lot of things.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “I’m really, really not happy. We’ve got an okay life, but I just don’t feel like it’s going anywhere. I don’t like my job, and even though I love living in Montrose I feel like it’s yuppifying out from under us. As much as you even talk about your job, you don’t seem to like it all that much either. As much as you talk about not liking it here, there’s times when I think you’re just another Texas good ol’ boy at heart who ‘just cain’t leave mommah’.

  “I feel like we’re stuck, and it’s making me crazy. When I get crazy, I start thinking crazy things.”

  Murphy sighed and put his arm around me. “The only person I can’t leave is you, baby. And I hardly qualify as a ‘good ol boy’.”

  “No, you don’t. You’re actually kind of an asshole.”

  “Oh, I’m a complete asshole, but I’m not stupid.” He stared into the fire and held me. I wondered why he loved me, wondered why I loved him back.

  He sighed again and poured us more wine. “I can’t really quit my job… but I could maybe take it with me. Figure out a plan and we can talk. Please tell me you are not talking about Alaska.”

  I shook my head. “Alaska reminds me of Texas. But Washington’s nice. So is Oregon.”

  “I’m good either way − I just want you to be happy.”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  Six: murphy

  Layers within layers, truths within truths. Not all meeting invites arrive via smartphone.

  Some arrive via dreams.

  I had fallen asleep after the one meeting. No surprise that the other I had expected soon followed.

  In my dream, a Thing crouched at my feet and beckoned me. I awakened, and the Thing was still there. It smiled at me crookedly.

  “Hail, Jocephus − I assume the boss wants to talk?”

  “Indeed”, rumbled the Thing. “Much has happened, as you well know.”

  “I hope we can keep this short”, I said. “I need to log into my ‘day job’ in a few hours.”

  “Time matters not”, said the Thing as it made it’s way from the end of my sofa to the doors to my outdoor deck. As it approached, the doors opened and a pearly light that was almost moonlight spilled through. I arose and followed the Thing into the light.

  * * * *

  There are as many tales of The Order’s founding as it has names. Some stories trace it back to Atlantis. There’s a legend of black-robed men present at Christ’s crucifixion claiming to either work for the Sanhedrin or Rome − depending on who you talked to − intimidating and suppressing witnesses to the Death and Resurrection.

  Of course those are damned lies, since neither Jesus or Atlantis ever really happened. The truth, as I know it, is that one day advisors to Elizabeth I realized that they had both friends and adversaries in common… and that there were threats to the realm worse than Spain.

  The organization founded by Johannes Dee and Francis Walsingham lasts to this day, inspiring legends and half-truths − including intentionally useful disinformation, some of which I wrote. By the time I’d been inducted to The Order, it was pretty close to impossible to distinguish truth from fiction from wishful thinking− then the World Wide Web happened, and it all got a lot worse. Me, I just believe what I’ve seen with my own eyes − which does not narrow things down nearly as much as you might think.

  * * * *

  The object hovering over the deck of my condo would meet the standard definition of a “UFO”, since all the acronym means to anyone any more is “flying saucer”. The top half glinted like silver in the dim light of the new moon peeking through the clouds. The bottom half shone like the full moon itself, lighting my deck bright enough to read by.

  Bright enough to see that I had company.

  It’s not a big deck, but it’s big enough for a firepit and some chairs. The pit was glowing with the embers of a fire I hadn’t lit. One of the chairs was occupied… by my boss. My real, real boss.

  The Order recruits a lot from The Company, but not so much the other way around. The reasons why are sometimes strikingly apparent. Evangeia de Lourdes more or less passes for human, might actually even be more or less human. Certainly, I’ve known a few redheads with alabaster-white skin and burnished copper hair, not a few of which had high and narrow and somewhat reptilian cheeks or even obliquely-angled ice-blue eyes. But the complete package doesn’t happen very often, and they aren’t usually well over six feet tall. Also, they age − and Evangeia had more or less looked the same for well over twenty years.

  She was wearing pale gray tailored jacket and slacks and a gray silk blouse − boardroom perfect, except for the fact that she wasn’t wearing any shoes or hose on her long and narrow feet. Balanced on the rim of the firepit was a large mug of a local tea I keep on hand for such occasions. Sitting on a nearby table was a bottle of Benedictine and a shot glass. “I helped myself,” she said. “I hope you don’t mind.” The voice was low-pitched and − as always − also vaguely disturbing.

  “No worries.” I sat as well. Benedictine and herbal tea sounded disgusting, but it was a cold night. I poured a shot of Benedictine and waited. Jocephus bounded to the deck railing and then to the roof, taking up station and looking like something art thieves had nicked from a cathedral.

  I was considering a second shot when she spoke. “How was your meeting with Case?”

  I went for the second shot. “About as much fun as you might think. This would be a worst-case scenario even if Case was reporting up to reasonably sane people. Given the current administration, it is much worse than worst case.”

  “Interesting. Tell me more.”

  “As always, apologies if I am conveying old information − but here’s the deal: an extremely sensitive orbital asset had a very odd and unfortunate encounter with something that wasn�
��t supposed to be there and wound up in the Indian Ocean… more or less intact. As a result, there is a ‘situation’ in the works that could easily boil up into a Bay of Pigs level snafu if it isn’t properly contained.

  “My team has been detailed to handle disinformation and containment. That’s all I know. Everything is being handled on a ‘need to know’ basis. Which brings up an interesting question.”

  She sipped her tea and shrugged. “By all means.”

  “Whatever tipped the Archangel Array out of orbit is so much not ‘business as usual’, they don’t even want to talk about it. So here’s the question: As far as The Order is concerned, what’s my ‘need to know’? I’m finding it pretty unlikely that we’re no more informed on this matter than The Company. On the other hand, there are more things in heaven and earth than I have any business dreaming of. If this is one of those cases, I at least need to know that.”

  The not-quite-human woman who had led my initiation stared at me momentarily in a manner reminiscent of a snake sizing up a mouse. Then she smiled, looking even less human in the process. “Oh, rest assured, dear Horatio − this is as much beyond my philosophy as yours.

  “There is a possibility that this… object corresponds to something mentioned in Grandmaster Dee’s older writings. Unless you are fluent in Enochian, there is little I could share with you that would make any more sense than what you know already. Interesting that they called it that, by the way.”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “Your ‘sensitive orbital asset’ − ‘Archangel Array’ is, at the very least, a name that begs a few questions.”

  It was my turn to shrug. “In case you hadn’t noticed, the people I report to in my ‘day job’ have some fairly grandiose tendencies.”

  “True enough.”

  “As much as I enjoy these little encounters, I’m a lot more useful to everyone concerned if I actually get to sleep every once in awhile. You didn’t just drop by to ask me about a Company staff meeting, Evangeia.”

  “I might well have done, Murphy. Your insights and intuitions are more valuable than you realize.”

  “Spare me. What else is up?”

  She stared into the dying embers in the firepit for a long time before replying, continued to stare as she spoke.

  “Nothing has been withheld from you as a secret, save those things that remain secret to The Order at large. A greater initiation may well be unfolding for us all. I have a… sense, an intuition, that you will play a role in this. And so I have a favor to ask.”

  She turned her ice-blue gaze upon me like a weapon. It was all I could do to not flinch from that pitiless stare. “If anything at all unusual or exceptional crosses your path, I need to know. Every oracle I consulted shows you in the midst of this, as well as other things that make even less sense.

  “So, you tell me, Murphy: Is there anything I ‘need to know’?”

  seven: murgenstaern

  I am not nearly as impressed with talking monkey progress over the last century or three as they are impressed with it themselves… but I will certainly grant credit where credit is due. Two things in particular have impressed me: One is that they have “advanced” to the point where they are now an existential threat to not only themselves but the majority of the multi-celled species that share their planet. I will be even more impressed if they manage to survive with this capability for another century or so, but prior experience leaves me skeptical this will happen.

  The other thing that has impressed me even more is that, if only on an intellectual level and if only among a handful of their number, they have begun to understand the scope and scale of time.

  On other occasions when I have relaxed this masquerade that I am one of them, one of the hardest things has been to explain what it means to have existed as a sentient being for the majority of all time… starting with just how much time that involves. It remains really beyond their true comprehension, but at least the educated among them understand that the universe has been around somewhat longer than the 5 or 6 millennia required by their folklore. Perhaps someday they will understand what it means to have been continually conscious for billions of years (for, of course, I do not sleep). Come that day, perhaps they might understand the profound loneliness that forms the core of my being − assuming, again, they do not destroy themselves first.

  Of course, my perception and experience of time is no more like a human’s than a human’s is like unto an ant’s. For one thing, I have control over it. As the universe expanded, I contracted, and leaving this place became more difficult, there were millions of years when I found the procession of galaxies across the sky more entertaining than the procession of animals across this particular planet. This changed somewhat once the animals learned to talk and find entertaining ways to butcher one another, but not so much as you might think. Much of the time, I am more inclined than not to hit what humans might currently think of as the “fast forward button” in what more or less amounts to my brain.

  That is essentially what I did once I agreed to meet Murphy for a beer in a day’s time. As the twilight deepened, I felt a moment of something almost like admiration. I could tell that the old monkey was dealing with a severe case of “fight or flight” syndrome as he casually turned his back and strolled away − particularly severe given that “fight” was hardly anything approaching a real option.

  I waited until he was well out of sight, then made for the trailhead at the back of the park and headed uphill. The clouds that had been gathering since sundown were now shedding a steady drizzle in the thickening darkness. As soon as I was sure I would not be seen, I sped up to a sprint on the winding trail. While I am indifferent to rain, the suit I was wearing less so − and it was one of my favorites.

  A few moments later, I was home and not long after seated in what I might call the “Thomas Jerome Newton room”, were I inclined to have guests. I had gotten a decent bottle from the cellar, made sure the video wall was on autopilot, then let my time sense drift. I would remember if anything important crossed the screens, but that hardly meant that I needed to pay close attention.

  As the sun rose then moved toward midday, I began to slow my time sense to what passes for normal among humans. I picked out another suit, dressed, and made my way back down the trail. At the appointed time, I was seated at a table in back of the Lyin’ Lamb where I would be certain to see Murphy’s entrance. Not long after my own arrival Murphy appeared as well, got a pint and joined me.

  “Well cheers, you evil bastard,” he said as he dropped into the seat on the other side of the table. “You got me to do something last night I really shouldn’t oughta done.”

  eight: murphy

  I’m pretty sure that Evangeia, whatever she really is, is about 90% getting by on looks and intimidation. It’s never really worked on me. I was really surprised to find out that there were people in this world, human people, who considered her appearance a turn-on − I’d sooner fuck a snake, myself. As for intimidation, this is pretty far from my first rodeo.

  So yeah. I lied to my boss/lodge master, who may or may not be either half space alien or half demon or very possibly a little bit of both. Also, don’t use phrases like “need to know” with me unless you are prepared to let me make that particular judgment call.

  In any case, asking someone who’s essentially a CIA/Illuminati double agent if anything “unusual” has happened lately involves a pretty fair number of sweeping assumptions.

  I had poured myself another shot of Benedictine as the inhumanly pretty lady and her pet golem/gargoyle rode a moonbeam back into her personal flying saucer, which then disappeared with neither sound or optical effects worth mentioning. Then I crashed, hard. Even though I’d had problems with insomnia ever since Caroline left, this was one occasion when I slept like a baby.

  The next day went pretty much to plan as far as The Job was concerned. By the end of my shift, my offshore teams had put out enough disinformation that even anyone who had been tra
cking Archangel Array when it went down was probably wondering what had really happened. Meanwhile, my stateside team had managed to locate anyone who might have been foolish enough to leak the actual telemetry data and pass their coordinates onto the appropriate parties to be “neutralized” in various ways.

  In almost no time at all, it was quitting time. And time for a few decisions.

  Certainly, not keeping the appointment had crossed my mind… but I knew that wasn’t really an option. Evangeia’s vague references to “oracles” had only confirmed my own intuition. Whatever had happened to the Archangel Array was far more The Order’s business than The Company’s.

  I remained my own Devil’s Advocate on the question of who or what Murgenstaern really was. He could even be human, for all I really knew. But he either knew or thought he knew what had actually brought down the Array − and Evangeia’s veiled comments confirmed it was nothing mundane.

  And if Murgenstaern was anything close to what he claimed, he was probably the most fluent speaker of “Enochian” on the entire planet.

  The possibility that this could all be some sort of trap remained not unlikely. I’m not that particularly important in either The Company or The Order, but there’s a few folks out there from back in the day that wouldn’t mind terribly if I turned up dead or worse. Even though it was mostly a placebo to paranoia, I decided to dress for the occasion − mixing a bit of tactical field gear with some of my old punk-era leather that (I’m proud to say) still fits.

  Caroline probably would’ve made fun of me, but I should probably stop thinking about what Caroline might think about any damned thing. For a moment, I considered the sheer impossibility of explaining any of this to her. Then I compartmentalized and moved on to the next thing.