by Mike DiCerto
"The Voice from Beyond the Box."
Many more of the Termite Walrus People began emerging from their holes, and the trio found themselves surrounded by the slow-moving folk.
Yin stepped forward. “May I ask why these faces are built?"
"We are Blodians. We are builders in mud. In soil. In rock and stone. Our works adorn the homes, palaces and gardens and shopping centers of some of the greatest civilizations our galaxy has ever known. Reasonable rates. Quality and timely work. Are you here to place an order?"
"No, thanks.” Yin didn't see the sculptures as aligning well with Boplican concepts.
"We would be happy to give you a tour. Show you some of the fine samples."
"That won't be necessary. We saw your work from above when we came in. Lovely. Amazing."
"Thank you. We have not been complimented since we were brought to this starless void."
"Brought? From where?” Violet asked.
"From the Bakrik System. In the Soronian Sector. Our leader, whilst bathing in the beautiful freezing waters off the coast of Iinsenia, heard a Voice—a strange Voice, falling from the heavens—requesting a face be built. Carved onto the surface of a giant asteroid. A face of honor. A face in tribute. It would be the largest work ever attempted by a Blodian artisan.
"Upon his spoken agreement, the world around him swirled and came apart at its essence. We were all taken through the Grand Intestines of the Galaxy and into this current state. Ever since, we have built model after model. But, alas, none have pleased the Voice."
Caffrey and Violet shared a knowing glance, and he stepped forward. “At the risk of sounding trite and rather clichéd, can you take us to your leader?"
"We aim to please our guests, no matter how few visit. Follow me. He is just over the hill and not too far away."
The Blodian took off like a tank down the stone path, at a surprisingly fast speed. The trio followed. They were taken across barren fields littered with rocks, ancient bones and an occasional candy wrapper (Blodians are known to have insatiable sweet teeth). As they walked under the blue-green sky, Caffrey tried to focus his thoughts towards the elusive L'Orange.
He tried using the mental scent of key rings. The feel of burnt orange and the sound of the essence of cow dung. There was no reply. He kicked a large stone in frustration, and it bounced off the Blodian's cushy and trampoline-like posterior to impact against Caffrey's forehead with a painful thud. An orange haze of stars swirled around his head, and he fought the quite tempting desire to pass out.
You are disappointing me, Caffrey.
He looked around. Neither Yin nor Violet had spoken. It was a voice. Clear as a bell. No accompanying scents or sounds. No odd colors or sensations. The voice itself was familiar.
Yes, Caffrey Quark, it's me. Just speak with your thoughts. Don't bother getting fancy. It's just impossible for you to think out of the box, isn't it? The L'Orange seemed testy.
What do you mean? I've tried for days! Sending out peculiar smells. Odd feelings. Weird Sounds. No response.
I say use sounds, you use sounds. I suggest colors, you use colors. I use smells, you use smells.
So, what am I supposed to do?
You are supposed to step outside the sphere of your own reality. Try the feel of a carpenter's speech. Or the taste of a Dedado dancer's dance.
I didn't realize I could use verbs! You never mentioned verbs!
You still don't get it? The All in the One and the One in the All. That is what you must use.
Caffrey pondered that a moment.
L'Orange thought at him again. Imagine a microphone in a concert hall. Madison Square Garden. Recording Led Zeppelin's famed The Song Remains the Same concert.
I was there. Kicked the shit out every blessed ass in the seats!
Charming. Anyway—were you to play a portion of that recording, it would contain the instruments of Bonham, Plant, Jones and that mystical Crowley wannabe chap with the double-necked string instrument. I forget his name ... the L'Orange toyed.
How would you like to be spread on toast and eaten by a Crebbledog? Caffrey replied, not caring a damn that he was threatening the wisest substance in the universe.
Just checking that you're paying attention. Now, magnify the power of the microphone until you can also record the heartbeats of each musician. Magnify it further so you can also record the heartbeats of all the fans—of the engines of the cars passing outside the hall. Even further to include the heartbeats of the passengers in those cars. Go further and record the sound of the blood rushing through the veins of the people in the neighboring town. The next country. The next planet. On and on, until Eternity is recorded in a single, elegant song. A single waveform that contains it all. Add to that not only sound, but every sensory representation of the Cosmos. In every dimension. That is what I am. That is the source you can tap into.
Why are you telling me this?
The universe speaks to all at once. Don't question the fact that your ears happen to be open.
Caffrey tried a different tack. Shouldn't you be in communication with Poe 33? He's depressed. He feels he failed.
He is too busy listening to the sad beat of his own existence. When he cleans out his ears, he will reconnect.
You mean when he stops feeling sorry for himself.
The universe, despite its religious history, despises a martyr who martyrs for the sake of martyrdom.
Are we anywhere near you?
You have been close from the start.
Caffrey was getting exasperated again. You and your damned enigmatic answers. What is it with you secretive, powerful types and your bloody beat-around-the-bush communication methods?
The day when you see the bush for the hedgerow is the day you will see the light, my friend. There is nothing enigmatic whatsoever. It is the fuzzy nature of your eyeballs, ears, nose and skin that fails you. Ask Jimmy Page, he can tell you.
Does Nefarious have my friends?
It's possible.
Caffrey exhaled hard. If he does, will I have to kill the creep to free them?
The L'Orange exploded into laughter. The chuckles continued, fading, and eventually drained down a pinhole of reality.
* * * *
Caffrey felt his legs stop. He looked around and found himself standing before a gigantic series of domes.
Their Blodian guide spoke. “This is the home of our leader, whose name is Khorus. I will take you in to him now. You will find he is a kind and friendly Blode. But he is depressed and frustrated of late. He wants desperately to see the sun again. One doesn't realize how one's cosmic address is vital to making a planet feel like a home."
The Blodian pushed open a door with his front foot and entered the dome. The trio followed.
A walk through broad, winding tunnels led them to a chamber. It was simple but roomy. Large oval windows let the day-glow in to light the powdery floor. The Blodian guide let them in then went on his way, leaving the trio feeling a bit awkward before the leader.
Khorus was seated on a long plush sofa, working with a small-scale model of a face poised on a low wooden table. He was an impressive Blodian, large and solid, his two large, curved tusks capped with ornate silver frill.
"Welcome, strangers,” Khorus said, looking up briefly over the rims of his spectacles. “Please, have a seat."
Appreciation was expressed by each as they sat.
"Nice of you to see us without so much as a ‘we're in the neighborhood,'” apologized Caffrey.
"No need. Blodians are, by nature, overly trusting and friendly. To a fault. We have had very few visitors since we were abducted. What can I do for you?"
"We're on a sort of quest, I suppose you can call it."
"Quest! How exciting!” Khorus was sincerely enthused, and ripples of excitement rode along his form.
"This world of yours intrigues us. Its cosmic location is a bit odd.” Violet was trying hard to not seem discourteous.
"Odd, indeed. As is your prese
nce,” Khorus retorted with a gentle smile.
"And the faces,” interjected Caffrey. “May we ask what purpose they serve?"
Khorus took his glasses off and sat back on the sofa. He stared Caffrey hard in the eyes then looked upon Yin and Violet with equal curiosity.
"Are you three alone?"
"No,” Violet spoke up. “There are two others."
"Three, actually,” Caffrey corrected.
"If you count Angie as an other,” snipped Violet, adjusting her blouse again.
"Angie?” Khorus asked.
"She's the onboard computer assistant of my spacecraft. She's recently been given Revenant abilities. Charming. The other two are a humanoid android and my long-dead uncle back from the hereafter. Oh, and there's Peebo, a very small, late-model android."
"You do live interesting lives, don't you?” Khorus observed with honest envy. He smiled briefly then stood up, “I think, as with any stirring tale of questing adventurers, we should pause for a good, hearty meal. How does that sound?"
Caffrey smiled in appreciation.
* * * *
The Blodian's Hall of Nourishment and Candy Tureens was under the largest of the domes dotting the habitation sector of the planet. Decorated in the simple Blodian line drawings that adorned the walls of most Blodian homes, the stadium-sized hall flickered with hundreds of flaming torches while rosette skylights softly blushed with the mysterious sunless glow. Every Blodian artisan from the day shift was there, feasting from tables groaning under the weight of simple but digestive-tract-cleaning foods and drinks necessary to flush the day's mud, dirt and small stones from their innards.
Khorus had The Moby Dick's entire crew seated around the table as his guests, except for Peebo, who's interminable curiosity lured him to explore the unique world.
"It has been a sad existence,” Khorus began in the typical languorous Blodian dialect. “It feels as though I have not seen the beautiful sun Bakrik for seven stages. I miss her warmth on my body. This light that now bathes our world is cold. Without spirit. Like..."
"Like fluorescent lights from my home world,” Caffrey suggested. “You're right. Cold and lifeless."
"It drains the will. Carving faces has become a chore rather than the spiritual outlet that it was for Blodians since the Maiden Spewing. But we have no choice. We have no way out until we please the Voice. He desires work of a scale we have never before undertaken."
"The Voice you're talking about goes by another name. He is called Nefarious Wretch,” Yin explained. “He's been systematically devolving the galaxy. One world at a time. Targeting those to whom music is a value. He despises music. He wants to recreate the galaxy in his strange, dark and cold image."
"What an unkind project to undertake,” the Blodian opined as he savored the subtle flavor of the pudge.
"And I suppose this giant-sized tribute to his narcissism will be the new galaxy's hallmark,” Violet added.
"I suppose so,” agreed Khorus, wiping a smear of food from the tip of his tusk.
"What are you basing the designs on?” Caffrey queried. “Did he describe what he looked like?"
"His only order to me was it should reflect a face that can change life itself. A face that would adorn coins. Bows of ships. Paintings lining cathedrals and museums."
Caffrey exchanged a smirk with Violet.
"With all due respect, Khorus...” Caffrey smiled. “...as humanoids go, the faces you have built, at least the ones I have seen are rather—how can I put this diplomatically..."
"Grotesque bastards,” offered Violet without apology.
"No offense,” Khorus began with a certain embarrassment, “but as a species, humanoids, at least to the humble senses of us Blodians, are ... well..."
Poe recited from memory. “A revolting assembly of narrow torsos accented by twin and rather humorous fatty posterior bulges, bandy legs, arms like old tree limbs, tiny heads marked with appetite-disrupting patterns of exterior sensory appendages, topped with hair of disturbing lengths, designs and colors."
"Poe 33! You're basically humanoid yourself. I think humans are lovely!” Angie defended then qualified, “At least, some are."
Poe explained. “Those are not my chosen words. The description comes from Zebrik Zendwig's book, Aesthetic Theory of Cosmic Intelligent Life. Zendwig rates Umlimpins as the most handsome lifeforms in the Galaxy."
"Zendwig can kiss my humorous twin fatty posterior bulges,” Caffrey said, filling his mouth with a spoonful of pudge at the same time.
"No offense intended,” Khorus insisted. “However, we are at a loss as to what this Nefarious Wretch, as you call him, wants."
"How does he communicate with you?” Yin asked.
"His voice simply sounds within my head."
"As a vision?” Yin proposed with a certain awe.
"Or second sight?” suggested Violet.
"Or extrasensory perception?” tried Caffrey.
"Perchance this fine Blodian is gifted with the abilities of my Master?” Poe added.
Khorus smiled and gave each of his guests a smile in appreciation of their delusions of his grandeur.
"Actually, I tend to pick up signals off the metal work on my tusks. I even, on occasion, pick up the Android Games of Desmitten."
Caffrey sat forward, his interest quickening. “Radio signals?"
"That's correct."
"Well, wouldn't that mean there's a proverbial hole in the dike?"
"Yes,” Yin agreed. “There'd be no way radio signals could enter unless this hermetically sealed cosmic box isn't actually so."
Caffrey gestured with his hands to emphasize his point. “So, there may be a way for you and your people to escape. Slip out by prying this hole open."
Khorus shook his large head, took a deep breath that rippled up and down his globular body and looked each of his dinner mates in the eye one at a time as he spoke. “I am the leader of this world. I have the responsibility not only to the living but to the dead, to the yet to be born and to the tradition of Blodian society and building. I cannot simply leave this world behind to be forgotten like Finabulist Jermist3. It may, I am happy to agree, provide a way out for you fine folk. You can make it to Desmitten to refuel or gather your thoughts."
"Of all the planets in all the sectors of all the galaxies it had to be Desmitten,” said Violet, shaking her head in disbelief.
"What's wrong with Desmitten? One of my favorite restaurants is on Desmitten. Geldersnaps & Hoo's,” Caffrey said with a faraway gaze that spoke of fond memories.
"It's a testosterone-drenched dive,” Violet spat.
"It's a lovely place."
"I recall you getting blitzed and beaten in that lovely place,” Angie reminded him, disapproval blended in with her remark.
"Aah, but they have the best alamastre sandwich anywhere,” Caffrey drooled, then struck a devil in his eye like a match. “Burned a few wicks on Desmitten..."
"You pig!” Violet hissed, then, “It's where my mother was born."
"I apologize. Didn't get along with Mum?"
"None of your business,” she huffed.
Yin brought the discussion to order. “Well, I don't see any choice, Commander Leer. The cause of O.T.H.E.R must come before your personal problems. It's in the rules."
Violet nodded, resigned. “You're right, Yin."
"Synchronicity,” Caffrey asserted, with a solid tap of his hand on the table.
There was a collective “Huh?"
"Synchronicity. A lovely thing. I thought it was all a roll of the dice but maybe it's more? The L'Orange is right."
"I don't understand,” Yin admitted.
"'The finger of fate is fickle, nay! It picks the nose of those who know their way!’”
"Who wrote that?” asked Poe 33.
"I did,” answered Caffrey, suddenly all business, “We're going to Desmitten. Angie, I need you to search this cosmic eggshell we're in. Find the crack."
"Yes, my strategic starfish."
>
"Sounds like yet another detour from our mission,” Violet commented, folding her arms tightly around herself in an agitated and somewhat defensive manner.
Caffrey tried convincing the purple-eyed stud magnet.
"Detour? Didn't you understand, my little poem? Fate has picked our nose. We have to follow its lead."
"There is something else,” Khorus said, pensively trying to gather the words to tell his story. Caffrey and the gang waited patiently as the Blodian readied his exposition with careful deliberation.
"Often, while I am listening to the games on Desmitten, the signal seems to drift and merge with another. I hear sobs. Odd sobs. Then the signal is lost as quickly as it was found."
"Sobbing?” Violet was confused.
"What do you mean by ‘odd?'” Caffrey asked.
"It is as if many are sobbing. But not all at once. One at a time. Many souls each contribute a single sob to produce a litany of misery."
"That's Nefarious.” Caffrey was certain. “His voice is strange—it changes constantly. Every word, every syllable different. Not just in tone or inflection, but an entirely different voice."
"But would he sob?” Yin pondered.
A debate erupted. Each tossed theories and ideas. They disagreed, agreed, mocked and contemplated the various thoughts. Khorus sat back amused, enjoying the speed at which his guests spoke.
"It has lost a love,” said Angie, finally.
The group ignored her, and the debate continued. Angie repeated her last words with increased volume. “It has lost a love."
All mouths went mute.
"What?” someone asked.
"Nefarious has lost a love. That is why he sobs."
Violet laughed shortly at the suggestion. “Nefarious has lost a love?"
Angie would not be stopped by a mere belly-button flaunter. She spoke again, her voice melodic, ringing.
"What kind of face adorns bows of ships? Paintings? What kind of face would change the world?"
No one replied.
"A beautiful woman! I believe Nefarious Wretch has lost the love of a beautiful woman and is trying to get her back by presenting her with a gift. A huge carving of her face."
Violet asserted herself again. “And the destruction of music and countless worlds? Very romantic,” she smirked.
