This is the way tension builds:
First you fuck up and the Mouth is
breathing down your neck, but that's okay, you've fucked up before, you can
recover. But you miss your opportunity because you're getting old, thinking
things over, not as daring as you might have been. Maybe it can(not) be
fixed, maybe it's (not) too late. You can try, can't you?
And then the x-factor, unfuckingbelievable,
that which is beyond your control. You end up trapped, naked in some giant
green tit on a spaceship while moonrocks on earth are digging your grave.
Michael Tangerinephant, suspended, spazzing. Clawing at walls that may
(not) be there.
1.
Where he is? Where is he?
He is-
drifting/drinking/breathing/green.
He is sleepy, floating. The green
stuff in the tube must be a mild hallucinarcotic. It's in his lungs but
no choking, he just feels heavy in the chest and head, he is-
dreaming/smiling/sleeping/fetus-style.
Bubbles float up from his butthole.
He giggles, enjoying the whirring. He always spins his blade when he's
nervous, force of habit. It's instinctive, a nervous reaction he developed
inside.
It makes sense. He has trouble being
nervous because he's so high, but he spins the blade anyway, enjoying it.
And he wonders, can he see his own anus? See the little blade spinning
down there? He's never seen it without a mirror. He tries, leaning forward
as far as he can and only succeeds in flipping himself end over end, his
droidlocs trailing little wakes through the fluid. It is fruitless, endless
like a dog chasing it's tail. He completes several revolutions before he
realizes that his penis is in the way.
So he stops, eventually, forward motion
slowing. He smiles and his eyelids are heavy.
"Since you're going in Mike . . ."
Lefty trails off. He and Mike both know what's coming. An operation, the
kind you joke about unless it happens to you or someone close.
"No way. No fucking way. No."
Aside from his droidlocs and
a slight power-plant mod his bod is entirely natural. It's something he's
always been proud of. But the Defendroid says he has no chance at acquittal;
Prosecutron has them cold. He's going Camping.
Lefty lays his heavy hand on Mike's
shoulder. "For your protection Mikey. Anyone tries to fuck with you, let
em. They'll learn. You can always get it taken out later."
He doesn't ask about his mouth, he'd
have to ask the Mouth for approval. He could anticipate the accented answer:
'No c'yan do, Maikel.' He represents the Body, puts a spin, a human face
on things. His face is part of his job; he is the Face.
He wants to say no to the blade, wants
to say no to all of it, but his rational half knows he doesn't really have
a choice. So a month before he goes in, he goes under. He bleeds from the
anus to prevent future bleeding from the anus.
Where is he?
He is-
Nervous, slightly. Shaking, but not
shaking off the high. Nearly, but not quite, lucid.
He made a decision not long after he
got out to not think about it so he's rather rattled--- unsettling to be
assaulted like that by memory. It was a fluid flashback, exactly as it
happened. He relived the exact emotions, not abstractions of.
Thinking about it won't do any good.
Especially not here. Where is here? Where is he?
He is-
Floating somewhere, so stoned that
he can barely think. It is a fight to coalesce thoughts. He looks up and
sees that his tube is attached to the ceiling; more of a sac really. He
looks down and sees it's not anchored to the floor.
When he looks right he sees--- it,
whatever it is. It is half-formed, fetal, man-sized . . . clutching knees
to chest as it turns gently in a sac similar to his. It is pink, brown through
the green liquid. It. . . It opens its eyes and smiles wide with
square teeth. The front four are shiny, discolored. The eyes are milky
and cataracted.
He turns away, shuddering. His ears
fill with the sound of liquid moving, bubbles rising. He can feel their footsteps
coming towards him. Vibrations. Through floor through tube through liquid,
vibrations. If he strains to see through the green membrane he can make
out something, murky green movement, shadows.
There is suction, a strong vacuum and
the fluid in the tube drains and tries to take him with it. His blade spins
sputtering, spraying green mist. He blinks his wet lids and can see that
they are near.
His ears pop and suddenly he is outside
the tube, coughing up what green shit wasn’t sucked out. He is at the feet
of one of them. He looks up and it looks down.
It is a man. "Hi! We got your message,"
he says, extending an arm. His lips do not move as he speaks, voice floats
up from somewhere deep and echoes through his teeth. He seems stuck in a
smile, though the corners of his mouth twitch around his immobile teeth as
the words come out. One of the stranger aesthetic mods Mike has ever seen.
How does he eat? He looks as if he'd been in the sun too long. Hair is
blond, nearly white and sculpted close to the scalp. Skin is deep copper
and tight with lines on his face. The dim light slides around his cut features.
He doesn't look tan; he looks radiated. They all look this way.
Mike grabs the offered wrist and pulls
himself to his feet. He wipes off the residual green stuff, flings his wrists,
shaking it off his fingers tips. It smears, leaving little boogers on his
naked body.
He looks around. Patches of light edge
against hard shadows. Tubes, like the one he'd been in, sag like old tits
from the concave ceiling. Some are lit, some not. They are all green. He
tries not to look at the fetal thing gestating next to him.
They lead him forward through a badly
cut archway that he'd not noticed before. It's edges are rough and impermanent
looking, as if the wall had been knocked down and is trying to grow back.
The hallway forks and curves away in opposite directions.
An arm is around his shoulders, stiff
and unyielding. "They'll take you to dressing," he is told. "I'll see you
on the set."
Transcript from The Reggie Ambush Show (c) 1997 Confederated Media, Inc.
Episode KHZ-097B: "Suburban Sluts"
"Theme for Reggie Ambush Show no. 6" (c) Boll Kraus 1994.
<REGGIE stands in the audience, facing camera>
(He holds the mic the way a crab holds
a fish)
REGGIE: "Human sexuality is a natural and beautiful thing, something that
each human is entitled to, even women. But how much is too much? And how
early is too soon? Today we're going to discuss just that with young girls
and their parents. Are these girls merely asserting their sexuality? They
seem to think so but there parents are afraid that they are in danger of
becoming . . . Suburban Sluts!"
<TITLES>
(Somewhere, words flash across monitors
in garish bold type: The Reggie Ambush Show- "Suburban Sluts", spiraling
out of the void. Backstage, Mike hears music: horns, guitars ending on a
high note. And the sounds of a disembodied audience: hoots, hollers, clapping.)
<AUDIENCE applauds>
REGGIE: Our first guest is Kelly. Kelly is 14 years old.
<CU of KELLY backstage, SUBTITLE: "Kelly, 14. Suburban Slut?">
REGGIE: Kelly says that what a woman does with her body is her business,
and not anyone else's. Not even her father, Rodney.
AUDIENCE: Ooooohhhhhhh.
<CU: RODNEY backstage, scowling. SUBTITLE: "Rodney. Thinks
daughter Kelly is too wild.">
REGGIE: Please welcome Kelly to the show!
<Enter KELLY>
(She is of Them. Brown, blond, and
carved looking, smile frozen.)
<AUDIENCE boos, hollers>
KELLY: **** y'all! Y'all don't know nothin' about me! **** you *******
mama ******* with me!
(She is somewhere between 12 and 28.
She has the legs and breasts of a woman, yet rolls of babyish fat, lack
of hips suggest youth. She is girlishly round. There is a spot where her
hip huggers and baby tee don't touch; a bit of belly pooches out insolently.
She slouches in the chair.)
REGGIE: Now Kelly, you are 14 years old and sexually active. Is that correct?
KELLY: Yeah.
REGGIE: And do you think this behavior is appropriate for someone your age?
KELLY: I don't see nothin wrong with it.
<AUDIENCE boos>
KELLY: Hey! Y'all can't tell me what to do! Y'all ain't me! ***** all
y'all ********!
REGGIE: And what does your father think?
KELLY: I don't care what he thinks. Can't nobody tell me what to do!
<CU Rodney backstage. He has been happier.>
REGGIE: Yes, that has been established. But what does he think of your
behavior?
KELLY: He don't like it.
REGGIE: And you continue to defy him, having sex with multiple partners,
even though he provides for you and your child?
KELLY: He ain't ****!
REGGIE: But why do you continue to have sex when you already have a child?
KELLY: I'm a do what I'm a do.
REGGIE: Well, maybe we should see what your FATHER thinks. Audience?
<AUDIENCE votes in record numbers>
REGGIE: Please welcome Rodney to the show!
<Enter RODNEY>
(Rodney walks on stage, casting a wary
eye at the animated, if absent audience. He lacks a tail. He is not Kelly's
real father. He is just filling the role for the show.)
REGGIE: Now, Rodney. You are Kelly's father.
RODNEY: Yes I am.
REGGIE: And what do you think of her behavior?
RODNEY: Well, I strongly disapprove. Naturally.
REGGIE: Yet you continue to support her and her child.
RODNEY: Course. She's my little girl. I will provide.
KELLY: You ain't provide **** old man!
RODNEY: I provide the **** roof over your ****** head!
KELLY: I ain't need you! I ain't need nobody!
RODNEY: You try and get by on your own, you'll see!
REGGIE: Kelly, this is your father. Why don't you respect him?
KELLY: I only respect folks respect me!.
REGGIE: You don't respect him even though he provides a home for you and
your child?
RODNEY: She ain't give me no respect at all Reggie! She's always sneakin
out at all hours with all kinds! I can't control her, that's how she got
pregnant in the first place!
AUDIENCE: Ooooooooooohhhhh!
REGGIE: Kelly, do you know who the father of
your child is?
RODNEY: How can she know? She's carrying on like---
REGGIE: Kelly?
KELLY: Yes.
REGGIE: Who is it?
KELLY: Michael **************.
<CU MICHAEL backstage, shocked.>
REGGIE: Well we have a little surprise for you, please welcome Michael to
the show!
<Enter MICHAEL>
(A hand pushes Mike from behind. He
stumbles forward and finds himself on a stage at the front of an empty amphitheater.
The room is cavernous with high ceilings. Rows and rows of chairs escalate
to the back of the room. They are all empty. There are no doors, the only
way out is from whence he came. A man stands in the valley between the audience
and stage proper. He is holding something in his hand. There is an empty
seat on stage. All eyes on he, wide and anticipatory, so he gingerly steps
out and sits.)
<AUDIENCE applauds>
(Crowd sound moves in waves, colliding
collapsing; crests and lulls, valleys filled. Mike sits still, stupefied,
staring from the stage. The audience is empty, where does the noise come
from?)
REGGIE: Welcome to the show, Michael. Is it true that you are the father
of this child?
MICHAEL: Who, wha-Qua? Hey! Where am I? I don't know--
KELLY: If it ain't him it's immaculate conception!
MICHAEL: Who are you? What--
KELLY: You know damn well who I am!
RODNEY: You said he was the father!
KELLY: He is! He's just lyin!
RODNEY: You see Reggie? She don't even know for sure, he don't know! She
takes with all of them, scum of the earth!
<CU REGGIE grinning smugly, arms crossed awkwardly>
REGGIE: What do you have to say Michael?
MIKE: Father?
(The man who is apparently in charge
is the one who greeted him, told him he'd see him on “the set.” Apparently
this is it. He speaks into the device he is holding. The girl is like him,
tanned to a crisp, but the other male is like nothing Mike has seen before.
Some kind of extreme mod, grafted to the point of near hybridization. His
face is so (e)long(gated) that his skull must have been reshaped. He has
a single yellow incisor that overbites. A light beard covers the entirety
of his face, prolonged whiskers extend from under the tip of his nose. Dirty
hair the color of his beard feathers down to his shoulders. Beady eyes peer
out from under a hat that says “More Hooters”.)
<CU MICHAEL, his eyes and mouth are open. SUBTITLE: "Michael
*******. Father?">
MIKE: <unintelligible>
(He is speaking to himself, murmuring
to stave off the shock. His words are strange, stretched and strained. Like
most folk of his ilk he has a hybrid accent of no origin that can be mapped.)
REGGIE: So you're not the father Michael?
RODNEY: You said he was the daddy!
KELLY: He is!
REGGIE: Are you the father of the child Michael?
MICHAEL: What child?
<AUDIENCE can't believe it>
KELLY: ********!! My baby you *****!
<RODNEY pulls Kelly to her seat. Kelly begins to cry.>
<REGGIE gestures to the audience to calm down>
REGGIE: As it happens Kelly has informed us of a SECOND man who might be
the father of her child. Please welcome Jeremy to the show!
<Enter JEREMY>
(A boy walks on stage, another hybrid,
a piece of art, millions in modifications. His look is simian, pug nose
with rimmed nostrils. Dark skin, dark hair all over his body and kinky curls
atop the flat forehead. He lopes across the stage with arms swinging low.
Maybe it is to keep his pants up.)
KELLY <stands up, waving her arms>: ******************!!!!!!
<AUDIENCE erupts>
(An ocean of noise, motion, sonic and
implied. The audience as canis: hyenas and jackals, tongues lolling, penii
flopping, end over head over end. Mike has never seen a jackal, hyena, or
coyote for that matter.)
<JEREMY flings his arms angrily, bares his teeth . . . some of them
are gold.>
JEREMY: I ain't no baby dad, bitch! ******* and ***** old man!
<RODNEY lunges for JEREMY>
<MICHAEL cowers in chair>
(He is dressed special for the show,
wearing the clothes that they gave him. A deep green shirt made of a rough
and heavy fiber. Brown pants that are smooth and slack. They crawl over
his skin in discomfort.)
<Enter SECURITY from the wings>
(More of Them, smiling. Their gait
is stiff, automaton-esque. The rat man and ape boy are restrained. Kelly
is led to her seat, the chaos is calmed in a matter of minutes. Jeremy sits
down. His posture is a mimic of Kelly's.)
REGGIE: You are not the child's father Jeremy?
<CU JEREMY. SUBTITLE: "Jeremy. Says he is not Kelly Baby-Daddy.">
JEREMY: I don't know nothing about that.
KELLY: ***********!
AUDIENCE: Ohhhhhh!
REGGIE: Settle down Kelly. Well, Jeremy we have someone here who has a different
story. Please welcome Rodney to the show!
<Enter RODNEY>
(Another Rodney. Like father like
son. Simian. His head fur is gray and receded, retreating up his forehead.)
REGGIE: Would you mind telling the audience who you are and what you're
doing here?
RODNEY: I'm Jeremy's father and I'm here to whup his fool ass! That baby
his!
(The audience approves: Each member
screams, shoots sound for the stage, boo hiss boo. Occasionally find rhythm
in chant. Reh-jie! Reh-jie! )
AUDIENCE: REGGIE! REGGIE! REGGIE!
<REGGIE laughs, motions for audience to calm down, turns to Rodney>
REGGIE: Well my card says you're here for paternal support, but I suppose
that'll do.
JEREMY: Ain't no baby mine.
<AUDIENCE laughs, KELLY rises for rebuttal but REGGIE cuts her off.>
REGGIE: Well! Looks like things are just going to get more complicated.
We'll be right back after THIS.
<REGGIE points at the camera. There is APPLAUSE as the CAMERA pans
over the empty AUDIENCE>
This did not exist. No thing of note
occurred. Everyone on stage, combatants and participants, sat still. An
absent audience, the auditorium empty with the sound of people talking.
Security escort Mike to the dressing
room backstage. It is spherical with a level metal floor. As the door disappears
he can hear them start up again on stage.
A mirror reveals to him his weary face,
droids jittering nervously. It looks distant. Large bulbs of light border
the edge of the glass like the corona around a star. The skin around his
eyes sags under the makeup They applied. His face, the face of the Face,
provides no answers.
What happened? The high he felt earlier
is gone. He is lucid but not clearheaded, his mind spinning thoughts into
a polymer scabrous. Work sex life. Fall lost doom dead. Scandal, mangled
sanity.
There is a chair opposite the mirrored
table. It faces a window. Outside the moon looms, shining huge. Beyond
that stars. He is in space.
What is he doing in space?
Too many questions. He collapses and
waits for something. Thoughts not related to his current circumstance assault
him. Transac. The Crunch has to have already happened. Elyse would---
Elyse. He exhales and wipes his mind
with a sigh. Back to the business at hand. Where are you Mike?
I'm in a spaceship.
Oh, really?
We got the moon and everything.
What are you doing there?
I . . .
I see.
Yeah.
How did you get there?
They must have brought me here.
They who?
Them, They. The burnt smiling hard-bodies.
Why?
They said They got my message. Don't
ask.
What have you been doing?
There was a stage. And a family fighting.
Weirdest mods I've seen.
They? No, not Them. Well Them too.
You sound confused. What was the fight
about?
A dispute over the father of a child.
They say it might be mine.
Is it?
No! I don't know what They're talking
about.
And so he mutters mangled self-talk,
unintelligible to outsiders. No answers arise, only more questions and specks
of speculation. Do they sleep in the sacs as he had? Do they trip out on
the chemicals, is that why they act random without reason? Or are their
modified biochemistries so different that the green fluid is benign as bathwater?
How could this be real? He extends
an arm and touches the window, it is real. The frame, the walls, real.
They are cybernetic, metallorganic. Some spots were metal and some are
the same chitinous shit as They, the consistency of their handshakes.
He comes to the strange conclusion
that he had been kidnapped by a strange cult of sun worshipers, (the ship
is their temple, fixed in orbit much like those of the Pseudists, so they
could be nearer to their god; the strange set and happenings, some form of
religious ritual) when the door to his room swells and pops and he finds
himself back on stage.
There has been a paternity test and
the baby is not his . . . or Jeremy's. The camera closes in on Kelly's tear
streamed face as the credits roll. Then a close-up of Michael's bizarrely
relieved face. One less thing to worry about.
Everyone gathers center-stage for congratulations.
Reggie moves stiffly, grabbing hands in vice grips and bending his elbow.
"Thanks for coming." When Mike's hand is touched he feels a chill slither
serpentine up and down his spine. Discomfit, discomfort. It brings him
back to panic.
"Would you come back and visit us again
sometime, Mike?"
"What are you talking about? Are you
letting me go? What? No!"
"Great, thanks." Smiles all around.
"You're all crazy," he hoarses unintelligibly,
slipping back into his accent. He is on his knees now. "Crazy! You've
been out to space too long, your bathwater has fermented into moonshine and
you're all insane!"
They form a semicircle around him,
looking down. They just blink at him, flat eyed, as is their apparent way.
Then he blacks out. When he comes
to he is in an alley on Earth.
Available at Amazon, Powells, and Afterbirth Books.
Copyright Kevin Dole 2, 2002, 2005.
All Rights Reserved.