And then came a voice that seemed to be singing from inside my bead, almost as if it were my own;
“Oh, oh, oh… don’t I really wanna know… Oh, oh, oh… don’t I really wanna knew…”
The world pulsing, flashing around those words I couldn’t read, couldn’t quite read, had to read, could almost read…
“Oh, oh, oh… great God, I really wanna know…”
Strange amorphous shapes clouding the blue-yellow-blue flickering universe, hiding the words I had to read… Damn it, why wouldn’t they get out of the way so I could find out what I had to know!
“Tell me tell me tell me tell me tell me… Gotta know gotta know gotta know gotta know…”
T minus 7 minutes… and counting…
Couldn’t read the words! Why wouldn’t the captain let me read the words?
And that voice inside me: “Gotta know… gotta know… gotta know why it hurts me so…” Why wouldn’t it shut up and let me read the words? Why wouldn’t the words hold still? Or just slow down a little? If they’d slow down a little, I could read them and then I’d know what I had to do…
T minus 6 minutes… and counting…
I felt the sweaty key in the palm of my hand… I saw Duke stroking his own key. Had to know! Now—through the pulsing blue-yellow-blue light and the unreadable words that were building up an awful pressure in the back of my brain—I could see the Four Horsemen. They were on their knees, crying, looking up at something and begging: “Tell me tell me tell me tell me…”
Then soft billows of rich red-and-orange fire filled the world, and a huge voice was trying to speak. But it couldn’t form the words. It stuttered and moaned—
The yellow-blue-yellow flashing around the words I couldn’t read—the same words, I suddenly sensed, that the voice of the fire was trying so hard to form—and the Four Horsemen on their knees begging: “Tell me tell me tell me…”
The friendly warm fire trying so hard to speak—
“Tell me tell me tell me tell me…”
T minus 4 minutes… and counting…
What were the words? What was the order? I could sense my men silently imploring me to tell them. After all, I was their captain, it was my duty to tell them. It was my duty to find out!
“Tell me tell me tell me…” the robed figures on their knees implored through the flickering pulse in my brain and I could almost make out the words… almost…
“Tell me tell me tell me…” I whispered to the warm orange fire that was trying so hard but couldn’t quite form the words. The men were whispering it, too: “Tell me tell me…”
T minus 3 minutes… and counting…
The question burning blue and yellow in my brain: What was the fire trying to tell me? What were the words I couldn’t read?
Had to unlock the words! Had to find the key!
A key… The key? THE KEY! And there was the lock that imprisoned the words, right in front of me! Put the key in the lock… I looked at Jeremy. Wasn’t there some reason, long ago and far away, why Jeremy might try to stop me from putting the key in the lock?
But Jeremy didn’t move as I fitted the key into the lock…
T minus 2 minutes… and counting…
Why wouldn’t the captain tell me what the order was? The fire knew, but it couldn’t tell. My head ached from the pulsing, but I couldn’t read the words.
“Tell me tell me tell me…” I begged.
Then I realized that the captain was asking, too.
T minus 90 seconds… and counting…
“Tell me tell me tell me…” the Horsemen begged. And the words I couldn’t read were a fire in my brain. Duke’s key was in the lock in front of us. From very far away, he said: “We have to do it together.”
Of course… our keys… our keys would unlock the words!
I put my key into the lock. One, two, three, we turned our keys together. A lid on the console popped open. Under the lid were three red buttons. Three signs on the console lit up in red letters: ARMED.
T minus 60 seconds… and counting…
The men were waiting for me to give some order. I didn’t know what the order was, A magnificent orange fire was trying to tell me but it couldn’t get the words out… Robed figures were praying to the fire…
Then, through the yellow-blue flicker that hid the words I had to read, I saw a vast crowd encircling a tower. The crowd was on its feet begging silently—
The tower in the center of the crowd became the orange fire that was trying to tell me what the words were—
Became a great mushroom of billowing smoke and blinding orange-red glare…
T minus 30 seconds… and counting…
The huge pillar of fire was trying to tell Jeremy and me what the words were, what we had to do. The crowd was screaming at the cloud of flame. The yellow-blue flicker was getting faster and faster behind the mushroom cloud. I could almost read the words! I could see that there were two of them!
T minus 20 seconds… and counting…
Why didn’t the captain tell us? I could almost see the words!
Then I heard the crowd around the beautiful mushroom cloud shouting: “DO IT! DO IT! DO IT! DO IT! DO IT!”
T minus 10 seconds… and counting…
“DO IT! DO IT! DO IT! DO IT! DO IT! DO IT! DO IT!”
What did they want me to do? Did Duke know?
9
The men were waiting! What was the order? They hunched over the firing controls, waiting… The firing controls…?
“DO IT! DO IT! DO IT! DO IT! DO IT!”
8
“DO IT! DO IT! DO IT! DO IT! DO IT!”: the crowd screaming.
“Jeremy!” I shouted. “I can read the words!”
7
My hands hovered over my bank of firing buttons… “DO IT! DO IT! DO IT! DO IT!” the words said.
Didn’t the captain understand?
6
“What do they want us to do, Jeremy?”
5
Why didn’t the mushroom cloud give the order? My men were waiting! A good sailor craves action.
Then a great voice spoke from the pillar of fire: “DO IT… DO IT… DO IT…”
4
“There’s only one thing we can do down here, Duke.”
3
“The order, men! Action! Fire!”
2
Yes, yes, yes! Jeremy—
1
I reached for my bank of firing buttons. All along the console, the men reached for their buttons. But I was too fast for them! I would be first!
0
THE BIG FLASH
THE CONSPIRACY
PLANNED OBSOLESCENCE
In an obscure hotel room in Geneva, Switzerland, the Grand High Wizard of the United Ku Klux Klan concluded a secret nonaggression pact with the Warlord of the Blackstone Rangers and the Foreign Minister of the Black Panther Party.
OVERKILL RATIO
Did Howard Hughes buy Nevada?
DEFOLIATION
(Press Conference of the Soul)
UPI: “Do you favor the admission of mainland China to the United Nations?”
A: “I am in favor of admitting mainland China to the United Nations on condition that the chinks apply for admission under the official title of ‘Red China’ and on condition that Mao Tse-tung must officially state beforehand that communism sucks.”
VICTOR CHARLIE
Was J. Edgar Hoover turned on to acid by Timothy Leary?
MEGA-DEATH ESTIMATE
After being debarked by submarine under cover of night on the coast of Nova Scotia, L. Ron Hubbard was placed in a sealed train bound for Los Angeles, California.
FUCK COMMUNISM
Could retired Air Force General Curtis LeMay be found in a Haight-Ashbury crash-pad bombed back into the Stone Age?
YOUTH AGAINST WAR AND FASCISM
(Press Conference of the Soul)
Renters: “Do you believe that the withdrawal of France has seriously weakened NATO?”
WHITE POWER STRUCTURE
Was J. Paul Getty turned on to acid by Hugh Hefner?
DISTANT EARLY WARNING LINE
In Croton, New York, a man caught by police in the act of emptying a gallon jug of fluid into the reservoir admitted membership in the International Communist Conspiracy. The fluid in the jug, when analyzed, proved to be a supersaturated solution of sodium fluoride.
LIMITED PRE-EMPTIVE THERMONUCLEAR WAR
Will Earl Warren assassinate Mark Lane in the men’s room of a Washington, D.C., YMCA?
THE ALLIANCE FOR PROGRESS
(Press Conference of the Soul)
The New York Times: “What is your program for dealing with the black militants?”
A: “Unlike certain commie-faggot-creeps infesting our federal government, I want to assure the American people that I know the best way to handle uppity niggers.”
THE MOST UNFORGETTABLE CHARACTER I EVER MET
Did Howard Hughes buy controlling interest in the National Liberation Front?
ANTI-DEFAMATION LEAGUE OF B’NAI B’RITH
Partisans freed a gorilla from the world-famous Bronx Zoo, The gorilla made its way, unnoticed, by subway, to New York’s Central Park where it was brutally beaten to death by muggers.
PEACE AND FREEDOM PARTY
Did J. Paul Getty buy controlling interest in the Mafia, or vice versa?
PACIFICATION
(Press Conference of the Soul)
AP: “Do you believe that we should escalate the war on poverty?”
A: “Not unless absolutely necessary. I have confidence that we can win the war on poverty without resorting to tactical nuclear weapons.”
CREATIVE FEDERALISM
Was Spiro T. Agnew turned on to acid by J. Edgar Hoover?
PEPSI GENERATION
Escaped Nazi war criminal Martin Bormann was kidnapped by Israeli agents in Chicago, Illinois, where he had been living under an assumed name for twenty years. Mr. Bormann, at the time of his abduction, was slated for imminent retirement from the Chicago police force.
MAKE LOVE, NOT WAR
Was Eldridge Cleaver turned on to acid by William F. Buckley, Jr.?
PSEUDO-INTELLECTUALS
(Press Conference of the Soul)
Newsweek: “What steps have been taken to reverse the gold drain?”
A: “A three-part plan to increase the flow of gold into Fort Knox has been implemented. The army will confiscate the fillings of all POW’s; the Department of Health, Education and Welfare will confiscate, the fillings of all welfare recipients, and the Veteran’s Administration will replace the stars of all gold-star mothers with lifelike plastic facsimiles.”
AMERICAN NAZI PARTY
Did H.L. Hunt buy Howard Hughes, or vice versa?
STUDENTS FOR A DEMOCRATIC SOCIETY
The Hollywood trade papers reported that Fidel Castro has signed a contract with a major studio to do a minimum of thirteen cameo appearances during the first season of the forthcoming network TV series, “Che.”
DISCOVER AMERICA
Did General Motors buy controlling interest in the Red Guard or vice versa?
NEW ULTRA-BRITE GIVES YOUR MOUTH SEX APPEAL
(Press Conference of the Soul)
St. Louis Post-Dispatch: “It has been reported that the Soviet Union is constructing a doomsday machine. Should the United States enter the doomsday race?”
A: “Definitely! We must not allow the Russians to destroy the world before we can. American prestige is at stake! Do you want the world to think Americans are faggots?”
AP: “Thank you, Mr, President.”
GOD, APPLE PIE, AND MOTHERHOOD
THE WEED OF TIME
I, me, the spark of mind that is my consciousness, dwells in a locus that is neither place nor time. The objective duration of my lifespan is one hundred ten years, but from ray own locus of consciousness, I am immortal—my awareness of my own awareness can never cease to be, I am an infant am a child am a youth am an old, old man dying on clean white sheets. I am all these mes, have always been all these mes, will always be all these mes in the place where my mind dwells in an eternal moment divorced from time…
A century and a tenth is my eternity. My life is like a biography in a book: immutable, invariant, fixed in length, limitless in duration. On April 3, 2040, I am born. On December 2, 2150, I die. The events in between take place in a single instant. Say that I range up and down them at will, experiencing each of them again and again eternally. Even this is not really true; I experience all moments in my century and a tenth simultaneously, once and forever… How can I tell my story? How can I make you understand? The language we have in common is based on concepts of time which we do not share.
For me, time as you think of it does not exist. I do not move from moment to moment sequentially like a blind man groping his way through a tunnel. I am at all points The Weed of Time 73 in the tunnel simultaneously, and my eyes are open wide. Time is to me, in a sense, what space is to you, a field over which I move in more directions than one.
How can I tell you? How can I make you understand? We are all of us men born of women, but in a way you have less in common with me than you do with an ape or an amoeba. Yet I must tell you, somehow. It is too late for me, will be too late, has been too late. I am trapped in this eternal hell and I can never escape, not even into death. My life is immutable, invariant, for I have eaten of Temp, the Weed of Time. But you must not! You must listen! Yon must understand! Shun the Weed of Time! I must try to tell you in my own way. It is pointless to try to start at the beginning. There is no beginning. There is no end. Only significant time-loci. Let me describe these loci. Perhaps I can make you understand…
September 8, 2050. I am ten years old. I am in the office of Dr. Phipps, who is the director of the mental hospital in which I have been for the past eight years. On June 12, 2053, they will finally understand that I am not insane. It is all they will understand, but it will be enough for them to release me. But on September 8, 2050, I am in a mental hospital.
September 8, 2050, is the day the first expedition returns from Tau Ceti. The arrival is to be televised, and that is why I am in Dr. Phipps’ office watching television with the director. The Tau Ceti expedition is the reason I am in the hospital. I have been babbling about it for the previous ten years. I have been demanding that the ship be quarantined, that the plant samples it will bring back be destroyed, not allowed to grow in the soil of Earth. For most of my life this has been regarded as an obvious symptom of schizophrenia—after all, before July 12, 2048, the ship has not left for Tau Ceti, and until today it has not returned.
But on September 8, 2050, they wonder. This is the day I have been babbling about since I emerged from my mother’s womb, and now it is happening. So now I am alone with Dr. Phipps as the image of the ship on the television set lands on the image of a wide concrete apron,…
“Make them understand!” I shout, knowing that it is futile. “Stop them, Dr. Phipps, stop them!”
Dr. Phipps stares at me uneasily. His small blue eyes show a mixture of pity, confusion, and fright. He is all too familiar with my case. Sharing his desktop with the portable television set is a heavy oaktag folder filled with my case history, filled with hundreds of therapy session records. In each of these records, this day is mentioned: September 8, 2050. I have repeated the same story over and over and over again. The ship will leave for Tau Ceti on July 12, 2048.’ It will return on September 8, 2050. The expedition will report that Tau Ceti has twelve planets… The fifth alone is Earthlike and bears plant and animal life… The expedition will bring back samples and seeds of a small Cetan plant with broad green leaves and small purple flowers… The plant will be named tempis ceti… It will become known as Temp… Before the properties of the plant are fully understood, seeds will somehow become scattered and Temp will flourish in the soil of Earth… So
mewhere, somehow, people will begin to eat the leaves of the Temp plant. They will become changed. They will babble of the future, and they will be considered mad—until the future events of which they speak begin to come to pass…
Then the plant will be outlawed as a dangerous narcotic. Eating Temp will become a crime… But as with all forbidden fruit, Temp will continue to be eaten… And, finally, Temp addicts will become the most sought-after criminals in the world. The governments of the Earth will attempt to milk the secrets of the future from their tortured minds…
All this is in my case history, with which Dr. Phipps is familiar. For eight years, this has been considered only a remarkably consistent psychotic delusion.
But now it is September 8, 2050, As I have predicted, the ship has returned from Tau Ceti. Dr. Phipps stares at me woodenly as the gangplank is erected and the crew begins to debark. I can see his jaw tense as the reporters gather around the captain, a tall, lean man carrying a small sack.
The captain shakes his head in confusion as the reporters besiege him. “Let me make a short statement first,” he says crisply. “Save wear and tear on all of us.”
The captain’s thin, hard, pale face fills the television screen. “The expedition is a success,” he says. “The Tau Ceti system was found to have twelve planets, and the fifth is Earthlike and bears plant and simple animal life—very peculiar animal life…”
“What do you mean, ‘peculiar’?” a reporter shouts.
The captain frowns and shrugs his wide shoulders. “Well, for one thing, they all seem to be herbivores and they seem to live off one species of plant which dominates the planetary flora. No predators. And it’s not hard to see why. I don’t quite know how to explain this, but all the critters seem to know what the other animals will do before they do it. And what we were going to do, too. We had one hell of a time taking specimens. We think it has something to do with the plant. Does something strange to their time sense.”
“What makes you say that?” a reporter asks.
“Well, we fed some of the stuff to our lab animals. Same thing seemed to happen. It became virtually impossible to lay a hand on ’em. They seemed to be living a moment in the future, or something. That’s why Dr. Lominov has called the plant tempis ceti.”
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