* * *
Hacker didn’t come back for about fifteen minutes. I knew he’d been smoking his primo weed in the john as soon as I saw the goofy grin plastered on his face. Then the smell of good ganja hovered around his clothes, radiating throughout our cabin. His mood was a lot lighter as he sat down next to Greta and draped an arm around her shoulders. This helped to lighten the mood of our whole group.
Our tour bus zipped along Highway 40, past Gallup and around Albuquerque and onto Interstate 25. Santa Fe was an hour up the road at normal speeds; we would do it in half that time. In fact, the trip from Sedona to Santa Fe normally takes about eight hours. We were on schedule to do it in five.
Just outside of Santa Fe, a thought occurred to me.
“Mr. Nebula Jones, a question for you. Why are you helping us now to take down Big Mama Lakshmi—to try, anyway—and go after the head of Black Swan Galactic? This is a dangerous mission that we may not survive. Why not just let things take their natural course and then drop us into your friggin’ black hole?”
“Because if things take their natural course, Mr. Powers, the Earth will implode much sooner than we had anticipated. Much sooner. That would be very unfortunate. So now our rendezvous with the black hole is in a little less than thirty days. The goal is to keep your planet in one piece until the rendezvous. The danger will be most acute in the next forty-eight hours.”
“Please explain yourself, sir,” said Leela. “I sense that there is something about this whole caper that you are not telling us.”
“You are correct, Ms. Powers,” said the alien, exhaling a breath, nearly a human sigh. He paused a beat. “My dear friends, are you aware of the location of Black Swan Galactic headquarters in America? Their ranch is located near the tiny city of Abiquiu, a ranch where the famous American artist Georgia O’Keefe lived for many years. If you were to look at a map of this state called New Mexico, you would see that the ranch is very near the city of Los Alamos, forty-five miles, to be exact. Do you know about Los Alamos? It is also known as Atomic City. It is where the atom bomb was invented, and later the hydrogen bomb.
“The scientists who work there are still developing new weapons that will kill more people more efficiently. We know for a fact that there are still huge stockpiles of nuclear materials at Los Alamos, and other fissionable materials that are very very dangerous.”
“So?” challenged Hacker, becoming hostile again. “So what? Is Big Mama going to nuke us all?”
“Not exactly, Mr. Hack. Please, try to relax. Now, I want all of you to prepare yourselves for the next piece of information.” The silence in our compartment was deafening. A moment of truth—maybe THE moment of truth—had finally arrived. We collectively braced ourselves for it. I held my breath, closed my eyes.
“Black Swan Galactic, at its heart, is basically a religious organization. Fundamentalist Christian. Most of its members, and all of its leaders, believe in the Biblical prophecies in the Book of Revelation. The end of history, the last days, the end times. Apocalypse. They see the ecological disasters that have befallen Terra, not including the ones they themselves have caused, as the wrath of your God, fulfilling the prophecies in Revelation. They see themselves as the Second Coming; they don’t consider themselves Jesus Christ, they are all christs, gods unto themselves, who have the gift of eternal life. Remember Eternal Flame? Their space station is their Heaven.”
“Jesus H. Christ,” I muttered.
“And to fulfill the prophecies—here comes the bad news—your Planet Earth must be destroyed. Incinerated. Fire and brimstone. And that is where your Big Mama Lakshmi comes in.”
“What?” said Jill incredulously. “Big Mama destroys the world? I think you are exaggerating her abilities, Mr. Jones.”
“Not really, Miss Appleton. Here is their plan. First, within the next twenty-four hours, Mr. Wolfgang Maximus will board a rocket ship with ninety-nine members of his organization and be transported to the Black Swan space station, which is in full operation and is now orbiting the Earth.
“In another twenty-four hours the second group of one hundred Eternal Flame members will board a second rocket and land on the space station. They need at least two hundred humans to create a viable gene pool to carry out their madcap scheme to live forever and explore the galaxy.
“This must not be allowed to happen. They must be stopped.”
“But why bother to stop ’em?” asked Hacker. “Let the muthafuggas go! They took half the planet’s money, so what? There’s lots more where that came from. The Wall Street hotshots did that to the world in oh-nine, took our money and ran. And got away with it. Let these assholes play their little games in space—good riddance—and the rest of us will try to repair our planet.”
“Here’s why we can’t do that, Mr. Hack,” said Nebula Jones. “Once the second rocket ship has departed, the Armageddon prophecy must be fulfilled. That is where Big Mama comes in. The plan calls for her to trigger a series of earthquakes using her powers of telekinesis. The epicenter for these quakes will be near Los Alamos. The quakes in turn will set off several nuclear weapons now residing at the labs of Los Alamos.”
“That is more of the craziest shit I’ve ever heard,” mumbled Hacker. He closed his eyes and held his head in his big hands.
“Can she really do that?” piped up Greta, alarm and disbelief in her eyes.
“She can indeed do that,” said Nebula Jones. “These high-yield nuclear bombs will reduce the entire Southwest of your America to rubble, and release a toxic cloud of radioactivity that will cover the entire western hemisphere of your planet within a few hours. This will in turn cause a global panic and trigger the worldwide nuclear war that will cause Planet Earth to go nova and…well, you know the rest. This is why it is up to us to stop Big Mama Lakshmi now before their plan can be carried out.”
“Insanity,” I said. “Fuckin’ insanity. How do you know all this, Mr. Jones? Do you have spies? A team of psychic infiltrators? A mole inside Black Swan headquarters? How?”
“We have our ways, Mr. Powers. We have our ways of knowing what the key players in your little Earth psychodrama are thinking, plotting, and scheming. Remember our orbiting satellite. That is all I can tell you. We know that Mr. Wolfgang Maximus is this very moment at the Black Swan ranch in Abiquiu, meeting with Big Mama and with his top advisors, planning the next steps in their plan to escape from this planet and then destroy it.”
“And Big Mama. Does she plan to blow herself up in this nuclear holocaust, or…?” asked Leela. Obviously she still had some feeling for her former friend.
“She plans to ascend, literally, perhaps take another form, and ascend to the orbiting space station, where she would assume her position as head goddess,” explained Nebula Jones. “Meanwhile, today, Wolfgang Maximus is scheduled to leave the ranch and board a high-speed helicopter which will take him to the Black Swan spaceport, which is located about three hundred miles to the south near the White Sands missile range where, coincidentally, the first atom bombs were tested by your American military. Perhaps we can also stop Mr. Maximus and short-circuit the whole plan. Perhaps not.”
Everyone issued a collective “whew!” This was too much information, even for the expanded consciousness of our psi trio.
“I have one more question, sir.” It was Jill, her eyes wide. “What about this so-called Alien Manifesto you were talking about earlier? What do you really intend to do with it? Are you serious about broadcasting it to the entire population of the Earth?”
“Of course I’m serious, Miss Appleton. “The people of Earth need to know why their planet is in such a dire situation as well as the potential consequences of their actions. They also need to know what must be done to prevent a cosmic catastrophe. Thus, they will be told they are being dropped into a black hole, and that they will be sent back in time in order to have a second chance.”
“
That would be a big mistake, buster,” said Hacker, belligerent once more. “If you tell the poor ignorant masses of this planet what is going to happen to them, they will totally freak out. The situation will be much worse than it is now. Millions of people will come looking for you with pitchforks and shotguns. There will be mass panic across the planet. I can see it now: Billions of people looking for a way off this planet before doomsday comes.”
“What about that, Nebula Jones?” I asked. “How can the smart money avoid being sent back in time? What if some of us were orbiting the Earth in a satellite or something when the Singularity Day comes?”
“Good idea, Mr. Powers, but it won’t work. You see, everything within the Earth’s atmosphere, which extends about ten thousand kilometers from the planet’s surface, will be, uh, recycled. There is one way out, however. There is one option that would transport certain individuals about one thousand years into the future.”
“Please tell us how, O Alien,” I said in a sing-song voice, laughing to myself. This was becoming more ridiculous by the minute.
“A handful of people on Terra, those possessed of highly advanced psychic ability, could travel a thousand years or so into the future by entering the wormhole that will be created when the black hole is activated. Two of you in this room, Leela and Jill, would have no problem in making this jump. You, Mr. Powers, are a borderline case, and there would be no guarantees. You might disintegrate during the procedure, or you might not.”
“I’ll take my chances,” I said, going along with the joke. “But what will this planet be like a thousand years from now? Got any clues?”
“Life is a gamble, Mr. Powers. As the poet said, take your best shot. The black hole or the wormhole. Which will it be?”
I gulped, and went silent. The bus rolled on.
31 The Great Battle
The city of Abiquiu is no more than a tiny speck on the map, in the middle of New Mexico’s nowhere lands, a landscape empty and forbidding, dry, endless plains framed by stark, naked mountains. A vast, sun-baked emptiness where the horizon never seems to end. Big sky country.
After zipping around the curves of Highway 84 in our sleek, driverless tour bus, we arrived unannounced at the Black Swan ranch. We were greeted by a gate that was almost a cliché in Western folklore, two tall wooden poles with a crossbar at the top, a sign hanging from the crossbar that announced BLACK SWAN GALACTIC RANCH with the abstract black swan logo and a sleek rocket ship blending into the background. No fence, physical or electronic, blocked our way.
“The ranch used to be owned by a church group,” said Jill, who had done some research during the bus journey. “When the American economy collapsed, Black Swan took over the bank that held their mortgage, foreclosed the church group on some phony pretense, and moved in. One report I read says there are at least fifty Black Swan people living at the ranch, including their leader, Wolfgang Maximus.”
“Good work, Jill,” I said. “What else you got? I’d like to know what we’re walking into here.”
“Well, one blogger says they are all strung out on that eternal life drug, you know, that EMC-2. And all are members of the Eternal Flame. Mostly men, all jacked up on testosterone and aggression, all waiting their turn to be transported to their orbiting space station. These creeps bring in desperate young women from Santa Fe for recreation, feed ’em and give ’em a few dollars, then send ’em back on the daily bus that brings in the next batch of amateur hookers.”
Our driverless bus came to a stop. “To be continued, citizens. Time to move out of here and look around.” It was Nebula Jones, who had been moving about the bus restlessly. He had finally put on a pair of tan trousers and a white, long-sleeved shirt. He looked like a business executive on holiday.
We piled out of the tour bus and walked around on the hot, dusty earth. This was the first time the bus had stopped since we left Sedona. Nebula Jones opened the front door, woke up the three Dakinis from their long trance, and ushered them outside. They shook off their cobwebs and stumbled around in little circles, confused and angry, and immediately started complaining.
“Where the fuck are we?” screeched the Dakini formerly known as Karma. “How did we get here? You fuckers kidnapped us!”
“Hey, man, I really got to pee,” said another of the girls to no one in particular, the one I recognized as the former Satori. “Where’s the ladies room, you assholes?”
“Me too!” shrieked the third, the supersexy Chakra, who I had once taken a fancy to.
“Inside, inside!” insisted Nebula Jones. “Use the back door! Restrooms are right there!” Karma and Satori dashed inside the bus.
“Fuck it,” said Chakra, who dashed behind the tour bus, raised her long skirt, dropped her drawers, squatted, and let go a long yellow stream that we watched with a mixture of horror and fascination. The stream kicked up the brown dust and created little pools that shimmered in the bright sunlight.
“Nice group of ladies you got there, Mr. Jones,” said Hacker with a smirk. “Where’d you get these nasty bitches? Are these the brave warriors who will lead us into battle with their precious amulets? Good luck, everybody.” He laughed, a hollow, mocking bark that gave me the creeps. I didn’t bother to scan my friend, but I sensed that he had something dangerous lurking in the back of his cortex.
We stood around in a tight little group, surveying our situation, Chakra hovering on the outside of the circle. I looked up at the entry gate framing the entrance to the Black Swan ranch. Security cams, at least seven of them. A satellite dish. A holo scanner mounted on a nearby cell tower.
“We are being watched,” I announced. “Big time.”
“No shit, Sherlock,” growled Hacker. “It doesn’t take a mind reader to figure that out.”
My friend was leaning against our bus, frowning, his arm around Greta’s slender shoulders. He had barely spoken to me the entire trip. In fact, he had been seething for much of the journey, barely able to control his anger. My occasional scans of his cranium during the trip were scary, revealing a boiling cauldron of brain chemicals surging through his overheated synapses.
Actually, I couldn’t blame him for being angry. For one thing, he was still very hurt and pissed off that Jill had dumped him over a year ago. Greta, his present girlfriend of convenience, may have been attractive in a nerdy sort of way, and wise in the ways of computers and high-tech, but she was no match for the vivacious, brilliant, sexually adventurous Jill. Hacker was also extremely jealous of my own relationship with Jill, and with our kinky psi threesome.
Lastly, he was nearly berserk with resentment that I—as well as Jill and Leela, plus our alien friend—could now read his most intimate thoughts, feelings, memories, fantasies, whatever was happening inside his head. Hacker was a very private person, loathe to show too much feeling or to share what was going on inside. He may have been a high-tech genius, but he was also very closed, an old-school male with chauvinistic attitudes toward women and competitive attitudes toward men. These qualities were irrelevant in the New World Order of Impending Doom.
“Listen, Marty, this place really creeps me out,” said the Hacker. “How about if Greta and I stay here and handle recon. Think our alien friend will go for that?”
“Not hardly,” I said. “We need both of you, good buddy, to help create the force field to take out Kali. We need you to chant with us.”
“Me chant?” said Hacker incredulously. “Marty, read my lips. No, better yet, read my thoughts.”
His thoughts said, and his moving lips expressed the same sentiment, FUCK YOU! AND FUCK THIS WHOLE—
His thoughts dissolved into dust as a ghostlike voice resonated over an unseen speaker system. It was wraparound sound plus. The voice said:
“I am the great Mother Goddess of Creation. Surrender to the Goddess now. Fall to your knees in supplication. Surrender to the Goddess and you may be spared.”
The disembodied
voice repeated the words, again and again, in an unearthly echo. It was Big Mama’s voice. We covered our ears. Nebula Jones suddenly emerged from the back of the tour bus, holding a Dakini by the nape of the neck with each hand. The two young ladies, both looking a little frazzled and ragged from the long bus journey, were snarling insults at each other.
The alien pushed them rudely through the front entrance of the bus. Chakra followed without being asked. All three assumed their seats and began bickering immediately. My own two ladies, Leela and Jill, looked at each other with mock horror.
“Let’s go, everyone,” shouted Nebula Jones to our little group. “Back on the bus. It’s time for our rendezvous with Big Mama Lakshmi.”
“At least do us all a favorite, dude,” sneered Hacker, “and put these three hellcats back in a trance so we don’t have to listen to them.”
“Just as soon as we get underway. All I have to do is touch their third eye and they’re gone,” said the alien.
Jill flashed a message to Nebula Jones: Do the Dakinis know the nature of this mission? Do they know why they’re here?
Nebula Jones: The three of them hate Big Mama because she took away their powers back in Sedona and threw them back on humanity’s scrapheap. Before Kali, they were a sex worker, a stripper, and an escort girl. Now they are just tramps living out their bad karma. They would love to take revenge on their former goddess. This is their chance. They know we are on the way to a showdown with her. They don’t know yet that the amulets they wear have enormous power. Fortunately, they will be in a deep trance when we confront Big Mama.
Leela and I intercepted this exchange, sent at the speed of thought. We smiled at each other and got on the tour bus. I squeezed her hand as we got in and helped her through the door with a solid pat on the ass.
Leela: If we survive this thing, Marty, I’ve got a big surprise for you when we get back to Sedona. Remember that if things get rough out there.
Jill, listening in: Hmmmmm. Count me in, kids. All this danger makes me horny.
Me: The two of you are dangerous. I hope my psi powers don’t go bye-bye. I’d be lost without ’em.