by Mike DiCerto
What about the armies? What about them? I thought Nefarious couldn't be killed?
That's another thing I like about you. You actually listen to what I say, the Wise One acknowledged. He can be killed. But if he is, it will not solve the problem. There is an alternative solution.
What?
You have to know why your enemy is your enemy.
And then?
And then, cock-a-doodle! You will have to figure that out yourself.
So, I'm going to be caught between the mortar and the pestle?
Interesting metaphor. Take care, Caffrey Quark. I think you have a problem approaching that will take priority.
Huh?
Caffrey was snapped from his ante-conscious conversation by a burning-hot sensation and a whoosh sound inches from his left ear.
"Quark!” Angie screamed.
Caffrey, quickly assessing his situation, discovered Poe 33 and Yin had cruised up beside him. He turned to face the android.
"Flies, Quark Caffrey! Six on the clock!"
Sure enough, three of the buzzing O.D.O.R craft were closing in on the tails of the zebadoos. Down below was a sea of evergreen towers, marching across the world. Violet called out to the rest, “Grab the horns, kick both butt cheeks like you mean it and hold on tight!"
Violet illustrated the move, known as fartoofing, as a powerful blast of gas, like the afterburners on an over-priced fighter plane, sent Satriel off like a comet. Poe 33 followed quite successfully, Yin's stunned yip! fading quickly in the distance as he clung on, ears flapping in the slipstream. Caffrey kicked the butt of his ride and roared forward on the flatulence of the impressive creature. Jupori, riderless but catching the trend, blasted in pursuit.
The pilots of the O.D.O.R craft were momentarily stunned by the strong atmosphere of methane wafting into their fore vents. Showing off the dangers of zero common sense and reactionary thinking, one of the O.D.O.R pilots fired a short burst of red energy that immediately ignited the volatile vapor. The resultant flames, like the sudden appearance of a vengeful phoenix, rendered the craft into an alternate state of matter before burning back to nothingness. The remaining two O.D.O.R pilots cursed their comrade's foolishness and raced after the fleeing zebadoos.
"We should get down there!” Caffrey cried, pointing to the forest below.
"We need to find a clearing!” Violet shouted back.
Caffrey turned to the Portsmith. “Poe?"
Poe swept his scanning beam across the surface of the wooded landscape. “There is a chasm. Three-point-three kilometers ahead."
Violet and Caffrey nodded in agreement. Once again, the horrid and quite annoying buzz returned. Caffrey drew his Willy.
"Be careful, Caffrey,” Angie pleaded.
He turned and let off a couple of rounds. The results were more cinematic than effective. The Flies returned fire, singeing poor Maris's tail and making him buck and whinny. Holding on for dear life, one that suddenly seemed dearer than ever, Caffrey kicked the zebadoo's butt cheeks and was launched on waves of stinking but lovely gas.
Poe 33, taking advantage of the distraction caused by Caffrey's antics, sent an energy bolt from his fist, striking the windshield of a Fly Craft and blackening it completely. The craft, flying blind, spun down through the thick canopy of the forest, resulting in a dull crump! followed by a satisfying fireball. The remaining Fly Craft kept a distance from the zebedoos as they took a snaking flight path to defend against easy targeting.
The chasm came into view. There was something in its shape that immediately grabbed Caffrey's attention. Oval, with a ring of crimson-leaf pines within surrounding a small pond that glistened with the red of the setting sun. Glistened like an eyeball! Around the eye was a pattern of yellow trees. Suddenly the image fell into place in his mind—a star! A yellow star of trees around an eyeball!
"Bingo! Into that chasm!” Caffrey cried to the group, firing a few rounds over his shoulder.
The zebadoos dove downward toward the staring eye. This didn't sit well with the pilot of the O.D.O.R craft, who gunned his thrusters and raced at Caffrey and Maris.
Jupori, the most intelligent zebadoo of the group, had been keeping up the rear since leaving the stables. Zebadoos are known for their ability to quickly assimilate routine, sensing a pattern in behavior within a very short time. She sensed something wasn't right—the Fly Craft was not firing its weapons and it seemed to be heading for a kamikaze collision with Maris rather than hanging back and firing from a safer distance.
Jupori dipped her head, pulled her legs closer to her body and summoned every liter of gas in her digestive system. With a mighty double-barreled fart she launched her way between the Fly Craft and Caffrey's steed. The dusk sky filled with a bubbling roar from deep within her guts. Caffrey turned. The Fly Craft fired wildly. A fireball lit the forest canopy a hectic yellow-orange; and when it cleared, neither Jupori nor the Fly Craft were anywhere to be seen.
The team descended toward the iris of the star-encased eye.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The Trees
There is unrest in the forest.
There is trouble with the trees.
For the maples want more sunlight
And the oaks ignore their pleas.
Rush
The darkening Forest of Medieval Stereotypes fulfilled the promise of its name with elongated shadows, crawling mist and moaning winds. Stony rubble overgrown with kookkankoo shrubs, malt-a-moon blooms and the hearty and medicinal laughing bamuni trees decorated the immediate landscape. The zebadoos nibbled at patches of sweet nikki-nikki reeds that lined the pond, forming the shimmering pupil of the great starry eye.
Caffrey watched the animals pick at the plants then spit them back out, sending them adrift on the stream like little kayaks. Something was wrong—zebadoos, like Belkibons, never spit out anything. He knelt beside Maris and plucked a blade of the light green grass. He took a taste.
"Plastic,” he announced, looking around.
"Look at this,” Yin called from beneath twisted and creepy branches, nodding his head at a tree trunk.
Poe sprayed a soft orange light on the base of the tree, illuminating the small panel Yin had discovered and opened. Inside were various switches, fuses and circuit breakers.
"It would appear there is more to this forest than forest,” observed Caffrey.
Yin flicked one of the numerous controls, and the sound of the trickling stream fell away. He experimented with a few more switches, causing insects to sing, wind to blow, trees to telescope into the ground and even produced a spooky opera of far-away wolves.
"This smells like a Dante Squidreaper set,” Caffrey noted, staring around suspiciously. “We better send the zebedoos back before they start grazing on us."
"Or us on them,” Yin said, sniffing a small artificial fern.
"I suggest you reprogram your hunger circuits,” advised Poe 33 with what was either incredible ignorance or a rare expression of wry humor. “Or slaughter one of the zebadoos for its tough but sweet meat."
"Over my trampled corpse,” Violet warned as she stroked the rump of Maris.
Once Violet was satisfied the herd had drunk their fill of water, she clapped her hands and issued an order to the gentle beasts. They took off toward the edge of the chasm and launched into the sunset, back toward Heddington. The party waved appreciatively as they watched the silhouettes vanish over the tree line, a final breeze of sulfuric methane wafting back to tease their nostrils.
They settled on a grassy patch under an umbrella of wonder willows. A perfectly formed fire ring of ten round stones, charred by previous campfires, awaited them. A small pipe capped with a red valve protruded from its center. Caffrey sat crossed-legged before the ring and turned the knob. There was a hiss, as if a snake had been awakened, followed by a flash of blue flame. After a moment of adjusting, he had produced a roaring campfire.
"Well, that was convenient.” He scanned the world around him in awe. It was all fake. Ever
y tree. Every pebble. Every sound.
"The Forest of Medieval Stereotypes?” Caffrey pondered. “That's an ancient Earth reference."
"What exactly is a ‘medieval stereotype?'” Violet wondered.
"I can answer that,” Poe 33 offered. “A medieval stereotype is the result of the human race's charming tendency to white-wash horrors of its history by retelling it laden with heroics, chivalry and nonexistent honor. Knights on horseback saving damsels from dragon-guarded towers is a classic example."
"I became pretty caught up in the mythology about the era myself during my time on Earth,” Caffrey confessed. “Always reminded me of the Dim Days of Ikoorus 7."
"Ikoorus 7?” asked Angie. “Have we ever been there, my Cosmos-trotting Galahad?"
"No,” answered Caffrey, gathering the memories of his days at middle school when he had studied the lore and legend of Ikoorus 7. “I was a fanatic for the history of the Ikoorian Dim Days. I loved the tales of the brave Insectoid fighters who quested across the dangerous poison marshes to seek the fabled Ivory Egg and conquer the dark and evil Sand Worms. The Worms practiced all sorts of evil rituals and sacrifices. That is, until I learned the truth. The Insectoid fighters were actually a violent class of illiterate buffoons who pillaged and raped from town to town, spreading whatever social disease they'd picked up the previous evening. The purpose of their invasions was to do the handiwork of the Insectoid magicians, who'd usurped power from the freely elected governing body. They gathered armies, which was against every constitutional law, to conquer and convert the Sand Worm folk."
"Convert them to what?” Yin, despite being hungry, was most attentive. Violet, less impressed with the lore, was cleaning her firearm.
"The Sand Worm folk's source of divine inspiration had nothing to do with devils and demons. It was based on a constellation that looked like a butterfly. That was the symbol of transcendence for the Sand Worms. Unfortunately, the Insectoids called this same constellation the ‘Horrid-Winged Black Death’ and insisted it represented a poisonous moth. The Sand Worms, admittedly thick-headed, were more advanced than the Insectoids, especially in the sciences and architecture—they just wanted to be left alone."
Poe needed to know more. “So, why did the Insectoid people feel the need to convert the Sand Worms if it was all simply a difference of interpretation of an abstract arrangement of celestial bodies?"
"I'm not really sure. A mental disease in desperate need of a cure, I guess. The wars raged for centuries, killing millions and spitting directly in the face of whatever divine entity they were hoping to impress."
Poe 33 stroked his chin and came to a sad conclusion. “It seems the romantic view of chivalrous violence crosses all ages and worlds. It's both the manna and the bane of gorks, geeks and many political systems galaxy-wide."
"The galaxy can be a strange place,” sighed Yin.
"It can. But it can also get its revenge.” Caffrey smiled. “A five-kilometer-wide asteroid smashed into Ikoorus 7 and wiped out both the Insectoids and the Sand Worms. To this day, the constellation smiles down on the barren world."
There was a collective sigh, and for the next half-hour they stared quietly into the flames.
* * * *
Poe 33 kept watch as the party drifted off each into their own thoughts, his blue skin shimmering in the firelight. Caffrey stared into the flames, never quite getting past a quasi-hypnagogic state. He watched as the fiery leaves danced and swayed, sending dozens of thin, eel-like ribbons of flame flying off to the sky, where they dissipated into nothing. His expression flickered and flashed along with the blaze, and then for a long moment it was as if he were frozen. Finally, he jumped back to reality. He found Poe 33 staring at him quizzically. Apparently, so was Angie.
"Quark Caffrey?” asked Poe, hesitantly.
"Are you okay, my poor somnambulistic sweetheart?” Angie crooned.
Caffrey, momentarily certain he had just been cussed at, shook his head groggily. “I must have drifted into a nightmare."
"No, you didn't,” the Portsmith corrected. “I was monitoring your biological functions. Your consciousness left your body and entered a hyper-dimensional fold deep within the fire. It was quite creepy. I thought, for a moment, you were attempting some sort of quintessential suicide."
"I went back to an old dream. The color of the flames triggered it."
"Went back?” Angie asked.
"Do you mean remembered?” Poe attempted to bring clarity into the discussion.
'No. I went back to it. A dream I had as a kid. Hadn't thought about it until now. I was sitting in my kitchen spreading orange jam on toast."
The Portsmith shuddered. “Quark Caffrey, the visual is quite disturbing. Please go no further."
Caffrey rolled his eyes upward and continued.
"It was the exact same color as the flames. Then a bird—a black bird—landed on the windowsill and began talking to me. Said ‘Only wise birds sing.’”
"So, if he spoke this message rather than singing it—was it wisdom, dear butterfly?” asked Angie.
"I don't know—but I remember looking down at the toast and seeing my reflection in the sheen of the marmalade. I looked out the window and the entire sky was like orange jam. The bird flew off and melted like blood-red wax. All that was left on the sill was a blue egg."
"What shade of blue?” Poe asked.
"The same blue as you, Poe, my boy."
"'Every dream is a wish.’ Isn't that an old Earth theory?” queried Angie.
"Every dream is a peek,” answered Caffrey.
"Into what?"
"Into the All."
"You sound like my Master, Quark Caffrey. But what have you seen in your voyeuristic peep show on the Cosmos?"
"The egg—the container of life. The blue—a certain troubled android. The blood-red wax. The answer."
"I am becoming confused, Quark Caffrey. You make a string of metaphoric associations..."
"Poe, I know I've been nothing but a source of depression and frustration for you. I made you dress like a snake, and almost implode by magnetic force. Got you dropped from a few hundred feet into a mud bog. I offered you as a gift to one of the most horrid beings in the galaxy. I ate your bloody Master, for God's sakes!"
"Your intentions have been nothing but honorable, Quark Caffrey."
"But there was a reason. My blood."
"No, it was the bloodline,” argued Poe 33.
"No, Poe. It was the blood. My blood can act as the link to the L'Orange."
"Perhaps it is a flaw in my design, but my programming recommends no possible replacement for the lost Essence of the Wise One. The L'Orange is the purest and only known sample of the wise cosmic star stuff. Everything else is simply not butter."
Caffrey smiled, but ignored the old Earth reference, wondering privately just how much this android had seen and heard in his days.
"Unless I am a One Human—like His Him's corgishma. Wouldn't that make the difference?"
Poe 33 stood up, and slowly, a smile formed on his face. “Maybe. Maybe, indeed."
* * * *
Poe's back was illuminated as Yin and Violet watched the experiment. The Portsmith released the catch on his rear panel; and with a soft hum, a tiny cylinder emerged.
"That, Quark Caffrey, is a back-up vial where the sample of my master is to be placed."
"May I remove it?"
"Yes."
Carefully, as if handling a tube of ancient, thirteenth-dynasty Uplikin crystal, Caffrey took the diamond cylinder and held it up to the moonlight.
"Now, any volunteers to draw my blood?” he inquired, his attention turning immediately to Violet.
She approached with a drawn knife, smiling sweetly.
"A drop. No extremities."
Violet took his hand in hers and, with a mischievous grin, pricked the tip of his thumb, squeezing a perfect sphere of crimson liquid to the surface. The blood was let to drip into the special container, which was returned to the slo
t in the android's back. It was drawn in his body with a hum and a beeping confirmation.
"There. How does that feel?"
A shimmy of lights ran up Poe 33's body. “Hard to say exactly, Quark Caffrey. I sort of feel like the soft ice cream from The Moby Dick's dessert spigot. Only warmer. Fuzzier.” With that, Poe 33 vanished in a twinkling of glittering confetti.
"Holy beans!” gasped Yin.
They stood and stared at the spot where Poe 33 had been for a solid minute without speaking or batting an eyelash. Then they exchanged gazes, but no one offered an explanation. The empty spot where the Portsmith had been became the focus of attention for another five long minutes. Everyone began to feel somewhat foolish.
"Caffrey?” Yin finally asked, cracking the silence.
"Yes, Yin?"
"Did you make Poe 33 vanish with your mind?"
"Negative, pooch. But my blood may have done it. Poe may be back with the L'Orange."
"You would think he'd tell us,” insisted Angie.
"How are we supposed to know?” asked Yin.
"Beats the cosmic shit out of me,” replied Angie, in a most uncharacteristically scatological response.
She scoured the area electronically while Yin applied his nose in biological detection methods. Caffrey sat cross-legged and tried in vain to reach the L'Orange. Violet put her woman's intuition into overdrive. Their combined efforts produced nothing. Nada. Zilch.
They could do little more in the pitch-black of night; and as concerned as they were, they knew it best to wait until morning before trying anything else. Sleep was a welcome escape as they fought the fears and concerns haunting their minds.
* * * *
"Caffrey?"
A soft voice slipped into his dream. He mumbled incoherently and fought any attempts to awaken. Angie tried again.
