1/20/13 - And Sometimes I Worry and Fear What Tomorrow May Bring

The Crew of the Egress: Say Hello, Wave Goodbye

(Front) Brightstarsurfergirl, Dr. Heila, Walker In/With the Darkness
(Middle) Hanami, Dir. Straffer, SPYGOD, Faraj al-Ǧazāʼir
(Back) Mr. Chaos, Myron, Dr. Fuller, Night Phantom (w/Glimmer)
(Way Back) Disparaitre
(art by Dean Stahl)

 * * *

*BEGIN TRANSMISSION*

*cough* Yeah. Um, Is this !@#$ing thing on?

Yeah? You sure? *thump thump*

Oh... the red light, okay.

*cough cough* 

Alright then. Goooooooooooood morning, planet Earth!!!!

This is SPYGOD, speaking to you over every radio station, TV channel, and projected broadcast medium we could get our !@#$ing hands on.

Now, I sure hope we didn't interrupt anything too !@#$ important. But, you !@#$ing know how emergency broadcasts are. They happen, and usually when you're in the middle of something good.

!@#$, I remember I was in a movie theater watching Scanners when President Reagan got shot. I was just at the part where the guy's head blew the !@#$ up, too. So, of course, when they call me to tell me I need to get the !@#$ to Bethesda, you can imagine what's going through my !@#$ mind...

Oh, right. Sorry, planet Earth. My amazing boyfriend is telling me that I am !@#$ing rambling, again.

(It's a habit. I know....)

Anyway, I am broadcasting to you live from the good ship Egress, currently orbiting the god!@#$ moon along with all the leftover Apollo parts that someone !@#$ing forgot to pick up after landing. That and a few other things I'm really not supposed to be !@#$ing talking about. You know how that goes.

But, as fate would have it, that is a lot of what I have to talk to you about today, boys and girls. Things we aren't supposed to be !@#$ing talking about, much less even !@#$ing thinking about if we know what's good for us.

I'm talking secrets and lies, folks. Big !@#$ ones, too. The kind of things you get !@#$ing shot for telling people about, or just knowing.

Unfortunately, they're things that, as of right now, we have to !@#$ing talk about.

And there's things you really !@#$ing need to know. 

Case in point, I'm sure a lot of you are pretty !@#$ shocked to be hearing from me at all. You all went to bed last night thinking that awful SPYGOD person was locked back up, again, in Neo York City. Right?

Well, surprise surprise. It takes a lot more than a !@#$ty apartment and a !@#$ton of Terre Unifee guards to keep me the !@#$ down. I'm proud to say I pretty much walked out of there, almost exactly when I intended to, and pretty much exactly how I'd planned.

And yeah, I'm sure that sounds like !@#$ing gloating? Well, you can sue my fine gay !@#$ when I get back to Earth, if you want to.

That is, of course, provided we get back to Earth at all.

Which is part of why I am talking to you, right now.

* * *

You see, boys and girls, you have been !@#$ing lied to for quite some time, now.

Well, maybe "lied to" isn't the right term. "Misled" might be more like it. 

See, you remember when those Imago !@#$holes had us all under their control? And you remember how they told us that there was a big !@#$ spacemonster coming to get us?

Well, I'm sure you all know that they had no room to talk about space monsters. And since we threw them under the !@#$ bus, well, everyone's kind of forgotten that silly !@#$ they told us.

And who can blame you? They were genocidal !@#$wads who put their minds inside the bodies of retarded people, and used our kids like batteries.

And when push came to shove, well... we know what they were willing to do.

(Nuff !@#$ing said about that.)

Well, since then, a lot of people have been telling you that we are about to have some issues with outer space. Just not like that the Imago told us.

Mostly it's been sober astronomers and science guys, all smiling into the !@#$ cameras and telling you that, well, it's just !@#$ing possible that something might just be intersecting with our orbit in a few months or so.

And yes, if you press them, they might fess up that, yes, it's one of those planet killer things. Kind of like the one that John McClaine and Daredevil took out in that one !@#$ing movie. 

But it's nothing too serious! Not really. Oh no. Just a thing, and we're working on it.

Oh, how?

Well, we've got superheroes. And superscience! And weapons you normal !@#$heels in TeeVeeLand haven't even !@#$ing heard of, before now.

So yeah, just go back to your television and internet. Watch your shows, sneak some porn, go sign up for a !@#$ hookup with an ugly but desperate married stranger on that one site. Everything's going to be juuuust fine. Really.

I mean, !@#$, you know how many times the world's almost ended in your lifetime, alone? You'd run out of fingers and toes trying to count them all. And you'd go !@#$ing crazy trying to handle all that with the brainmeat you got between your ears.

Just relax, they'd say. Don't worry about it. We've got it all under control. Nothing to worry about.

Nothing. At. All.

Well, folks... that was a big !@#$ lie.

* * *

The truth is that, in this one !@#$ thing, the Imago were not !@#$ing lying.

If we've got an accurate reading on it, sometime in the next year Earth is going to be visited by something. Something huge. Maybe about the size of !@#$ing Jupiter.

Maybe even larger.

And reason no one can get an accurate size on this !@#$ thing is because, once it's close enough to really see, anyone who can see it apparently goes completely !@#$ing insane.

This thing isn't some asteroid we can just nuke on one side and nudge away before it !@#$ing gets here. It's too !@#$ big for that.

And it isn't the sort of thing we can really plan for, either. Because once we really see it? It'll be !@#$ing be on us inside of a !@#$ month. 

And even if we did have the time to plan? It still isn't the sort of thing we can nudge away.

Because it's not just happening across our !@#$ path, folks. This thing isn't just on a !@#$ing collision course.

No folks. It's !@#$ing coming right for us.

Some of the more ancient beings we've encountered, over the years, refer to it as the Decreator. It's more commonly known as (Unintelligible Concept), but that doesn't make a whole lot of !@#$ing sense. And maybe we should be glad for that.

All we know for sure it that, when it gets here? The lucky people will just die. Maybe of fright, maybe of the sort of !@#$ that happens when a planet a lot larger than your own gets a little too !@#$ close for comfort.

Everyone else? They're going to be !@#$ing destroyed. 

To see this thing is to die. Your brains turn to black !@#$ in your skull, and then blow the !@#$ out of your eyesockets. And somehow, in spite of all that? You're still !@#$ing alive and in pain.

And god!@#$ insane on top of it all

* * *

Now, you might well be asking "SPYGOD? How the !@#$ do you even know about this?" And that's a !@#$ good question.

The answer is that we have the testimony of someone who saw it happen. He managed to get to a place where it already happened, not knowing what the !@#$ he was heading into. Lucky for him, he got there just after it started heading the !@#$ away.

And lucky for us, he came back to tell the tale.

Unfortunately, he's no longer able to take questions. He had a bit of a debt hanging to someone, and, well, he paid it. That's enough !@#$ing said about that.

But what we do need to talk about,  here, is the fact that we don't meet this !@#$ thing out there, in the black, before it gets too close?

Well, then the Earth is dead, folks. That's all there is to it.

And I know you've grown up in a world where this kind of !@#$ has happened before. We've had alien conquerors show the !@#$ up before. Strange invasions. Surreal encounters. All kinds of big !@#$ weird menace that just sort of !@#$ing appears at 3 in the !@#$ AM on a Monday morning and decides to eat Mumbai.

I mean, you all !@#$ing remember THAT, right? I know I sure as !@#$ do. Let me tell you, boys and girls, THAT hurt. 

But this is not THAT, folks. This is something that makes THAT look like some world-eater in a silly helmet who gets scared the !@#$ away by some weird-!@#$ sex toy in the hands of a human.

This is the apocalypse, folks. This is Armageddon wrapped up in Ragnarok with the Day of Four-Motion wrapped the !@#$ around that, and some sparkly Frashokereti sprinkles drizzled over the !@#$ top like bacon bits.

Not a fun scene, folks. Not at all.

* * *

So yeah, we have a problem. And it's a !@#$ big one, too.

Fortunately, we also have a solution. It's a long shot, but that's a !@#$ of a lot better than no shot at all.

Now, most of you probably remember that the Imago were building a giant spaceship, up here.  They claimed they were going to use it to go fight this !@#$ thing?

Well, the truth is that they weren't going to do any such thing. In fact, they were going to use to to get the !@#$ away from it. They were going to load up as much of our preteen population as they could, burn !@#$ing rubber out of our solar system, and leave us to face it alone.

Now, they're gone. And I blew the !@#$ out of their !@#$ing space elevator, too. But the ship is just fine.

In fact, we've spent the last couple of months getting it into shape. Seeing what kind of propulsion it's got. What we can use for weapons.

And, if all else failed, what kind of weapons we could bring up from the surface and put right onto the ship.

Now, there's been another a lie that's been going on, but it's probably not one you would have heard. It's a lie that was told by certain elements within the Terre Unifee to other groups both inside and outside of it

That lie was that the ship was going to be used to defend the Earth.

Yes, I know that sounds !@#$ing shocking. I mean, if they weren't going to save the Earth, then what the !@#$ were they going to do with it? Beat New Horizons to !@#$ing Pluto?

Actually, no, boys and girls. They were going to take a !@#$ing page from the Imago. They were going to get on board the Egress with certain world leaders, and their families and friends, and say adieu  to Earth.

And then they were going to leave us to !@#$ing rot. 

Yes, you heard that right. Some of your TU-appointed National Facilitators were going to take the last train for !@#$ing Clarksville and leave you all to die. Screaming and in pain. 

Now, there's a lot more I could say about that !@#$, right now.

I could tell you how those certain elements were linked up with !@#$ing European racist parties, all jockeying to get in on the ultimate White Flight away from the planet.

And I could tell you how they told the leaders of, shall we say,  less white countries they could get in on the action, too, in exchange for aid and materials under the !@#$ing table, but had no !@#$ intention of letting them in on it at all.

And I could also tell you about all the super villains they turned into super heroes to help with this, all the crazy !@#$ they did to keep this under wraps, the fact that they started !@#$ing killing journalists to keep their !@#$ secret...

Yeah, I could waste your time and tell you all about that.

However, I am not. Because I have friends who have been very good about finding out all this information. And as soon as I'm done with my part of the show, they're going to pick up where I left off and tell you what's been going on these last few months.

No, boys and girls, I'm going to tell you about something else.

* * *

Long story short, this spacecraft, and this crew? We're going out there to stop that big !@#$ space monster from getting any further than !@#$ing Mars.

Now, I know that, given everything I've told you, that doesn't sound too comforting. !@#$, maybe it sounds like sending some kid with a !@#$ bb gun out to take down the sex-crazed, steroid-jacked mutant lion that escaped from the !@#$ zoo, ate half the police, and !@#$ed the other half to death.

But that's the big !@#$ plan, anyway. And we've got things to do it with. 

We've got this amazing ship that the Imago built to take them across the !@#$ing galaxy from this thing. We've got heroes, scientists, and engineers from all over the !@#$ world. We've even got volunteers from Mars and !@#$ing Venus, ready to try and fight this thing the !@#$ off.

And sure, maybe all we need to have a plan is an actual plan. But those of you who've known me long enough? Well, you oughta !@#$ing know by now that I make my best plans on the !@#$ run, at the last minute, with all odds stacked so !@#$ high against me that you can't even see over them.

And that's why we're going to !@#$ing win, folks. Because of you. Because what we're leaving behind us is too !@#$ bright and beautiful for us to fail it. Too precious to lose.

That's Earth, folks. That's you.

So we're going to go and do this on a wing and a !@#$ prayer. Hopefully you'll be good enough to send some of your own that we can win this one. Or at least kiss your own !@#$es so !@#$ hard that God moves heaven and Earth to save them from this thing if we really can't pull it off.

Sometimes he really does listen. I ought to !@#$ing know.

* * *

But there's one other thing I really should !@#$ing talk about, before we take the !@#$ off. And that's a really !@#$ simple thing to say, but not so easy to explain.

So, the easy bit first. My trial? Consider it !@#$ing cancelled.

Oh, I'm !@#$ sure I probably deserve to be put on trial. Make no !@#$ mistake about that. I can't disagree that I screwed up when I was fighting against the Imago. I can't deny that I made some really !@#$ serious mistakes.

And I sure as !@#$ won't stand in front of you all and say that my actions, my plans, my ideas... all those things I said and did and plotted?

I can't stand here and honestly tell you that they all worked out for the best. Or that I always had everyone's best interests at heart when I rolled up my sleeves and went out to beat the !@#$ out of those metal-plated !@#$ers. 

I was at war, folks. I prosecuted that war to the best of my ability. And yeah, I made mistakes. I took shortcuts. I worked my way through the !@#$ed impossible calculus of combat in the hopes of winning back the world.

And yeah, I won. We won. But we lost so !@#$ much.

And yes, I lost so much of that for you.

Me.

But here's the thing, folks. While maybe I should have my day in court? And maybe I should answer for my mistakes? Maybe even my crimes?

Well, the Terre Unifee are not the body that gets to try me.

As of right the !@#$ now, the United States of America is no longer under the authority of the Terre Unifee. A second American revolution has taken place. We have won our freedom, yet again.

And as a citizen of the United States of America, I refuse to submit myself to the justice system of an international organization that we just left.

It isn't just the revolution, folks. The TU is broken. I know it, you know it. And now that the vast and complicated chain of strategic talents they relied on to keep the world fed, heated, hydrated, and safe is falling the !@#$ apart, I think the gloss is going to come off the !@#$ hooker really !@#$ing quick.

I mean, !@#$, folks. The President, who you might remember used to be my !@#$ing boss? He hates me because of a certain decision I made, and then a thing I had to do. A terrible thing, yes, but something that had to be done.

I had to kill his daughter because she wasn't his daughter anymore. And what she had become...

...

Yeah, maybe that's a secret we can keep to ourselves for right now, folks. Sorry about that.

But bottom line? He's gone stark raving mad, up there in that pyramid of theirs. He's fixated on revenge. And while there's a lot of good people in his justice department? Well, some of that crazy's going to !@#$ing rub off, somewhere.

And it's going to taint the results like you would not !@#$ing believe.

* * *

In the meantime, here's how it !@#$ing is.

We're leaving orbit to go deal with this !@#$. We have teleporters with us. They may come back and forth to pick up supplies and !@#$.

They will not be !@#$ed with. 

If any crazy !@#$ comes to hit Earth while we're gone?  A very good friend and ally is in orbit, right now, piloting one of the most powerful pieces of cosmic god technology we've ever found on our planet. I wouldn't put their chances of getting through too !@#$ high.

Because no one !@#$s with him. 

America will be choosing its leaders, soon. It will be reforming its government. And while I am gone, it is protected. Do not think otherwise.

You know the kind of people we have on our side. 

If and when I get back, I may need to stand trial. But I am not going to submit myself to trial at the hands of the Terre Unifee.

If they even !@#$ing exist when we get back to Earth, when this thing is done? I'll gladly stand trial at the hands of a reliable third party.

!@#$, even if they don't exist? I'll stand trial, if you want me to.

Maybe I should be held accountable. And that's for you to decide.

But if I'm going on trial? Let it be a fair one. Let me lay out my side and hear yours.

Let me !@#$ed for the right reasons, or freed for the right ones.

That's all I ask. !@#$, I demand it. I am a free being and I have rights, same as you.

The same rights I fight for every !@#$ day I'm breathing.

And... while I'm at it? I'm demanding one other thing, folks.

You see, we're all willing to lay our lives down to save our world. But we'd really like that world to be worth saving, once in a !@#$ while.

So, since we might be gone a while, dealing with this thing? How about you take this opportunity to take a long, hard look at the world we're going to be protecting, and make it better?

Yes, boys and girls, you heard me. Fix. Your. !@#$. 

Because if we're going to lay it all on the line for you, up here in the black? We want to come home to a world that actually acts !@#$ing grateful for a change.

...

That's about all I have to say. There's some other people who would like to talk to you, now. I suggest you listen to what they have to say, as it's the sort of thing that might help you decide which pile of !@#$ to throw away first.

Be seeing you.

SPYGOD out.

*END TRANSMISSION*

* * *

Your eyes are like saucers 

but mine are just clouded in gray
I've so much to tell 

but I can't tell you just go away
Anyway, won't you stay?

 * * *

Hey Kids! SPYGOD returns in two weeks with more wholesome fun for the whole family!

* * * 

(SPYGOD is listening to Monochrome (Lush) and having a Dark Sun Black Ale)   

12/31/12 - All the Faces That I Make and All the Shapes That I Throw - pt 3

9:37 PM

"I tell you truly, it is an honor to be here, meeting you," one of the Kingdom's lobster-like ambassadors says, her weird, glubbling speech translated by the wet, living things she wears to maintain pressure and atmosphere.

"I am pleased to meet you as well, friend from Atlantis," the blue-green, reptilian ambassador from the Inside (otherwise known as Mars) says, his body relatively unencumbered but his motions unsteady under the heavier gravity: "I knew that the Third World had a civilization, down below its great Oceans. But I am amazed that we can actually meet, here and now."

"You're amazed?" a floating, scabby ball with a viewscreen asks -- displaying a strange, yellowish, crablike being on the other side -- "When you people finally met us you were just delighted. What are we, gravel?"

"My friend from the Second World has a strange sense of humor," the reptilian fellow says, clapping his paws together: "I hope you will pardon him, friend from Atlantis."

"I tell you truly, this is such an amazing time," the Kingdom's ambassador says: "That we are all finally coming together, here at this Lightchange ritual!"

"They call it a party," the scabby ball says: "At least, I hope this is just a party. If they start sacrificing smaller creatures I'm logging out."

"Yes, Friend from Atlantis, I think this is a party, though it does have its ritual elements," the Martian says, pointing around: "For example, I do believe there are many mating rituals going on, here, tonight."

"Yes, I do believe I noticed," the lobster says, watching as Fred and Antonia talk up a storm, over near a quiet corner. They've gotten quite physically close to each other, but don't seem to notice this is a bad thing, or that the world is going on around them.

"And a few breakups, too," the Venusan says, looking at where Mark and Skyspear are sitting, having a much less comfortable talk as their hero friends go elsewhere and leave them alone.

"Breakup?" the Kingdom's Ambassador asks: "I tell you truly, I am not sure what that means-"

Skyspear slaps Mark, gets up, and walks away. Mark sits there, stunned, and doesn't follow her.

"Oh, I think I understand, now," the lobster says: "Endmate."

"Yes," the Martian says: "I suspect we will see many interesting things, here, tonight."

"True," the ball says: "But let's talk something else while we're here. Does anyone have any !@#$ idea what the !@#$ is going on?"

"What do you mean?" the Atlantean asks, uncertain of what some of his more colorful words are.

"Well, all I know is that all the space people I talk to? Their new Space Service? Those guys up on the platform in the white?"

"Oh, the ones trying to reason with that large fellow in the strangely-colored shirt?" the Martian asks, watching as Faraj all but scoops Ju-San up under one arm and escorts him away from Hanami's side (not that the man's resisting too much, as he is clearly broken.)

"Yeah, them," the Venusan says: "They're all worried about this thing that's coming to Earth, pretty soon. Some big planet-eating thing, apparently. No one can say the name right, as far as I can tell."

"Oh, yes," the Martian says, nodding: "We know of this thing, friend from the Second World. It came once before, and though we were far from it, its passing made many changes to our world."

"Such as?" the Lobster asks.

"We call our world the Inside," the reptilian being explains: "Once, there was no Inside. We lived on the skin of our world, and it was a lush and green place, filled with water and plants and animals. All was well, and then... it came."

"And it's coming around again," the Venusan says: "Well, !@#$. What are they planning on doing about it?"

"I tell you truly, we will do what we can," the Atlantean says: "But I am not certain what we can offer that those above the Barrier do not already have."

"Maybe someplace to go when everything above the Barrier is destroyed," the Martian says, shaking its head sadly: "Once we lived outside, under the sky. Then the sky was taken from us, eaten by the Hunger from Above. Now we live on the Inside, with what little we could save. And we dream of stars and skies, and hope to one day return."

"Don't you have some kind of fleet to deal with things like this?" the Venusan asks: "I mean, we got ships. Not a lot, but we got 'em."

"We have survived only by remaining Inside, friend of the Second World," the Martian admits: "Convincing my government to help would be very difficult. Especially since this is the thing that destroyed our world the first time. The current wisdom is to be quiet, and let it roll past us."

"I tell you truly, and with respect, that such an action seems less than grateful to these Overlanders," the Atlantean says.

"It is not that we do not feel for them, friend from the Kingdom, but that we cannot risk our own survival as a race for them. We have no desire to see our world destroyed a second time. Would you be any different, in our place?"

"I tell you truly that I understand your concern. But you do not need to be seen to be helping to be helpful."

"Well, that sounds like a weird line," the scabby ball sighs.

"I mean to say," the Atlantean tries to explain: "Can you not even send your ships to stand with them at the edge of their sky? Surely the creature would have no way of knowing you had interfered?"

The Martian's about to say something, but then falls silent, and thinks.

"Ah, you see?" the Venusan says: "I told you these Atlanteans were smart. But did you listen to me?"

"I listen to you all the time, friend of the second world," the Martian says, clasping hands with the Ambassador from the Kingdom: "It impedes my ability to hear wisdom, at times. And I believe my friend from the Kingdom has just given it to me. For that, I thank him."

* * *

 9:55 PM

"... and then, well, she asked me if I knew how to have a good time," a well-dressed Ben Frankin -- long hair back in a ponytail -- says, gesturing insouciantly as he tells the story: "And I said that the only way I could show her was to show her. And she said 'oh really? Well, I tell you what, Mr. Franklin. I'm going up to my cottage for the weekend. Perhaps you'd care to come up for a night and discuss this with me?'

"And, well, I do believe that every husband she had since then was quite sad, as they never quite lived up to that positively torrid week we spent together, Norma Jean and I."

The crowd around the old man laughs and applauds, and he bows a little.

"You are such a !@#$ing ham," Jess Friend whispers into his ear as the group of Gay Republicans dissipates, just as some really kicking disco song comes on.

"Oh come now, Good Jess," the old man says, grinning and patting him on the arm: "It's a good story. It was even mostly true!"

"Which part?"

"Well, the important part," he says, gesturing to the bar: "Let us have more of this wonderful drink I've discovered, and then perhaps I can tell you of the difference between a full truth and a half truth, and which is more preferable when trying to impress and amaze others."

"I think someone we know would have something to say about that," Jess says, and then just happens to see that someone walking towards them, carrying a big bottle of water from the bar, and looking like he'd rather be tongue-bathing kitten !@#$holes to make them poop.

"Why, Mr. Scott," Ben says, reaching out a hand to shake his free one: "We were just invoking you, good sir. Would  you care to join us for a drink? I have discovered this amazing new cocktail-"

"Can't," Randolph says, trying to smile and raising the bottle: "I've been drafted to help play 'babysit the drunk superhero.'"

"Oh, Wayfinder's granddaughter?" Ben asks, looking over in the corner where the large, pink-haired woman is still helping to glower her down into a chair, and Myron is sitting next to her, trying to talk to her but not getting anywhere.

"Yeah, she started early and got worse," Randolph says: "So Josie, being Josie, got her stationary and started finding people who weren't having fun and, well..."

"You were voluntold," Jess says, pointing to the water.

"Oh yeah," he hoists the bottle up: "This is her second. She might need a couple more after this. And then someone's going to have to make sure she doesn't !@#$ herself."

"That can't be fun."

"No. And neither is waiting in line for a bottle of water. You'd think I asked them to !@#$ in a cup and drink it."

"Well, that's not for me," Ben says, laughing: "Jess, I will go and get our drinks. I shall return shortly, gentlemen..."

And off he strides, right up to the bar in spite of the line -- because he's Ben !@#$ing Franklin, that's why.

"So how's looking after our national treasure?" Randolph asks, watching the treasure in question operate.

"It's a full-time job," Jess says, smiling a little: "How's our kids?"

"They... left," Randolph says, sadly.

"What?"

"Yep."

"What the !@#$ happened?"

"It's a long story."

"Are you okay?" Jess asks, putting a hand on the man's shoulder: "I mean, Jesus Christ. I thought you were all inseparable by this point."

"Well, you left, I guess they thought they could, too?"

The words leave Randolph's mouth before he knows what he's said, and then he's biting his tongue and not wanting to look his former partner in thoughtcrime in the eyes.

"Look," Jess sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"No, I shouldn't-" Randolph tries to say, waving his free hand.

"No, it's cool-"

"No, really," Randolph insists: "That was !@#$ing uncalled for. I know you got tapped to do this. And I know how important it was for you to do this. After everything that happened? You needed this."

"That's right," Jess says, nodding: "I did. And I thought you understood that."

"I do. I just... losing Helen, losing you, now losing them. I'm feeling pretty washed up, here."

"Yeah, I'll say," Jess replies: "You look like you went a few rounds with the Malort fairy."

"The what?"

"Oh God," Jess laughs: "You've never... oh man, whatever you do? Do not tell Ben you have never had Malort. He'll force you to have something so vile you'll never forgive yourself for having it."

"Can't be worse than this," Randolph says: "Anyway, listen. I think we need to talk-"

"Hey, Randolph!" a very loud voice shrieks from across the floor: "You coming with that !@#$ing bottle or what?"

"That's my cue!" Randolph says: "Coming, Josie!"

"But yes," Jess says, reaching out to shake his hand before he goes: "We do need to talk. And we will. If not tonight, then soon?"

"Yes," Randolph says, ignoring the hand and going for the hug, which lasts quite some time and almost ends in a kiss, but not quite. They both back away from that cliff a second before they jump into it, and then just look at each other, nod -- one after the other -- and disentangle.

And then they're heading away from each other, again.

* * *

(A letter)

Dear Randolph

First of all, we hope you are feeling better. When we found you on that park bench, last night, you were not at all well. We did our best to get you home in one piece, rehydrate you, and lay out provisions for this morning. Hopefully we were not too rough? 

(SPYGOD called us and told us to come and get you, in case you were wondering. He wants you to know he is neither upset nor angry. But there are things the two of you need to discuss, clearly.)

Secondly, you will doubtlessly not see this letter right away. But as you move about the house to start your day, you will surely see that we are not there. And you will surely see, also, that our rooms are clean and empty of most of our things, and our bags gone. 

And you will wonder what has happened, perhaps? And then come back to your room and see this note. 

We have left, yes. But please do not think that our leaving is a direct response to what happened last night. The truth is that we have been planning this for some time. In fact, we planned to tell you about this yesterday, over the Christmas dinner we did not have!  

But we had air tickets for this morning, and you know how difficult they are to reschedule on less than 24 hours notice, especially at this time of year! So we decided, reluctantly, to go ahead with our plan, knowing that you would understand. You know how efficient we try to be!  

The truth of things is that, while much of what you said last night was brought about by despair and drink, there was some truth to it. You are correct that, in spite of all we have seen and done, and lived and lost, there is still so much for us to learn. We are still so naive, still so innocent, still so wide-eyed at this amazing, larger world we were brought into when the Ice Palace was liberated.
And while we do not believe you meant what you said about leaving you to show we love you, we think it's time to do exactly that. Not because we love you (which we most certainly do) or because we don't (which we most emphatically do not)  

But because you are correct: It is long past time that we found our own way in this world. 

You have been a wonderful guide, in peace and in war, in good and in bad. You have shown us this larger world at its best, and its worst. You have shown us that the truth can make a difference, and that such truth is worth living for, worth fighting for, and worth dying for.  

You have shown us so much, but there is so much more to see. And as good as a guide and teacher as you have been, we realize that we must now find our own way, and our own truth.

When we were born, we were taught to expect a dark hole, filled only with pain, and we were told it was good. You showed us a world full of many different things, some joyful, some painful, and told us that we could make of it what we would. We were brought up to expect nothing, and you have given us everything.

You have given us a world. Now we must give something back, both to it and to you. 

So we have decided to strike out on our own, and record and see as much of this world as we can. If what we are hearing is true, and this wider world we have been liberated into is under a threat perhaps greater than we can overcome, then someone must make a record of it, if only so that those who come after us will have a window to view us through.  

And, with respect to certain American scientists, we do not think a gold record in a space probe will do. Not now that we have better things to record snapshots of our world upon, and fresh eyes to do so with.  

We have money. SPYGOD has seen to this. And due to our special situation, we have something approaching diplomatic immunity in the eyes of the TU. We can go anywhere, see everything, and ask anything of anyone.  

And we can promise that, by the time we are done, they will regret having been so generous with this. :)

You will pardon us if we do not tell you where we are headed, first. This will be something of a surprise for you, and we hope you will be at least amused. But we also know that you might try to come and join us, and this would defeat the exercise.

This is not goodbye. We would say Auf Wiedersehen. You know that this means "until we meet again," and we will.

We love you.

Gunther, Helga, Helmut, Jana, Karl

(SPYGOD is listening to One More Time (The Cure) and having whatever Ben Franklin's having)

2/8/12 - My Mind Behind A Cigarette (VII)

I remember, years ago, back when they were getting ready to drop me and the other Camp Rogers folks into Europe, that I wasn't entirely sure about the plan. I think I might have actually been ballsy enough to raise my hand during the debriefing when we were asked if there were any questions, and ask who the !@#$ thought this one up, Donald !@#$ Duck?

(And, no, son, I didn't actually put it that way. It's what I was thinking, but it wasn't what I said. Yours truly did not have the bones nor the moxie to dare question a superior officer in that manner in those days. That only came later, after Korea.)

You know what my superior told me? He said "The plan's the plan, soldier. They wrote it, we've got it, and you're doing it. I expect you all to follow all orders within that plan to the letter, up until the moment they don't work, anymore. And then I expect each and every one of you to amaze me by making the mission work, anyway. Because you are the best, and I expect nothing but the best from you."

One of my many regrets from the War is that the superior officer in question didn't live to see that mission work. He took a bullet to the head somewhere outside of Paris, and, not having been remade into the same, sterner stuff as his soldiers, did not survive the experience. But we soldiered on, and, in spite of the many twists and turns the plan took between imagination and implementation (like what to do if you actually !@#$ kill Adolph Hitler on the way) we won through to Berlin, as ordered.

I always try to remember that little humbling moment at sea when I stride down the airway and give everyone their marching orders. I try to set fire to hearts and minds, and make anyone who isn't sure about what we're doing, and when, and how, sure enough about the overall mission, and their role in it. I may have the path to the finish line marked out, but I sell them on the !@#$ finish line over all other things.

That way, if something goes totally pooch!@#$ wrong, and we have to improvise under fire, they'll feel empowered to change the !@#$ dance steps in such a way that they can not only survive the floor with their dates, but go on to get the dreamed-of handjob in the backseat, and still have him or her home before dad comes looking for them both with a shotgun in one hand, a chainsaw in the other, and murder on his mind.

(No, son, I didn't date in High School. Why do you ask?)

So there I was, a couple hours ago, giving that same speech I've given hundreds of times, for ops big and small. I told them that we had to do this. We had to do this for America, for the world. We had to do this for the President and the people. We had to do this for the victims -- past, present, and future.

And we had to do this because it was only right and good to live in a world were crazy mother!@#$ who think they can rule it, whether through fear or love, and didn't want to take "no" for an answer, were denied the opportunity to stomp on our rights to say "no."

I gave that speech. I !@#$ aced that speech. If I'd nailed it any harder, I'd have hit the ball into !@#$ orbit and given someone a full magazine of home runs at the World !@#$ Series.

And they looked at me like I was on drugs.

Now, to be fair, I am on drugs. But no more or less than usual. Drunk, too, but, again, this is nothing new or shocking. I've given that !@#$ speech ten sheets to the wind with tissues shoved up my nose to keep the Martian Cocaine from leaping out of it and going airborne, for !@#$ sake. Why would this be any different?

Why should it?

But there they all were, saying "yes, sir!" and "no, sir" and "!@#$ GORGON in the !@#$ with a big rubber !@#$ full of plastic explosive, sir!" with their mouths, when they weren't drinking the Chateau Adolph with them, while giving me that look with their eyes.

You know that look, son. It's the same look you give the crazy guy standing outside the subway, wearing a tin foil hat, new sneakers, soiled underwear, and !@#$ nothing else as he tries to tell you about how women from Venus stole his penis and turned it into a coin purse for Buddha.

(Of course he's !@#$ nuts. There are no women on Venus, and the near-immortal crab people who live there have no space travel capabilities or understanding of the superfine nuances of Buddhism. I think they think they're Jewish, somehow, but no one's been able to !@#$ explain that to me.)

So yeah, son. We're standing there just before the big op, my people think I'm nuts, and when I said dismissed I got no whoops, no applause, and no great big "America, !@#$ yeah!" I got the quietest march off deck I've had since the last funeral we had up here, leaving me cold, alone, and no longer enthusiastic drunk but very disappointed and worried drunk.

Also pretty !@#$ cold. Chinese Silk is not meant for Pacific winds.

What went wrong? That's a good !@#$ question, son. I wish I knew the answer.

Maybe it was the way the lights kept flickering on and off on the flight deck as I strode up and down it, preaching the word. Or how the stabilizers on the left side kept !@#$ faltering in strong winds, and giving everyone the sense of vertigo in the split second before the right side kicked into overdrive to compensate. Or the way the main guns kept clicking on and off, like a cartoon skull clacking its bony teeth on someone's !@#$ butt.

(No, we still don't know what's causing these random !@#$ malfunctions, and it's starting to really !@#$. Me. Off.)

Maybe it's the plan, itself. Like NAZISMASH, it's a series of feints that eventually come together at the end to form a single, big !@#$ kick to the jimmy. Unlike NAZISMASH, we have no idea where we're going, or exactly what we'll find when we get down there, except that, courtesy of Atlantean intelligence, there is something big going on at a secondary juncture of those huge, submerged tunnels.

Hopefully it's not a breeding ground for those Deros that Underman keeps going on about, or this is gonna be a short !@#$ trip. But I have confidence that we are going in the right direction, here. Confidence backed up by more firepower than I have ever brought to bear on anything, including the last time we got !@#$ invaded by something smart enough to get past Deep-Ten.

(Well, okay. Confidence and some insider intel from The Dragon, who's been kind enough to inform me about what the Chinese know. I guess GORGON made some inroads there, recently. Who would have guessed?)

Speaking of Deep-Ten, maybe it was the fact that, some time prior to having that speech, I finally got through to Director Straffer to talk strategy and a little personal business. As anticipated, he was happy to help if needed, though he didn't think it would be, given that GORGON tends to keep its nose on the ground. And, as anticipated, I got the brushoff.

It was something of a !@#$ relief. I was not looking forward to telling him that The Dragon and I were an item, now, and I didn't know I was going to explain what had happened.

In reality, this has been a long time coming. But it could also be perceived as me being a !@#$ stereotypical gay man and going from !@#$hole to !@#$hole like a frog leaping from lily pad to lily pad. If you didn't know any better, it would look like, since he hadn't gotten back to me, my feelings had been hurt, and I went with what made me feel better.

Straffer? He just smiles like a choirboy, tells me he already knew, and says that he'd realized it wouldn't work. We're too far apart physically and too close to each other in position for this to have been a good idea.

"But it was nice while it lasted?" I asked.

He paused for a second, as if thinking of the right !@#$ thing to say, and then smiled and said "It was, yes. It was the best dinner date I've ever had, and one of the best desserts."

"I felt the same way," I said: "I'm sorry it couldn't have been more."

"So am I. So why don't we just leave it at that?" He offered, smiling at me again. That smile. The one I can't say no to.

And I said sure, let's. And he said goodbye and good luck. And I said thanks, we'll take all the luck we can get. And that was that. Static, carrier signal, my reflection in a dark screen.

...

I'm not ashamed to say I went back to my quarters and !@#$ Dragon non-stop for a full hour after that. I pounded his hips into the !@#$ wall until we left a dent in there, and then I let him return the favor with interest. I broke most of my new furniture and left holes in the walls. I kissed him so hard it's a wonder I didn't pull his lungs out of his mouth.

And you know what I felt when I was sitting on the edge of the bed, afterwards, one hand on that nice, tight !@#$ of his and one holding the cigarette I was smoking?

Nothing.

Not a !@#$ thing.

I loved this man when we were fighting tooth and claw across the world. I wanted him when he was on the other side, and then the same side but not quite within reach. I wanted him when he was locked down like a pro-democracy activist and unable to get normal letters like normal people.

Now I have the man I loved and I wanted, here with me. And all I feel is that I want to !@#$ him, again. Just that and nothing more.

This isn't love. This was never love. I chased a devil for so long I mistook the hunt for the trophy. And now all I've got is a strategically useful man in my bed. 

Meanwhile, the man I actually, really was falling in love with is literally millions of miles away, having decided that distance and political realities were more important than the fact that, when I was with him, I felt more alive than I had in decades. And I thought he felt that way, too, but he didn't, and now I know.

And it hurts worse than fire.

"SPYGOD knows all." Bull!@#$, son. SPYGOD knows nothing.

Nothing at all. 

Faced with that snapshot of an empty and broken soul, I went out and tried to rally the troops. So maybe it's no wonder I fell flat on my face. Maybe they saw past the silk and the eyepatch and the fake !@#$ eye and bravado and implicit threats.

Maybe they knew what I'm just now admitting to myself, here, in a rare moment of total, gray sobriety. I got nothing.

Never !@#$ have.

...

Dr. Yesterday's on the horn, now. He's got something to tell me about the nanotech swarm we put The Flier back together with. I bet he's going to try and blow sunshine up my !@#$ about how the process (his process, since it's his nanotech) is a little erratic at first, but will eventually settle down. It's just like new regenerations on Doctor Who, he'll say.

You don't want to !@#$ know what I'm going to tell him in return. It won't be pleasant, to say the least. But hopefully the sting will get him to get his !@#$ in gear and get this tub fixed in time for the operation.

Saying I've stuck my neck out for this one is putting it mildly. Nothing can !@#$ go wrong with this. There's too much riding on it. America. The World. The Presidency. The COMPANY.

My fine, gay !@#$, however caught in stupid gay love drama bull!@#$ that it is.

Do I dare pray, here? Who do I !@#$ pray to? This world has more !@#$ gods than it knows what to do with, sometimes.

World, you owe me a favor.

Gods I don't care to worship because I know what you !@#$ look like, you need to come down and make yourselves !@#$ evident.

God I do know exists, if only because I've been led along by your !@#$ workers and chatted up by your disgruntled former employees, this is one of those times we're both on the same !@#$ side. Have some pity for this wayward son and his sloppy attempts to keep the world safe and sane. I won't promise anything because they'll turn to dust before I'm even done celebrating the victory, but let's at least come to a !@#$ gentleman's agreement that it would be really !@#$ bad if we lost, tomorrow.

Past that, I got nothing. And maybe you've known it, all along, but now I do, too.

So let's get through this fight for truth, justice, and the American !@#$ way, and maybe then I'll have something, again.

Amen.

(SPYGOD is listening to Seven Nation Army (White Stripes, Glitch Mob remix) and having a stale, flat Tsingtao)