The Emerald Burrito of Oz

by Skipp, John; Levinthal, Marc

  Aurora had disappeared for a few minutes, and when she came back, she had her skeleton suit on. I almost laughed, but then I remembered that that's what she puts on to fight.

  She started talking to me almost like you would talk to a little kid. "Gene, look, you don't know how sorry I am I got you into this, and I don't know what's gonna happen today, but I do know it's not gonna be good. I think you'd better put on that ogre suit I found you in."

  "What?"

  "We're probably going to have to fight to secure the city. I don't know what's coming at us yet besides that cloud, but those are combat clothes. They'll most likely stop a spear, maybe even slow down an arrow. This is definitely not a T-shirt and jeans day today."

  Ralph was out of the yoga, and into the Tai-Chi by then.

  This whole situation had gotten way too freaky way too fast, and I just wanted to stop the ride. But there was no way off. None.

  War Journal

  Entry # 4

  It wasn't until I got outside that I realized how huge that cloud really was. It smothered the whole of the northeastern sky, back as far as the eye could see, and seemed to fan out for miles to either side. As if its intent were to cut the sky in half.

  But I knew that I was understating the case.

  It wanted to swallow it all.

  The leading edge of the cloud—its prow, so to speak—was less than five miles away and closing. Its approach was not so much fast as implacable, all the more troubling for its terrible confident slowness.

  And according to Owl, who'd been patrolling the skies, the bad news didn't quite end there. On the dark ground below, moving perfectly apace, was the Hollow Man's army. Also in full advance.

  "Oh boy," said Ralph, staring up at the cloud. He looked profoundly sober, and none too happy about it.

  I wanted to taunt him cruelly, say hey, look! Your FRIENDS are coming! or something equally pointed and cheesy. I refrained, not so much out of mercy but because I hate petty snippery more than almost anything, and it felt really important at that moment to keep my emotions clear. If I wanted to be one of the good guys, I had to act like one. Even if I didn't particularly feel like it.

  So instead, I just led the boys through the gathering throngs, toward the magnificent courtyard where, above it all, Ozma was patiently awaiting our arrival.

  Now, mind you, I have seen hundreds gathered in the courtyard before. The Pixie Olympics were quite a spectacle. Nobody wants to miss out on the Bunnybury Precision Drill Team. And, of course, I've been there for GoomerFest, every single time.

  But there were, like, maybe three thousand people heading through the palace gates. Most likely even more. And when you think about how sparsely populated Oz is—how pared-down it is from that population bomb that we call Earth—it started to seem like every single person in Oz had showed up for this thing.

  Then again, it was a command performance.

  And the cloud was coming closer.

  I muscled politely through a crowd of Gurkins, large pleasure-dotted fellows with a rich garlic scent. They were from the northern country, up above Tattypoo, and rarely showed up around here. They looked sweaty and tense, which was only natural; the cloud had most certainly swept over their land. And besides, they have a vinegar base, which I'd think would make anyone edgy.

  Beyond them was a bevy of Flutterbudgets, loudly moaning and wringing their hands. I rolled my eyes, hustled Gene and Ralph past them; that kind of negativity was not what those boys needed to hear.

  The Flutterbudgets are a species of chronic complainers that live just southwest of the city. Long-limbed and droopy-faced, they are largely contained to a single village, because they are, frankly, the most annoying species in Oz. At least so far as I know.

  In the best of times—which is most of the time—they are beset with ceaseless, utterly unsubstantiated dread. Nothing you can say will assuage their fears. Nothing you can do could possibly pose a real solution. It's like every speck of paranoid psychosis in Oz got naturally selected into these people: like they're the liver in the astral body, the psychic repository for everyone's toxic loser vibes.

  On the one hand, that might help account for why everyone else is so nice. On the other hand...jeez! What a bunch of whiners!

  It struck me that, this time, maybe they had something to whine about. They hadn't been affected yet; but if Emerald City fell, they were among the next in line. It was a short jump over Lake Quad, and the few Quadling villages in between, to their home.

  And, honestly, it was hard to imagine any Evil Force being merciful when it came to dealing with Flutterbudgets. I was half-tempted to smack them myself.

  So, of course, the primary verbal motif was, "AUGHH! WE'RE ALL GONNA DIE!" I could see that it was getting to Gene.

  "They're not oracles, are they?" he asked me in earnest.

  "No, they're assholes," I countered. "Come on!"

  Next, we ran into the gang from Utensia: King Kleaver; Captain Dipp of the Spoon Brigade; a whole army of walking cutlery, looking sharp and shiny. Their attitude was a whole lot more positive. In fact, they were downright gung ho. Not real smart, but it didn't matter. I was really glad to have them on our side.

  Of course, seeing himself reflected in an enormous walking butter knife didn't make Gene feel much better. The memory of his battlefield adventure from the other day was obviously still too fresh. I held two fingers up behind his head, gave him wiggly devil horns, and he didn't even laugh.

  "We're almost there," I said.

  We waded our way through the China People: a bit dirty from their journey, but exquisite nonetheless. Innumerable gillikins, munchkins, winkies and quadlings milled about, their reactions pretty equally spread between optimism and worry. Miss Cuttenclip's Paper Soldiers stood at the ready, but rippled in the faint breeze as we passed. Gobs of others were there, far too numerous to mention.

  And then I saw Mikio, hurrying toward us, a handful of his posse in close pursuit. I listed to the right, keeping my fellers in tow, snuck past some Dilly-Dallyers, and arrived at intercept point.

  "Hi!' he said. "You look amazing!" I blushed (I bet) and responded in kind. He hugged me hard. I hugged him back. Then he looked at me, and I looked at him.

  "This is fucking intense!" he said, and I laughed.

  "No arguing with that."

  "So what are we going to do?" he asked.

  "I guess we're about to find out."

  "I had a dream last night," he said. "It was one of those Nicola Tesla-type things. You know, where you see a device in your dreams. You see all its working parts. And you know that if you built it just like that, it would work exactly the way you want it to?"

  "Yeah," I said. "Actually, I do."

  "But I'm missing a piece," he said. "And I don't where to find it. I'm just trusting that I wouldn't get a vision like this if I wasn't supposed to pull it off..."

  Just then, the gong sounded again: so loud now that I felt my fillings rattle.

  We stood maybe fifteen yards from the gate to the palace, where Tik Tok and his brethren acted as doormen for the throngs. I looked up, and saw clearly the balcony from which Ozma would no doubt address us. It hung two stories up, ornately ballustrated, offering a clear view to all.

  Jellia Jamb—Ozma's personal maid and constant companion— emerged onto the balcony. She had a large feather-duster which she used to dust off the balcony's rail. A roar went through the crowd— the kind you'd hear when they tested the drum mics just before a Metallica concert—and Jellia waved, her sweet smile a benediction on the crowd.

  "I better head up to the front," I said to Mikio, casting a glance back at Gene and Ralph. "Ozma wants to see the three of us. How 'bout you?"

  Mikio shrugged. "Not so I know."

  I wanted to kiss him so bad in that moment. I don't know what it is with me. I see someone I love, and I want to merge faces, to communicate with tactile tongue what I can't get across with words.

  But the gong was still bonging, and I
'm just so goddam shy. So instead, I gave him a big shrug back.

  "See you later," I said.

  And then he was gone, as I pushed through the crowd, heading up to the gate itself.

  Once again, Tik Tok greeted me first. "Miss Aurora," he said. "You look frightening again."

  "And you look even shinier! These are my friends, Gene and Ralph."

  "Gene and Ralph are welcome. Let me escort you to your place."

  In that moment, I took stock of my companions. They did not look well. Gene was doing what I figured he'd be doing. It was Ralph I was worried about. While Gene absorbed the strangeness— waggling somewhere between astonishment, sarcasm, and fear— Ralph looked like he was ready to bolt any minute.

  Of course, the question was: where could he run? Back out of

  Emerald, straight into the hordes? Perhaps they'd accept him. But could he accept them? For all his crappy allegiences, he struck me as a pretty all-right guy. Could he really just march back in and attack us? I doubted it sincerely.

  On the other hand, there was the escape hatch back to Kansas. No doubt, he could force his way back to that. Unless I stopped him. Which would be easier said than done. Short of whacking his head off, it would be hand-to-hand struggle, with none of the closure that comes with simple death. Assuming he didn't kick my ass—a definite possibility—I'd be his prison guard then. I'd be a fucking cop.

  "Ralph?" I said to him. "You coming?"

  He looked me in the eyes then, and what I saw was: no exit. Whatever might be waiting for him on the other side of the interdi-mensional door, it sure as hell wasn't escape. I thought about that, tried to imagine how deeply my old world was trying to interpenetrate here. Meaty Meat. CIA.

  It gave me the willies.

  Pretty clearly, it gave Ralph the willies, too. He took a deep breath before he answered.

  "Uh huh," he said.

  Then the three of us—four, counting Tik Tok—were trundling down the Emerald Carpet, shown our places at the front of the in-filtering throng. Lion and Tiger were already there, as was Scarecrow. It was great, once again, to see them.

  Ralph looked embarrassed, amidst their company—actually, ashamed is more to the point—but they all greeted him with great warmth and openness, which I'm quite sure made him feel even worse.

  Gene, on the other hand, rose to the occasion by pulling one of the most boneheaded stunts I have ever beheld.

  Everybody was being entirely too cheerful about the whole thing. Very psycho. I mean, I'm thinking, we're probably going to die pretty soon (in fact there was a whole little section of weirdos in the crowd echoing my exact sentiments—the first people I'd seen who seemed to have any sort of grip on reality—but Aurora moved us by them disdainfully), yet most everyone had this kind of carnival vibe going on.

  Fun, fun, fun! I couldn't believe for a second that all of them were buying it—I'd seen the line trying to get into Ozma's Gate—but here they were, gazing up to the palace, looking for Ozma to come out and make everything all better. Even considering all the magic and good will, these people had some serious issues going on.

  We walked by this group of impossible walking cutlery, about six feet tall. I mean, what kind of people cause other people like this to come into being? What kind of warped sadist would doom another sentient being to life as a giant fork? Whimsical? Bullshit. It's cruel. I mean, maybe the giant butter knife didn't know any better, but I thought whatever wizard or witch had done that to it oughta be seriously considering some therapy. Really.

  And Aurora's there in her skeleton suit, making lame devil horns behind my head, trying to make me laugh at a time like that. I was really starting to wonder about her, too.

  Then there were the China people. Little miniature models of humans, all made of what looked to be glazed porcelain. Aurie and Ralph just shuffled by them without a second glance, but I had to linger and stare. My mind could not wrap around the reality of them. Impossible that they could exist, could move, but here I was, watching it happen. They shifted as they moved, some kind of liquid movement, like the individual molecules of their substance was sliding, rearranging as arms and legs reconfigured in a parody of walking. Graceful as all hell, but still—impossible.

  Even after days of this shit, I still couldn't get used to impossible.

  Just then Mikio pushed his way through the crowd, smiling, just as jolly as everybody else. I was starting to suspect maybe Ozma or Glinda had put some sort of whammy on everybody, some sort of astral Valium, or something in the water. Then I decided that couldn't be it; I sure didn't feel very jolly, and neither did that bunch of tall, droopy guys who were all moaning and groaning.

  Neither did Ralph. As always, his expression was guarded, but you could tell he wasn't overly optimistic about our prospects. He definitely was seeing things going on that he'd never seen before, and that got me even more freaked out, because I figured he'd seen just about everything.

  Mikio was rattling on about some kind of dream he had last night, just as if everything were just peachy, as if butchering hordes of barbarians weren't about to descend upon the city.

  And then—and then the gong gonged again. And things started to get really stupid.

  This woman came out onto Glinda's balcony—she was tall and thin, wearing a maid's outfit (green of course), and she started ceremonially sweeping out the place where Ozma was going to speak.

  After the applause died down (applause! for what?) she went back inside and everybody went back to general cheerfulness.

  We continued to push through to the palace gate, and I caught an eyeful of the guard contingent. They were robots. No, that's not right—they were mechanical men.

  They were something out of a past that never happened—a place where robotics was perfected in the 19th century. There were several of them, all different—ornate, filagreed Babbage-men. One of them, Tik-Tok, a squat, copper-colored R2D2 with a mustache, rattled and clicked up to us and welcomed us.

  In a moment we were through the gate, and walking down a huge corridor, our muffled footsteps swooshing over a deep emerald carpet. Soon enough we were outside again, in a smaller courtyard with high walls, just under the window where Ozma would give her address.

  So, I'm minding my own business, strolling up into the VI.P. lounge, or whatever the hell that courtyard was, and the same lion I'd seen before, yes, That Lion, comes up out of nowhere and starts rubbing against my hip.

  "Uh—hello.." I said, not wishing to offend.

  "Helloooo," the Lion purred back, "pet meee..."

  "Okay," I said. You know, at this point, I was pretty much up for anything. Figuring that he probably wasn't wired much differently than my cats back in L.A., I started petting his mane, and said, "By the way, my name's Gene."

  "I knowwwww," he said, "of Los Angeles."

  "That's right."

  Just as I thought it couldn't get any weirder, here comes—The Scarecrow.

  He's a scarecrow, just in case you've been locked in a closet for the last hundred years. And he walks. And talks.

  I guess I was starting to lose it. Because while Aurora and Ralph mingled with the growing crowd of people (and others) there in the inner sanctum, I eased off petting Lion, who'd curled up on the ground for a short snooze anyway, and motioned Scarecrow over to a couple of seats that were cut into the solid wall of gemstone. He cheerfully complied with my wishes.

  I sat there, staring at his head. He didn't say anything either, just sat there with his hat in his lap and stared back—I guess he figured it was part of a game.

  I was looking at the painted grin—looking at the way the paint twitched, just like a human face that's trying to stay incredibly still.

  "So," I asked, "what's the real deal?"

  He stared back at me, still smiling, but the painted-on eyes kind of scrunched down quizzically at me. "The—real deal?"

  I started checking out the way the canvas bag that made up his head was kind of just tucked into his shirt, and I was
not convinced. I'd seen a lot of stuff that couldn't possibly be, but this just really offended my sense of reality. This had to be a guy in a scarecrow suit, and I was going to put an end to the charade then and there. The cheerful people of Oz would thank me for it later.

  So in one quick movement, I reached out both hands, grabbed his canvas head and pulled. I could see Aurora glance over, like in slow-motion, her expression changing from a jovial mask to a look of mild horror, her mouth expanding into an "O."

  And I then I was sitting there with a canvas head full of straw on my lap. Still smiling. "Why'd you do that?" it said, painted lips moving into a neutral straight line.

  Aurora grabbed the head, and started stuffing it back into its place on the rest of the Scarecrow, alternately apologizing profusely and glaring at me, asking if I was out of my mind.

  I looked over and saw Ralph giving me a thumbs up, laughing his ass off. Quite a few other people were yucking it up as well.

  I apologised to the Scarecrow, and he graciously accepted.

  "For some reason, this sort of thing happens to me frequently," he said, tucking in some stray tufts of straw. "I take no offense at other people's curiosity. In fact, I find it a rather admirable trait, one that I myself exercise with great frequency."

  Aurora had no time to bitch me out, because Ozma chose that exact moment to come out onto her balcony and say some of the stupidest stuff I have ever heard. I couldn't believe it.

  But what else is new?

  War Journal

  Entry # 6

  Ozma stepped out onto the balcony, and the whole crowd caught its breath. All except for the Flutterbudgets, who cried out, "WE'RE ALL GONNA DIE!"

  "SHUT UP!!!" came the sound of several thousand voices. (I admit it. I was among them. In fact, I said it really loud.)

  Ozma laughed and held up her hands. She seemed genuinely relaxed in the face of the cloud, and she had this astounding glow: abetted by the sun, and the emeralds that surrounded her, but mostly seeming to emanate from within.