by Mike DiCerto
"I really don't need any added confusion. My boring, three-dimensional life supplies more than enough."
"I know it seems like you've been dropped amidst a field of a thousand dueling orchestras. Each musician playing a different song. But if you listen carefully, Caffrey, they're all in synch,” the L'Orange philosophized.
"I only have an interest in being in synch with four musicians. My best friends have been kidnapped. I want them back. I want back."
"You will get back when you've been."
"Please. Stop trying to blow my mind with philosophical platitudes."
"You want your mind blown? Take a gander at this..."
Reality did something really, really odd. So bizarre it could never be expressed in words. It lasted a split second, as any longer would have killed Caffrey with an overdose of astonishment. It was an extra-value, super-duper giant-sized can of cosmic whip-ass.
"Now listen, Caffrey,” continued L'Orange. “The good-natured but rather daft Portsmith needs you."
Caffrey couldn't speak for a long moment as he tried desperately to recover from the rapturous orgasm his mind had just experienced.
"Breathe...” advised the entity.
Caffrey finally managed to form words.
"My friends need me,” he mouthed.
"Yes. And Poe 33, and Yin, and the galaxy itself."
"I am not volunteering to save reality! I want to go home, play our tunes and just be."
L'Orange was undaunted. “Admirable. But when the universe calls, you show up. Only you can reunite Poe 33 with me. Only you can help Yin stop O.D.O.R. Only you can transmute Nefarious Wretch."
"Is that all?” Caffrey spat wryly.
"Yes. Only you can keep them from taking control of me."
"How?"
"I've already explained. I am the total wisdom. I know the possible outcomes. Not the outcome. I know the infinite paths. Not the direction you will take. The only prediction I can make is that you may end up as the Chief High Exalted Mystic Ruler of the universe or you may end up crushed to a pulp under the stinking behind of a Belkibon. There are infinite choices in between."
"One would hope so.” A tiny sardonic spark was re-kindled in Caffrey's breast.
"Regardless of the outcome, you will play a role in my very future."
Practicality surfaced as Caffrey considered his position. “Can you at least tell me where you are?"
"You are not listening. I know all the possible places I can be."
"Perfect, I'll start looking there."
"Now you are getting it,” the voice replied, with cryptic elegance.
"Suppose O.D.O.R or that fat Belkibon did get their hands on you? What could they do? Have one big galactic trip-out? I wouldn't call this fun."
"Illumination rarely is. You see, Caffrey, the universe is divided into three basic types: Hoarders, Planners and Seekers. Quagmo Dagmo and Quigmo Digmo hoard. They want me for no other reason than that they don't have me. O.D.O.R is a group of Planners. In all honesty, O.T.H.E.R is also a group of Planners. They plan, plan and plan for an event they will never be able to control. So, they plan some more. It is a defense mechanism. Those who can't control, plan. Seekers are few. Seekers seek."
"Seek what?"
"The ultimate truth of the universe. Deep down, they are dissatisfied with the universe and want it to reflect their own image. Frankly, every living creature in existence is a narcissistic bastard. You, my good man, are a Seeker."
"Me?” Caffrey was incredulous.
"You unconsciously put a ceiling on your ultimate goal. A typical expression of artists. Rather than remolding the universe, you think you would be happy in creating the perfect record album."
"I'd be in heaven!"
"But you can never create the perfect record album. If you touched a million beings with it you would wonder why it didn't touch ten million. If it touched an entire planet you would wonder why it didn't touch an entire galaxy. Ad infinitum. Eventually, if your creative endeavors were left to fester, you, too, would become a megalomaniac who wanted every living being in the entire universe to play the albums of Caffrey Quark."
"The end result of every wet dream I have ever had,” Caffrey responded with a smirk that turned to a frown. “Why am I having this silly conversation with a figment of my imagination?"
The Voice laughed. “The ultimate end of every being is to be the Creator. It's evolution's natural destiny. When it happens, that Being will look in the mirror, see the Creator and want to wipe the slate clean."
"So, what am I supposed to do?"
"I haven't a clue specifically. I do, however, see a few billion possibilities. What I would suggest is that you seek the wisdom of what inspires you most—this music that has infused your life with light. There is a reason things gravitate towards certain attractors. They contain something the attractee needs. Something that is lacking in them. Something that will help make the attractee complete."
"So, I should simply continue listening to Rock and the galaxy will be saved? For that I had to have my life rudely interrupted?"
"Don't just listen. See the smells. Taste the sights. Smell the sounds. Touch the tastes. Stop perceiving the universe in such predictable ways."
"You've lost me,” Caffrey confessed.
"You're listening to Hendrix—Electric Ladyland, Voodoo Chile. What do you do?"
"Kill myself because I'll never in my sickest dream play like that,” Caffrey retorted sarcastically.
"Negative. You smell the color of the notes. Or you taste the sound of the pick on the strings. Or listen to the scent of Jimi's sweaty brow,” insisted the Wise One. “When you do, the universe will open to you in ways you never thought possible. Doors will lead to places not expected. Or places you desire."
"My desire is to get back to Yin, Angie and the android so I can escape, get back to my craft and find my friends."
"Good. A plan."
"I don't even know how I got here."
"You're special, Caffrey, but thick as a brick. You need proof? Fair enough. Think of this as yet another free sample."
Caffrey's nose twitched. Taking on a life of its own, his nose scanned the air around him like a rabbit in a breeze scented with both carrots and wolf breath.
"I hear—no, I smell the drone of The Moby Dick's engines,” he concluded.
"Good."
"Peculiar odor. I can smell the color of Poe 33's body armor. How odd."
"Not odd. Odd is pushing open a door that says ‘push.’ Odd is only smelling a rose's perfume and not its shape and color."
Caffrey gagged and spit. “I taste the pads of Yin's feet."
"Like popcorn?” the L'Orange queried.
"Cheesy popcorn,” Caffrey corrected.
The teal-and-gold nothing began to swirl and blend like the ingredients of a milkshake.
"We will cross paths again, Caffrey Quark. You will begin to learn. Be very careful, Caffrey, some of your possible paths are infested with danger. As special as you are, in the scheme of things you are very much replaceable. Tread with caution. And, remember, music has always been your source of strength. Use it. It is all a song..."
The voice faded, and Caffrey felt himself fall back like a locomotive thrown into reverse. The voice of the Wise One echoed through the resulting spiraling void. The spinning continued and accelerated until Caffrey became the spinning.
Then he could see the cell and Poe 33 and Yin—but he could also see alternate exits, folds in space-time that stood before him like garden paths. Caffrey guided them out of the cell by some deeply seated instinct—directly under the blind eyes of His Him and the many guards. Out and off they went, Caffrey seeing the blueness of the chilly air, smelling the excitement of escape and feeling the seething anger of Quagmo Dagmo. They moved toward The Moby Dick—into the craft, which rose up through more folds in the very fabric of the sky—through spiraling tubes in space. Then all was momentarily black.
* * * *
Caff
rey felt Yin's warm, wet tongue licking his face. Opening his eyes, he took a momentary gaze then almost jumped out of his skin.
He was aboard The Moby Dick.
"Welcome back, my rider of the rainbow chariot,” Angie crooned.
"Where are we?” Caffrey asked, rushing to the viewport. The large green ball of Opulent Lawns floated before his eyes.
"Unexplainably, we have been transported from our prison cell to The Moby Dick. We have just left the friendly confines of Opulent Lawns’ atmosphere,” Yin explained.
"It happened in a blink,” added Poe 33 in awe.
Caffrey squinted his eyes, trying to identify the swarm of bug-like craft screaming out of the ozone layer of the green world.
"What are those craft that seem to be heading our way?” his head was a mish-mash of fog and mud.
"Those are O.D.O.R craft, heading, I would suppose, to kill us on orders of Quagmo,” Poe 33 postulated.
"Kill us? Don't they like us?” Caffrey's mind was a mess.
"Actually, they despise the very space in which our atomic structures reside, and it would make them quite happy to regain that space for themselves,” explained Poe 33, giving Yin a worried look.
The first energy pulse flashed by The Moby Dick.
"Caffrey, we are awaiting your orders,” reported Yin calmly.
"Bezzie. Make it a double,” Caffrey mumbled.
"Caffrey...” Yin hesitated, tapping his front paw nervously.
The Moby Dick twisted and lurched as a barrage of energy streaks illuminated the ship's interior like colorful flashbulbs.
"Everyone strap in!” Angie ordered. “I will put evasive action plan EV-32 into effect. Yin, man the aft pulse laser station!"
"Aye, aye, girl. Good work!"
Poe 33 took a seat and strapped in. Caffrey closed his eyes and reached for his unserved drink. “Bezzie, Angie! Bezzie!” he groaned.
Yin jumped into the seat of the aft pulse station and, stretching his paws, grabbed hold of the controls. A trio of Bug Craft were zeroing in. Yin fired three blasts of ruby-red energy that split the trio, sending them off in three different directions to avoid their demise.
"Where should I set the controls for?” Angie cried as the navigation control panel lights flashed dementedly.
She expertly maneuvered the ship around a kamikaze Fly Craft that ended up crashing into the Opulent Lawn atmosphere at an unfortunate angle. A fireball flashed, and debris rained down onto the greens below.
"Let's go ride the Cyclone at Coney Island with Uncle Greppledick!” Caffrey mumbled.
Yin, who was having a hard time aiming the large guns, glanced at Poe 33. “Poe, do a mental diagnostic on my poor confused master."
Poe 33 scanned Caffrey's skull with a sky-blue light. “He is confused. His sense of being as well as the spatial-recognition portion of his brain has been jolted by an alter-dimensional journey. It may take some time for him to come back down. The experience seems to have released gallons of endorphins. He is, in the truest sense of the word, in ecstasy. His experience with the Great One was apparently impressive."
"Angie, set the hyperwarp coordinates for Regal 9,” barked Yin.
"There seems to be something interfering with the navigational circuits,” Angie replied.
"Are they jamming us?” Yin asked, firing off a stream of shots, none of them coming close. “I can't hit squat with this damn thing."
A bolt of energy rocked the ship. Smoke began to waft from beneath the floorboards.
"We've been hit!” Angie's tones were peremptory. “No vital organs. Although it appears the soft ice cream canister was destroyed."
"Ice cream! Good idea, Angie! I'll have a triple scoop of gyra, vanistra and hikiberry,” Caffrey instructed with a smile, as his nose began twitching again. “I smell fresh hikiberry green."
"We're being set up for a Bug Crusher!” Yin yipped as he spotted the two Bug Craft heading toward them from opposite directions.
"I've lost all control!” screamed Angie. “It's you, my idyllic interference icy sculpture. Your mind is buggering up the navigation circuits!"
Poe 33 waxed into the dialogue. “'Crushed like a bug.’ Will that be our epitaph? I would hope not, for my master awaits me in solid form."
"Funny? We seem to be dissipating!” Angie reported.
"Five seconds until impact!” Yin cried.
"I smell red lights,” drawled Caffrey, looking around the craft.
"We're leaving this current place in space and time,” announced Angie.
"I sense the essence of red lights,” Caffrey shouted. “An odd smell. I've never smelled light before, red or any color. Sort of like simmering cherries with a dash of cinnamon schnapps."
"Hang on!” Yin yelped, jumping off the chair and hiding beneath it with his tail over his nose. “I think we'd better leave this system. Angie, burn a hole and get us out of here!” He was hardly more than a pair of eyes peeping from his shelter, but they bulged and had an urgent look about them.
"I don't have time to seek a specific target system!"
"Just punch it!” Caffrey suggested with a giggle.
"Aye, aye, my spontaneous sponge cake!"
The Moby Dick vanished from the vicinity of Opulent Lawns as the two O.D.O.R Fly Crafts collided in a grand explosion.
CHAPTER NINE
Gone Hollywood
It's such a shame to think about it.
I used to think it would feel so good.
But who's to blame about it?
So many creeps in Hollywood.
Supertramp
Yin crawled out from his hiding place, and Poe 33 stepped up to the bow viewport. Caffrey stumbled, taking up the rear.
"Any idea where we've come out, Angie?” he asked, his sobriety rapidly returning.
"We are in the Kamikava System, just three hundred thousand kilometers from Planet Claire. It is designated Schedule D-1."
"It's to be demolished?” asked Yin.
"Imminently."
"Sucks for them,” muttered Caffrey.
The Portsmith was staring at him with a curious expression, as if wanting to ask a question in desperate need of an answer. Finally, he garnered the nerve.
"Quark Caffrey,” whispered Poe 33, “did my Master speak to you?"
"I heard a voice. But it sounded like my Uncle Greppledick."
Poe 33 smiled a quixotic smirk. “That was The One."
Caffrey eyed the android with an expression verging on distaste. “It was whatever Yin gave me dancing with my mind down the orange brick road in Munchkinland."
Yin looked up, his whiskers twitching.
"Caffrey, if it was just an hallucinatory experience, how were we transported from Quagmo's zoo to The Moby Dick? From the Umba system to the Kamikava?"
Caffrey did not have the answer and, instead, peered around irritably, searching for his drink.
"Throughout the long and lauded history of this universe, my Master has traveled unimaginable distances and has been audience to countless beings,” Poe began with a nice melodramatic brass echoing in the distance, like a New York City saxophone player. “Heads of royal families. Corporate boards of directors. The highest of high priests, clerics, curates and pontiffs. The uppermost levels of political leadership. Even a shy young plastics magnate. Of those millions upon millions of beings only a handful have been able to verbally communicate. One was a Yerkoroan Elder my master wanted to simply warn that its trouser zipper was open and his peeshooma1 was exposed."
Caffrey shrugged. “I'm still not convinced I'm not tripping right now, and I'm actually back in Central Park swimming with sea lions. Angie, I'll take the controls."
"Sorry, Caffrey,” Yin interrupted, “but I think we may be detoured. I've discovered the source of that smell of red lights you experienced."
He was pointing out the viewport with his paw. Poe 33 and Caffrey joined him.
"Red lights.” Poe 33 stated the obvious.
Caffrey smiled, but a chi
ll descended his spine like a lightning bolt. A creeping feeling crawled back up to the nape of his neck like a cold snake. As odd as it was, he had, indeed, smelled red lights. Here they were. A lot of them.
Lined up, seemingly to infinity, were rows of red warning lights hovering atop small bouybots. Beyond were a convoy of docked ships and a huge platform on which sat a light of immense proportions.
"Another A.P.E.?” Angie asked.
"Dante Squidreaper. It has to be."
The com-link suddenly burped; and a high-pitched, raspy voice spoke. “Please remain beyond the demarcated line and turn off all external lights. We are preparing to shoot a take that involves stunt craft, highly insured actors and a few cargo-craft loads of pyrotechnics. Squidreaper Productions will not be held responsible for your death, disfigurement or the destruction of your craft."
"Understood,” Caffrey replied. “Please convey to Mr. Dante Squidreaper that an old friend has dropped by to watch him work."
"Does this friend have a name?” inquired the voice.
"Caffrey Quark."
"Caffrey Quark! Long time no see,” came an immediate reply.
"Dante?"
"Yep, it's me,” the voice changed to a mellow, laid-back tone.
"You, on traffic control? Don't you have production assistants for that?"
"I just fired a group of them. Never hire Grays for P.A.s. All they're interested in is flying around in those stupid disks and buzzing Type-O planets. Getting really passé. And never drink with them. They start with the ‘Revenge the Roswell 3’ mantra—that can get really irritating."
"So, what are you filming?"
"A little historical war epic called Charge of the Vimana Brigade."
"Did you enjoy that double side of itrozeech I bagged for you? Was quite a specimen."
"She sure was. I married her. Stuck a marionaute system in her, kept her well-dressed and bam! Marital bliss. Lasted almost a year."
Caffrey looked at Yin with fright in his eyes.
"Freaky creep,” Angie whispered.
"So, land your craft on upper deck 3. Space U-15. I'll have a limo pick you up and take you to some primo viewing space. I'm blowing up a planet in this scene. Gonna be amazing."
