by Ryder Stacy
Chen nodded, but added, “If the Turquoise Spectrum was still heading the Glowers, I’d be sanguine about all this. But who the hell is Remaroo? He’s not among the Glowers I’ve ever met.”
“Evidently,” Rockson said, “Remaroo is a member of some secret society within the Glowers. I got an impression from Remaroo that he has stayed apart from the other Glowers for . . . religious reasons. Now that Turquoise is gone, Remaroo was sent for, to lead the Glowers in some sort of mourning.”
Cohen added, “You mean the Glowers are sitting shiva?” (the Jewish mourning period during which the mourners cannot travel).
Rock nodded.
“You sure,” Detroit asked, “that there wasn’t some kind of coup that replaced Turquoise?”
Rockson shrugged. “Who knows? But there’s really no choice. The Glowers run this show. I go there alone.”
By the time the sun was high up in the purple-tinged sky, Rockson had ridden Snorter out to a few hundred yards from the designated spot for pickup. The others of his party, riding more slowly, followed him up onto a ridge. Down in the valley, Rockson could see no sign of the Glowers, even though it was the exact time for his rendezvous. Rockson was told to come alone. Literally, that meant no horse. Therefore he dismounted his sturdy ’brid, handing the reins to Chen. “Take good care of her ’til I’m back.”
“When will that be?”
“Can’t say. Very soon, I expect. We have to get the Milis rocket up within the week, if there’s to be any chance of saving Earth. Remaroo is aware of that.” Rock shook everyone’s hand. Then he walked down the rubble-strewn slope onto the barren valley floor. The others watched from the distance as Rockson reached the center of the valley and waited a long time.
Nothing happened. A half hour passed with Rockson just sitting cross-legged on a man-sized boulder, meditating. Finally they could see a dust cloud forming on the north horizon. Something was coming, something huge.
“There it is!” exclaimed Detroit, pointing from his perch on a rock outcropping at the very apex of the hill. “I can see their sails. It’s that big job of a sandship that the Glowers took us to Century City in, once.”
As the great sandship arrived in the valley, first one sail and then the other two were lowered. That seemed to have the effect of slowing the impossible floating galleon’s progress. It slid to a silent halt within a hair’s-breath of Rockson, who never stirred.
Rock opened his eyes, stretched, and then looked up at the ship as a long pink net, kind of like a rope ladder, was lowered by one of the Glower crew above. Rock climbed on board. There he nodded to the inside-out, blue-glowing beings. There was no touching of the five Glowers. They just stood there, nodding their welcome.
“I AM REMAROO,” came the thought message from the taller one, the Glower with the green finlike appendages around his neck. Rock had never seen that kind of variation before. He tried to broadcast a greeting to the Glower but gave up and said, “Glad to see you.”
Remaroo reached into Rock’s mind to say, “WELCOME ABOARD. WE GO NOW.”
The great ship silently turned to the northeast. The sails went up: first the solar-powered sail, then the huge wind-sail, by manipulation of the long pink ropes. The sails seemed to catch the sunlight as well as the wind. When the jib was turned, the ship pointed its prow high and headed off at an ever-increasing pace.
As they sped away from the valley, Rockson stood on the aft deck watching the third “star grabber” sail being raised into place. The ship lurched to an impossible speed, perhaps 150 miles an hour, sending up waves of sand and dust behind them, obscuring the somber men waving to Rock from the distant hill. Rock’s friends were quickly lost in the distance. The red sun—red because of the dust the ship raised, partly obscuring it—seemed to burn on Rockson’s skin. Or maybe it was some sort of energy field in the atmosphere of the ship itself that gave him that skin-crawling feeling. Who knew? Rock noted an ozone-like smell he’d never detected before. But then again, he’d never been on the ship when it went this fast. The last time he’d traveled with the Glowers, it had been a winter day, with deep snow. Now, there was scarcely a patch of white here and there.
He felt lonely, very lonely, standing there. Sure, Rock was among other beings. Perhaps the Glowers could be called people. But because they talked in his mind, and because they never, never could touch him, he felt very alone.
As the crew labored at their mysterious tasks, he stood on the bow, watched a stormcloud forming ahead.
Soon it was raining hard, but no rain touched the deck, he noticed. It was held away by some field of power. The ride got rough, but the ship never slowed. What it did do was to yaw and pitch as the storm raged, and the lightning hit the tallest mast again and again, without effect. Rock held on for dear life. He felt like he’d never survive this trip.
Hours went by. Thoughts of the asteroid crashing into the earth flashed through his mind every time a bolt of lightning hit the mast.
Finally, as the storm subsided, the setting sun sent its last red rays up among the mountains ahead. The stars blazed forth in the clearing, vermillion sky. Rock soon saw the domes of the Glower settlement dead ahead. Their lonely blue glow did little to assuage his feeling of total, absolute aloneness.
Eleven
Rock was silently directed to disembark via the pink ropes, climbing down after Remaroo. The rest of the Glower crew stayed aboard, perhaps to “park” the huge galleon. A voice out of the sand winds said, “WELCOME, ROCKSON. WE GREET YOU IN THE NAME OF THE PASSED-OVER ONE, TURQUOISE SPECTRUM, NOW KNOWN AS THE TURQUOISE GHOST.” He was promptly informed that a wake for the dead Glower leader was going on, and his own participation was mandatory in keeping with Glower etiquette. Several sips of a green liqueur were offered to him the minute he entered a domed building. Rock partook. Then Remaroo told a story, remembering the time the Glowers had saved Rockson’s life by joining their minds with the minds of his teammates. “I WAS BUT A JUNIOR MEMBER THEN,” Remaroo’s mental voice said, “THUS I WAS NOT WORTHY OF ACTUALLY BEING THERE. NOW I AM ELECTED LEADER IN PLACE OF THE TURQUOISE GHOST. I SALUTE HIM WITH THIS GREEN LIQUEUR. DO YOU REMEMBER HIM WELL, ROCKSON? ARE YOU SEALED TO HIM? DO YOU DREAM OF THE TURQUOISE GHOST?”
“Yes,” Rock admitted. “I have dreamed of my old Glower friend. More than that: I think he got me out of a hole on my trek just a few days ago. Maybe I dreamed he helped me. I suppose I am sealed to him, for I carry the last gifts he gave me, gifts I do not understand.” Rockson was referring to the wire coat-hangers and box of common aluminum foil that Turquoise had given him as a parting gift a year earlier. Turquoise had made Rockson promise never to be far from the gifts. Rock carried them in his backpack even now.
“AH, YES,” Remaroo smiled mentally. “I DO NOT KNOW THE REASON FOR THIS GIFT, EITHER. YET . . . WE TOO DREAM . . . OF HIM. TURQUOISE’S INSTRUCTIONS TO US ARE FAINT, AND UNCLEAR. THAT IS WHY WE HAVE CALLED YOU HERE: TO HELP US HEAR HIS VOICE FROM THE BEYOND. AND TO SHARE HIS BEINGNESS WITH YOU.”
“I have come to get your help,” Rockson stated.
“YES, WE KNOW THAT. AND YOU SHALL HAVE IT,” Remaroo thought-spoke. “AFTER WE BOOST ONE ANOTHER’S DREAMS OF THE TURQUOISE GHOST, YOU WILL GET WHAT YOU NEED. BUT YOU MUST BE BOOSTED WITH US ALL. YOU, ROCKSON, ARE THE MISSING LINK. WE WILL ALL HAVE THE DREAMING POWER IF YOU JOIN OUR DREAM-CIRCLE. NOW SIP ONE MORE SIP OF THE DREAMING-ESSENCE, THEN COME AND BE SEALED AND ANOINTED.”
“Is this—er—dangerous?” Rock asked, as if he would be told.
“NO,” a mental laugh followed. A strange laugh, to say the least. Remaroo stood up; so did the other Glowers gathered about. “COME, KNOW WITH US. KNOW THE WAY OF OUR ANCESTORS. IT IS POWER AND JOINING, THAT IS ALL. YOU AND I WALK TOGETHER.”
Rock didn’t like the sound of all this, but he followed. They went to an octagonal pale pink tent, one made of the stretched and cured skin of a Narga-beast. The water-seeking beast was a sacred animal to the Glowers. This tent, therefore, was a temple. They enter
ed it.
Inside five Glowers were already gathered, seated on rocks in a circle. Remaroo introduced Lynorac, Zafazanok, Harf, Menem, and Rydoc. Remaroo took an empty stone seat, Rock another. One stone was unoccupied. “ONE IS YET TO COME,” Remaroo said. And then a gong sounded.
Rock sat there and waited expectantly, looking around him. He felt dizzy. The liqueur? He sure didn’t like the looks of this place. The tent was filled with animal skulls, carelessly hung on the tent walls. Glower ceremonies can be difficult, if not damned dangerous ordeals. Rock knew that from previous encounters with the superbeings that were descended from American astronauts caught in space by radiation bands ejected from Earth during World War Three.
He felt the oppressive heat of some sort of steam emission coming from vents in the floor. Dizzy. The bodies of the Glowers about him seemed dangerously close to Rockson. They pressed in around him, way too close for comfort.
“DO NOT WORRY,” came Remaroo’s thought-transfer. “WE DO NOT TOUCH YOU. WE MUST BE CLOSE, TO HAVE THE ‘ANOINTMENT BY THE NAJJ.’ ”
“What is the Najj?”
“THE TRIANGLE OF ALL KNOWING, ROCKSON.” The Glowers started chanting. “IN THE NAME OF THE UNBORN, THE BORN, AND THE RIVAL. WE CALL THE PRUZAC EPHEDRINE TO ENTER AND DELIVER TO US THE KISS OF THE NAJJ.” The Glowers all shouted that in unison in Rockson’s head, making a low, barely audible hum with their big lips. Then, trembling in anticipation, Remaroo said, “OH, GREAT KEEPER OF THE NAJJ, LET THE DREAMS COME! LET THE DREAMS HEIGHTEN OUR AWARENESS. WE ARE READY. LET THE NAJJ LINK US ALL, AND GIVE POWER TO THE WEAK. LET THE STRONG GROW STRONGER IN THE DREAM CONNECTION TO THE DEAD. LET IT ALL HAPPEN NOW.”
A gong sounded and the tent flap opened. Rock was surprised to see a beautiful, if abundantly full woman come in. She was a human, and almost nude. The Rubensesque blonde maiden floated instead of walked. And her form faded, blurred.
Rock rubbed his eyes. No mistake. Now she was transformed into a Glower woman! Maybe the green liqueur, Rock thought, had caused him to hallucinate. She was human again, smiling at him. God.
She flickered now, from human beauty to multi-colored Glower-shape. This flickering creature held a staff, he noted—a staff with a red triangle glowing at its upper tip. “BEHOLD SHE, PRUZAC EPHEDRINE,” Remaroo chanted mentally.
Rock was confused, and said as much, regarding her true shape.
“DO NOT BE DECEIVED,” came Remaroo’s reply. “THIS CHANGING IS NO HALLUCINATION. YOUR EYES ARE NOT WRONG, ROCKSON,” Remaroo went on. “PRUZAC EPHEDRINE IS BOTH A GLOWER AND A HUMAN. SHE FLUCTUATES BETWEEN THESE STATES. THERE IS A TIME-SPACE WARP BETWEEN THE REALM OF THE DEAD, AND THE HERE-AND-NOW. HER HISTORY IS UNIQUE AND WONDERFUL, ROCKSON. PRUZAC WAS A HUMAN BABY, BORN IN A SILVER COWL TO A GLOWER WOMAN. SHE HAS BEEN RAISED ASIDE FROM US OTHERS, SO THAT SHE MAY BECOME THE KEEPER-OF-THE-NAJJ. ALL HAIL THE NAJJ.”
Pruzac raised the glowing red metal triangle on the end of the pole. “ALL HAIL THE NAJJ,” Remaroo insisted. “ROCKSON, REPEAT THE SACRED WORDS, ‘NAJJ, RETNUCNEE, NESTRAVYS. NAJJ, RETNUCNEE, NESTRAVYS.’ ”
“Najj, Retnucnee, Nestravys! Najj, Retnucnee, Nestravys!” Rockson shouted over and over, for lack of any alternative. He wanted to leave. He had a sense of foreboding about all this. But Pruzac was the most fascinating woman Rock had ever seen, filled with power, flickering between the world of the dead and the yet-living. A voluptuous, full-figured naked woman, and a Glower of ugly, throbbing, blue-skinned essence at the same time! It was mesmerizing. For an hour they recited the mantra.
When the chanting finally stopped, Remaroo slapped his webbed hands together and a pale blue Glower—a woman, to judge by the breasts near her inside-out liver—came in, holding a second red stick with triangle attached. She exchanged this pole with the identical one Pruzac was holding. Pruzac waited until she left, then walked over to Remaroo. She touched the red metal triangle at the end of the stick to Remaroo’s forehead, then went on to touch everyone’s forehead in turn. Because of the battery-acid-like essence that flowed on the Glowers’ skin, the triangle hissed and flared briefly in flame at each touch. Finally, Pruzac came over to Rockson. “Will the triangle—” he stuttered, “burn me?”
Surprisingly, she answered in a soft, sweet voice, like an angel’s. “Oh, not much. It must be done. Lean forward and do not fear.” She touched the tip of the triangle to Rockson’s forehead, between his eyes, above the bridge of his nose. Instantly, burning erupted on his skin, but not for long. He winced as she withdrew the triangle. A glow spread on his forehead.
“THAT IS ENOUGH. THAT IS PROPER. THAT IS TOTALLY RAD,” they all yelled out, mentally. The chant was so powerful that Rock held his ears with his hands—in vain. He could not block out the volume in his mind. A heat grew in his forehead as the chanting continued. Rock soon saw before them, in place of beautiful naked Pruzac Ephedrine, another figure: the Turquoise Spectrum. The ghostly figure’s mouth was moving. No sound.
“GOOD, YOU DREAM WITH US ALL,” said Remaroo. “NOW LISTEN TO TURQUOISE. HIS VOICE IS FAINT. LISTEN AND YOU WILL RECEIVE HELP FROM THE OTHER SIDE.”
Remaroo was right. The ghost did speak.
“I WILL HELP,” Turquoise Ghost said in a hollow voice. “I WILL HELP YOU SAVE . . . EARTH . . . THE ROCKET WILL NOT BE ENOUGH . . . YOU WILL NEED TO DREAM OF ME, ROCKSON. DREAM OF ME . . . FROM TIME TO TIME . . . IT IS GOOD THAT YOU DREAM OF ME NOW . . . LISTEN! THIS IS IMPORTANT!”
And then the Turquoise Ghost was gone, and in his place stood Pruzac. She was leaning over Rockson in her human form. She kissed his forehead. The kiss seared again, like the red triangle. Rock had what could only be described as a mental orgasm the second her soft lips touched his skin.
Then everything was blurry and vague. Later, Rock would remember only that they chanted again, and the heat in his head slowly subsided.
Rock came to his senses in the main Glower dome. He sat up and was handed a cup of ordinary tea, which he sipped slowly.
“WHAT DID YOU EXPERIENCE, ROCKSON?” Remaroo asked.
“We . . . we . . . Pruzac and I—had sex. Mentally.”
“YES. GOOD. ALL HAVE TO BE JOINED TO PRUZAC IN ORDER TO DREAM. NOW YOU HAVE PART OF THE HELP YOU NEED.”
Soon feeling his normal self, Rock stood up and asked, “Did anyone hear what Turquoise said? He was about to tell me something critically important when—”
“THE LINKING, ROCKSON, THE ORGASM, IS WHAT HE SAID TO YOU. NOW, YOU CAN DREAM OF HIM WHEN IT IS NECESSARY. CONTACT IS ASSURED. YOUR UNCONSCIOUS MIND HAS REGISTERED HIM. THE CONNECTION TO THE LAND OF THE DEAD IS COMPLETE IN YOU, ROCKSON. DEATH AND ORGASM, DEATH AND ORGASM. IT IS GOOD.”
“Damned.” Rock was disgusted with this confusion. He wanted to leave, but felt strange and wobbly as he moved. He finally staggered from the dome, and breathed in cool, western night air, which gave some relief. What had all that been about? Pruzac has been a wonderful experience, but he didn’t feel like he’d been helped; not at all.
“NOW, COME,” Remaroo said, “WE HAVE ARRANGED FOR YOUR NEW SPACE VEHICLE. WE HAVE SOMETHING BETTER THAN YOUR PATHETIC ROCKET TO FLY YOU TO KARRAK.”
“That’s more like it,” Rockson said.
Twelve
Rock went with Remaroo, across a barren plain, and behind a spike of red sandstone glowing in the moonlight. Was this a dream? Was Pruzac a dream? Had she made love to him by touching him? Was the interdimensional female real? What did the ritual and the liqueur do to him? Anything?
He felt his forehead and winced. There must be an awful burn on his skin. The sound of his boots on the ground seemed exceedingly loud.
Remaroo stopped Rockson before a blank sandstone wall. They waited a brief time, like two men waiting in the lobby of a hotel for an elevator. But there was just the wall.
The wall of stone flapped open. Rockson heard the gracious invitation to “COME SEE YOUR NEW SPACECRAFT,” from Remaroo.
They entered the dark, square hole in the rocks. There was some sort of cocoon-like object in t
he vast open interior of the cliff. Rockson supposed that it was a cover on the space craft. The cocoon was lit with an inner light of bluish hue, and he could see the shadows of moving figures inside. He saw the outline of some sort of scaffolding around the shadow of a dirigible-shaped object.
“COME.”
They went to an area of the cocoon that seemed to have a shutter-like door, more like the lens of a camera than a door, actually. Remaroo raised his hand palm forward and the sphincter of blue plastic started to expand. The cocoon opened. They stepped onto a ramp leading to the spacecraft.
Rockson glanced at the ship’s contours just before he entered. He hardly believed what he saw. This was no rocket. It was, instead, something from the imagination—the most peculiar spacecraft he’d ever seen.
“WHAT DO YOU THINK?” Remaroo asked.
“It’s—it’s shaped like a saucer,” he exclaimed.
“YES. THE BEST DESIGN TO USE THE LABARRE MAGNETIC FIELD-FLUX DRIVE WE HAVE INSTALLED. IT WILL GET YOU AND YOUR MEN TO THE ASTEROID AND BACK. HOWEVER, THE CONTROLS ARE QUITE DIFFERENT THAN WHAT YOU ARE ACCUSTOMED TO. I WILL HAVE TO FLY IT FOR YOU,” the Glower stated. “BUT YOU DO NOT JUST RIDE ALONG. I ONLY FLY IT UNTIL YOU CAN BE TRAINED ADEQUATELY IN THE METHOD. NOW, ROCKSON, WE TAKE OFF. SIT DOWN OVER THERE—THE SMALLER CONTOUR COUCH. WE MUST GO.”
“Without my men?”
“NO. YOU WILL TELL YOUR MEN—ON YOUR LITTLE BROADCAST WATCH—THAT WE ARE GOING TO PICK THEM UP AT THE SAME COORDINATES THAT YOU WAITED FOR MY SANDSHIP. TELL THEM TO BE THERE, AS QUICKLY AS THEY CAN RIDE.”
Twenty minutes later, after a thorough inspection of the internal mechanisms of the Glower spacecraft, Rockson sat next to Remaroo as a hidden mountain door opened on silent hinges. The saucer was glowing blue as Remaroo turned up the power, and the very air hummed. Through a visi-screen Rock could see the Glower ground crew step back. Then there was a slight tilting of the floor. To maneuver the saucer Remaroo moved his hands in a glovelike control device. Rock found they were lifting up off the ground, and moving out of the hangar into the cool night.
