Jennifer was waiting for me when I got back to the Observatory. I had barely stepped foot into The Commons when she shot at me from some unseen corner. Before I knew it, she was clinging to one of my arms and sopping my sleeve with tears. “I'm sorry,” she kept repeating between all the gasps and sniffles. “I'm so sorry.”
It was then that I noticed all the soldiers present had ceased what they were doing in order stare at me. “What's going on?” I grumbled uncomfortably.
Icarus approached from the direction of the maple tree followed by Maya. It's in moments like these when the senses are heightened that you notice and remember the strangest things. The unruly mat of hair atop Icarus' head had recently been trimmed.
“It's Jango,” Icarus told me, peering at me gravely through the thick lenses of his squarish, black frames.
I looked down at Jennifer sobbing on my arm. “What's wrong with him? Is he sick or something?”
“The doctors say he won't last through the night.”
“What do you mean he won't last through the night? You sound like he's dying.”
When Icarus did not answer me, I ripped my arm angrily from Jennifer's grasp. “Will you stop that?” I shouted.
But Jennifer lunged and clung to me once again. “I'm so sorry, Markie!” she pleaded, peering up at me with bloodshot eyes. “I didn't realize how much he was taking or I wouldn't have given him any more. Honest!” She looked terrible. Her skin was pasty and there were heavy, blue bags under her eyes. It was the first time I had ever seen her wearing a jogging suit, and the top and bottom parts didn't match. She had tried to gather her hair up in a pony tail, but she had missed a good deal of it. Clumpy locks criss-crossed her skull wildly. The jewelry was gone. The polish on her fingernails was cracked. She looked exposed and worn out.
“Have you ever been to the hospital unit?” Maya asked. Her long, blond hair was neatly combed back and held in place by a white hairband.
I looked at her in surprise. I didn't want to go. “No,” I answered thickly.
“C'mon,” Icarus suggested gruffly and pulled Jennifer away. “Follow us. You got back just in time.”
I had never seen Jango so thin, and I had known him a long time. The potbelly had surely evaporated. I could see the bones holding up his face. Frail and gaunt, he looked like another person. He had lost a lot of hair, too, since I had seen him last. A few sweaty, long strands still clung to the sides and back of his head, but that was all. Splotches and discolorations mottled his skin in a curious patchwork, and a large, hideous growth of some kind was devouring his neck. I don't know what I would have said to him during those first moments, but I was spared the embarrassment. He seemed to be sleeping.
The walls were painted white. The tiles laid into the floor were shiny white. The ceiling was white and so was the light coming from the lamps embedded in it. Everything in the hospital unit was white. Everything in every hospital I had ever seen or heard of was white. Even the gown and slippers of the doctor standing slightly in front of me was white. Newly washed, I imagined. The PA she clasped in one hand, though, was black.
In fact, she was reading from it. “Trianthahexamine,” the PA told her. The doctor repeated the word matter-of-factly. “Cocaine. Methylenedioxymethamphethine. Alcohol. Phenobarbital. Thiopental.”
As the doctor read out the words, I turned to my left and levelled a withering glare at Jennifer. She stared back at me, eyes wide like a little child's. She knew she had done something wrong and – even though she had never meant it – the consequences were enormous.
“Thebaine. Noscapine. Morphine.” The doctor read on.
“You can get all that out here?” I hissed.
Jennifer cringed but otherwise didn't respond. Her arms were wrapped protectively around her chest, hands alternately closing into tight fists and then opening again.
“We've been trying to tell you for a while but you wouldn't listen.” The crisp, matter-of-fact voice was Maya's. It came from my other side.
“Shut up,” I snapped without even bothering to look at her.
Behind us, seated in a chair pushed up against the wall, was Icarus, looking grim. He didn't say anything.
“Pheritol. Mescaline. Baryonic acid triethalide.”
“Can't you do something?” I demanded, interrupting the doctor's litany.
She looked caustically up at me from her PA, head still aimed at it as if stubbornly intent on finishing off what she had been doing. “Quite impossible, Governor Hawkeye. You see, virtually every organ in his body has suffered extensive damage, including the brain. It's a wonder he can still speak if you ask me. I've seen cases like this one back on earth. Usually people brought to us from the underground slums.” She shrugged indifferently.
“But can't you just farm some of his DNA and grow replacements?”
“Yes, well, the technique is widely practised,” the doctor agreed, flipping the cover up on her PA and slipping her hands into the large, white pockets at the front of her large, white gown. “But frankly, I don't think he'd survive the procedure. Can you imagine the trauma to the body if we undertook to replace every single organ?”
“Don't do it all at once!”
“We don't have that much time, governor.” The doctor looked at me gravely. “And consider this as well: up here we have only a limited amount of resources to work with. What you are suggesting would involve enormous cost, and it would come at the expense of your soldiers. Are you aware of that fact?”
“I am now,” I grumbled.
“Oh, Markie,” Jennifer broke in, “you're not just going to let him fucking die, are you?”
The question irritated me. “Don't you try and put this on my head, Jen!”
Shocked, she took a feeble step backward. It was clearly not what she meant at all.
Jango shifted slightly in his bed. Some of the other patients began to complain.
The doctor began to protest against my outburst. Maya put a restraining hand on my shoulder. I calmed down. Turning to her, I said, “I don't like being in charge. For exactly this reason.”
Maya understood. “It's a tough decision,” she said, and that was all.
I half-expected Icarus to pipe in. If there was anyone who was going to say the wrong thing at the wrong time, it was he. But he didn't. He just sat there by the wall, looking grim.
“Hey, Mark,” came the ghostly, scratchy voice. “Come over here.”
It took me a few moments to realize the voice was Jango's. His eyes were still shut as far as I could tell.
“Hurry up, will you?”
Unmistakably, I saw the mouth moving. I rushed over to the side of the bed he was turned to and sat down on a chair. “Hi, Jango.”
“Fucking A,” Jango breathed. “What took you so long?”
“I thought you were asleep.”
“Naw. I'll do plenty of that soon enough.” He snorted then and erupted in a fit of coughing. A nurse came, wiped away the phlegm, and quickly retreated. “Light hurts my brain. It's like lightning in there. So I keep them closed most of the time.”
Out of the corner of my eyes, I saw Maya, Jennifer, and Icarus leaving the hospital unit.
“Is it true you're pulling out for earth soon?”
I nodded.
“You have to tell me, buddy. I can't see you.”
“Yes,” I answered, trying to keep my voice as steady as I could.
“I sure would have liked to get back there.” He started coughing again. Again, the nurse came and wiped his mouth and nose.
“Jesus Christ, Jango!” I finally erupted. “Why did you do this to yourself?”
“Huh?”
“There's no reason you shouldn't be coming back with us. This is just plain stupidity!”
“Yeah, well, I can't complain. I had a good time. Anyway, stop being such a fucking pussy! Death is just another adventure. I've already decided. On the way to hell I'm gonna stop off and knock St. Peter in the nuts.” He gurgled softly to himself. “Heaven wouldn't interest me anyway. When I get to where I'm going, Satan's gonna have trouble on his hands. You wouldn't have wanted me around anyway when you get back.”
I started. “What?”
“Do you remember that kid we beat to death with sticks in that alley?”
“What did you mean I wouldn't want you around?”
“That was a lot of fun. We had a lot of fun together, didn't we, Mark?”
I gave in. “Yes, Jango. We sure did.”
We sat for a while in silence. I watched the nurses walking up and down the unit, staring intensely at their PA's and occasionally adjusting a dial on someone's bed.
“Listen,” Jango finally wheezed at me. “Don't take my body back to earth, okay?”
“You don't want to be cremated there?”
“Send me into the sun. You can just dump me in the trash.”
“Oh, Jango, c'mon. I would never do that!”
But the gurgling I heard coming from his mouth was really laughter. Some bubbles pushed past his lips. The nurse didn't notice, so I leaned forward and used the bedsheet to wipe them away.
“You gonna raise hell when you get back?” Jango wanted to know.
“What?”
“You know. The ring. You gonna let Epstein have it?”
I hesitated, but there was no point in telling him the truth now, not on his deathbed. “Yeah, Jango. It's gonna be great.”
He smiled. “Tell Epstein I'll be waiting for him in hell.”
“Sure, Jango.”
After that, Jango didn't say anything for a long time. Someone came and brought me dinner. When I finished, I got up to return the tray. That's when I felt Jango's hand on my arm. It was cold like dead fish.
“Could you stay with me, Mark?” He whispered so softly I could barely hear the words. “Until the very end?”
The elevator door closed with a harsh swish and the beaming Indian envoy was whisked away. Munib, sitting at his usual place behind his desk, and myself across from him – head craned so I could see – watched him go. Icarus was sitting to my left and Maya was standing behind, both hands on the back of my chair. Jennifer, though, chose to sit apart. She was sulking next to the elevator, elbows on her knees, chin cupped in her hands, staring moodily out the window over the lunar mare below. The window-washer was nowhere to be seen.
“How interesting,” Munib intoned. “Your last official act as governor?”
I nodded my head. “And not a very good one. He ripped us off. I never heard of such a price for copper!”
“You didn't know anything about copper until I put a price list together for you,” Maya remarked dryly. “Anyway, it's the food I'd be worried about.”
“No wonder he was smiling. I didn't think a person could show so many teeth!”
“Yes, well, the Indians are crafty tradesmen. Not as crafty as the Chinese, of course, but then again, everyone knows we're in a bind. It could have been worse.”
I shrugged. “You're assured of supplies for at least a few months.”
“Yes.” Munib folded his hands neatly in front of him and looked at me.
I knew him well enough by now to know what that meant. “Okay, general, don't make me guess.”
“Do you have a plan for when you return?”
“Not yet. I told you, I'll know when the time comes.”
“Will you?” He paused. “Have you seen the latest reports? Word of your return preceeds you.”
I turned and glared at Icarus. “I thought we were going to keep it secret?”
He spread his hands defensively in front of him. “I did my best, Mark. But it's not too hard to guess what's happening once the arrangements have been made.”
“Xiling and Epstein have put aside their differences.”
I frowned slightly. “What do you mean? What about that building in New Jersey?”
“They destroyed it.”
Icarus gasped. “They did what?”
Munib nodded somberly. “They are scared to death of your return. And what you bring with you.” He gestured definitively at the dud on my finger. “So much so, in fact, that they are willing to join forces against you.”
“I'll know when the time comes.”
“That doesn't sound very encouraging,” Icarus mumbled.
But Maya was even more alarmed. She alone knew what I had done. Her eyes were overflowing with worries and reprimands, but she had enough restraint to keep quiet. I knew I'd get a mouthful later, though.
Behind us, Jennifer was weeping.
“What's the matter, Jen?” Maya snapped, her eyes still fixated on the back of my head.
“They destroyed the building!” she cried out. “But I wanted to go there! Now what do I do?”
“You'll have to figure it out on your own like the rest of us,” Icarus responded coldly.
“Oh, c'mon, Icarus, for Christ's sake. Don't be so heartless.” Craning my neck so I could get a good look at her, I tried to sound as encouraging as I could. “Listen, Jen, you'll feel better after a while. I know it doesn't seem like it now but you didn't always pump your body full of drugs. You used to have fun without them, remember?”
But she wasn't making eye contact. “Oh, what do you know,” she mumbled and wiped the tears away. She had stopped crying.
“You have an obligation to us up here, Hawkeye,” Munib continued. “As long as Epstein remains in charge we are at great risk. He will either starve us or send the fleet.”
“I know.”
“Do not abandon us to our fate.”
“I won't.”
“I know.” Munib smiled at me and leaned back in his chair. “When do you leave?”
“Tonight, if everything's on schedule.” I glanced over at Icarus.
“Yep. Tonight. Oh yeah, that reminds me,” he suddenly added. “I was looking over the roster this morning. Do you know who else is on that ship?”
“Who?”
“Eddie.”
“Our political commissar?” Maya asked, eyebrows perking up.
“The very one.”
“Yeah,” I said. “I know.”
“You know?” Icarus and Maya echoed each other.
“Yeah. He asked me if he could tag along.”
Icarus rolled his eyes. “Mark, have you gone mad?”
“No wonder it's big news about your trip,” Maya sneered derisively. “Don't blame Icarus. You went out and told the whole world yourself!”
“Hey, hey, easy fellas! He approached me! He already knew about the flight!”
“Why does he have to come on this one?” Maya countered. “If he wants to go back to earth, he can go whenever he wants.”
I shrugged. “Actually, Maya, there hasn't been a flight back to earth since we got here. And there isn't likely to be another one for a while. We halted all shipments back to earth and they put up the blockade. Remember?”
Maya muttered something under her breath but didn't reply.
Munib pushed back his chair, stood up, and extended a hand over the table. “I must take my leave of you now, governor. This afternoon I leave on campaign.”
“Who is it this time, general?”
“The Chinese.” A broad smile waxed on Munib's face. He was never so happy as when he was waging war. “They have been behaving provocatively.”
I stood up and took his hand in my own. “Of course, general. Goodbye.” When I tried to withdraw it, though, the Shadow of God on Earth held on.
“Remember that you have made promises, Hawkeye.”
“I haven't forgotten.”
“Ah.” He let go. “Then I will wish you a pleasant journey and take your leave. The next time we meet will be in a more formal capacity, I expect.”
I couldn't help but smile. “As you wish, general.”
Our ship took off from the same spaceport we landed in, out on the surface of the Bay of Rainbows. We did not encounter any resistance as we passed out of lunar orbit. The truth was that the blockade wasn't manned by enough ships to enforce. We travelled directly to a space station in orbit around earth controlled by the Brazilians. Surprisingly enough, they had given us permission to dock there. The journey took just under a day and passed uneventfully. As on the way over, none of us slept. My thoughts were racing, but I hardly spent any of the time thinking about Judas nor Xiling. Occasionally I would look out the viewport towards the sun. She burned far in the distance, a giant ball of fire spewing out streams of glowing, ionized gas. Had Jango arrived? Of course, I knew he'd never actually touch down. Long before he reached the surface, he and his coffin would be vaporized by the intense heat. The particles would be dispersed in the solar corona and over the eons sprayed across the cosmos as part of the solar wind.
An official in the Brazilian government wearing a brightly colored uniform and white gloves met us as soon as we disembarked. Beyond the cordon, pressing up against it as if it could barely contain them, was a mob of reporters, buzzing angrily.
I swallowing thickly, knowing we'd have to push through them.
“Welcome, Mr. Gyges,” she said. “Would you mind coming with me? Don't say a word until we arrive at my private quarters. The journalists are recording everything.”
It was an ordeal, but it ended quickly enough. The journalists were ravenous. They pushed and clawed and elbowed each other like wild beasts. Some even drew blood. They shouted questions. When I and the others tried to ignore them, they began to claw at us, too.
“Do you plan to return to the homeland even though the Senate has not invalidated your ostracism?”
“Do you retain any warm feelings towards the President?”
“Now that you've left the moon, does Munib the Magnificent – I mean general Munib have any plans to beg the President's forgiveness?”
“The President says you are the cause of the war and must be brought to trial. Any comment?”
“Hawkeye, do you have a message for the President?”
“We need to know,” the Brazilian official told me as soon as we were safely alone, “exactly what your plans are.”
Maya, Icarus, Jennifer and I were standing in a room larger than any in Laplace Observatory save The Commons. Somewhere along the way we had lost Eddie.
“I don't know what my plans are.”
The official grimaced. “That is not an answer that pleases us.”
“I understand,” Maya said. “Epstein has demanded our immediate extradition?”
The official nodded. “We are but a small Confederation, Mr. Gyges, that has so far managed to maintain its independence. Right now the eyes of the whole world are trained on this space station. We'd rather not hand you over to the Americans because – well, to be honest, your domestic problems benefit everyone. I'm sure you understand.” She cleared her throat uncomfortably. “Of course, we'd need a good reason not to.”
To one side of the room was a large viewport. The earth – large and incredibly bluish green – hung suspended upside down from the top. I walked over and peered at it. We were passing over the Horn of Africa. I reached out a hand and lightly touched the plexiglass. With a single finger I managed to obscure all of Uganda. “I have an idea,” I told them dreamily.
“You do?” Icarus sounded hesitant.
I whirled around and flashed him a smile full of teeth. “How would you like being me for a while?”
Now it was Icarus' turn to grimace.
I touched down sometime in the afternoon at the spaceport in Cuidad Bolivar, safely and anonymously disguised. Icarus was still aboard the space station, pretending to be me and staying out of sight. He, Jennifer, and Maya would rendezvous with me later on, after he had affected his miraculous “escape”. The Brazilian official had agreed to act as a messenger. She warned me, however, that there would be linkbots watching. After all, we were back on the grid.
The overland flight from Cuidad Bolivar to Caracas took no time at all. When I stepped out of the aerodrome onto the street, my disguise was just starting to wear off. And no time too soon. Jesus was about twenty meters to my left, peering intently at the stream of people who were emerging. His eyes passed right over mine and moved on.
I couldn't help myself. I approached and, lowering my voice as far as I could, said, “Excuse me, sir, but could you tell your sister to stop calling me? I'm sure she already had the herpes and I don't want to see her anymore.”
I could see the anger – always quick to bubble up to the surface in Venezuela – intermingling with uncertainty and a range of other emotions. After all, it was a large family, but Jesus had only brothers. The wariness, though, won out. “You got the wrong guy,” he finally said to me and pushed roughly past.
“Hang on,” I said and leaped in front of him again. “I thought you were going to give me a ride to Guatire.”
Jesus' eyes squinted at me. “Marcellus?”
I smiled. “Didn't you recognize me?”
“No,” he stated bluntly. The wariness hadn't left his eyes.
“Remember that time in the Seventh Heaven when you fucked that chick in the toilet and they threw you out?”
The eyes opened wide. “Jesus Mary mother of God! It is you! Marcellus!” He lunged forward to embrace me in a tight hug.
“Shhhhh,” I admonished, stepping back and grabbing him by the shoulders. “It's a secret, remember?”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Excitedly, he slipped his PA out of his pocket and thumbed a few strokes. “Ma and Elvis are looking for you, too.”
“You didn't tell anybody I was coming, did you?”
“No, no, of course not.” Jesus' face broke out in an enthusiastic smile. “It's so great you're here! You know, next week we're going to Isla Margarita. Shakira – she's my new girlfriend. I don't think you met her. Was I with her when you were here last?”
“It's been two years, Jesus.”
“We're heading up there with some of her friends. Her mother rented a beach house. It's not far from the water.” He winked at me slyly. “She'll only be there for a weekend. The rest of the time the place is ours.”
The familiar Indian tanker pulled up against the curb in front of us. It had acquired a few more dents since I had seen it last. Nefertitis was at the wheel, gesturing quickly at us through the windshield. Elvis was next to her in the front street. “Epa!” he called out as he stuck his head out the window. “What they hell are you doing, Jesus? You said you found him!”
“I did find him,” Jesus returned smugly as he slipped the PA back into his pocket.
I didn't have any luggage, so I followed Jesus into the back seat and slammed the door.
“Hey, easy,” Jesus whispered to me. “The car's been to the shop a few times in the last year.”
Nefertitis didn't shower me with kisses or drive off or do any of the other things I had come to expect. Instead, she twisted around, threw an arm over the seat, and stared first at me and then at Jesus, her expression as cool as a stone in a bubbling brook.
“Who the hell is this guy?” Elvis blurted out.
“Is he with the intelligence services?” Nefertitis wanted to know.
“Does he know where Marcellus is?”
“This is just like a cast I saw the other day,” Nefertitis said and nodded at me knowingly, suddenly relaxing. “There was a secret code. They didn't mention anything about a secret code when they told us to pick up Marcellus.”
“No, mama, they don't use code words anymore. Or signals or anything old school like that. It's all electronic chips the size of pinheads and holograms and malbots now.”
“I saw it on the link, Elvis,” Nefertitis insisted.
“Yeah, mama, but they don't do that any more.”
“They told us to show up at the aerodrome. No one said anything about any spies or holograms! How do they expect us to find him? Oh, poor Marcellus. Who knows what they've done with him!”
“What do you expect from a Brazilian,” Elvis muttered under his breath and peeked at me curiously out of the corner of his eye.
Jesus couldn't hold in his laughter Slapping me on the shoulder he said, “Aren't you going to say something?”
“Say what?” Elvis demanded suspiciously.
“It's me, Nefertitis,” I said. “I'm disguised so no one will recognize me. Not even you!”
Nefertitis frowned. “Your face is cracking.”
And so it was. They watched in awe as the disguise broke apart. Pieces peeled off and fell from my face. Needless to say, I was thankful. The sun was incredibly hot in Caracas.
“Oh, Marcellus it is you!” Nefertitis blurted out. Tears started to well up in her eyes.
Jesus leaned down to collect the soft bits of plastic that were now littering the floor, examining them curiously.
“I knew it the whole time,” Elvis told me as his mother grabbed a handkerchief. “I was just playing along.”
“You must be so happy to be back on earth!” Nefertitis exclaimed as she wiped her eyes. “It must have been just horrible up there on the moon. A terrible ordeal. Did they put you to work in a mine? Cousin Ruperio told me all there is to do on the moon is mine rocks and load ships. But of course the American sector isn't sending any water back to earth.”
“No, Nefertitis. They didn't put me to work in a mine.”
“He was governor, mama,” Elvis reminded her.
“Oh, yes, I forgot! Marcellus Gyges, a real governor! I'm so proud of you. Your parents would be proud of you, too, if they were still alive.”
From behind, someone started beeping furiously. A soldier, too, was approaching from the curb, automatic rifle slung over his shoulder, waving us on.
Muttering under her breath and staring furiously in the rear-view mirror, Nefertitis stuck her left hand out the window, palm open.
“Sorry to hear about Jango,” Jesus said in the seat next to me, disinterestedly dropping the fragments of my disguise back onto the floor.
“Jango?” I was startled. “How do you know about that?”
Nefertitis, her arm still stretched out the window, pulled blindly out into traffic. The angry screech of wheels sounded a few meters from my door. I winced, but the expected crash never happened.
“It was all over the link,” Jesus replied defensively.
“Was it?” I answered icily.
Nefertitis, seemingly oblivious to the angry honking from all around, pulled abruptly back on the wheel. The Indian tanker rose solidly into the air. We were on our way home.
By the time we got back to Villa del Sol, a crowd of people had gathered in the courtyard out back. Salsa music was playing and several bottles of rum were going around. Patron had assumed his position in front of the barbeque, armed with a long, two-pronged fork. He was telling a story. John Beiker stood nearby in a group of four knotted together around his son, stroking his moustache and listening. Both men were shirtless.
“So he goes and moves in with his mother. Six months goes by and he hasn't seen the children. The woman moves them to a different school and won't tell him which one. One day he's begging on the phone and he can't believe it but she finally agrees to bring them over. Everyone is there, waiting, even his ma. So she comes in and she takes him aside and says, 'Lorenzo, I want you back!'”
John Beiker let out a slow, low rumbling. “She should think more about the children and less about her pussy,” he muttered under his breath, shaking his head and crossing his arms in front of his chest.
Patron, bobbing his head up and down excitedly, prodded some meat on the grill with his fork. “Papa, it's true! Can you imagine?” Suddenly his voice jumped a few octaves higher. “Give me another chance, Lorenzo!” he crooned so loudly some of the people sitting nearby looked up. “I promise this time I'll get it right. Just give me another chance! This time I'll kill you right!”
Nefertitis had stood amazed, watching the scene through the holes from behind the door that led to the garage. Now she threw it open and stepped into the back patio. Elvis followed her as she made her way through the crowd to where Patron and John Beiker were standing by the barbeque, responding absently to the greetings of those she passed along the way. She came to a stop in front of her husband, hands on her hips, and waited.
When he caught sight of her, the laughter faded instantly from his lips.
“I thought I told you not to tell anyone.”
“Aw, Nefertitis,” John Beiker began, looking around in vain for support, “no one's going to say anything. Marcellus is safe! He's among friends!”
His wife glowered at him, daring him to say more.
Some of the people sitting closest under the covered section of the patio began to notice me. Cousins I had never met before gathered around the entrance to the garage. Before I knew it, I had been pulled onto the patio and was being bombarded with questions. Jesus protested thickly and tried to stop them, but it was no use.
It was at this point that a big, elderly woman I had never seen before pushed those nearest aside and stepped with a lingering groan into the space she had made for herself. Out of deference to her, the storm of moving mouths suddenly fell silent. “Marcellus Gyges,” she told me sternly, “I don't know what your father was thinking when he moved off to the United States. Said he was seeking a better life. I warned him, you know.” She snorted with contempt. “Who the hell moves to the United States for a better life? If he had stayed here, he'd still be alive. He'd have a job and a home and a family. Your aunts tell me he died when a bomb went off in the factory where he worked. And his wife, your mother – pretty thing, I've seen the snaps – followed soon after. Caught in a bioattack on a supermarket. Well, it's a travesty! They should have come back here to Venezuela is what they should have done! It's safe here! People live until a ripe old age! Look at me!
“All your cousins seem to care about are fancy moonwalks and Presidential politics and golden rings.” At that, she turned her imperious gaze on the relatives gathered around. “There will be plenty enough time for that crap when the rum's gone! Right now it's time to talk about serious matters.” Returning her attention to me, she leaned forward. “Magical powers are nice, but they won't make anyone love you. You're handsome, and you can thank God for that, but you're certainly not a young man anymore, Marcellus. When are you going to stop all this fooling around and start thinking seriously? You've had your fun! You've played minister in the President's cabinet and flown through space and Lord knows what other mischief you've been up to. Well now you're back in Venezuela.”
Leaning even closer, she drove her point home by grabbing hold of my hand and squeezing it tightly. “When, dear boy, are you going to get married?”
Early the following morning, before any of my sleeping cousins could catch wind of what was afoot, I kissed Nefertitis goodbye and snuck out of the house. I was accompanied only by Jesus. We headed west in a car he had borrowed from a friend. The flight system was damaged beyond repair, so we had to travel on the ground. It was slow going, but it gave us time to talk. We reminisced about Jango mostly. Jesus had fond memories of him from those two visits Nefertitis made back when I was growing up. Jesus was just a kid then, but for some reason Jango took a liking to him. Everyone took a liking to Jesus.
He took me as far as Maracaibo. We parted at a bus station in the middle of the night. Just before I got onboard, he pressed a wallet into my hands.
“What's this?”
“It's the best we could do on short notice,” he told me shyly. “Five thousand credits.”
My eyes widened. “Five thousand?”
Jesus smiled. “These are Venezuelan credits, Mark, not American. It ought to get you a ticket to the border and a few decent meals besides.”
I wanted to refuse, but I couldn't. So I thanked him, climbed out of the car, and found my bus. It was a colorful, air-conditioned beast. Crosses had been painted in the upper corners of the windshield, and between them in large, wobbly block letters her name: SANTA MARIA OF WEALTH AND HEALTH.
I was thankful the bus was air-conditioned, because the journey to the Columbian border would be long. Fortunately there weren't many other passengers. I didn't want to be recognized. There was a young couple who slept most of the way, a family with three children, and two other individuals. I found a seat far enough away from all of them and settled in. The bus lurched, pulled out of the station, and started on its way, crawling slowly along broken streets and then laboring up through the air onto the highway. I stared thirstily out the darkened window as the landscape rolled by below us. There is nothing healthier than the color of pure spring green against the backdrop of a clear blue sky. I had been on the moon so long, and the few hours that I'd been back on earth had passed like a whirlwind. There was space enough here to stretch your arms and move about. My mood suddenly brightened.
Before leaving, I had borrowed Jesus' PA and left a message behind for the Brazilian official. It was one of those gathering places on the link for fantasy and science fiction buffs. The users there were fringe types mostly, or so the Brazilian told me. No one would blink at what I wrote, whatever it was. The plan was to slip across the Columbian border unnoticed, meet up with the others in Guatemala, and slowly make our way across Mexico into the homeland. It wouldn't be easy, and the border-crossing would be the most dangerous part. After all, I was back on the grid. The only ID cards I had were hasty Venezuelan forgeries. There wasn't even a proof of employment.
Jango, Maya, Icarus, and Jennifer would be waiting for me. No, wait, not Jango. He's dead. I frowned to myself. It still felt like he was just out for a quick shag or a few drinks and would be back in a few minutes.
What would he have thought about all of this? Two years ago we sat down with a bottle of bourbon and ice and schemed up a heist to steal the microchip in a single night. He should wouldn't have liked this plan, though. He would have wanted to take Washington by storm. I could almost hear him in my head, egging me on. But things were different now. I didn't want to be President. I just wanted to be left alone. I didn't want to go back to being an ordinary, either, now that I knew what that was, but I figured I could make a trade. I would reassure Judas that I posed no threat, and he'd set me and the others up as specials doing some kind of easy work, give me a nice apartment somewhere and forget about the whole thing. Jango would have told me I was being naïve.
We reached the restricted zone about five kilometers from the border and were forced to descend. We had to get out the bus and stand in line while some officials checked and double-checked our papers. We were in a large, paved lot hemmed in by stiff, electrified fences. There was only a single way out, heavily guarded by soldiers with automatic rifles.
After an hour of examination, we were allowed to leave the lot on foot. A wide, paved causeway led us inexorably towards the border. Through the electrified fences we could see military installations of all kind, some heavy equipment like tanks, and what looked to be a small aerodrome in the distance. There were no vehicles here. We had to walk the full distance on foot. I felt bad for the family. They had a lot of luggage. But that's the way it was. The Americans wouldn't allow independently operated vehicles of any kind into the restricted zone and threatened to close the border altogether if the Venezuelans didn't comply. I didn't have any luggage of my own, so I offered to help. They accepted gratefully.
Near the border crossing, a mass of people were jammed into pens like cattle. The sky above was crowded with combat helicopters, and behind the fences stood thick columns of soldiers standing at the ready, looking us over coolly. We threaded slowly through the corrals they had set up. It was so confusing I eventually lost track of where I was. I could no longer see the family on the bus. Hours passed. At one point, as we swung around a corner, I caught sight of the guard post. Beyond it was no man's land, and after that another guard post, and then – the United States. As soon as I set foot there, I would officially forfeit my life.
It was nearing dusk when I finally stepped through the last guard post onto Columbian paved cement. There was still the restricted zone to get through, but the worst was over.
I took a deep breath. Some guards standing nearby barked at me to keep moving. It was then that I saw the Dutchman.
He was standing on the other side of the electrified fencing, hands in his pockets, smirking at me.
I sighed wearily. Jango was right, I remember thinking to myself. I was being naive.
I still don't know how they put me out, but they did. The world devolved into blackness, and I knew nothing more.
This site and all its contents are the result of the tumultuous workings of the mind of one Adam Wasserman.