a    B l u e   T a r a n t u l a  tm    Production
                                                                                                                                     
                                       DUKE AND THE NUKES tm
                                                 
                                                 ​Original Story by Alan Turner Bell © 2012  
                                                                          Expanded by Alan Turner Bell & Cali St. John  © 2017
​                                                                                                  Edited by Cali St. John
                                                                                                     all rights reserved
                                                                   
                                                                 Table of Contents

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Part One – Between Rock and Love 
1: The Philosopher Astronaut
2: The Club
3: The Forest
4: Sole Sisters
5: Rebels Without a Pause
6: Great Balls of Nuclear Fire
7: The Architect
8: Alchemical Music
9: The Package
10: Sopphia Reveals all to Sole Sisters
11: Skimming the Scum
12: Backlash
13: The Family Guy
14: Killers
15: The Boat
16: The Hackers
17: The D J
18: The Audition 
19: Ode to Joy

Part Two - The Sky is Falling
20: In the Wilderness
21: Conspirators
22: Sopphia outs the Klone
23: Alchemist President
24: Bogosity Meets Bodacious
25: Hacker Asylum

26: Prophecy
​27: McNabb’s Revenge
28: Bogosity Confronts the Klone
29: Sylvie Confronts Bogosity
30: Dead Eye Sings
31: Bogosity Confessional
32: Firebomb
33: Social Media
34: Meeting at BE-LIVE
35: Temptation on the Mount
36: Blue Ice Stalks the Chameleon
37: Sylvie Reveals Bogosity to Martin
38: 2nd Audition – the Kidnapping
39: McNabb is Enlightened
40: In the Oval Office
41: Xenon Meets With Toobey
42: Darkdom
43: Iridium
44: Hero with a 1,000 Faces
45: Martin is Recruited
 
Part Three – Revelation
46: The Dead Zone
47: Superstition Mountain
48: Non-Event Logic
49: Bogosity Learns the Truth
50: Gaia Reveals Herself

                                                                                         Part One – Between Rock and Love

Chapter 1       THE PHILOSOPHER ASTRONAUT
     (Opening Dream Sequence – This scene is shot at beginning by using extreme close-ups of eyes, forks and knives, mouths eating and food and clanging of forks and glasses… Rain is pouring down. Sounds of thunder and rain. Then we go to full frame.
We open on a young handsome man – Martin. He is wearing an astronaut suit and holding his astronaut helmet in his hand. He is at an outdoor café which is crowded with people having lunch. It is pouring drenching rain and yet still everyone is eating nonchalantly and talking, regardless of the pouring rain.)
Martin  looks at everyone at the outdoor café while it is pouring rain and says with a smile:
      “Y’all have a great day. See you when we get back from Mars.”
     Martin had always felt like he was from another planet, but he never understood why he felt so otherworldly. He had natural blue hair, luxuriant and incandescent like a high grade kyanite gemstone. He also had one blue eye, and his other eye was green and brown. Odd. Self-conscious, but handsome and unruly, he was a rebel of ocular vision and  vast observations and perceptions - strange, making no sense.
      (People sitting in the outdoor café don’t notice him, regardless of the astronaut suit. Again, camera returns to use extreme close-ups of eyes, forks and knives, mouths eating and food and clanging of forks and glasses…)

     It was an early morning again, and this time Martin woke up to the buzzing of his alarm clock, slowly pushed himself out of bed, and found himself in a place that he did not know anymore. Everything looked to be in its place but somehow it was not; tacky white clock bought for a buck at the dollar store, mahogany mantle hauled in the back of his old SUV to his tiny grotto, same ratty flower wallpaper, old curtains stained and a useless tin electric stove that never worked. Funny, he thought to himself, but he was not himself today, the drugs had worn off, he had tentacles. Martin the great struggling actor, another audition, only this time him with his tentacles and a spiny dick, this time he was finally himself  he thought. A reality show ‘ha ha ha’ he thought. Two big titted models and an emcee squealing loudly about survival and pussy and win the big bucks. And Martin with his tentacles and spiny dick. Something was wrong, and he knew it. He tried to talk to himself out loud but the words wouldn’t come out  and his arms felt like wings and his feet were clumsy. ‘Martin the Great’, he thought.
     It was  4:18 AM when he stepped out the door, or at least the alarm clock drooling on the mantle told him so. Outside it was quiet. This was not a neon explosion by any means, he thought, This had to have been a quiet, silent nuclear war last night. It was so quiet even the trees couldn’t speak to the leaves. It was paper thin. A plastic still-life painting quiet as hell with no Tuesdays and definitely not Christmas coming this year. He walked to the corner, bemused by the rumbling he heard inside his stomach.  Funny he thought, what a way to start a reality show. The 7/11 was open and the lights were on inside but he knew all the slurpies were empty and the truck drivers in their long trucks were missing this morning on the cold streets. Suddenly a burst of purple and blue light flashed on a building and he was back in Miami. But still he wasn’t there, he knew. He couldn’t be there, because last night while he slept there was a nuclear war, some silent explosion, a best-for-guests reality show.
     Duke And The Nukes, was the name of the show and he was auditioning for the big part, Duke, yep he said to himself, Martin the Great would be Duke and the nukes had already been detonated. He was on Easy Street. He had won the role he thought. Finally, victory was his. Slowly, he stood there alone and proud as daylight. A phosphorus night with the moon trapped up there low in the sky. This had to be his last day. He couldn’t take it anymore, the auditions and the lies and now this was reality. Finally he knew he was Duke—King of all the Reality Shows, King of all the heathens, the righteous one, even big Betty would fuck him now, now that he was famous. Martin the time traveler, The King of Reality, the savior, Jesus on a stick, like a Coney Island candy cone.
     He could swallow poison gases. He could dip the big dipper with double doses and still be the top dog on the show. He had won the moon, eaten all the lotteries, and passed the audition.
 
Chapter 2       THE CLUB
     (Martin’s Dream  ): There are three beautiful Asian long-legged girls. Martin has to pick only one. He is offered the three girls. Each has a different looking foot in length, structure, texture and feel, as he touches their feet. Two girls have oddly shaped feet. He feels their feet, gently stroking across the feet. Then he feels the third one’s feet, which are long and slender. He picks her…
     DJ 'Sons of X’ Martin was now in his tiny booth at club BE-LIVE. Some of the always fastidiously present fashion models were there. There was Milen, tall and blonde and from Estonia, only 17 years old—no one cared if she was underage, she was a thief of souls and many men bought a bottle of vodka just to glance at her.  There was Alyssia, the raven beauty fond of snakes and devils and Japanese tattoos. And there was Tati who was simply T. It was hush hushly guarded that she had been quietly married to a punk rock star from a band called Feeter who had hung himself before she made herself present on the scene. The boy had killed himself as revenge. Finally, there was Alina who was Gaga Dadaism and Basquiat, all wrapped up in one tall crazy girl.
     All the Girls were dancing like champagne tethered to the sky and there were the best boy toys from Milan now scampering in Miami, and the Prince from the underworld of shame who had escaped from Interpol and exonerated himself somewhere in Indonesia back in time, and sweet beautiful Samantha from Hell’s Kitchen in New York City drugged always to the heavens escape, and Sister Juanita who was heroin-ed all night smacked to heaven’s captivity, and Sopphia the transgender abstract painter unnotoriously drunk as always – vodka, vodka, vodka and let’s all jump off the balcony tonight, throw baby alligators from the balcony and jump, laughing as we all die, all the boys’ eyes were on Sopphia, after all she was the cotton candy queen, the tangerine crystalline drag queen, and the sky indoors at BE-LIVE was red aflamed.  Sopphia’s friends Damon and Juliana, the hackers who worked for national security, were somewhere in their Coconut Grove penthouse twisting the Kama Sutra into a sugar pretzel of amorphous desires.
     Everyone  wanted to be them, elegantly socialists with their winery and polo horse stables in Maryland, geo-republicans galore, the night was green and obscene and hot as dry ice, and with another toke and a bottle of vodka they were G-Money, and Po-Man and The D-Swagger, the prime movers of the celestial cavern called BE-LIVE. Jim Beam, whiskey and coke, and smoke and DMA were everywhere. BOOM, BOOM, BOOM.  
     Martin was alive, Nuked, finally free. Free to be himself. He was ‘Sons of X’  now.  Martin was everybody he ever wanted to be. He was everyone. This was HIS show, he controlled all the puppets.  He was the game controller. He called his audience the Humanitrons. And they danced to his tune, when he said so, and how he said so.
     Last year he had engineered the ‘Radicalizer’, a tiny electronic box, half the size of a 50 Cent Snickers bar, easily concealed in the palm of your hand. Its tiny JoyStick sent a direct radio signal to the 125,000 watt sound system at club BE-LIVE  and could affect the actual sound configuration of whatever song or music was playing.  The Humanitrons could actually be part of configuring the ‘Sound of Music’ Ha, Ha. Just a gentle push or pull, here or there, and the Radicalizer would alter the volume, chromatic direction, bass and treble,  and sonic destiny of cranial dispositions, and create the ultimate musical Satori.  But it was a joint effort.  It was majority rule.  It was the ultimate possession in all Clubdom.  Only 50 of them existed and they were all at BE-LIVE. And they were all at Martin’s disposition.  1,500 mad dances of human electrons dancing madly on the floor and only 50 patrons could push the button.
 
Chapter 3       THE FOREST
      (Martin is seen standing in  a forest of tall trees. He is holding an umbrella even though there is no rain.)
Martin was looking down at himself, as if he had died suddenly, and he saw himself from above, out of his body, in a green golden forest, with trees with strong branches and the trees were in concentric circles and they had dark green pine cone fractals, and there was a bright celestial light everywhere.
     A golden light like an aura at sunset when the sun gently tips just slightly over the edge of time and there is a celestial humming sound. The universe was humming a vibration to him and he could hear it now, clearly, loudly, the music of the spheres, essence, Dharma. He wondered about hugging each tree after tree. A force was driving him as if he had no control, like he was just fingers on a Ouija Board and the planchette was pulling him toward a tree that lay singularly over ‘there’ beside a wonderfully glowing haloed meadow which sang a song like a melody on a harpsichord. Suddenly the tree became a tall, wispy girl with long delicate chestnut  hair that curled at the tips of her on her shoulders and she appeared naked, and pure, with smiling harmony on her face, and perfectly symmetrical features. She was Silvie!  The most beautiful girl he had ever seen.
     He had seen Silvie once in a vision before, in a warm dream, like in the womb.  She had told him that he had a purpose and a mission in life. He was to fulfill a destiny. When he awoke he was holding his grey tabby cat, not Sylvie because Sylvie was a dream, but he knew his life had changed forever and that his journey was unknown but he had a purpose in life and a meaning in life to follow wherever his journey would take  him.  But now, this time, Silvie appeared again in his forest.
     This time she was real, not in a dream, he thought. He reached for her, to touch her hand and when they touched index fingers there was an electricity and he saw where he was. He was sitting in a college lecture hall, like an auditorium very large and octagonal shaped with a big lectern in the front facing all the students. A man was speaking at the podium to all the students, and the man was the Professor Emeritus lecturer, Dr. Merck Bogosity. Sylvie was sitting in a cramped lecture room seat next to Martin and she gently touched Martin’s shoulder and she whispered with her eyes “I love you” to Martin. Sylvie spoke every word silently, Sylvie WAS silence, Sylvie was beautiful.
She could not speak out loud. She was a mute but she communicated better than any other girl Martin had ever met. Her highly tuned and intelligent brain took her to places beyond the other students. She was partially telepathic and an empath, and she allowed herself to be captured by this strange young man that had the power to communicate with thousands with his music. She was entranced. He was ensorcelled. It was love at first dream.
     Sylvie was a 'familiar' for Martin. The Goldi Nanai people in Siberia clearly distinguish between the tutelary spirit (ayami), which chooses the shaman, and the helping spirits (syven), which are subordinate to it and are granted to the shaman by the ayami itself. According to experts the Goldi explain the relations between the shaman and his ayami by a complex of sexual emotions. Though unknown to both of them, Martin and Sylvie had begun their eternal love as an age old ideal.
 
Chapter 4       SOLE SISTERS 
     It was Friday night, just about midnight and Gianni Mendez, owner of club BE-LIVE was surveying the action across his immanent EDM domain with the enforcer Smoke, a Jamaican Prince of Darkness. He was large, mean as a wolf caught in a snare, and lover of women. Smoke was Skimmletoe’s yegg, a criminal tramp, itinerant burglar and a hit man.  The two listened to Gianni’s DJ, Sons of X’s  transcendent set of amphibious, plangent, ear splitting, sonorous beats as if a ‘son et lumière’ were taking place as they gazed through the strobing lights at the rich, beautiful, writhing bodies dancing away their coruscated hopes and dreams and Gianni knew it all belonged to him.
     “Whoa” Smoke said, “check out that tall lady from Planet Wonderful. I’d like to spliff her tonight.”
“Good luck with that my man.” Gianni replied, “That, my friend, is none other than BellaDonna Mascreante herself. Her father is the chief architect for the Decogen building me and my associates are building over on Brickell avenue. You go near her and it will take two pile drivers digging up the concrete to find your pinky.”
     “You mean you know her?” 
     “Not only her but her entourage of flaming visionaries of recherché femdom.  The Four Seasons of quadrivial seduction—Bella, Sopphia, Sylvie, and Juliana.”
     The malefactor Smoke replied, “Hey man why you always got to talk like that? What the hell are you saying?”
“I’m saying BellaDonna and her friends, the Sole Sisters, are untouchable, out of your league and you’re out of your mind to even think twice.  That’s not what you get paid for. But let me try to explain why club BE-LIVE is such a magnet for the ‘Beautiful and Insane’ people of South Beach. All my girls are beautiful, often temperamental, lovers of life and men, brilliant in their own way but BellaDonna and her Valentine conspirators together are called the ‘Sole Sisters’ because they stomp the dance floor to their own tune. They bring the rich buckaroos in to buy $500 tables for a night of champagne and fantasy. They stomp men’s hearts. Their hegemony of cool rules.  They are the Four Seasons of the Miami club scene and this is their ground zero. For them the velvet rope is to hang you with.”
     Smoke just stared at BellaDonna, dancing like she was trying to lift Jesus’ spirits in the Garden of Gethsemane.  Bella was the leader of the clique, moistrous lips and a mouth that never failed to enlighten and amaze, and put you in your place. She was cool, calm and sophisticated but one wrong move on the dance floor of retribution and you would meet her wrath. She was a born leader into temptation, adulation, and if you were good, redemption. Her tawny dark skin hinted at the jungle that lay just beneath her calm demeanor. She was a master of manipulation and gentle love.  A commanding presence at an even six feet in height she was a cynosure, always the first woman to draw everyone’s attention at any social gathering or primordial festival.
     She was a gourmet cook and always had a martini in one hand and a cigarette in the other. It was her casualness that was so alluring and misleading. She entrances and then dances over your heart, high heeled feet first.  It was why her little club clique was called the ‘Sole Sisters’.  She was passionate, suffered no fools, but was generous with her understanding and attention if you deserved it. She was a highly sexual creature of the Miami Gucci Prada Jungle, and seduction was a simple parting and slashing of your hopes.  She never obtruded but when angered she was transformed into a dragon of retribution to anyone that crossed her with phoniness of character or intent. She was a vindictive leader of both men and women taking them on a one way trip to the netherworld of unrepentant pleasure, while making everyone enjoy the ride.
      “Hey man, who is that dark haired one whispering to BellaDonna?”  Smoke asked.
      Gianni replied, “That my THC addled friend is Sylvie Rainier.  I’ve never quite figured her out.  She never talks but seems to be aware of everything around her without even looking.  She dances as if to slip the bonds of Earthly pain and fly into the cream cheese of tomorrow’s possibilities.”
      “What the hell are you saying?”
Gianni continued, “Sylvie is definitely a mysterious puzzle to me.  She’s Martin’s girl. She is a mute, unable to speak yet she communicates more deeply than any chick I’ve ever known. Martin told me she is an empath. She knows your feelings and how to make you comfortable with whatever psychological disease you have. Her Facebook moniker is ‘Transcendal’.”
     Indeed, as a mute Sylvie found that Facebook was  the perfect form of communication in a world of misfired brain synapses peddled, pawned and bartered in order to create new ‘Friends’. 
     “Martin explained to me that he was in a forest when he first became aware of her and was compelled to follow ‘the musical rustling of leaves and branches and gentle breezes’ that drew him to her. She is his illusion - a dream girl. Is she real or not?  He just doesn’t know. I’m not sure I do either.
      “She speaks to him, to me, and to everyone else, only with her eyes. Their communication is directly heart to heart. But of course dreams are like that. No words are needed. She loves Martin, our beloved DJ ‘Sons of X’ and it is his dream come true. Yes, Sylvie is tall, raven haired but she’s also  a scholar. She is working on her ancient history Master’s degree and understands and writes English, Spanish, French, German, and is learned in Greek and Latin. Because of her semi-telepathic abilities she has been languid in her studies. She often knew things before anyone else and so retreated from direct involvement with the academic abyss of disappointing intellectual runes.
“Her love of dance is what drew her to Martin and my club BE-LIVE.  Dance is the one universal language where she can release her transcendental torpor and truly be alive and in touch with all those around her.”
     “Man, I didn’t understand half of what you said but she is definitely hot. What about the other Sisters?”
     “Well look over there in the corner at the funny, slouching strawberry redheaded  girl chatting up those boys.  See the peculiar outfit she’s wearing?  That’s Sopphia Swayright. She works for me sometimes. She’s more than a drag queen she is a transgender, gender oblivious, a cloud of opium laced with meth, and not to be trusted. She only wants the final operation that will resolve the ultimate question of  ‘Who am I’?  ‘Strange’ is her style, a professional grifter. She’s a party girl at our happy little club BE-LIVE.  She also works for your boss, Skimmletoe, in many minor things of virtually no consequence but yet it do pay the bills. It was Sopphia who introduced Juliana, the pseudo socialite and computer hacker, into their clique.”
     “Man, you got some strange friends,” Smoke says.     
What do I want to drink?” Sopphia responded to the bartender, “I want to drink your soul, with a shot of Grand Marnier with three drops of Tarantula poison. Four might be uncomfortable.”  
     Gianni continued, “Sopphia is a sexual dilettante with eyes of unrepentant lust roaming over every curve of flashing flesh she meets, male or female. Her propensity to imbibe too much is compensated by her loyalty to no one except the Sole Sisters. That will be her downfall, but not tonight. Tonight we just surf the waves of sad happiness that is bringing in the lettuce and paying our bills.”
     “Hey man I thought you said there were four in the Sole Sisters. Who’s the fourth?”
     Gianni pointed to a brilliant blond girl with penetrating green eyes, from the Netherlands—Juliana. She is ethereal and always in seeming control.
     Gianni explains, “That is Juliana. Yes, she is quiet spoken and has a never-may-care attitude about all things.  She is a mathematical genius and was a child prodigy. She is deeply involved in the new science of PsychoMathotics which converts formal psychological personality profiles into numerical equations and can then be mathematically quantified and analyzed. Her work has been a significant contribution to numerous needy causes throughout the country that assist the many troubled souls in various medical institutions.”
“Hey man, your psychobabble ain’t getting me nowhere. Just who is she?”              
     “She is our secret weapon. A computer hacker for hire and with her partner, Damon. Her talents have brought her great respect because of her financial generosity to many worthwhile causes. That has established a semi respected parvenu social status for them within the Palm Beach community of philanthropic patrons. 
     “She’s only 5’7”, but she always stands tall in all social situations and enjoys the escape from mathematical academia into the night life.  She was recruited by our Sopphia into the whirlwind of international espionage and final hell on psychic wheels. Mathematical brilliance is in her genes and financial greed is in her Roberto Cavalli jeans. As Jim once said “I want the world, and I want it now!” And so do all the Sole Sisters.
     Smoke replies, “Man, and I thought I knew some crazy cats, but you seem to know all the crazy pussies in town.”
     “You don’t know the half of it, but you soon will.” Gianni gets up, looks back at Smoke and says “Stay cool and keep everything to yourself. Skimmletoe will explain everything to you tomorrow.” 
 
Chapter 5       REBELS WITHOUT A PAUSE
      A meeting was taking place in Washington in a room in a building deep within the recesses of the 5th floor underground below the Pentagon.  General Klonedeister was speaking to a clandestine summit of rebel military leaders, “Gentlemen, millions of people will be killed and the response will be this – there will be, in unison, a violent response, a counterattack on some seemingly unknown force alien to the American people. They will be told it is the enemy, cloaked and veiled. The drug cartel will take the blame and Martial Law, under our control, will prevail. There will be a counterattack, an annihilation of the cities, a disguised predominance.  It is called Operation Prevalance ” the General said as he pounded  the table.
     “A nuclear device has been secretly placed deep within a surreptitious place. The USA, as it now known geographically, will be threatened to be wiped out, the map, starting with New Jersey is to be changed forever, eradicated, erased, unspeakably wiped off the face of the modern map. Other nations will be threatened too, a smokescreen.  Occupation will be done, what else is to remain… no one is to be allowed any choices.  It will be the new ‘Occupy’, a cybernuclear bullyism and overwhelming violence. The will of the New Force will be imposed on America, and the World, and the South American Cartel will take the blame after paying us $5 billion dollars for the privilege.” (general laughter around the room)
     Colonel Tom Wankenfore looks to the General, “General Klonedeister, then what you are saying is that what we are doing is political cannibalism—Eat your Enemies, devour the 99 percent!”  he said.
     General: “Exactly!” he stated categorically. “Gentlemen, the nuclear device has been  placed in a location in New Jersey which is classified as ‘25XTC’. Forbid this breaking of the New Order – all the bio political genetic dangerous elements will be eradicated. SAMENESS is the new norm. Uniform clarity, all before One.  The New Order, conformity and political osmosis. No more Facebook, no more Twitter, no more Social Organization. No more Social Media. Eliminate the social cohesiveness. Create disorganization, chaos, confuse the 99 percent and rule them. Done Deal. We will have America back!”  
     On a large screen, a map was displayed showing the location of the buried nuclear reactor. “I have engaged a true patriot, Edward Skimmeltoe, to be our go between to secure the $5 billion from that scum Jose Carteleon.   He will work through that famous Miami architect/philanthropist and Spanish fagotista—Gianni Mendez.  We will never be traced.”
 
 Chapter 6       GREAT BALLS OF NUCLEAR FIRE          
     Skimmletoe was out on his yacht, the Iridium, basking in the sun, happy as a successful opening night Renoir exhibit at the Metropolitan Museum, or a secretive private collector’s hidden treasure trove of paintings stolen from the Isabel Stewart Gardner museum. The Nukes ball was rolling, and his cut would be a cool $100 million.
Edward Skimmeltoe was a British ex-pat. Born of a gentry family in Northumberland England, and the son of an barrister, minor royalty.  Edward was the black sheep in the family. He had abandoned his family and his roots for a  love for dangerous places, and a thrill for enjoying disgraces. He had run off to Africa to become a soldier of fortune after taking and passing his A level exams. 
     Guns, diamonds, dangerous diseases, wicked situations, victors and victims were his opera in life. He made a small fortune in Liberia, was thrown in jail in Spain while nefariously arranging for another shipment, and years later eventually came to America and Florida as a wealthy ex-pat.
     It was he who Klonedeister had contacted to broker the Nukes deal with the South American organization headed up by Jose Carteleon. Skimmletoe, a big time player in small time atrocities of crime and debauchery knew just the man to approach—Gianni Mendez.
Skim had met Sopphia at a club in Miami Beach and had taken a fancy to her, since he liked strange. Strange was his secret occupation and he entrusted Sopphia as a lieutenant in his business because she was ditzy smart, and ditzy was innocuous – she was crazy enough and smart enough to fly underneath the radar. Martin knew both of them casually because he was DJ ‘Sons of X’ and the VIP room was elbow rubs.
 Sopphia was Helmut Newton’s child, at least that is what she expected of herself. She had a dark side, helicopters always flew in her head. She would sometimes dress like a man, and sometimes dress like a woman. Gender confusion reigned in her kingdom. She wanted to be on the cover of Vague Magazine, much better than being on a Weighties cereal box, she thought.
     Sopphia’s tiny brown Chihuahua, named Bradley, lay on the plush couch in her living room south of 5th Street. She had named him Bradley because she wanted to send him to a fancy school for boys in Massachusetts, the Buckingham School, but Bradley, her brother, an Olympic swimming champion and a scull crew member on the Charles River, had told her she was crazy – she didn’t believe him. She was now singing a silly song softly out loud to herself while a text message burped and entered her phone.
 “Quietly hire those two hackers, Juliana and Damon, for a very special assignment" Skimmletoe instructed her. " I’ll meet with them in two days." She was happy. this new assignment from Skimmletoe would go a long way to pay for her operation. The song she was singing now was:
       (Sopphia sings this song  below called “Bulimia” [lyrics by Alan Turner Bell] in a high pitched voice):
“Binge, Purge     Twitter-Pate     A Global State     Bull-ee- ME- ah     It’s My Fate     All The Doctors Tell Me     I’m Slightly Deranged      My body and life     A Page     That Must Be Re-arranged      Binge, Purge     Twitter-Pate     A Global State     Binge, Purge     Twitter-Pate     Bull-ee-ME-ah      Oh Dear Lord,      It’s My Fate     To Twitter-Pate”          (She suddenly stops singing.)
 
Chapter 7       THE ARCHITECT
     Gianni Mendez was well known in Miami, a rich, prominent architect, developer, and philanthropist.  He was rudely handsome, his wife, Maria, was Colombian and beautiful but dull like an Ikea fruit bowl. They had two cute kids, teenagers, both girls popular at school and on Facebook, best private school in Coconut Grove only money could taunt and located next to the Howard Hughes Medical compound where God only knows what exo-spacial research the eccentric billionaire had directed.
     Gianni was also a principal money launderer for South American drug cartels and the D.C. mob.  He owned club BE-LIVE.  It was early September a year ago, a year before now and Gianni Mendez was on the phone in his office to his executive secretary  in the outside anteroom to  his office with all floor to ceiling, hurricane glass windows on the 23rd floor overlooking Biscayne Bay.
“Hurry, draw up the architectural plans right away. Get Ramon on the phone – I want him to sign off on the drawings.”  Gianni then dialed another phone number.
     “Pay off the city Zoning  Commissioner. Our condo masterpiece, the ‘Decogen’ is gonna be built 43 stories high and two square blocks of prime Brickell Avenue real estate and no one will know that’s where our cheese goes.”  Gianni hangs up phone, pulls out dice, throws and tosses the dice on his huge desk – “7’s again!”.  He pulls up his purple silk tie and tightens it, stands up and looks at himself in the golden mirror on the wall.  He says out loud to himself, “Pin it, paint it, paint, paint it white, paint it, paint it white.”
Gianni then sings a song in a lilting tone [song lyrics by Alan Bell, music by Tinker Bell]
     “Don’t you stumble now, don’t you crumble,  all you fools,  this time I can’t lose.  Once was hard times on Cuban streets, now it’s easy on Cuban feet, juevos,  juevos, piedras of stone, juevos de piedra and all done on my own, Cubana,  Cubana,  Hurray for Cubana, come to Miami and see what your Gianni did, come all my friends.”
 
Chapter 8       ALCHEMICAL MUSIC
     The sounds of beats were alchemical music.
     When Martin mixed beats, he was the Alchemist.  For ‘Sons of X’,  music was Alchemy, the music of the spheres. He understood that to transmute the music of the collective unconscious, to bring forth the divine spirit, and to awaken the dancers' souls into undulating rhythmic pulsing, sexual beings communing with each other and primal desire, was what the music was all about. Secret harmonies underlying the pulsating drive to dance and to procreate galactic genes resonating in a forest of a crashing dream.
     Martin thought: The composer of the music and the DJ expressing his interpretation and all the dancers in the club, all one universal bridge between the present tense and the afterlife. What righteous human being such as I could want a more benevolent, beneficial beautiful PRESENT than this in the here and now destiny of being the DJ leader of lost souls and my joy of knowing my role of being a DJ, a leader of the troops of millennial desolation!
     Take these tubular wings and strike the chords and trancing melodies. Bring on the tumbrel light and disembodied colors echoing in the spectrum in the club. Ravage these people with tunes to make them feel whole and engage them with each other - for a moment? For a night of fleeting pleasure?  For a weekend of divine pleasure? For an extended moment of truth until a breakup? Or until an eternity of hope? 
      CRY! CRY! CRY!   Cry your torment of being human, Oh foolish humanity!  For in these few hours that I play these golden tunes for you, the savior has awakened and led you on a journey to momentary immortality. Funeral pyres of broken dreams and hearts.  Forget those few hours of pain and suffering while I play these rhythms for you.  I lead you into a palace of no return once you have experienced my tunes. I am eternal, we are eternal, the deep dark secrets of happiness I am revealing to you tonight in this catacomb called BE-LIVE.  Drink of the waters of the dream forest. And AWAKEN!  Feel my passion for you!  Renounce the twins of hate and love for a moment in tensile time and spread your glorious wings on the dance floor!
     Enjoy the ecstasy of my songs. The virgin and the child are calling you tonight to dance away your fears! The Alchemical moment is here, now in this club! Mozart and madness and eternity, I invoke you to bring these souls to live forever in the kitchen of music I am cooking tonight.  Body music, oh heavenly spirit, rise, rise, rise, rise above it all!  The magic is in the sound! And we all will be wed together tonight.
     Martin, DJ ‘Sons of X’ was taking all the dancers through the needle's eye tonight. "Timelessness, Primordial, Timelessness, Tonight" were the words on the huge video screen in the club BE-LIVE.
 
Chapter 9       THE PACKAGE
     Outside the Versailles Restaurant, a Cuban restaurant on 8th Street in Little Havana, a man dressed in all white discretely exchanges a small yellow manila envelope with a thin, elegant man dressed in a Hawaiian beach shirt. Sopphia was always partial to flowery raiment. They touch hands during the exchange and the envelope quietly entered into Sopphia’s possession. It is the computer code necessary to unlock the Swiss account where Jose Carteleon, number one drug Kingpin of all South America, has deposited the $5 billion dollars in payment for the Klone’s nuclear secrets. She will deliver it to Skimmletoe.  Gianni Mendez had done his job.
     A massive, black Mercedes car rounds the corner and gently pulls alongside the curb next to Versailles. The man all dressed in white enters the rear seat of the car, then the car glides into the traffic flirting by and then fades slowly out of sight.
     In the background, a huge city sign, a billboard, says in Bright Yellow with a Pink Flamingo Bird “WELCOME TO MIAMI.”
     The next day, the  text message on her cellphone said only one word: “Stargazer”.  Stargazer was the text message and she became elated. That was all she needed to know.  The green Starship of cash had landed in Zurich. She sang again even louder now the words “Kittens and mittens and sunflowers and dew, these are the moments I think of you”. The text message had come from Edward Skimmeltoe. Sopphia knew she was royalty now, after the text confirmed it. 

Chapter 10     SOPPHIA REVEALS ALL TO SOLE SISTERS AND HIRES JULIANA
     Still high as a newborn baby from her Stargazer confirmation, Sopphia contacted the other Sole sisters for a get together at BE-LIVE’s Happy Hour. It was Sunday but there would be no sun that night. It was the eclipse night for a blood red moon, not to be seen again until 2033. She had promised Juliana a special treat. A digital bouquet of  peculiar, pecuniary rewards. Juliana was intrigued and assured Sopphia that Sylvie would be there too.
     As always, BellaDonna was the first to arrive. She liked surveying the landscape early. She worked for Taya Akin, a mysterious and ethereal woman who no one knew but seemed to be everywhere at once. It was rumored she was the power behind Gianni Mendez’s successes but no one knew for sure. BellaDonna assured Taya she would learn all from Sopphia and report back.
     It was early, only 11 PM but all four sole sisters were at the club playing their fluted champagne like mother’s milk. Sopphia was already on her third. Crystal blue persuasion was seeping in. Bella ordered another round. “I love bubbly lube jobs” she said.
     “Martin promised me an especially slippery, sonic ride for tonight’s set” Sylvie wrote on her IPad.
     “Miss Rainier,” replied Juliana, “I so love our perspicacious persiflages.”
     “What the hell does that mean?” interrupted Sopphia.
     “Come on now Sopphia,” answered Bella, “we all enjoy our little truth telling, heart to hearts.  Have another flute, Hell have a whole trombone if you want, but why did you ask us all here tonight?”
      Sopphia discreetly burped and said “I’ve got a secret and you can’t tell anyone.” She looked stealthily around the room and then back at the Sole Sisters. “A very senior, military official has hired Edward to broker a major financial transaction. I’m pretty sure it’s in the Billion$ of dollars, and he wants you, Juliana, and Damon, of course, to electronically guide the money from place to place and I think we can get some of it.”
     A chorus of simultaneous and mad zarzuela arose from all the Sole Sisters as they all jumped up like a fulminating orchestra all tuning up at the same time before a performance.
     Bella was the first to gain her composure “Are you kidding me?” Juliana exclaimed “Sopphia, you’re mad, It’s the Cristal talking!” Sylvie couldn’t even type and just made feral, guttural sounds of primeval, atavistic astonishment.
     “It’s absolutely true.” Sopphia beamed as the Sisters all sat back down and leaned closer.  Sopphia had their attention now. This was Heaven.  Sopphia continued, “I was given the computer code to the Swiss account by Gianni to pass on to Skim, which I did. But I also took the time to copy the whole thing.  Skim wants you, Juliana, to process the money from the Swiss account through untraceable channels, to his own secret account in the Seychelles and finally into D.C.”  Sopphia looked around the table while the loudspeakers thumped away, rattling both minds, bodies, and wallets, “Are you guys in?”
     BellaDonna, “Sopphia, you’re a genius and a genuine cabbage slut.”
     Sopphia looked up, smiling shyly, “Thank you, I’ve had great teachers.”
     Sylvie typed, “This is incredible. Can I tell Martin?”
     Sopphia laughed, “Can I stop you?  Just swear him to secrecy or I will personally pluck his magic twanger cause mine will be gone soon.”
     Juliana, still stunned, “When do we begin?’
     “Tomorrow!” And Sopphia giggled. “One more round.”
 
Chapter 11     SKIMMING THE SCUM
     The polo match was over and Juliana and Damon were hobnobbing the rich and useless under the VIP tent. Everything smelled of money manure but they barely noticed. They were headed back to their Coconut Grove penthouse overlooking Sailboat Bay.  They had originally met at the Mutiny, ‘the’ Miami  club in the original building on Bayshore Drive when it was only eight stories tall—condos, rentals, and business offices, ground zero for the infamous cocaine cowboys, long gone now into that great white roundup in the sky.
     Damon said, “Jules, this code is an alphanumeric nightmare. We’re talking bignums here and I  don’t want any foobars spoiling our fun.” Damon was an MIT graduate and could crack any code whether computer or social niceties. At six foot two he was brilliant, looked like Matt Damon and was madly in love with Juliana. After a stint as a consultant with the CIA decoding terrorist cell chatter, he opted for the private sector.  And nothing was more private than what they were up to now. $5 billion to be secretly transferred from Zurich to D.C. via at least three international, digital bank transfers along the way.
     “Honey we can do this. I spoke with Gianni this morning and he said he wanted $100 million transferred into his Turks and Caicos account. It must be a completely blind transfer to avoid the Foreign Account Tax Compliance Act. If we can do that, we keep $10 million for ourselves.”
     Damon’s eyes opened wide, “Are you kidding?  Do you know the Alienware setup we can get for less than one percent of that?”
     “I know. Let’s get started. First let’s COM CODE our units. then we DRAGON all this data, and then let’s crack Zurich. No FENCEPOST error tonight.”
     “Gotcha. Have I told you I love your binaries lately?”
     “No, but I already know. OK, 90 mil to Gianni, 10 for us, and the remaining 4.9 to Skim.  Let’s do it, let’s FROB this sucker and be sure of a 100% FLUSH.”
     “You got it sweetie, let’s fly to the moon.”
 
Chapter 12     BACKLASH
     Sopphia sat by the big bay window overlooking the ocean at Millionaires Row on Collins Ave in Skimmletoe’s penthouse, “I’m not young enough to know everything” she said.
     “What?”
     “That’s what the guy who wrote Peter Pan used to say and I know exactly what he meant. Edward my hormone treatments are getting to me. I’ve got to get knifed soon.”
     She had been reading about how pre-op transies were prone to eating disorders and alcoholism. She wondered if that was why the ‘Bulimia’ song kept bouncing in her brain like a pin ball fighting to get out of a steel scrotum. The only joy in the world is to begin and she couldn’t wait. As a gender-variant she felt stigmatized and was why she loved being loved especially by the Sole Sisters and more especially Edward Skimmletoe, who didn’t give a flying rat’s ass who or what she was.  He respected her for her ability to go underground and surface in China and return with the goods. It was not easy being a third gender.
     She was classified with gender dysphoria and she resented the hell out of it.  She’d show them.  Because of this, it supposedly explained her constant need for the Peruvian marching powder and Brandy Alexanders by the bucket. It helped with her anxiety, suicidal ideation and self-injurious behavior. But not that much. He was a girl inside, totally psycho-sexually inverted in a hermaphroditic hell of wondrous expectation. And she would win. She didn’t care about loyalty or betrayal, she just wanted to be loved by everyone.
Skimmletoe interrupted her reverie, “Don’t worry baby, you done good work this week. Them hackers you got on board are on the job. In two days the $5 billion will be in my account and Klonedeister will be mine. I’ll have my $100 million cut and you’ll be on your way to visit Dr. Toby in Beverly Hills.”
     “That’s just it Edward, I think Juliana is being naughty with the money.”
     “WHAT!!??”
     “I think they’re skimming the  ‘scum money’, they called it. I think Gianni offered them a better deal than you did.”
     “If any of them  messed with even one single dollar. the alligators on Alligator Alley are getting fat tomorrow.”
 
Chapter 13     THE FAMILY GUY
     The scene was very different elsewhere the next night. Somewhere on Palm Island a robbery was taking place behind high gated walls, and someone was going to get killed tonight.  Outside the Gianni Mendez house the street was lined with yellow police tape.
The  black man’s name was Smoke and he spoke to no one, not even the detective from the 2nd avenue precinct. His black Mercedes, a gift from Skimmletoe, had been impounded. The cops had no evidence. A dirty cop had played his game on Smoke and the detectives knew that discoveries in court would prove nothing tangible or satisfactory. Why press a case forward and file charges all for naught, the detective thought. Smoke was held in a room, quiet as ice, for what seemed an endless time and finally later released.
     The streets were lined in a promenade of establishment willow trees whispering something always profound, old stone walls surrounding the large main house, a manor with a greenhouse as big as most people’s homes, two  acres of land, Nicaraguan maids and Cuban attendants, the perfect life as sweet as café con leche, except nothing could hold these walls together.
     Suddenly the worlds of Smoke, Martin, Skimmeltoe, and Gianni were going to collide and crash together like galaxies forming in the ultraverse, light years of deep black holes hidden in another dimension in Miami sucking themselves together.
     This was Miami, the beast. Gianni was at the top of the world and had built a Latin community empire. Gianni the architect and money launderer had donated large monies to the Miami Museum and now he was dead. Mr. black tie philanthropist was dead. Unknown to Maria, his wife, the main events of Gianni’s life were still invisibly unknown to her. The pearl was hidden inside the oyster shell, and it was an ugly pearl, despite its glimmer. Next to Gianni’s limp eviscerated body was a note written out carefully which said “You Will Be Dead When You Read This”.
     No way would any one buy his wife’s alibi. Gianni was dead, lifeless on the floor, dead as a filet mignon butchered in some kitchen of some funky restaurant chain in the Grove called The Filet King.   Buy a filet sandwich, guaranteed to MAKE  YOU HAPPY OR YOUR MONEY BACK, the sandwich with your future in mind, the cable television ads screamed ha ha ha.  ‘Love the sandwich or your money back, love your life or your money back,’ the ads said on TV. The chef pointed gleefully at you through the TV screen,’ love your life hahaha’.  Double dip it in the sauce, slow your roll and find your soul. Martin had tasted the savory flavor of the crescent meat. He was King. Money Back Guarantee. Fait accompli.
 
 Chapter 14     THE KILLERS
     Skimmletoe had pressed the magic button and said “Kill Gianni.”  The blood was seething out of the dead man’s body on 91 Palm Lane, Palm Island.  Both the killers, Whack and Smack, stumbled blindly like dogs hit by a car. It was a cold windy February night for Miami on Palm Island and next to the empty, stark naked Olympic-sized pool alongside the back guest house the leaves on the neatly planted trees were rustling loudly like Tequesta Indians shaking their beads in some dark ancient echo prayer ritual of a shade down by the river beside the Miami Circle. This was no chorus of the divine spirits.
     This was death—death in all its glory and magnitude and disgrace. A dark blue, otherworldly looking figure stood silhouetted against the hollow full moon leaning against the rusting railing in the guest house on the 2nd floor above the pool. In the front of the property near the tree lined lane, the main house by the gate lay quietly asleep in the darkness as the turmoil in silence in the back house by the bay shuddered and ended. It was over – the killing was over. A big fish in the bay by the back dock plopped up out of the water and made a splashing sound in the muddy dirty water.
 
Chapter 15     THE BOAT
     The IRIDIUM was a 103 ft. luxury yacht which now lay lurking 1,000 feet offshore calm but casual, and yet surreptitiously still at anchor. Inside a huge living room in the yacht served as a conference room.  Skimmletoe and Smoke were congealed together like black licorice in a small cellophane package.
     “What do they know about the Nukes and the money?” Skimmletoe growled.
     “Nothing. Nothing Yet”, responded Smoke.
     “Yet?!” Skimmletoe raised his voice “We are under investigation and it’s all your stupid fucking fault!” Smoke was a huge man, and fearless and he knew to not let the sweat show under his shirt.  Skimmletoe’s lips twisted into a grimace and he howled “The goddamn Feds will be on us in no time …. I am going to bury your ass in Surinam where no one will find you, motherfucker!”
     “Edward, No one knows about anything. They are too busy with the Fontainebleau bullshit to be tracking us, Edward. We killed Gianni so this could be our masquerade.” Smoke laughed in disgust. “We killed the dumb motherfucker so no one would have a clue and the subs would be obscure.”
     Skimmletoe picked up a heavy bronze statue and threw it across room. It smashed  against wall with a huge bang.  Skimmletoe, “Bullshit, don’t you know that when you are paranoid and you  think people are investigating you, it’s YOU who is investigating you because you know deep inside yourself that shit is gonna happen! Your house of cards is gonna fall.”
     “They got nothing on us..,.,” Smoke barked back.
     “They got nothing on ME….  BUT YOU… YOU are the ONE who got picked up last night. You are the one who is gonna take a piss in hell for this, not me! I want you to disappear.  Go to Spain or Uruguay… I  don’t care where the fuck you go as long as I own you, but you are fucking outta Miami for a while. Do you hear me?”
     “Yes.”  
     “OK, your skin is gonna be as white as silk after I am done with you”  Skimmletoe said.
 
Chapter 16     THE HACKERS
     About Midnight, South of 5th in a high rise luxury building on Alton  Road - the penthouse apartment home of Damon and Juliana, Damon is looking at a computer tracking program on his computer screen.
Damon: "Hold on here… Juliana, take a look at this. Some kind of an anomaly.  The funds sent from Rio for the development of the Decogen building have been tracked!"
     Juliana (dressed very sexily in a tight dress READY for intimacy as if couple are the Hottest couple in Sobe):   “What??!”
     Damon: “That’s the $5 Billion that we transferred for Skimmletoe and the $100 million we skimmed for Gianni Mendez. It’s been tracked!  It's appeared on the fucking Watch List!  CIA Security may know it was us, Shit!!  Hell Skimmletoe will know it was us!  That’s why Gianni bit the big one last night!”
          (On screen he plugs in coordinates, program numbers, logarithms...)
     Damon: “The report to Klonedeister says it's vanished. He knows now the money is fucking gone. Vanished! And that we are probably responsible!”
     Juliana: “What do we do?  Where do we go?  That's the Nukes money - You assured THEM we could transfer it safely. If it got into the wrong hands, it could be the end of the world AND the end of US!”
Damon holding both hands on his head, “Baby, I don't know what the hell happened - this is impossible! That money was supposed to flow, and it did, from Zurich to Rio De Janeiro to the Seychelles to Brickel for Gianni and finally to Skimmletoe in D.C. with the Gianni Mendez diversion being completely untraceable. 
     “Skimmletoe assured our fucking agents that everything was going smoothly, the proposition being understood that fake funds from the K1 Agent were presupposing the funding for the development of the Decogen as bullshit expediency subterfuge monies. The cash was  easily recognized and guilelessly duping our dumb dilettantish dupes (he laughs) as we know their tomfoolery shenanigans with all these stupid saps wanting their prizes and profits like all the wholesome (he speaks sarcastically) whores CIA Age-ants do. But now the money is gone!  And the Klone knows it, and our digital fingerprints are all over its disappearance. Some hackers we are.”
     Damon (Scared): “Juliana, Einstein said it “World War IV will be fought with sticks and stones”. FUCK!~!!"
Juliana: “The device? The codes?  Damon, baby?!  Where is the nuclear device located?  Who has the codes now? What should we do?”
     Damon: “I don't fucking know! THEY won't tell me. Goddamn it!!”
     Juliana:” What should we do?”    
     “ H I D E!!”
 
Chapter 17     THE  D J
     Martin says out loud:  “Everything in this space capsule of time is a reality show. Time is an illusion – I am an illusion.”
It was 3 AM in BE-LIVE in the heart of electric blood pumping South Beach where the worst people come out and play and the best come out hallucinating.  DJ ‘Sons of X’ was playing his newest creative music set, called ‘Bag of Tricks’.  Martin felt like the spines were gone temporarily. The insects weren’t crawling under his skin still, and now he felt like he had long ivory tusks like an elephant, since he was King Martin. He felt that he could hover above the crowd as if in some strange metaphysical craft.
     His affliction was silent and no one knew but him about his spines and the tusks, like a great swimmer who never reveals his hydrophobia and still accomplishes a record breaking long distance swimming feat. He was about to take a break from his set. 
     Martin joined the wormy swarm of people at BE-LIVE  –  PEACE OF MIND taste the perfumed fine odor of the moment – get your best looks - seen by all the right elite people – press of bodies, and a crunch and glow. Everyone knew their beloved boss and owner of the club, Gianni Mendez, was flying past the stars without wings and they still danced.
     “Hey mate, good set, man. How goes the intergalactic battle?” Skimmeltoe said to Martin.
     Martin replied to Skimmeltoe, “We’re all afraid of Reality. Look around and what do you see?”
Skimmletoe answered blithely “I see beautiful people, beautiful women and everyone is happy on Extasy”.
Martin said, “I see cats and dogs and lizards and alligators.”
     Suddenly there was a loud commotion, and an angry young Hispanic looking police officer burst through the crowd in the VIP room. He grabbed DJ ‘Sons of X’ from behind on the shoulder as he was facing Skimmletoe.  “You are under arrest” the police officer said. “Put your hands behind your back.”  Martin was hurtled toward oblivion with confusion – “For what?” he said.
     “Murder”, the officer said, and Skimmletoe turned away quickly and ducked behind a tall blonde European woman next to one of the tables.
     “You have the right to remain silent, and to an attorney, and anything you say may be held against you”  the officer cautioned. Miranda had never sounded so ominous.
     Martin was stunned, the lights were collapsing all around him and suddenly everything faded into darkness. This wasn’t happening, Martin thought. This had to be a dream. Like all the other dreams.
 
Chapter 18     THE AUDITION
     The next audition now was beginning in the middle of the night in a jail cell. The accusations were that Martin had murdered Gianni Mendez. The ride to the jail in the back seat of the police car had been jarring and tumultuous. Martin felt each bump in the road. Almost instantly, as the police car approached the entrance to the jail, a huge metal gate opened and the vehicle with the cop and Martin entered a subterranean cove. The cove was enclosed with a fence and a gate and barbed wire. “I am going to pass this audition”, Martin thought to himself. Within seconds, he was inside the main auditorium, the jail. The gargoyles and demons were everywhere and terrifying.
     “Who is the director?” Martin asked.
     “You’ll see” the cop said.
     “I didn’t study the script”
     It was a social crisis. The hackers Sylvie had told him about had caused this, Martin thought.
     Martin says to police officer in the jail: “We are all broken vessels – pottery shards in the universe. Some of us broken from the beginning, because of our genes, or because of past Karma, others from life experiences, or just simply because we wish to be broken, so we can mend ourselves and grow. Reality has no purpose, no meaning, no significance, no resemblance to our shadows. Being fixated on theoretical constructs or theoretical Mephistophalian physics or obtuse abstractions serves no purpose but to delude us into thinking all is something, or it is nothing.
     “Purpose, meaning, significance, being, non-being, mere entanglements, these are only our commitments to shadows bold, bold as light, gray as day, hideous creatures, gargoyles. Stark. Stark as Night.  Day is easy. The night is a dreadful time. The day is easier because during daytime one does not have to face one’s uncomfortable thanatotic self. At night one does has to face one’s death, one’s annihilation. At night it is not easy to run from death. Squirrels hold death in their hungry paws at night.”
“Bravo. Well done” said the officer, opening up a cell full of ragged prisoners and aggressively shoving Martin in. “Now get in there and shut up.”
     In two days Martin was released.  The evidence didn't stick - Martin was framed.  Almost.
 
Chapter 19      ODE TO JOY
     A Nuke Attack alarm was occurring somewhere in Occuspace. World Fugue News BBC would be BIG and LOUD on all the networks. There would be no dry land, only dry ice now. It was a fumble of Antarctica, tossing the dice. The silhouette thought this would be bigger than Hoboken, larger than a Mexican Nightmare, it was Electric, Energy In LOVE with Kineticide Energy, a havoc tower struggle, a Halloween sun, a computer dumping the big ONE.  GOD’s brain.  GOD - the pumps are failing, bucket brigades of alle menschen, alle menschen freunde, freunde.
     Were they acts of nature or acts of our sins?  Dry heaps of lingual bitumen or water-resistant enemies of hope, acts of me and acts of you, acts of Man, or instead my brethren, were they acts of all of us and some of us the missing dew, millions of unrescued tragedies. Along came a knocking atomic mother with her birthing nuclear twins. Our Octumbral double moon devastation holy holocaust disrespecting human wildlife.  Blinding light.
 
                                                                          Part Two - The Sky is Falling

Chapter 20     IN THE WILDERNESS
     Renaii Toobey, CIA agent, was born as a conflicted man of an alien species somewhere on a small pock marked planet called Xeres.  Xeres, known to Terran scientists, with its two primal lights wide open. Two white lights on the surface of the planet—two eyes bragging of its advanced civilization to the universe.
     NOW, Renaii Toobey, in the early 21st century, had spectacled himself from this desolate planet Xeres, with a surprisingly advanced culture far from the visual eye of the universe through some vector in a parallel universe. His human consciousness had never arisen until now. Through a wormhole he appeared naked like an anthropothecus in a remote place in the African wilderness in Kenya, and somehow one early funny morning he had infortuitiously run aground of himself and encountered a crazed soldier of fortune named, of all things, Edward Skimmletoe, giving life to all the whacked misconceptions of three witches brewing a dark cauldron of black magic.
‘WTF’ Renaii said to himself so millenialized. "What castrated God of the universe has poised me here of all places? Surely, Nash of MIT could not explain this one even in his deluded mind of mathematics and astral wisdom. "The eye of the hurricane  meets the shadowy visionary of the rampaging tornado,” he thought. "What is fate to do?"
     Renaii's Xerean mother was named Gaia.  She was the mother source of life on Earth and countless other planets. She had once appeared on Earth as a fierce Russian Queen in the 13th century in the old city of Kiev. But her Karma in a past incarnation had landed her a rather odd fate dying at an early age and then she returned to her ‘Blue Ice’ planet called Xeres where the Mother Goddess ruled.
Queen Gaia was good, and when she was good she was very good, and when she bad she was very, very good. As Sun Tzu once said  “Heaven is dark and light, cold and hot."
     Renaii's father on Xeres, had been a 20th century Russian general in a past incarnation. He was a  man of infinitely deep integrity who had liberated Auschwitz. For this, the twin gods of the universe, Godwar and Godlight - the puppeteers of the universe - had rewarded him, after his death, with a new incarnation on Xeres as a leader of the Astrogens—Xenon, the turf God of Xeres.
     Renaii later was recruited by the CIA because he had a twist of fate, photovoltaic invisibility cloak, and so he was valuable to the CIA. He could pass in and out of places unbeknownst to any special agent. This invulnerability made him an asset to the CIA. But Renaii was born of two opposing forces of nature - good and bad, and to tame both those spirits was a challenge even to the CIA. ‘Good’ was sometimes good, and sometimes bad. ‘Bad’ was sometimes bad and sometimes especially good. His conflict was to serve his mother, Queen Gaia and all the goodness she cried over her dominions and somehow to better serve his father Xenon, the conqueror bent on conquests, at any price, of new alien worlds for the Xereans to migrate, to escape their now frozen planet rapidly becoming uninhabitable even to the dreamers of times long past.
     Alas, The nature of mankind and aliens alike—to be lost in a trap door.
 
Chapter 21     THE CONSPIRATORS
     On Millionaire’s Row, a Collins Avenue location, Miami  Beach, at a luxury condominium building facing the ocean, the white Rolls Royce was parked by the valet underneath the building and a distinguished looking greying haired man dressed in white emerged toward the door of the building. Skimmletoe was at one of his hideaways.
     The wind in the palm trees was rustling and there was a whistling sound. Missiles were buried and set all over the United States. Senators were quietly conferring in Washington about Israel and Iran, and all was a day in the life and yet no one cared, Skimmletoe laughed to himself.  Skimmletoe was the prince of time. What difference did a conversation at the United Nations make anyway, irrelevant, meaningless spittle. It’s only for those who rule, the oligarchy rule, and the ruse was contained in the triumvirate.
The enemy is  ‘He who is perceived as an enemy’ though not necessarily an enemy.            
     Perception is everything.   The ‘cold’ war games.
     In the lobby at the Millionaire’s Row Condo luxury high-rise, Sopphia, a silly little once ago man now dressed as a woman, skinny as an anorexic and holding a tiny little dog, entered the elevator and rose to floor 18, Penthouse PH B. She then pushed a key into 18PB,  and slithered her way inside as if she was a slice of whole Wheat Bread and American Cheese.
     She sat down on a plush white leather couch and made herself comfortable like she always did, wherever she was. Nothing phased her, she didn’t really care if she lived or died, just so long as she did it well.  Medicine and plastic surgery were more important than politics to her.
     She wanted to be the glamour queen and she was.  A rumbling at the door and the door jarred open and Skimmletoe entered the area which was frozen in time.
     ‘Hey Papi, I’m miserable and it’s all your fault” she complained.
     “My Fault? What is the matter this time?” he asked.
     Sopphia, said “They skimmed off the top and ruined everything.”
     Skimmletoe: “Well, what do you want me to do about it?  Gianni is gone and the Hackers are next.”
     Sopphia: “I want you to Kill the fuckers – I hate them. Bury them Edward. Bury them… I know it sounds a bit heavy Edward, but it's not like you are doing. anything illegal – just kill them for me – that’s all, kill them!”
     Skimmletoe: “How did you reach that conclusion that nothing is illegal?”
     Sopphia: “No one knows that the money is ours, can they?  The Nukes?  No one knows that all the drugs and money are ours, do they? The submarines? The nuclear capsule?”
     Skimmletoe: “How much do they know? What about the Nukes?  Smoke told me he got picked up and questioned.”
     Sopphia: “They just want to bust everyone for their own glory, so they can read it in the New York Times.”
     Skimmletoe, “So did Obama – and now he’s gone. They come and go, each one a talking head, bent on making us pay, what a bloody illusion, sacrifice yourself for nothing, ever!”
     Sopphia: “Edward, I want to kill everyone – I am fucking suicidal dammit  and – we are in this together until the end, and for Christ's sake we're in this shit together and this is the end … this is the end... If you can think of another way to get out, let me know. It's not like we've got all the time in the world.”
     Skimmletoe says sharply to Sopphia: “Stop This!”    (Silence falls over them)
 
Chapter 22     SOPPHIA OUTS THE KLONE
     Sopphia was a failure. She had failed ballet school in Miami as an adult student who dropped out after two classes because she, as a body, was actually foiled as a girl because ‘he’ wished to be a ‘she’.
     She had failed as a waitress in SoBe because she had gotten fired at  the restaurant, called Primo 5150 on Ocean Drive, after only one night of her rambling monologues with the celebrity diners. The manager had gotten pissed off at her because, instead of her serving them their chocolate pudding toupee dessert on top of their overly priced South Beach five star restaurant meals, she was too busy talking to them about every artsy subject under the sun.
     "After all, this IS South Beach, isn't it! Isn't this the place where artsy fartsy conversation was SUPPOSED to be popular and APPRECIATED?" she said to the restaurant manager just before he promptly fired her. 
     And she had failed royally as a singer when she tried jazz singing in a couple of jazz joints on the Beach because she had a voice like a porcupine sleeping on top of an alligator.
     But she was a fairly good abstract painter who occasionally exhibited in the local galleries in the Wynwood Art District.  And she was a very good scholar with her exceptional intelligence and wit. She was one of Professor Bogosity's prized students whom he greatly respected for her dedication to academic studies, they both felt a closeness because of their mutual intellectual admiration.
     Sopphia’s life was art and history and archaeology and she splattered the walls of her life with the paint of her personality everywhere. She was cunning and clever, and that was why she was, secretly, Skimmletoe's henchman, hiding herself deep within her quest always to find the strange in the strangest of the strange. And as Skimmletoe knew, she was a thinker, though she thought too much and ruminated about everything possible to happen, and impossible to happen. Skimmletoe used her to run his shady errands for his advantageous desire for money.
     Sopphia lived a double life as a student and a quiet criminal who paid her college tuition and expenses from dirty work done for Skimmletoe. She was going to get her crossover operation from the money from her alterior career.
     She, with all of her personas, was in Bogosity's office. She liked to occasionally visit her favorite Professor because she admired his brilliance and she knew he felt alienated by his intellect just as she did also. Intelligence was something she felt that made her feel special, but also very uncomfortable because intelligence always seems to crave more from life than life is able to give in return socially.  Because high intelligence felt like being a pariah, an outcast, and because of her gender identity she did feel confusion, or at least society said so.
She was at the History Department now. She was carrying Bradley, her dog, just as she always brought Bradley with her when she visited former Dean, 75 year old, Professor Dr. Merck Bogosity at the History department to share ideas and ask philosophical questions and hope for humane answers. And she hoped some of Bogosity's intelligence and wisdom would rub off on Bradley since he was such a smart dog. Sopphia, dressed as a woman, sat down quietly.
     The secretary said, "Miss Swayright, Professor Bogosity will see you now".
     Sopphia walked to Dr. Bogosity's office carrying Bradley in her arms as if the dog were her security blanket.
     "Come in Miss Swayright", the professor said.
     Sopphia said to Bogosity, "Bradley, my dog, needs to speak to you."
     "Why sure, let Aristotle speak", he spoke humorously.
"You know how you have spoken in class about sexuality in ancient Greece and Rome being a very fluid thing? And that strange and unusual gay practices in ancient times were considered normal?"
     "Yes, such is true,"
     "Well, I'm a little different as maybe you have thought...I'm actually a man in chromosomal transition. It’s just that I have lately been tortured by thoughts and self-consciousness about my gender identity. I don’t know who to trust anymore and I felt that you, being such a tolerant understanding man, would understand my need to confide in someone such as you. The other night while I was in one of my ‘alternative clubs’, I met a very strange man dressed in drag."
     "And so....?"
     "Well this man was different than anyone else there..."
     "In what way?" Bogosity asked.                                                                 
     "He said his name was "The Klone. Is that odd? And he was kind of scary, intimidating. He said he had nuclear power over many people in the United States and that he had power over me and everyone in the club. I was afraid.”
     "What were you afraid of?
     "That he would 'out me'.  And so I want to ask you… should I be afraid?"
     "No, nothing to be afraid of.  Your secret is perfectly kept with me."
     “This guy, ‘Klone’ was high and drunk and wanted me. He wanted me to know that America would soon be under his control. ‘The New World Order is just around the corner’ he said, and then he passed out and fell to the floor like a pitcher of broken Margaritas.  His pink panties torn and being held up by his trembling hand. I  just thought it was the champagne and Extasy talking.  But he was way beyond that. Creepy as a poison ivy salad with green balsamic dressing.”
     “Do not concern yourself. What would nightlife be without ‘Strange’ characters dancing with midnight wraiths of forgotten dreams.”
Bogosity recognized the nickname from the news. Now he had the revelation he needed—the key necessary to discover the Secret of the Vault.  This was his quest.  The Vault contained a secret that would forever unravel the mystery of mankind—it’s purpose for its very existence.
     And he had to have it.  General Gaylord  Klonedeister, nicknamed the ‘Klone’.  Bogosity now knew him as a conspirator.  A man willing to sell America’s nuclear secrets to the highest bidder for his own perverted ambitions to bring the ‘New World Order’ into being.  Ridiculous, thought Bogosity.
     It was revelatory and Bogosity had ammunition now.  He could have power over General Klonedeister. The Klone had indeed outed himself, Bogosity thought.  Power over the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff.  The possibilities were endless. If he played this right, he now could fund his expedition for the Secret of the Vault.
     General Klonedeister the cross-dresser was outed, rather than some mundane player such as silly little Sopphia.
Blackmail was the dirty deed henceforth for Bogosity. With Klonedeister’s secret out, Bogosity would have the power in his hands. Bogosity would do anything it took to find the Vault in order to get the honor he deserved in this mortal lifetime.
     Klonedeister has plundered his own ruins, Bogosity thought to himself. What a lucky break that Sopphia had spilled the beans, the professor thought!
 
Chapter 23     THE ALCHEMIST PRESIDENT
     President of the USA, Remington Bodacious, was distressed. His hands were tied. He was up to his ears in paperwork and meetings, and he was in political handcuffs because his advisers made all the decisions for him, despite his ability to be a brilliant leader which he had proven years ago as a former Governor of Massachusetts.
     A gifted political scientist, Remington had graduated from Harvard at the top of his class and also a  member of the Hasting Pudding Society. He felt stifled as President of the United States. Sure, he was the Big Cheese now and his Republican party and his populist voters adored him because he was a listener to all their righteous dialogue. Due in part to his popularity as a former governor of Massachusetts, campaign funds for his elections had overflowed the cuffs of his conservative suit and had accomplished buying him a presidency. He had originally thought he was going to be a leader of the nation and this was an opportunity, as President, to show his stuff.  He could trump all politicians.
     But something went awry and he finally realized that he was just a figurehead for fools. He was just another puppet of the advisors and scions of the rampage of elite industrialists, an oligarchy of wealth and entitlement. Oil, Steel, Banking, Mass Media, Religions, etc. These were the people who actually ran the country which he loved. And he was pissed.  He knew that he was trapped in their halls of politics now. He felt that he had let the American people down, because he was not a decision maker at all. Just another puppet, a talking head, a political mannequin carefully crafted by others. But now he had a way out, a way to reach beyond what any other president had achieved in the cavernous emptiness of American History
     He had taken to his earlier hobby of understanding Alchemy. In his spare time, whenever he could afford to ditch his advisors and bodyguards to have some free time for himself, he immersed himself in the mysteries of Alchemy. And then the Philosophers Stone appeared. The mythical ingredient that changes lead into gold, that would change his mediocrity into triumph, was his now.
     Renaii Toobey had come to him in a cloud of smoke and a Photo-Voltaic cloak late one night at his vacation home in Maine and told him that he, Renaii Toobey CIA agent, was actually an alien being and that Remington Bodacious could be empowered IF he listened to Renaii.
A mysterious invisible visitor to the President's vacation home on an island off the skirts of Maine, Renaii had sworn the President to secrecy, telling him about extraterrestrials and Xeres. Toobey spoke to him of their plot to take over the Earth for its own new habitat, a sanctuary for Xenon's faction to inhabit and control Earth. Remington Bodacious finally felt endowed by this new found knowledge and power to no longer have to be taken for a foolhardy figurehead.
     Renaii told him to continue to find Alchemy as the answer to a spiritual awakening, the Numen Mankind. Not the Alchemy of converting base metals to gold, but the Alchemy of spiritual growth through actual transformation of the spirit. Renaii told him that he himself was confused and that he needed an ally. They must keep the secret: Renaii Toobey, CIA agent, was actually an extraterrestrial being caught up in a conflict of loyalties, just as Bodacious was trapped too.
     Bodacious and Toobey were in the middle of multiple brokers of plots—Bodacious to keep the USA secure for the oligarchy of powerful wealthy reigning magnates, and the other, Toobey, to keep Xenon's plan to secure another world for the Xereans. Such was the dilemma of two seemingly noble men. How do they solve the situation. Could an internationally known DJ be the answer?
 
Chapter 24     BOGOSITY MEETS BODACIOUS
     Dean Merck Bogosity, professor emeritus, was still teaching ancient wisdom and civilized extirpation of accepted misinformation of human origins. The antimony of his choices roiled his stomach and bedraggled his mind, but he was determined to find the Secret of the Vault.  His crowning achievement, the secret of Life itself.  He thought to himself, “I must inform my old friend, Remington Bodacious, POTUS, and leader of the free world. But just how long would we all be free?’
     “Merck,” the President said, “I must say this is unusual even for you. You tell me that my own Chairman of the Joint Chiefs is up to no good.  What evidence do you have?”
     “The very best, my word.”
     “That’s not enough.”
     Remington Bodacious had been elected President of the United States by an unequivocal mandate of honesty and commitment to preserve and protect the Union.  But he valued his old friend and sat down and listened.
     “Sir”, the professor began, “there are forces at work that will bring nuclear chaos into reality.  This is your responsibility. All I want is access to the ‘Vault’ in Superstition Mountain.”
     “What the hell is that?”
     “It is the most significant secret to humanity’s destiny I have ever known, and I wish to find it and bring it out of the dark.”
     “How can you be so sure?”
     “Remember when we were twelve and I told you about Linda Mayweather and her girlfriends wanting to prank you? You said ‘Merck, you are my true friend and always will be.’  I still am.” 
     “Thank you, I know, but Klonedeister is my problem now.”
     “Rem, all I want is a free hand to find the ‘Vault’ in Superstition Mountain.”
    “Merck, I trust you . Go.  Capture the Klone’s dirty money and you’ll get to keep it, use it to quench your thirst. It is my pourboire to you.  Infiltrate this plot, prove it, and the power of this office will be 100% behind you.  Your actions will not suborn any laws. 
“I will put you in touch with my most trusted military chief, Admiral Annex McNab.  I will instruct him to be your point man on all things you need to see this through.  As I said, the full powers of this office will be behind both of you. The Admiral will control all the money and dish it out as you need it.  The hackers, Damon and Juliana will be afforded full protection.  After Klonedeister is publicly exposed I will release the rest of the funds into your name and only then can you do your Houdini magic and crack the ‘Vault.”
     “Thank you, Mr. President.”
 
Chapter 25     HACKER ASYLUM
     Bogosity was in ecstasy. He not only knew Klonedeister’s plot to sell the nuclear supra codes to the Cartel but he now had ‘carte blanche’ to keep the money from the deal, if he could secure it. Juliana, his prized student, and her boyfriend Damon, were the key to funding his uncovering the Secret of the Vault.  It was all he truly cared about. Nuclear war be damned, he was going to discover the Secret of Life.  He had learned, long ago, that Earth indeed had been seeded by extra-terrestrials that gave mankind civilization—Egyptian pyramids, Mayan temples, Machu Picchu, the Cambodian Angkor Wat temples, Stonehenge, and on and on.
     He called Sopphia, “I need to meet with your friends Juliana and Damon.  I believe Juliana is one of my students. Can you bring them to me?”
     “Of course, this  means I get an ‘A’ this semester?
    “Of course, you get an A, B or C. Whatever your alphabetical bi-cameral consciousness needs.”
     “What?”
     “Just get Juliana here tomorrow morning.”
     Sopphia immediately recognized an opportunity when one unpresented itself in the cloak of daggers.
     Juliana and Damon were in hiding but after Sopphia informed them of these new turn of events they called the professor on a secure line.
“I can offer you asylum,” the professor began.  All your pursuers will be held at bay by the force of no less than the United States government itself.  I have authorization from President Bodacious himself to grant you this protection.  We just need one or two things in return.”
     Damon, “How is this possible? We have angered some very powerful miscreants that want our skin for key chains. Strawberry shortcake with pepper is easier to swallow than this.”
     Merck, “How quaint. You screw people and then wonder what’s wrong. You are children and will do as I say and you will be safe.  Screw with me and your screwdriver will be shoved up both your asses. Listen closely.
     “Tonight at 11 PM I will be at the SigaFriedo café on Lincoln Road.  You be there with detailed printouts of your entire financial diversions and you will receive absolute protected political asylum. First transfer all $5 billion of the funds to this account – PMB217569 at the Chase Bank, and then meet me. You will be safe, you will be protected, and hell, keep $10 million for yourselves somewhere. I don’t care where. But if you veer one degree from these instructions, you’re on your own.  Are we clear?”
     Damon and Juliana looked at each other… “Yes” they chorused.

Chapter 26     PROPHECY
     “Why do I do what I do?  Why does anyone do what they do?  Because it is necessary. I do… because I can do.” So thought Martin, as he….
     Admiral Annex McNab, graduate of Harlem Renaissance High School on East 128. Graduating Loyola University, the extraordinary Jesuit school on North Charles ST in Baltimore, Master’s degree in Strategic Warfare from the U.S. Naval Academy at Annapolis.  Two tours of duty on the Air Craft Carrier USS Saratoga during the Gulf War, rising swiftly from Ensign to Lieutenant to Commander, to Captain to Rear Admiral and finally Fleet Admiral.  Annex McNab was now Secretary of the Navy. Not bad for a kid from Harlem with no prospects, no family support but only visions like an African Hubble telescope might find once in a lifetime. 
     Admiral McNab also knew all the secret codes to activate the Nukes. General Klonedeister had given all the Joint Chiefs the PolyGram ‘Supra’ codes. Of course the launch codes are changed daily and only the handful who had the ‘Supra’ code could decipher each daily change. McNab spoke to his First Lieutenant on the US Naval Destroyer:  “Have you seen her yet?”
     Lieutenant: “No Sir.”
     Dark cruel sharks were in the water disguised as ships to hunt reckless demons intent on undermining the United States of American status quo – propagandist evil intent, hunting cartel drugs more dangerous than Best Buy bargains 20 percent off this week only on big screen TV’s and sandwiches and the next President of the United Dates. Drink a glass of V8, don’t get up late for work, cubicles icicles and bicycles, and dial for dollars on the sunway freeway sunpass lane on the way to the American Dream.
     Motorola radio phones testosterone and don’t pass go, get to go and push the magic numbers, spin at the hard rock casino, the three magic eights at the gates will appear this time on Millionaire’s row on 54th street and Collins avenue.
This time it was a reckless yacht they were seeking, not just some secretive nuclear submarine doing strategic military exercises, not those escalating demonizing reports of USO’s in the Baltic Sea. This time it was in the news report ‘hosts’ reporting Caribbean underwater ancient civilizations or hunting ghosts of WW II missing airplanes disguised as in Emilia Earhart “we found her airplane and we found traces of the humming bird.”
     The coast guard ships and a massive US Naval Destroyer had been quietly monitoring activity close off the shore of the Florida coastline and later deep within the Caribbean waters, regardless of international protocol or diplomacy. Sometimes, Admiral McNab’s destroyer was seen just harmlessly appearing for several hours off 15th street SoBe waters several miles off shore but close to fashion beauties bathing semi-nude and some of those German tourista sunbathers with binoculars had also enjoyed the view of a craft as large and powerful as the destroyer.
     The coast guard cutters however simply appeared to be on an ordinary patrol mission, just semi-boats not big like naval ships. Little bales of discarded, floating cotton-candy cocaine were insignificant to those navy crews – but the pursuit of bathoscopic mini-subs were the spirit of conquest to the commanders of destroyers, after all the hellacious assignments and death, devilment and annihilation were in order of command.
     Admiral McNab of the US Naval Command in Miami was insatiable and impenetrable and he was determined to make a name for himself.  He was a former Jesuit. He had studied the priesthood in Massachusetts in a seminary as a young adult, once upon a lifetime. As an aspiring leader and papalist  he had failed as a seminary priest, so he accentuated his arrogance now to kill his demons and semen. He believed in the Star Prophecy as it was written in the dead sea scrolls, he felt it spoke directly to him and about him.
     The Star Prophecy spoke to him alone:  “I shall see him, but not now: I shall behold him, but not nigh: there shall come a Star out of Jacob, and a Sceptre shall rise out of Israel, and shall smite the corners of Moab, and destroy all the children of Sheth.”
     A long time ago in Massachusetts as a seminary student, drunken and crazed high on synthetic marijuana, McNab was found caught with a male student in flagrante delicto and he was gently pushed out of the seminary. Then, because of some of his family’s monied pressure on a Senator up for re-election, the Naval Academy had conveniently accepted him as a student and made him golden, granted him elegance, the prima boy, the Instagram kid, handsome as a primal cupcake beast, and cunning as a saint. Anyone would go down for those looks – but he was brilliant too. 
     Deep green-blues eyes, a mastiff of genes, and the improvacateur of international intrigue. A gay wondrous international affair construed, and never constricted his attitude. Tragedy and exposure were his nightmares. Cruelty and the ancient prophecy were McNab’s dark secret game and thanks to his deep cover agent BellaDonna, he had found Skimmletoe’s deep forsaken illusion, he had found Skimmletoe’s greedy plot, so he thought.
 
Chapter 27     McNAB’S  REVENGE
     Revenge has a bloody and subtly cruel way of dying—slowly sometimes, and sometimes way too fast. It captures the body, and the soul and the mind. The intellect is powerless to overcome it when it is in the chains of what it wants.  It wreaks havoc on the already wasted souls of those immersed in crazed grudges.
     In McNab’s vengeful mind there were glass tables smashed recklessly against exposed concrete floors, bottles of brandy smashed against walls with shards of glass flying splattered against Zen moments of lovers, green glazed Ming dynasty thoughts and emotions broken, smashed and clubbed with streaming bloody jealous confiscations of confusion and despair, rampages of devastated promises at the altar affair, wishes and dreams lost and damaged in turmoil, confusion and pain raining down in icy flutters of snowing hallucinations, sudden obfuscated delusions, real pain and senseless ugliness, dank seminary attics and dark crevices of childhood abuse, teenage years crashed, dismembered, thoughts of the future immersed in obsessive pain and suffering. Crass sagacious suffering galore.
     He felt like a Sagamore.
     The Jesuit priest at the seminary had awoken before dawn and taken advantage. He had put his mask on. He had called for McNab. McNab, McNab, Bloody, bloody, bloody hell, where is McNab?
     Gaping wounds and utter darkness and turmoil, fear and despair, pain and suffering, no joy, raw capitulation, innocence banished.  Paradise lost, never regained. After the forever moment of disgust, thus spoke McNab saying Revenge, revenge, more revenge, I will have revenge!
     McNab obsessively thought thoughts, thoughts more thoughts endlessly ruminating, “Oh my naked forsaken name is McNab.  I will have my revenge.”
     And a glass smashed against the wall, and there were teary shards of bloody fragrance streaming down the boy girl’s face. And then the quirk named the dawn of the day appeared out of the darkness suddenly and then the sun rose slowly in the sky bleeding away the night’s power.  But too late, because the dark deed had already been done. The  shadow spirit of the would be priest slunk quietly, surreptitiously back to his dowry room cloistered and protected by the congenital tradition of the seminary, somewhere behind closed iron brick walls sometime in time, and always in purgatory.
     McNab’s life would never be the same, revenge, revenge, revenge, McNab spoke out loud to himself and the walls echoed back revenge. Could peace ever be restored?  Oh bloody restoration!  The first fragrance was unholy communion, the last would be blood. He was up against destroyers of worlds.
     The disdained promised prize for McNab was freedom and emeralds – tons of Colombian emeralds, a heap bigger than a heapstone of gold.  Skimmletoe had already secretly met with McNab in the Plaza Hotel in Boston, and promised him a cache of emeralds, just to not blow his nuclear cover. Just give me bribery and dupe the Navy into thinking the Iridium was sunk… and the fortune is yours. 
McNab smiled and agreed.
 
Chapter 28     BOGOSITY CONFRONTS KLONEDEISTER 
     Bogosity was on a mission now with President Bodacious’ clandestine blessing.  His next stop—General Gaylord ‘the Klone’ Klonedeister.
     The Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff (CJCS) is the highest-ranking military officer in the United States Armed Forces and is the principal military advisor to the President, National Security Council, the Homeland Security Council, and the Secretary of Defense.
While the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff outranks all other commissioned officers, he is prohibited by law from having operational command authority over the Armed Forces.  However, the Chairman is permitted to assist the President and the Secretary of Defense in exercising their command functions. The Klone was in flagrant violation of these duties and Bogosity was about to nail him to a tree, pour honey over his generational genitals and make him cry like a little girl.          
     The ‘Klone’ was furious, “I am not going to meet with some panty waist New England professor about anything.” His aide replied, “The appointment was channeled through Admiral McNab, and verified from the President’s office directly to us. This Bogosity apparently has carte blanche in communicating with our echelons, eschewing regular protocol.”
     “Send him in.  He’s got five minutes.”  “Yes sir.”
     “General, your time is valuable and I shall not be long.  I understand that you like to wear pink panties.  You  have a big mouth when you drink and cavort at your ‘specialty’ clubs.  And you’re mine!”
     Klonedeister was beside himself, “You, sir, are about to be shot, right here in my office and your remains to be fed to my dogs.  I gave you five minutes, you have five seconds to leave. Right now.”
     “Not so fast general. I know all about ‘Operation Prevalence’.  Not only that, but your $5 billion has already been diverted to a secret account beyond the reach of your semen encrusted, traitorous sticky fingers.  Your gig is up. I hope you enjoy baloney and cheese sandwiches because that will be your menu for the next 20 years unless you talk to me right now.”
     Klonedeister, barely under control, breathed deep and controlled his inner fulmination, “I have no idea what ‘Operation Prevalence’ is or why it is any concern of yours.  You are stepping on a mine field and I shall not be responsible for your flying missing pieces if this explodes.”
     “Ah… so there is a minefield. One of your own making. And now you are standing in the middle of it yourself. You are trying to gingerly maneuver your way out without the grace you usually show on the dance floor of those wonderfully coruscated dance floors you and your ‘men’ so much adore.
     “General, I want the Supra Codes. Keep them from me and your TuTu will be front page news in the next edition of Stars and Stripes tomorrow morning!” 
 
Chapter 29     SYLVIE CONFRONTS BOGOSITY
     Sylvie had special powers. She was a partial psychic and an empath.  She could often hear other people’s thoughts and feel their feelings. She had read Professor Bogosity's mind and felt his intentions. She had discovered his secrets. She was about to tell Martin, whom she loved and trusted. She felt that she and Martin must confront the Professor, although there was much trepidation about exposing him. She realized that, at his core, Professor Merck Bogosity was basically a good man. He was only doing all this to gain the Secret of the Vault.  The Vault - what lay therein?
     Sylvie decided that before she confided in Martin about the venerated professor’s dark thoughts that she would have a heart to heart talk with the dear professor and convince  him to disavow his plans of nuclear destruction and to put his new found wealth to only good.  Her plan was that she would promise to help the professor in his quest for the Secret of the Vault. The Secret was grander than either one of them expected. 
     Sylvie follows Professor Bogosity after the lecture, gently stops him in the hall and ‘speaks’ to him by writing on her iPad.
She writes: "Excuse me Dr. Bogosity, may I speak with you for a moment?"
     He stopped casually, while trekking back to the history department. Yes, of course Miss Rainier. What can I do for you?”
     She typed: “It's a little awkward, I think you may understand. So can we talk more privately?”
     Bogosity, not knowing what to expect, “Why, of course. Just make an appointment and I will see you in my office.”
     She typed: “No, I can't do that. This is important.”
     “You are one of my most reclusive and understandably quiet students at my lectures. What is the urgency NOW?”  He feels some sense of fear but scoffs it off as female student infatuation which he had experienced throughout his illustrious career.
     “I think you know!” Sylvie replies.
     “What?  Yes, the final exams are coming up soon and many student have a sense of, how do I put it?, 'existential anxiety' about the exams and the future. So, Miss Rainier, I most certainly understand. Just relax and follow the syllabus. You will be just fine.”
     “Dr. Bogosity, thank you, but it’s something else.”
     “Something else? What else can it be?  I'm busy. please go on your merry way dear and I will see you at the next lecture. Feel free to ask your questions during our class.”
     “You cannot do this!”
     “Do what?”
     “Do what you are planning.”
     Bogosity: (now getting uncomfortable). “What?  I am teacher, an illuminator of minds.”
     “Yes, and something more.”
     “Well, ask the department secretary for an appointment”.
     “I think you know what I am referring to.”
     Bogosity (now getting fearful, how can she know?);  “Miss Rainier, go about your business please. See you in class."
 
Chapter 30     DEAD EYE SINGS THE LAW BREAKER BLUES
     For this TV show, there were no tickets required - no ticket scalpers, no advance orchestra seats for sale, no VIP seating and no advertisements anywhere. It just WAS.
     This time the race card wasn’t even being used as a weapon of mass destruction. Instead, it was two Navy Seals and Anne Coulter live on network TV in the fish tank with five smiling dolphins doing five LIVE shows all at once at Disney Sea World. The face of America was raining liberal threats and fears, and the Coulter nominees for the Awards were as diverse as the murder rate at Fort Hood. Eight bullets and a home invasion and it could have been 10 fatherless kids written on a  newspaper headline. But it was NOT.
  Instead, it was a college lecture hall. The grand old emeritus; revered former Dean of the College of Liberal Arts, Professor Merck Bogosity.  He was speaking to an auditorium sized class full of students, including two sugary drinks called Sylvie and Martin. Political Science 101. Old ‘Bucket Head Merck’ still had his academic pants on, though they hung well below his ankles most unrighteously.
Dean Bogosity was an expert in E-tocracy.
     There was no daylight in Merck Bogosity’s soul. His soul had no anima or animus, he was Sulphur, his huge feet walking on a fiery sulfur lake, he was Mr. Luckifer. The investigators had stopped short of his betrayal a few years ago. To expose Merck was to expose themselves also. Dear old MB had osteoporosis of the soul. His project baby Nuke was still In Utero. To expose him would have been the downfall of a university and a political party. He was the product of an attempted assassination, the elderly son of a deceased assassin. 
Merck was classified by the CIA, neither white nor black, he was fire green, the color of Irish fields, and darkness. One side of the CIA always distills the other side and it could not be more pathetically beautiful, trying to get a pulse on two sides of the same government agent who had lost his patented identity and who had no loyalty for anyone. He had no answers, had lost his answers, his answers were alzheimered, but he was an efficient assassin if necessary, a jaguar cat with Gulfstream V jetted winglets for extra range and a private mission to kill humanity.
     This was in his DNA, to kill and still be opaque.
     It wasn’t like a movie, this was stellar reality, a long silent pause which prohibited the cultural Big Bang. How could they go hunting for that? It was an avalanche of academic success and academic failure, a tautology, a negative capability. To kill this hero would be doom for the university and the current President of the United States. The tragedy of Dean Merck Bogosity was not an  academic homecoming.  The Homecoming Queen was not riding on a Puddenhead carriage house float on wheels this time.  Longfellow was not in  this hasty puddly, puddingly, poetic parade – and this wasn’t Harvard Yard in October with joyful soon-to-be Santa’s Harvard Yard colored falling Fall leaves next to brick academic cloisters.
     Merck Bogosity’s conscience was in a coma and his Mahavishnu had leukemia.
 
Chapter 31     BOGOSITY CONFESSIONAL 
     There are three large film cameras in the lecture hall – one is focused on the door, the second is focused on Dean Bogosity and the third focused in closely, zooming in on students absorbed with texting, earphones on, listening to iPhones, faces looking down at iPads.  The old, gray haired man, thin but healthy looking for his 70’s, stands at the lectern.
     It looked like most of the students had still hit the snooze button, yawning behind the scene and definitely not interested in who did what to whom in Benghazi - Except for those who had hit the Adderall button.  The Dean Merck Bogosity Factor Show was beginning live on the big screen. Bogosity was speaking to the lecture hall of students:
     “Good to see all of you here today, even some of you standing quietly against the wall back there next to the door… it’s such a wonderful tribute, thank you.  I’m honored to still be a graceful part of the tradition of this university – even an old foolish outdated scholar like me can still be popular I see. What do you call it today?  I am seemingly a modern American Pop Star. Even I can be on this academic American Idol stage in front of you today, while I still sing for my scholarly beans and cast my dragons against the winds. But you, not I, are what’s important and that’s why we are all here today.
     “There are many subscribers in life, but few individuals of unconquerable spirit. Some of you are wondering today why we are here. Yes, grades, graduation, careers, and circumlocutions. Astounded often, we squander our time on wasted eloquence, and the elegance of knowing we are free for now, for the time being, sharing a tiny span in time, in a tiny clove of miniscule rooms among the biggest square footage cloisters in the world, or in the hidden stacks in the 5th floor of the library of this staunch university with its river view facing the Charles river. 
     “Overt and destitute, we are locked deep within a time primeval among hidden archives of history, faceless and fearless. Since graduation is far removed, so it seems that immediate responsibility for now remains unknown and gladly forgotten. Books, books and more books surround us in our walls of happy fortitude like terracotta pottery warriors buried beneath ancient Chinese walls eclipsing time in a celestial triangle of knowledge. Yes, we have our  army of soul and centrifuge at our command. Christopher Columbus and even Santa Claus, are our heroes out of time. We know who we are and we think it so.
     "The President speaks the State of the Union speech in Janus January and suddenly we are reborn again democrats. We are all Jack Kennedied again, this being the illusion and our empowerment. Time and trouble are done with us and we are again one, all of us together.
“An 'E Pluribus Unum’ sanctorum - all of us free to be and to learn and speak and be strong and living our noble American dream. But the masks come off at dawn and history has a haughty lesson for us. You, my orphaned children, because suddenly we are jarred, crazed and rippled like hazened broken crystal glass, suddenly we are broken, fractured, and surprised to find that our weary and hallowed dreams are gone, only to find our shattered raven’s wings corroded and that bats are our journeymen.
     "I was once like all of you; innocent, tattered and true, my Noblesse Oblige indomitable, the grand professor of History, the brass trumpeter of a golden hue of truth, an Alchemist, a heraldic Poet Laureate of divine sacrifice for the sake of Truth. Now I have grown old and corroded, and frozen arthritic, my garden a heavy muck pond of withered flowers. To be true to yourself is the finest guise. I have failed you all and now the bleeding goat lies before you bleating his last shakes and hurrahs.”
 
Chapter 32     FIREBOMB
     Outside on the college campus a suspect was scaling a wall and climbing down an iron scaffold that was located next to the English department. The suspect was quietly dressed as a workman, a maintenance man, a handyman. Then suddenly a very loud bang, boom, an explosion came from outside the auditorium. Commotion started in the lecture hall and a policeman burst into the lecture hall.
“Stay in your seats please", the campus police officer bellowed. While all the students jumped, worried and confused, Bogosity grabbed all his papers and hurriedly ran out the door.
     The evacuation of the building housing the History department was nearly done. This was in a vacuum and a terror threat, police thought. This was an attack that was planned that told them someone was being targeted. "The threat was severe and reactive", the police spokesman said on TV that night, "and we will get to the root of this.”
     The explosion was the talking point of shock and awe. The yellow police  tape around  the building was like a clenched fist that said Danger.
     Someone had done a fire sale to Bogosity’s office. That someone was Renaii Toobey, CIA Agent.  This was his method of communication and so he responded to a fear of what Bogosity had said and that too much info had been given out during his lecture. Toobey had been forewarned. Bogosity had now also been primed by the explosion. 
     Klonedeister, and Bogosity the intruder, the interloper, were reluctantly and apolitically in bed together over the $5 billion dollars and the Nukes. Klonedeister did not, under any circumstances, want to have the cork popped on his plot. Bogosity had come too close to revealing something to his students! This had to be put to sleep. The New World Order was at stake. In fact it was Dean Merck himself who popped the cork on his own game.
     Suddenly, there was a crash of thunderous silence. The grandly eloquent Professor had thank god- fully ceased his rambling, vague and confusing monologue. A geometrical silence in the lecture hall room took place immediately before and after Bogosity’s lilting ecclesiastical song. And, Pythagoras's right triangle was somehow broken easily now with that precious amendment of Bogosity’s lecture but few were listening to Bogosity.  He had disappeared.
     Martin sensed that Dean Merck Bogosity’s confessional ruse was inverted like a tetra graph that needed to be solved. Martin, the DJ, sensed that he might solve this puzzle and win the big bucks, but one, this was a histrionic Bermuda Triangle calculation, and two, he was confused about his misguided perceptions. Martin innately knew that there were no political equal sides in this Interpol chatter game. Name That Tune and welcome to your new Beverly Hills home, spell the right answer correctly on Jeopardy the game show and go home to your mansion on Bellagio Drive in Bel Air, just a stone’s throw away from where MARILYN died,
     The regalia of Bogosity’s confession got pissed on. Why?  Because no one was listening. The sound of silence is the loudest sound in the Universe and HELLO!  Hello walls, nice to talk with you again, hear whispers of silence, my old friends. Only a very few in that Grand academic hall had heard Bogosity speak because most were texting with their nails. Most were hearkening to their own tales, most were listening to songs of EDM played relentlessly for themselves, their friends and frenemies. Most were dutifully trapped on their iPhones, calling warriors of their own iPhone fad on their savage iPads. NO ONE was really Listening because they were collecting, recollecting, and fading into the thigh-gapped unknown.
     Most of the students in that lecture hall were famous once and only once for a split second only to their misperceived, misconceived tighter than the end of time, strangely as powerful as a meek goober friend, sending a deaf voice to a more than deaf friend, one-at-a-time texts, to the most seemingly moments important receiver end. As they sent their texts to others for their self-important casting calls. "Pick me, hire me for the game, click on my text and we are Gods.  Who passed the audition?”
 
Chapter 33     SOCIAL MEDIA
     Martin speaks to an empty room out loud:  “We touch without touching. Blind without reason, raw edges without smoothness… fragrance without smell, joy and gladness and our despair, elusive with a melody unknown unsmelled, the conversation day after day, in the herenowandthen, lies, Facebook friends, somewhere in between reality, is faceless, somewhere between face to face, blind without feeling, we post, look at your face.
      “I look at mine, Friend me, Fry me, Buy me, Kiss me daily, day after day, more postings, more pics, more favorites, over the deep end, therapists, magicians, equestrian acrobatic saints, eviscerated souls, reckless abandon, call my name, friend me, friend you, closer, closer, closer, intimacy my escape, this posting… my consciousness, escapades, making various decisions, what is the fructation of reality… fluid media conquests, we sell our souls and our spaces for being in the lead.
     “Prime time on TV, radio, Beijing, Castro, let’s go back play it again, electrify the crowd, the two favorites in the pack, a billion dollars of product sold, in the final race, this is our present, our past and our future, the Space Capsule of Conquest has landed on Mars, and our Earth.
     “This is the machine, just me, I Martin, 26 years old, look at me, 36 pics uploaded, login, whatasplendor, this is not third place, it is you, no one can bury me in Potter’s field, click Like, request me as your Friend, ‘thank you’ never will be an end, descend into Twitter fate, postulate, salivate, be my fate, my soulmate.”
 
Chapter 34     THE MEETING AT BE-LIVE
     After Martin meets with Renaii Toobey, CIA Agent, at BE-LIVE, DJ ‘Sons of X’, was confused. The psychosis was holding him at peace. He was a ghost of cable TV programmable menus.  He was a monologue of interior mental electricity, a dysmorphic moment of brilliant witticisms, charm and charisma.
     Telling the TRUTH finally, no more artifice, no more social media lies. WHY!  Martin thought. Why ME?  Is it because I am The Duke? Because? Because what? Because why? Be a Cause! Just Be Caused? Just BE - LIVE Caused? Caused by BE-LIVE? To live? To be alive? To Live and Die?  He started spinning.
     To die living? Or to die trying because of a cause? "To suffer the slings and arrows  of outrageous fortune".  I am Ham and Eggs, it's just me. Everyman and Everywoman, just me, Martin, ‘Sons Of X’. Maybe that is why it is me? A CAUSE! - To fight for the serenity of the soul and a FINAL solution!! Who the Fuck is Bogosity? Who is Taya ? Who is this crazy man, Renaii?
     I AM the DUKE! WHO AM I?   26 Years old and on FACEBOOK, TWITTER, INSTAGRAM, YOU TUBE, SNAPCHAT. The Tempo and Tiempo of EDM. Who the fuck AM I?
     WHY? Who the Fuck is Bogosity that the CIA would want to know his ‘Secret’? Whatever the hell are Photo-Voltaic crystals?”
Photo-Voltaic crystals, which can repel, trap and steer light is to receive the Newton Medal.  The famous physicist, Raleigh, had suggested that a material with a repeating, regular structure, such as a crystal, could block light of particular wavelengths.
     This happens because if the light has a wavelength that is similar to the size of the repeated units in the structure, then the waves reflected off its internal surfaces will interfere and cancel each other out. That produces a ‘stop band’ (later called a ‘Photo-Voltaic bandgap’).  This is a range of light wavelengths that will be repelled by the crystal. The multiple scatterings work out such that no matter which way the light tries to go, it's blocked - in every imaginable direction. And even in directions that we cannot imagine, it's still blocked.
     Today, 3D Photo-Voltaic crystals are used in ‘silicon Photo-Voltaics’ - integrated circuits that use both light and current to transfer information. These are becoming common in large data centers.  Other researchers have adapted the discovery to guide types of light that are useful in the surgery, including lasers.
     Photo-Voltaic crystals have evolved in the natural world.  Butterfly wings and the colorful plumage of peacocks and some parrots all contain examples pf biologic photo-voltaics,  which were only understood after Yablonovitch and his fellow physicists fully described Photo-Voltaic crystals in the 1980s.   The chameleon was to produce - and control - its colour using the shape of Photo-Voltaic crystals.  Was it all just sound and color and no reason or sanity?  Martin swirled and was caged.
 
Chapter 35     CLUB TEMPTATION ON THE MOUNT
      Martin speaks, “The devil tempts those who are the most vulnerable. Wickedness often appears to us as the kindest thing on the Earth. Even Satan sat and was concealed on the peak of a mountain and asked Jesus for forgiveness like a jilted lover. And the Sirens called plaintively for Ulysses to leave his loyal comrades on a rocky plank in the sea of Aegeus.  We all seek what we can't have. But we are compelled by fortuitous fate -  predestiny, call it what you will. What is my simple role in the universal transcendance?  What is my reality show?”
       Heaven or Hell, how to choose. The angel on my right whispers…holiness.  The angel on my left whispers…satisfaction.  Mine choice is of human proportions. To accept the burden and the joy of being a man or retreat back to being a child?  Shall I allow my pains to slay me or shall I say NO and endure that which makes me grow?
     Tis a question all must face and answer.  For what is it to be a man?  What is it to be free, or not to be enchained.  Is it to be enlightened, is it to live in pain?  If I as a man choose to end this reality have I chosen well, or shall unspeakable demons still pursue me?  Have I chosen poorly and taken a last stand?
     I’ve yet to decide.  But perhaps not.  For in the very choice is the answer we all seek.  It is the very contemplation of this choice that baffles our reason and our souls. The insanity of the wrongness we suffer, the clearness of the pain ahead.
     To choose Life, we live.  To choose Death, we die.. my, my…. such a choice.
It is my own consciousness that elicits such turmoil, and within that boiling cauldron I must decide. To live, or to die.
     I shall not be made a cowardly man!!
     I shall not be cowered by unscalable forces!
     I shall not be so easily dismissed or distracted.  For I am ME!  'SONS OF X'
     I shall go forth with softness, wisdom, and steel.  Let no man doubt my resolve. Let no man doubt my Love.  Let no man stand before me with ill intent for I will conquer you all!

     Officer Swineheart opened Martin’s cell door, beckoned him out  and said, “You are free to go. Watch your mouth and your show will go on.”  Martin walked out into the cerulean night sky wondering if he had passed the audition and headed to Club BE-LIVE, his true home in his unreality.
     Martin thinks to himself,  “In the club BE-LIVE, the Astrogens, from Xeres, and their dark secrets, were the devious players tonight, somewhere from their hidden darkitude in a far planet - they pulled all the strings,  Xeres, glorious Xeres, daughter of the night. Polytheistic heathens called to her in ancient times.  Godwar and Godlight, the two hydra twins, have our souls entwined in their battle. We are just the puppets of the universe. We are entwined in their rapture of universal pain.”
     Renaii Toobey, CIA double-agent, son of the Xerean  Queen Gaia but loyal to his father Xenon, ruler of the Astrogens, appeared suddenly in a white astral light in the club BE-LIVE VIP room. Toobey was in a back corner hidden from the club's lights. His mission tonight was to meet the DJ and offer him darkness and light.
     DJ ‘Sons of X’ was between sets and taking a breather, and the pets of the world were quietly asleep somewhere in timelessness.
Martin, also in the VIP room, rested on a divan between two tall Russian models speaking Ukrainian. Just a few years back Putin's army  had been eviscerating Ukrainians with flashing mines twisting into Ukrainian soldiers' bloodied bodies. It was a revulsive conversation. One Russian model said to the other, “I saw on Russian news, my friend Vlad was bloodsoaked in  a field lying like a spruce tree fallen, and like a shrimp, sick with pain.  ‘Hees’ arm was to be amputated".
     The other Russian model said, "Don't push on me. I kick their asses, the Russian ‘peegs’.  I fight to the death..."
     "Bella, stay quiet" one girl said to the other. "It is all predicted", she spoke.
     These girls were deadly. Renaii Toobey recognized them, two Russian mortician counteragents. One of the girls, Taya.  Her  code name was ‘Blue Ice’ - he knew which one she was. Blue Ice was on a document in the CI library cupola.
     The two Russian models, Taya and Bella both drank vodka in their beauteously loud physical geometric  architecture, two perfectly built 5'10" Russian Kievian goddesses of primal beauty, gulping down vodka swigging like peegs about to be slaughtered for a Russian Orthodox Christmas dinner in January, in their glorious political innuendos. Vlad the pig was going to be tomorrow's Christmas dinner.
     They told some obnoxiously aggressive hedge fund guy named Morris Plark, Mr. ‘Wall Street’ Plark, to go fuck off when he hit on them. Hedge fund Plark slunk himself away like a concentration camper running away from Hitler's glasnost and whimpered off with his tail between his legs and kissed the sky that they made him the happy fool with their attention, as he lurched toward a lesser looking babe. “Ha ha ha.” They laughed, conquering Bulgaria.
     DJ ‘Sons of X’ Martin was sitting calmly alone sequoistered and aloof on a couch, a couch that looked like a Gulfstream 550 jet airplane interior divan, like it was some hoity toity, hot shit piece of maternal material wisdom for Sixty Cents and everyone else in the club to feel wickedly comfortable in the womb of the BE-LIVE club.
     Jose Gianni, dead owner of BE-LIVE, and well-loved architect, real estate developer, philanthropist, and patron of the Arts, had decorated the club so it felt like being in a REAL G-550 top of the line private jet, gorgeous, no shit man. A typical Miami scene, right out of Ocean Dive magazine.
     Renaii Toobey approached Martin with artifice, a slinky stealth move.
     "You are the best man in this club", Toobey said to Martin.
     "I'm just another alligator here, I want to be a better man", Martin said.
     "You are a chameleon, man. You have a photovoltaic soul." Toobey said.
     “What did you just say? Even lions get eaten." Martin said.
     "Over there, do you see those two girls", he nodded towards the two Russian models.
     "So what?", Martin smiled. "Sure - I see them. Two more hot patrons here, a couple of grifters waiting to sap the blood out of some pseudo sucker. Just two more drunkie drunks capitalizing on their beauty... until it fades eventually, and they are just useless fodder for fools."
     "They are dangerous and I am trying to protect you." Renaii said to Martin.  
     "So, you are trying to save me from another Hurricane Katrina? Me?" Martin said snidely.
     "No, I need YOU to save the world", Toobey said.
     "Save the world? Me?", Martin laughed. " Why Me? I'm my own hallucination", he said.
     "Don't flacca me", Toobey said. "I'm being serious."
     "What do you want me to do?" Martin said
     "Find Bogosity's secret." Toobey said
     Martin: "Professor Bogosity? How do you know him? What has he got to do with saving the world? He's an old man, a teacher, a retired philosopher, a dinosaur. My girlfriend Sylvie is in one of his classes. She says he is a brilliant useless man in a world of disintegrated social media chaos who can't even make order out of his own tiny world, let alone the disease of the nightclubs, but he knows his ancient civilization History better than PBS. What secret does Dr. Merk Bogosity hold?"
     Renaii: "Don’t ask! Not yet. Just trust me. All will be revealed to you in time. We need your help"
     Martin: "What do you want me to do?"
     Renaii: "Taya will tell you. Follow her instructions".
     Martin: "Sure why not? WTF."
     Renaii: "Son, take this seriously. You are going to save the world."
     Martin: How?
     Renaii: "There is a door on Lincoln road that leads to nowhere. Find it. There will be a chance meeting between you and Taya. She will bump into you in the crowd on Lincoln Road and slip you an envelope. The message will be in code, decode the message by playing a song in the club. Then you will know what to do."
 
Chapter 36     BLUE ICE STALKS THE CHAMELEON
     Lincoln Road, Miami Beach is  a bustling street of tourists, fashion models, average looking people, couples and eccentric locals. Jets scream by overhead. Pedestrians look up and wonder what is the loud noise?   It is not common that F-35s fly over South Beach.
People look up at the noise in the sky, All except one man who continues walking oblivious, he is wearing his earphones, listening to music - This is Martin, ‘Sons of  X’.
     Across the other side/lane of Lincoln Road are more pedestrians.  They are loud people, some carrying shopping bags. Is Martin there?  Who is he seeking from his dreams. Is it the tall blonde girl carrying a Victoria's Secret bag? Is it the man in a white suit? The woman on a skateboard? The black man carrying a briefcase?  Maybe the heavy set bald middle aged white man covering his eyes with his hand blocking out the sun? Perhaps the girl sauntering down the street with a child in tow? The man in the plaid shirt? The old bearded man who is talking to himself?    The buffed shirtless gay guy? The guitar playing homeless guy always present on Lincoln Road watching everyone with his little plate for dollar bills of gratitude - he sees all. Is it the blind beggar asking for cigarettes? The 19 year old brunette woman carrying her modeling portfolio and texting on her Galaxy7? The young German couple who are holding hands and laughing?
     A black Mercedes drives by and stops at  the corner of Michigan Avenue and Lincoln. A tall blond woman exits the car with a small pocketbook - she is very beautiful, tall, blonde, Russian. It is Taya.
     She quickly walks onto Lincoln Road and walks East, her eyes meeting all those who glance at her.  She is not afraid of contact with anyone. She is strong willed and walks with a stride of pride, arrogance, and self-confidence. Martin is walking east from a more westerly path.  He does not know what is to occur.
     The tall chestnut haired woman with the Victoria's Secret bag quickly pops into another shop. The couple holding hands enter a restaurant. The beggar wanders down another street. The heavy set bald man waves to a car passing by, but it is not the car Taya has exited from. He smiles and says hello to a hostess standing outside a restaurant. Are there any connections between any of these people? Could they know each other? Why are they here, now? The heavy set bald man bumps into a man walking in his direction opposite. "Excuse me", he says. And the gentleman smiles.
     Taya walks quickly paying no apparent attention to anyone. Her codename is Blue Ice. Blue Ice stalks her prey silently and surreptitiously. She knows what she must do.
     Blue Ice sees ‘Sons of X’, rambling along casually down Lincoln Road.  There is an engraved wooden door on the side, just 25 feet away that is closed, locked and leads to an old alley way. That is where she will hit.  She is mathematical in her movements.  Martin is walking in oblivion, thinking of nothing else but beats, and the sounds in his brain.
     Taya sees Martin from a distance and knows her mark. Kill the man now or give him the Secret, she is thinking. She has had many choices like this one before.  Martin approaches the wooden door spot. Taya bumps him, and pushes a small blue envelope into his hand with one simple message “Deactivate Nukes”.  No Arsenic this time, she thought.
 
Chapter 37     SYLVIE REVEALS BOGOSITY’S PLAN TO MARTIN
     Sylvie Rainier walks down a low-ceilinged hallway of an older Art Deco building in South Beach - the building has color, texture and mood to it, but it is old and decaying.  Sylvie, though young and without guile, is an elegant young woman. It is seen in her manner of communication without speech.  Her hands contrast majestically and simply to the walls in the hallway which have a hardness of aging to them. She is walking briskly but not anxiously towards a door. She stops in the hallway for a moment to collect her thoughts and prepare what she must tell Martin.
     A door to another apartment opens and a young, cool looking couple, man with tattoos and a pretty dark haired woman walk by Sylvie.  Farther down the hall, she hears noises in another apartment, an argument between two people is ensuing, but for Sylvie even the noise of the argument is impenetrable to what she must do next. She stops in front of Martin’s door, pauses and doesn’t knock. She turns away for a moment, takes five steps toward the exit but turns around and walks again towards the apartment door. This time she knocks. The door opens, Martin sees Sylvie and she enters. Neither one speaks at first.             
     Sylvie spoke to Martin with her eyes alone and he understood, as he was in love with her and she was able to communicate with him without speaking. But often when important, Sylvie, communicated using her iPad to ‘speak’.  
     Sylvie types "Martin, we have to talk, right now! America going to be attacked by someone we know, and I'm scared they will target you and me first." Martin can tell she is very frightened and he quickly responds. "Who?! Who wants to hurt us? Who could be so bold to harm us! No one would hurt you, Sylvie,  you're are an innocent girl. Even butterflies dance around you. They must be after me, for what reason I have no idea. Who is it? Tell me now, and I will fight to the death for you." He thinks she is exaggerating.  
     She types "I'm serious. Don't play games with me.” She can read Martin's mind and can tell that Martin is trying to placate her. “It's Professor Bogosity!” she says.
     "Bogosity? Professor Bogosity? That's impossible. What happened?  He sent you here now to tell me some funny story and make us both question our existence, right?  So we could be better students?  Is he controlling the audition?”                               
     "I don't know what you're talking about, Martin. I read his mind and he is an evil man. He's on a mission to destroy the world. It's about Nuclear Bombs!"
     Martin is taken aback by this. Suddenly he senses that his delusion about Nuclear War and Nukes, and his fantasy about a Reality Show called Duke And The Nukes may have some credence to it...
     "Nuclear Bombs??"
     "Yes. He is part of a rebellious conspiracy with General Klonedeister, America’s military Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, to destroy everything, to annihilate the world!”
     "Don't tell anyone else. If word of this gets out, we will look like the crazy ones. I will talk to the Professor about this."
     "Ok. I won't say anything to anyone else. Martin you must help!"
     "I will!"  Martin, as always, is confused and uncertain. In a single day he has received a cryptic message from a beautiful Russian model to “Deactivate Nukes” and now the love of his life is telling him Bogosity is involved in a plot to annihilate the world.  This Reality Show is becoming more and more unreal.
     Only when he is spinning music at the clubs with thousands of his fans cheering, does he feel in control. But this is different. His own Professor involved in a Nuclear Plot? And now he must do something about it?  How can this be?  Emotional and sexual annihilation on a dance floor is one thing, but true global nuclear annihilation of the planet is quite another, and now he has been drawn into this web of spies, treachery, national security, and the safety of all and everyone he loves.
     His mind is spinning.  Is this real or just another scene in his audition?  Can he rehearse his lines or must he take action?
     He must take action.  He decides to confront the Professor.  He may be just a DJ but Goddamn it, ‘Sons of X’ will not stand idly by.

Chapter 38     2nd AUDITION: THE KIDNAPPING
     Later that night, after Sylvie’s imploration and another raucous session at BE-LIVE, Martin, walking alone and pondering the myths of his own soul is kidnapped, blindfolded and taken to a warehouse in the Miami Wynwood Art District. A non-descript car, with Martin in the trunk, enters a large warehouse, somewhere in the Wynwood Art District. The huge doors then close.
     “Don’t try to talk” McNab says to Martin, who was now blindfolded. “You will be ok, if you cooperate.” McNab says strongly.
     “I know what this is” Martin says, “This is the glorification of violence, Columbine, Colorado, Tucson, Finland.  These are massacres, random violence, random causal events, mayhem, the mind sick as the body, the destruction of innocent people, victims, violence, and violation… I know what you are doing.
     “This is more of the audition. I passed the audition already dammit. Fuck off, take this blindfold off of me cut me loose, motherfuckers.”
     McNab put a revolver against Martin’s ear. “You want an audition? Audition for what? – tonight’s News? …  Sure we will continue the news now. The assassin is in the building. He’s in the movie theatre.  It’s me asshole… I’m the Assassin. I’m the Director, and you can decide if this is real or not.”  McNab laughed.
     McNab said to another thug: “ Put him in up in the balcony of the movie theatre. No, better yet, put him in the center of the film studio, put him on camera, start the film, action, lights, roll the cameras, louder, louder, louder, increase the audio, I can’t hear him auditioning. Increase the audio.” 
     McNab turns to another bulky looking brute who looked like he was on steroids and testosterone incarnate, “Rough him up... Yes, Martin, there are rumors going around, people are bleeding, shots are being fired, canisters of tear gas are exploding, random gunmen, on national television, you’re on TV, Martin…This is Live, Panic, Mayhem, You are a Star, you are the winner, the victim, shots are ringing out, there is blood everywhere…Your blood. There is no exit.”
     It was the scene of a crime, a kidnapping, the carrying out of a presidential order… and an audition.
 
 Chapter 39       McNAB IS ENLIGHTENED
      Taya approached the Pentagon as she swirled with any problem—stealthy and with grace. Renaii was going too far into the netherworlds of misbegotten and putrefying dreams that had only one color—Black. Though he was her son, this could not stand. Xenon was heartless, and had corrupted their son with the chaos of insanity disguised as noble purpose.  She needed an ally.
    n She had earlier secured a meeting with Admiral McNab on the pretense that she was an agent for Klonedeister who has now turned and she had national security level information that McNab must know. She was escorted into his office.
     It was plush with thick blue/red carpeting and heavy wood cabinets containing the secrets of the world’s most powerful government.  She knew she was in the right place.  “Good afternoon Miss Akin.”  
     “Good afternoon to you admiral and thank you for seeing me on such short notice.”
     “I normally do not respond to such demands as yours but you said one thing that I am at a loss to explain. You said ‘Klonedeister is a traitor and I know why!’  How you know that is beyond me, but it is true. Please sit and tell me what you know.”
     “Admiral I have information that goes beyond the Klonedeister plot to sell the Nukes to foreign governments in order for their detonations to bring about his vision of a New World Order. You will find it hard to believe, but I have brought proof.”
McNab answers “I fail to see what can be more extreme than for a highly decorated General and, oh Lord, the actual Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, selling out his own country with these nuclear secrets.”
     McNab was startled that this beautiful stranger would know the details of what had only been revealed to him yesterday by POTUS. How could she possibly be aware of his assignment to oversee Professor Bogosity’s mission to infiltrated the Klone’s treachery? He remained outwardly calm and non-committal.
     Taya replied “Klonedeister is being controlled by outside forces beyond your imagination.  Have you ever seen one of these?”  She holds up a miniature version of the photo-voltaic cloaking device.  “My God, that is Top Secret!  Only Renaii Toobey is in possession of it. We have been reverse engineering its technology for years but it is the one advantage Agent Toobey has above all others.  How in the world do you have one?”
     Taya looks at him and says “That’s just it. It is not of this world. It is technology from a planet called Xeres. Xeres is a frozen Blue Ice planet that is in danger of extinction if its people do not find a warm, Earth-like planet to colonize and migrate to.  Your agent, Renaii Toobey is originally from Xeres.  It is why he possesses the Cloak.”
     McNab is on his feet. “This is incredible! How can I possibly believe this?”
     Taya places a small diamond like crystal on his desk and says “please sit down and watch.”  Without any apparent manipulation the crystal begins to glow like the aftermath of a love triangle with four sides and each one being you.  Suddenly 3D holographic images, sharper and clearer than he had ever seen appear on his desk floating above the crystal.  They are images of himself back in Seminary School. He sees himself and his old lover as if in a dream. A dream that takes the place of reality and transports him to a ribbon tied world of Christmas past, like emotions that come to life and sit at your table and say ‘Hello’.
McNab is stunned. “I believe you.”
     Taya then tells of the plot by Xenon and how Renaii Toobey is his Tellurian agent. They must be stopped.  The Admiral stands, a bit shaken and thanks Miss Akin.  She departs. Admiral Annex McNab is now in possession of all the facts.
 
Chapter 40     IN THE OVAL OFFICE
     Admiral McNab, General Klonedeister, Renaii Toobey, CIA agent, and  President of the United States, Remington Bodacious, were buddy taped together in a meeting in  the oval office of the White House. Four fractured pigments of a secret clause.  They were k-wired together before the bloody excursion, so it seemed. 
     McNab had revealed to Bodacious the existence of  Xereans and their plot to manipulate the Klone to explode the Nukes and allow Mankind to self-destruct so the Xereans could colonize Earth.
     The operation was finally underway. The purpose of this surgical occlusion was to cut off the blood supply of this plot to overthrow the governments of the world by the Astrogens from Xeres. Military guards stood outside the room.. Though he was a major dupe in this plot, General Klonedeister took command of the task, a surgeon performing the liberation. No one would interfere with his New World Order—American, Russian, South American or Martian.
     "Stand your ground",  General Klonedeister said, raising his small stature  with his voice, and  on his  tippy toes. "Drone them, beat them down with the chains of oppression", he hollered agahastedly and dastardly. “Rise like lions after slumber, in unvanquishable number - shake their chains to Earth like dew, which in sleep have fallen on us. They are few - we are many.”  He had misquoted Shelley. Oh so Machiavellian in his charade. "Kill the whales!"  he then said, using the code words.
     Renaii Toobey just sat there, mute as a rooster. Then he disappeared in a chain of smoke. 
     President Bodacious just sat there, burying his triple chin in the paperwork. "Get the Movie Tickets ready", he said.
DJ Martin is in his Astronaut suit, "Get the money tape rolling" he says to the camera. "This is gonna be a Blockbuster! Weinstone will be golden again, another box office hit for my boy" Martin whispered. "Let's buy another mansion on a private island, the 1% Syndrome.”  It wasn't entered into the ‘Diagnostics and Statistics Manual’ yet, he thought sadly.
 
Chapter 41        XENON MEETS WITH TOOBEY
     A very large, tall man with a long blue beard, Xenon, was sitting on a frozen ice throne in a large room in the Ice Castle on Xeres. He was chaos with a roar and a howl, a man of pride and anger, a self-fulfilled despot determined to conquer all interplanetary worlds and now his kingdom of blue Darkdom on Xeres was threatened.
     Within the room, the ice radiated a deep blue hue. There was an atmosphere of dark, profound depression in the room, and the walls felt the anger. The guards standing at attention outside the hall had faces that looked like ferocious lions. They were dressed in black and in one hand each held a long lance-like weapon that cycled through all the colors of the rainbow.
A clap of thunder echoed loudly. Renaii Toobey, son of Xenon and his estranged wife Gaia, appeared in a golden light.  Toobey was brought forth to Lord Xenon by a man who looked like a Cyclops.
     How could Renaii be born of both polarities, he often asked himself.  His mother Gaia was a beautiful immortal spirit of the universe which She herself had created, and his father Xenon was the indomitable force of destruction which created new matter in the universe by his volcanic violence. The marriage of Xenon and Gaia was a marriage of opposites: Brahma and Shiva, as the Hindus called them.  Her will was to create uniformity in the Universe; his will to destroy uniformity in the universe. Creation is born from both forces, the big bang, the bigger bang, the biggest bang. Lightening flew and thunder claps raged.
     Husband and wife taking center stage. What is real. What is show. Will Martin ever know?
     Renaii was born of a woman, creator of the universe herself, and born of a dark moon of a man. The first being the giver, the light—his mother Gaia.  And the other being the darkness, a taker, the fierce cunning despot Xenon, husband, lover and foe of Gaia.
Renaii stood in front of his father Xenon and said, "My Lord, Klonedeister, the ‘Klone’, is under our control. As your desire for colonization is, so shall it be. Earth shall be our new domain. It is a place of warmth. It is a green kingdom, a planet of water and air, and it is abundant with the chemical elements to ensure that our civilization expands throughout the cosmos under your rule.
     “The Astrogens shall prevail."
    "Well done, my son" spoke Xenon. "You will be rewarded for your filial duty."
     Xenon touched a quartz crystal beneath his hand on the throne and the attendants entered. Renaii was escorted from the room with regal protection.
 
Chapter 42     DARKDOM  - Council of Lords
     The council of 12 Darkdom Lords was meeting.
     "Let the Kingdom of Darkdom Council of Lords begin now ", the Astrogen's ruler,  Xenon, said.  He was dressed in all black and had a Visigoth like appearance.  Xenon stood in front of all the men at the council. He stated. "Lords of the Council, let all who are here representing my Darkdom States on our planet Xeres, speak and declare your loyalty.”
     "The Alaneans declare their loyalty to the Cause", spoke a bearded Minister, leader of his state, Alanea.
     "The Caleans hereby declare their loyalty to the Cause", spoke the masked leader of his state, Calea. He then turned his back to Xenon after speaking. The ultimate insult to the leader of the Astrogens.
     Xenon was furious. Such blatant insubordination before the entire Council of Lords was intolerable. "Take that man away. There will be no uprisings here! Gaia has infiltrated our Darkdom Kingdom. Banish that man.", he said to the praetorian guards. "Exile him to H-69 and execute him! You have my orders."
     The Calean Minister was immediately removed from the Council on his knees.
     "The Lindeans declare their loyalty to the Cause", the Minister and leader of Lindea spoke softly.
     "Speak up, man!" Xenon shouted. "Let not weakness be within you."
     The minister of Lindea then spoke loudly, "The Lindeans declare their LOYALTY to the Cause.”
     "The Promulans declare their loyalty to the Cause", spoke one very angry elderly Minister, leader of his state, Promula.
     "The Mayacheans declare their loyalty to the cause",  affirmed one very fierce Minister, leader of her state, Mayachea.
      "Noble One, Lord Xenon, Ruler of Xeres,” stated the Chairman, “11 Lords have declared  their loyalty to the Cause this day. 11 of 12 vote for Colonization, one dissenter banished, exiled, and condemned to death on H-69.  It is proclaimed today we shall move forward with our colonization of the green world Earth!".
      "So Be It this day.", exhorted  Xenon.
      The council was adjourned. Outside the Council Hall were awaiting three praetorian guards with a black horse like creature animal with a humanoid mask on its snout to take Xenon away to his Xerean castle.  Xenon left in a cloud of fire on his beast into the deep blue ice below the surface.
 
Chapter 43     IRIDIUM
      Iridium, named for the Greek goddess Iria, personification of the rainbow, because of the striking and diverse colors of its salts. Iridium is one of the rarest elements in the Earth's crust.  Iridium metal is employed when needed for recrystallization of semiconductors and electrodes at extreme high temperatures.  The perfect way of detonating the Nukes from a remote location with a simple cell phone call.
     “Why are we here Sir?” the first lieutenant asked McNab.
     “Why are we here?!!!  Because we are hunting whales, Man”, responded McNab.
     “Have you seen her?”, McNab roared.
     “What? What Sir?” said the Lieutenant.                                                         
     McNab said “ Follow your orders,  Das boot. With her flagship colors, a 115 footer. Here, look at this, It shows on the satellite, a tiny speck in a cloud of dust, here. Look at this.”  (he shows on screen), a clever clown of a nuclear warship, the ultimate world orgasm, a quiet little pulse on a sea of tranquility. “This is our target, Lieutenant!”
Lieutenant: “Sir, we are on a reconnaissance mission, not for some silly little war game, hunting for a speck of a dolphin boat floating on a sea of sand.”
     McNab: “This is the our prime target Lieutenant, listen to me! Obey my orders, commander”.
     Lieutenant: “Sir, with all due respect, our mission was calibrated according to the Geneva Doctrine to seek but not to destroy targets. To recon, but not to kill.”
     McNab: “This is not the Stockholm Nobel Peace Prize, Lieutenant - there is no glory prize for this. There is no big Mexican serenade with brass horns and no neighborly Cinco de Mayo rhapsodies, no Aztec celebrations with slaves sacrificed for the honors of the lost Gods. This is a designated target, mister, because I said so. No other explanation is necessary."
"Aye, aye Sir", said the Lieutenant. "I copy. Roger that, Sir"
     The governmentally ordained killers had seen the target. Mutiny was not impossible but the slaves had been taken in military school, indoctrinated and programmed to believe in omniscient national authority. The naval academy was a slavery institution - Thomas Jefferson's theory of entitled endowed enslavement. Even the most elite military prep schools couldn't trump this whacked adventure of revenge and boyish rebellion. The Jesuit Semenary had been ejaculated and was now being buried.
 
Chapter 44     HERO WITH 1,000 FACES
     Martin would be the stolen wind in the future, the healer of time, the defender and savior of Nukes undetonated but before this he was but a man -- a young man of dreams only found in the flimsy clubs and in flagrante delicto Facebook, Their sovereign orgasm Twittering nativity scene born child was going to be Josephed again in a time of forcing outward the inner child. He was going to be the hero who could noble his way out of any labyrinth anyone suggested.
     Wasn’t that the purpose of being a DJ?
     They called him the Duke, the Beat Mixer, because he was diamonds and the ace of spades, and because they knew he could  fight his way out of derailed embassies of countless assassinating Hamids. They knew that if he was needed to fight for the soul and clamoring of techno humanity, he would fight tooth and tonal.  He knew he was a deep black dog, a Lord Byron of a dog, a cunobelius bellum belligerent cunning Labrador conquering spirit that had revealed himself to Martin as if here were Gabriel the messenger himself, and now as he walked the Earth.
     He saw the black Labrador  in front of him, the ABC’s of a divine messenger sent to Earth from heaven were revealed to him to fight for the good of grace and the nation of wasted wonderful America. All the Art Throbs were on his side. He knew. If Art Basel was going to be here again in Miami, could anything be really wrong in twistor time?  As he played the latest tracks from his new favorite band Deaf Occasion he knew.  And the masses listened to him, danced and disintegrated.
     It was why Toobey, Taya, Bogosity, Klonedeister and all these musical chair puppets kept falling over themselves before the music stopped to end up on Martin’s lap of unconscious lizards.  But Jose was dead now, a lifeless elusive disguised platypus, immobile as a well-cooked, smoked salmon steak.
     On Palm Island, Jose was now lying next to a note that said “You Will Be Dead When You Read This”.  We are all dead fish, Martin thought as he stood behind Door #2.
     Where could the keys be? Certainly not at his favorite hangout, Joe's Stun Crabs, a restaurantly massive grave of people and poseurs craving lobster meat and stone crabs, leggy European models and a haven for mega-billionaire tycoons, all cramped up together in a living room like a restaurant space of look-at-me foolish illusions, fires in their impossible souls.
     Could there actually be a crazed whacked out cabal of impossible conspirators?  DJ Martin thought. He pondered to himself, were the club and the BE-LIVE VIP room and the Sonic EDM Music Festival just simply a wasp’s nest of wandering dangerous lunatics, some silly cover up?  Were the cameras rolling? Could it really be such? Do death and delusion and fantasy really matter to anyone in this Reality Show festival?  How many more auditions before he would know if he was dreaming or awake.  Was the music real and he just the dreamer? Was the dream real and the music just the soundtrack to the jungle of uncensored insanity that sweaty danced in half naked frenzy before him every night?
 
Chapter 45     MARTIN IS RECRUITED 
     It was McNab’s assignment—STOP KLONEDIESTER!  Time to infiltrate, time to stop messing around. There was only one man/boy for the job—Martin aka ‘Sons of X’. Why? Because he had the ear of the multitudes. And multitudes would be required like strawberries on cottage cheese. 
     He had to get this boy/man to do something so nefarious and yet so patriotic he was unsure if he could pull it off.
     “Martin!’ The President needs you.  America needs you.  This is part of your audition  Will you let us down?”
     “Of course not, admiral. Will this help me get back my one true love?”
     “Yes it will.  I have here a simple briefcase. You will carry it to the boat ‘Iridium’ and once on board you will drop it off in an inconspicuous place and then leave.  You will be protected at all time by the forces of the U.S. Military agents, and no harm will come to you.   Do You Understand? 
     “This is your final audition. Do not fail us.”
     Martin never felt so alive before. People talk about dreams coming true and now he was living it.  He boarded the small 19’ Boston Whaler with his National Security Agency issued valise.  A simple trip to the Iridium, onboard which were Klonedeister and Skimmletoe plotting the nuclear nightmare on the innocents and thinking they were the Gods of ultimate human fate. The fallacy of all would be dictators falling through the hourglass of all historic sand castles.
     His thoughts raced as the small boat sped away from the Coconut Grove marina into Biscayne Bay. Crystalline chrysanthemums coruscated through the light of his blinking brain waves and he knew he was alive. The men on board the Iridium had engaged in the defalcation of American pride and it was his role to set it straight.  He stared at the glassine instruction paper one last time. “Get on board, drop off the valise and get the Hell away.”  Pretty easy.
     The choppy waters rocked the Whaler but he was on a mission and this was one audition he would see all the way through.  
the ‘Iridium’ represented  the ultimate in seafaring vessels for the likes of Klonedeister and Skimmletoe. With a draft of only 8’6”, a top speed of 21 knots and a maximum economical range of 4600 NM she combined true ocean going capability with the versatility of reaching those shallow secluded bays and marinas that are impossible for most yachts of this size.
     Iridium was designed and built to incorporate all of the features and flexibility you would expect to find in a yacht of this caliber.  ‘Touch and go’ helicopter capability. A three deck ‘wheel chair capable’ elevator.  Stunning split-level, full beam master stateroom with 270 degree Panoramic windows.
      A convertible gym/guest stateroom. A Jacuzzi and Pool suitable for children. A huge 3707 square feet of external deck space. Air conditioned sky lounge aft deck. Over 7200 square feet of internal volume. State of the art systems and engineering. A gorgeous Patrick Knowles interior that is the epitome of understated elegance and sophistication, exquisitely finished in Honduras Mahogany, Maple Burl and Wenge.
     The Iridium was designed for the very best in spectacular ocean views with his and her baths and ample hanging and drawer storage. This was Sopphia’s favorite space. Below decks there were five guest staterooms all with ensuite baths. The crew accommodations supported up to 14 crew in 7 cabins including the Captain’s cabin aft of the pilothouse.  It was here that the nuclear future of America was being plotted.
The Main Deck featured a gorgeous main salon, main dining, a stunning wine cellar situated next to the main aft doors,  and it was all about to fly. 
     This yacht was no longer a luxury of the sea. It was about to become airborne and Martin’s pulse raced right in time with the Whaler’s twin 350 Mercury outboards. As he closed in on the Iridium he gripped the valise tighter. His instructions were simple. Act as if you are lost and simply ask to use their Com center to contact help. No maritime vessel could refuse.
     The first plastic explosive was gelignite, invented by Alfred Nobel in 1875.  Prior to World War I the British explosives chemist Oswald Silberrad obtained British and U.S. patents for a series of plastic explosives called "Nitrols", composed of aromatics, collodion, and oxidizing inorganic salts. The language of the patents indicate that at this time Silberrad saw no need to explain to ‘those versed in the art’ either what he meant by plasticity nor why it may be advantageous, as he only explained why his plastic explosive was superior to others of that type.
     It had the appearance of green plasticine with a distinctive smell of almonds. During World War II it was extensively used by the British Special Operations Executive (SOE) for sabotage missions. It was also the explosive used in HESH anti-tank shells and was an essential factor in the devising of the Gammon grenade. Captured SOE-supplied Nobel 808 was the explosive used in the failed 20 July plot assassination attempt on Adolf Hitler in 1944.
     The current generation is generally not used for ordinary blasting as they tend to be significantly more expensive than other materials that perform just as well in this application.  But McNabb was not one to cut financial corners. A common commercial use of plastic explosives is for shock hardening high manganese percentage steel, a material typically used for train rail components and earth digging implements, and would certainly blow away any yacht to kingdom come.
It was this type that loaded Martin’s valise
     Some terrorist groups have used plastic explosives:  In October 2000, al-Qa'ida used C-4 to attack the USS Cole, killing 17 sailors.  In 1996, terrorists used C-4 to blow up the Khobar Towers U.S. military housing complex in Saudi Arabia. And now it was the Iridium’s turn to face the fire wrath of justified vengeance.
     He down powered the Mercs as he approached the Iridium. “Help’ he yelled. “I’m out of fuel and my girl is expecting me for dinner.” The crewman onboard the Iridium listened with awkward understanding. No one was to come aboard but he was a sailor from a family of sailors and trouble was never to be ignored. “Heave to and come aboard.”
     Martin gripped the valise and scrambled on board, his heart pounding like a 21 gun salute. Captain Tchaikovsky came down the deck and offered his assistance. The bedraggled image of this boy/man was certainly not a threat and under Skimmletoe’s strict orders he had to maintain maritime protocol.
     “I’m trying to get to Key Biscayne.” Martin started babbling.  “My girlfriend’s birthday is tonight and I can’t be late. I think my Whaler must have a fuel leak, or something and I can’t be late and I don’t know what to do.” Tchai burst out laughing at this completely dacryogenecic inducing, pitiful sight.  He wiped his laughter tears away and roared “ Come aboard you miserable snipe. We will re-fuel you and off you go.”
     “Thank you oh so much. If I’m late I’ll never hear the end of it.  My girl’s descended from a Russian general and nobody crosses her without paying big time.”
     "Hah, I know the type” the captain responded. “Come sit here for 15 minutes and we shall have you on your way.” 
     Martin sat on one of the deck chairs and surreptitiously slipped the valise behind a lifeboat and waited. In no time at all his 350’s were refueled and he was escorted firmly back to the Whaler.  Klonedeister and Skimmletoe were never even notified of the minor disturbance.  They were too busy planning the ‘End of Days’.
     Martin gunned the engines.  He knew he had seven minutes before the Big Bang brought forth a new universe.  He could see the Mutiny’s apocryphal  silhouette on the horizon and he knew he was close to home.  The Mutiny Hotel, on South Bayshore Drive,  had been ground zero for the cocaine cowboys of the Seventies but had now settled down to a more respectable condo complex for businessmen and families.
     The sky exploded. The roar of dismembered debris assailed his ears like nothing he had ever heard before. He turned around in shock and saw the fireball that had once been the Iridium.  He froze.  The titanic volume of destruction was beyond his comprehension.  “These are the greatest special effects I have ever seen! I have got to get a part in this show.”
 
                                                                             Part Three – Revelation
Chapter 46     THE DEAD ZONE
     Martin spoke to the mirror in his tiny room: “I have been tested today to see if my illusion was an illusion – and it is not an illusion, so I see. The Brain Factory Police had to let me go. I passed another audition.”
     (Martin sings this song below [called the “Dead Zone”] lyrics by Alan Bell):
     “They tell me  I’m clever, forever     So why am I so confused?     So why am I so abused?           
     A thousand glittering friends.  On Facebook  I’m immortal. Till the beginning of the end,    Never Unfriending a Friend,   Always. never alone but still lonely. Tis a Pity that it’s such a Philosophical, Mortar.  Contrary, Tangential, Existential, Dead Zone”
 
Chapter 47     SUPERSTITION MOUNTAIN
     The Superstition Mountains stretch across 160,000 acres of desert in Phoenix Arizona. There is a strange aura that lingers there. Francisco Vasquez de Coronado had travelled by the Superstition Mountain  in the 16th century seeking the legendary ‘Seven Golden Cities of Cibola’. When he reached the region, the indigenous peoples, had told him that the mountain held treasure. They refused to help the conquistadors locate it because they were afraid of the “Thunder God”, who was said to live there. ‘Thunder God’ would destroy them if they trespassed upon his sacred ground.
     When the Spaniards tried to explore the mountains on their own, they discovered that men began to vanish mysteriously. It was said that if one of them strayed more than a few feet from his companions, he was never seen alive again. The bodies of the men who were found were discovered to be mutilated and with their heads cut off. The terrified survivors refused to return to the mountains and so Coronado dubbed the collection of peaks, Monte Superstition, which explains the origin of the infamous name. The mountains became a legendary spot to the Spanish explorers who followed and was regarded as an evil place.
     Indians, Spanish Conquistadors, and even Catholic priests in the 16th century knew the mountains were sacred. Many men died looking for lost treasure in the Superstition Mountains in  Arizona. There is a mysteriousness and ethereal aura about the Superstition Mountains as they loom above Phoenix and Apache Junction and the winds blow powerfully in the high peaks.
     The Spanish conquistadores had passed this way. The Hohokam Indians lived near the mountains centuries ago. Their canals still remain, though there is no trace of them left except for shards of ancient pottery, effigy bowls and Hohokam ruins in the vast desert near Casa Grande Arizona.
     The Indians celebrated the Superstition peaks as they reached for the moon in the nighttime stillness centuries ago. The Lost Dutchman's Gold Mine, allegedly in the Superstitions, yielded nothing but dead men and ravaged dreams. The secrets of the Superstitions have never been found in the crevices and the Lost Dutchman's mine has never been located.
     The Apache Indians believed that the hole leading down into the nether world, hell, was located in the Superstition Mountains. The word Apache means “our enemies" and perhaps it was derived by the Apaches from an ancient myth about the ancient Gods who regulated the universe. Gaia may have revealed herself to them in magic and mystical mushrooms. 
     Queen Gaia, now known as ‘Taya’ here on Earth to Martin, had placed in the Vault, that Professor Merck Bogosity so desperately sought,  a magical crystal which would reveal immortality to all human beings. Her treasure was placed there eons ago hidden deep within the rattlesnake infested peaks.  The Vault was located there in the southern portion of the Superstition Mountains, near the 4,892-foot Tortilla Mountain segment of the Superstitions, to be found some day by a world needing a Utopian cure.   Gaia had been seeding planets for eons and proffering future gifts to civilizations yet evolved.
     The pyramids in Egypt, Central and South America, and Southeast Asia were built because of Gaia. The mysteries of alien visitations were simply due to the visitation of Mother Gaia coming to Earth to give the humanoids specials tools, tools to create, tools to touch the universe and understand the universe. In the Vault was a gift from Gaia. In time, timelessness, the puzzle would be revealed, but only at the right time.
     The DNA Crystal had been placed in this Vault by Gaia, thousands of years ago in these Superstition Mountains. Gaia had visited Earth many times before, but she chose the Superstitions to place the DNA Crystal there because she knew the past, the present, and the future.  She knew that one day, Bogosity would be the person to reveal the magnificent truth of immortality to the humanoids.
Mankind. Terra Kind. Ultra-Kind. Kepler would not be born until many centuries later. Then Newtonian Physics. Then Plank. Then Einsteinian physics. Tesla.  Hawking. 
     All pushing the envelope.  But all that was left, ultimately was limited physics.  Now What?
 
Chapter 48     NON-EVENT LOGIC
     Gaia knew that attachment to ‘Event Logic’, a phenomenon created by physicists with limited vision, limited tools. The key was to give the humanoids a gift, the DNA Crystal.
     Event Logic, a metaphysical concept, presupposed that individuals could only gain knowledge by experiencing the here and now. Einstein had touched upon it but had not hit the sweet spot. Event Logic had a limitation - it could not predict the future beyond death. And humans had been unable to comprehend the impossible to understand.
     The DNA Crystal revealed the possibility of the impossible—'Non-Event Logic'.  The Crystal would shake the dinosaurs of mankind and bring the epistemological questions to root. Immortality was a universal truth.
There was life after death.  All terrestrials and extraterrestrials were linked.  Earth,  Xeres, and all other galactic peoples, were all the same, all driven by the same motives, to birth, to live, to procreate, to achieve harmony and unity, to deify themselves, to be the immortals: Godwar, Godlight, Godliness, Godlessness.  The GodCore. Vishnu.
     All things in the great vast universes were interconnected. The DNA Crystal gave the answer—that all living beings in the universe were Gods. And immortal Queen Gaia the Goddess, as she was known on Earth and Xeres, was the messenger in the Multiverse. This was key to Non-Event Logic, a universal truth only found in dark matter. Gaia had placed the DNA Crystal deep within the Superstition Mountains to one day reveal the truth to these yearning humans. She had seeded Earth to awaken the souls of a small planet so that they could reach the stars and become the new home for her own people.
     Bogosity was in for a big surprise. And Gaia was going to bring golden light speech to Sylvie as a gift for a special spirit.
     Gigagon Theory was a real phenomenon given by the Xereans to him - Martin was born with the gift and that is why he was a great DJ. Martin had been given the gift of the Gigagon by Gaia and he squeezed the everlasting esoteric truth out of each song he played at BE-LIVE.
He was ‘Sons of X’ and the Son Of Gaia, Queen God of the universe. It was written in hieroglyphics on the walls of Egyptian tombs.
 
Chapter 49   BOGOSITY LEARNS THE TRUTH
     The trek for Bogosity and Sylvie through the mountains was not easy.
     As described in Wikipedia, “The Superstition Mountains (Yavapai: Wi:kchsawa), popularly called ‘The Superstitions’, are a range of mountains in Arizona located to the east of the Phoenix metropolitan area. They are anchored by Superstition Mountain, a large mountain that is a popular recreation destination for residents of the Phoenix, Arizona area.
“The mountain range is in the federally designated Superstition Wilderness Area, and includes a variety of natural features in addition to its namesake mountain. Weavers Needle, a prominent landmark and rock climbing destination set behind and to the east of Superstition Mountain, is a tall eroded remnant that plays a significant role in the legend of the Lost Dutchman's Gold Mine.
“Peralta Canyon, on the northeast side of Superstition Mountain, contains a popular trail that leads up to Fremont Saddle, which provides a very picturesque view of Weavers Needle. Miner's Needle is another prominent formation in the wilderness and a popular hiking destination.”
     It was to Weavers Needle that Sylvie led Professor Bogosity.  She instinctively knew that therein laid the Vault he was seeking and, more importantly, the Secret that would change all of humanity’s perception of itself.
     The Wikipedia article continued “Weavers Needle is a 1,000-foot-high (300 m) column of rock that forms a distinctive peak visible for many miles around. Located in the Superstition Mountains east of Phoenix, Arizona, Weavers Needle was created when a thick layer of tuff (fused volcanic ash) was heavily eroded, creating the spire as an erosional remnant with a summit elevation of 4,555 feet (1,388 m). It is set in a desert landscape of cactus and mesquite bush, with large Saguaro cacti particularly prominent. The peak was named after mountain man Pauline Weaver.
     “Weavers Needle has played a significant role in the stories of the Lost Dutchman's Gold Mine. The Needle's shadow reportedly indicates the location of a rich vein of gold, and many treasure hunters have searched for it. The hunt for gold around Weavers Needle has been pursued by hundreds (possibly thousands) of people.”
     Sylvie and the Professor climbed through the scrub brush and thistle, past ancient stone monuments carved by Gods from beyond times until their breath was no longer theirs.  At 5,000 feet they rested. “How much farther can it be ?” asked the professor. “Look  up ahead,” answered Sylvie, See the small dark spot amongst the trees?  That is the cave opening.”
     “How can you possibly know this without ever being here before?’
     “I have been everywhere before.”
     No more needed to be said. They continued to climb. The pungent Frangipani flowers and the cactus seemingly dry and uninterested, guided their every step until they arrived at the mouth of the cave.  How strange, the Professor mused, to find a lifelong secret in such a wilderness and being guided by a mute prodigy that never spoke in class but always seem to lead it.
     They approached the entrance and both were transfixed by an eerie light of bluish, silver green that emanated from within.  “How is this possible?” exclaimed the Professor as he took a step back. The cave entrance was small and dark and surrounded by dead pine trees and yet they could see through the bluish coruscating light to a cynosure of glowing gold.
     It was Taya.
     Sylvie was astounded and Professor Bogosity speechless. For a moment they were both mutes.
     Taya was the leader of the Sole Sisters and the secret agent known as ‘Blue Ice’. Though Sylvie was an Empath with strong psychic abilities she could never get a true ‘read’ on Taya. Taya always had a hint of a rainbow aura about her that was impenetrable, but this was different. It was she who gave Martin the note “Deactivate the Nukes.”
     Her ubiety seemed otherworldly like a hallucination from the pineal gland projected into the bicameral perception of the recherché of human hopes and dreams.
     The Professor and Sylvie stood still and Taya spoke.  “You have done well my children. You have arrived at the Vault as I have been expecting you to for a millennia.  I am Gaia, from a world far away yet the mother of your own planet Earth and countless others. 
“It was I who brought intelligence into Pre-Historic man and oversaw his development into the brilliant creatures you have become.  But there is still some work to do. The internecine tendencies of your species was not my intent.  But that shall be corrected now.
     “I have here the DNA Crystal the Professor has been seeking.  It is the Secret of Humanity he wished to discover, and discover it he shall." Gaia hands the Professor a diamond shaped crystal, glowing with its own energy and says, “Hold this for just a moment.” And the Professor does. Immediately he was infused with understanding. 
     All his past and future fears and much more became strangely clear, like when diving into ocean waters and opening your eyes and wow, your eyes can still truly see. The saltwater is not that bad at all.  It was our fear of it that kept our eyes shut before. But now we can see.      The Crystal continued.
     He became aware of Man’s true destiny—that he is Immortal! There is Life after Death and it is all our birthright.  He was stunned.  
     “I didn’t know” he stammered. Sylvie looked on as she gently took and held the Crystal herself and was brought to tears.  It was a form of xenoglossia she had never encountered before and she cried.
     “Do not be afraid my child” Gaia spoke. Her voice a somehow soft, yet compelling plangent voice that spoke all languages simultaneously and with such comforting Mother Protection intent, the listener could not help but to quiet down and just listen.
     “Approach me.” Gaia spoke and gazed like the Sphinx, if he could only wake up.
     Sylvie stepped forward and Gaia placed her hand gently on Sylvie’s face.  “You who have dedicated yourself to helping others in your beautiful silent way, can now speak.”
     Sylvie jumped back “How can that be possible?” She exclaimed. And jumped back even farther at the sound of her own voice. Her own euphony was startling and a cosmic revelation.  She could speak!
     Gaia continued, “The perfidious antics of too many have forced me to bring down the oligarchy of the ignorant few that have come to dominate one of my favorite worlds. The augury of recent past events shall be their own undoing.  Martin has been chosen to lead this Renaissance of human rebirth because of his ability to connect with millions of hungry people through the language of music. Next to pure mathematics, music is the most universal of all communication.
     “Let us go to his concert tonight and have a little fun, and, not so little, a global epiphany.”
     With that Gaia led them away from the Vault, carrying the civilization changing DNA Crystal. 
     “I have here,” pointing to a small saucer shaped craft,  “a small transporter device to carry us to South Beach, where at this very moment Martin the DJ, ‘Sons of X’ and, by the way your future husband Sylvie, is revving up what will be the most famous concert in music history.”
 
Chapter 50     GAIA REVEALS HERSELF
     South Beach… a place of decadence and honor in a paradise of promises and beauty. In the last 25 years it had become the hotspot and playground for derelicts, dancers, models, artists of all kinds, and international millionaires able to leap tall obstacles in a single contract.            They were gathering on million year old sand, fine-grained silica-rich, cryptocrystalline, micro fibrous sedimentary rock that contained small fossils on the pristine beach known as South Beach. Today they were congregating for the concert of the year, hosted by Martin, DJ ‘Sons of X’ to celebrate the Autumnal Equinox with music and the possibilities of carnal union.
     Martin was calm. It was just before the storm of joyous transition from their quotidian and diurnal life to the pellucid absorption of electric and sonic redemption. The people were here to forget and just dance, and ‘Sons of X’ was going to degauss them all.  Martin’s insouciance was contagious and so the roadies built the stage, publicists spread the word, the media sent their best to cover the event, and fans made their plans to be there, now.  It was the concert of the year – TranscenDance on the Beach’.  To Martin the stage was his personal seraglio.
     Sunset was approaching and the picaresque crowd began to swell. It was the night of a rare syzygy, an alignment of all the planets, and the music would be their confirmation.  Unknowingly the show would be an antimonious apostasy to all the party goers.
10,000 people of all stripes and colors had now gathered with thousands more to come. ‘Sons of X’ began the show.  His music filled the air like the butterflies swarming at Mexico’s Michoacan forest in late October, where millions of the flying musical colors gather in one of Nature’s most beautiful spectacles.  It was music like Dr. Dre playing Metallica then being filtered through a rainbow of heat and passion. Everyone danced, laughed and forgot their troubles.
     Tonight was a night of celebration, inebriation, a little contemplation, and redemption of life choices made under the gun of ruthless and gentle rewards. But tonight, it was dancing in the sand to the celebrated sounds of ‘Sons of X’.
     Martin’s blending of sound and theme touched everyone in different ways. Not only where they able to forget their troubles, they also felt that life had true meaning and so they danced.  Scattered around the beach several bonfires were constructed and ignited and the people danced around them in primitive acknowledgment of their primordial origins.  The air smelled strangely familiar.
     Perdition was obsolete.  The music annealed the audience. It was a Paean of music. And the crowd danced with unrestrained fervor.  Little did they know the night would become an abattoir of faith. But that was a good thing. Humanity had reached its nadir, and that was about to change.
     The perspicacious truth was about to be revealed.
     Without warning a small,  intergalactic space ship hovered and landed on the sands of beautiful South Beach. Thousands of people of so many different nationalities, gathered and stared.  Panic began to spread.  A white cloud emanated from the craft and enveloped the startled throng. Suddenly a voice echoed in a deep melodic tone.  It was the voice of  Mother Gaia from Xeres. The crowd became silent.
A beautiful woman, accompanied by Professor Bogosity and Sylvie, emerged from the craft.  
     "I come in the name of  Mother Earth, the embodiment of all divinities primordial. I come in the name of Godlight.  Many of you know me as Gaia. I am she.  Eons ago I gave birth to all of you and brought you the Earth, the Sky and the Seas. Your Titans and Gods across all cultures were born unto thee from my womb. I am Vishnu. I am Allah. I am the Jesus. I am all that came before. I am all that will be.  I am Gaia.
     “You must choose.  Follow Godwar, and he will destroy you. Revelers and families alike, fraught with pain and suffering listened intensely. Earth's social leaders, reckless with the fruits of laborers, and teachers twisting the minds of the innocents.”
They all listened, calmed by her presence. Devastation raining down on the pride of Godlight.
     Gaia spoke again, “Did you harm someone, and not care? Did you lie, steal, or cheat? Have you been hostile towards someone?  Did you treat others as if they were inferior to you?
     “Follow Godlight, and eternity will be yours.  Life, as you know it, is about the choices you make not the choices others offer or make for you but the choices you make for yourself.  I am here to give you either.”  
     The crowd was enthralled yet silent. Her presence alone quieted them. The perception of something otherworldly about to happen captured them all. The music stopped and enlightenment was imminent. The crowd stood still in anticipation. 
     Sylvie rushed up to Martin’s booth and said out loud, “I Love you!’  Martin was stunned. He had never heard Sylvie speak before and he cried.  Was this an answer to his prayers?  Was this just another insane scene in his reality show or was he just alive?  She laughed out loud and just hugged him. Their mutual tears falling like a cataract of  pure love.
     Police and military forces had appeared to confront this invasion of knowledge by a craft from another planet. Guns were drawn, tanks arrived and were aimed.  Destruction was near, and then silence. Gaia’s presence soothed and quieted the non-believers and then she spoke.
     “You are all my children. It is time for you to know the Truth and so I have brought the DNA Crystal to confirm that you are all Immortal.” 
     The crowd, including the police and military forces, remained silent and in awe.
     Gaia continued, “Immortality is the birthright of all my children on Earth.  The DNA Crystal shall reveal this ultimate Truth.”  She held the DNA Crystal high in her hand for all to see.  It glittered like the world’s largest diamond.
     “This Crystal is a communication device between your world of corporeal existence and that which lies beyond. Whoever holds it in their hand can directly communicate with anyone who has passed, be it loved one or anyone else. By simply holding it you can directly see and speak to those in the next world.
     “You are all immortal and the Crystal allows you to experience this Truth.”
     The crowd was stunned.  Gaia spoke again, “You there, police sergeant, come hold the Crystal for a moment.” 
Sgt. Bellicause  approached the stage in an almost hypnogogic state and accepted the Crystal into his hand. Gaia spoke, “Just think of anyone you know who has passed.”
He thought of his father and immediately his father appeared before him.
     “Ask him anything you wish” said Gaia.  Sgt. Bellicause said “Dad where are you?”  His father answered  “I am in the next life. Do not be afraid. Life goes beyond just Earthly pleasures and turmoil. Do not be afraid.” 
     “How do I know this is really you?”
     “Do you remember how on your 13th birthday I gave you a baseball bat signed by Mickey Mantle?
     “Do you remember how when you first married Elizabeth she revealed her darkest secret of being adopted and not worthy of you?  Do you remember your mother’s cancer that she kept secret to us all?  Well, we are all here together now. We are immortal, so are you, so is all humanity."
     Do not doubt or take on faith alone this Truth any longer. We live forever my son. And so shall you.”
     Sgt. Bellicause was stunned.  He handed the Crystal to General Roger Forthright, the commander of Army operations in South Florida, closest U.S. territory to a communist nation, whose troops had surrounded the concert scene on the beach. Forthright was not impressed. He held the Crystal but for a moment and thought of his brother Gary that he had tragically lost so long ago and became silent.
     Gary appeared before him. “Hi Rog. Still playing soldier I see. Remember when you always insisted on having the bigger sword in our backyard battles of the Bulge?”  Forthright collapsed. The DNA Crystal, indeed was a communication device between this world and the next.
     Gaia spoke.  “My children, I have come before you over the millennia in many forms, Mohammed, Buddha, Brahma, Jesus, Abraham, and so many others.  It is time to learn that you are all one and there is but one God though her name differs from culture to culture.  Are you John or are you Juan.  It only depends on the language being spoken.  But regardless you are still you and so is GOD.
The DNA Crystal shall allow you to understand this final Truth of who we all are. 
     I shall leave it in the possession of Martin ‘Sons of X’,  my own progeny, in that it may be experienced by all as he tours the world with his healing musical concerts.  I shall also leave instructions to your scientists on how to replicate this Crystal so that copies can be presented to all heads of states around this world. Let them all, one by one, experience the truth of their own immortality and the realization that there is no One ‘correct religion’. 
     Be safe, be happy, be true to one another, and be secure that we shall all meet again. But there is one last thing the DNA Crystal can bring to you.  We all speak of ‘communication’ and use everything from radio, television, the internet and speaking in tongues to communicate.          "But what is communication? Is it not the attempting to convey one’s thoughts to another?  Why do we bother if we do not believe we have something worthy to share? Why bother?” But communication relies on communication devices like radio, TV, internet and conversation.  Just traveling from the brain to the lips, regardless of native language, there is loss in the meaning,  The DNA Crystal also offers mankind a way to truly know one another without that loss.  It allows all peoples to truly inhabit one another’s conscious and to simultaneously feel and know another’s thoughts, feelings, aspirations and intent.  It allows you to communicate with one another without having to communicate.
     “‘Know Thyself” was spoken eons ago by your great philosopher Socrates and was inscribed in the forecourt of the Temple of Apollo at Delphi for a reason -- to help you grow from children to elder wise men and women. It is no longer enough. You must also know one another.
     "And so I give you this DNA Crystal as a means to do just that. Whomever shall hold this crystal jointly shall also know the thoughts of the other holder. No language.. No radio.. No television.. No Internet.. No Facebook..  No bias.. No misunderstanding. You shall know each other as if one consciousness. 
     “Go forth in the knowledge that you are not alone and shall live forever. Rejoice in your unity and make this world as it was meant to be. And most importantly, make yourself and your brothers, sisters, husbands and wives, and especially your children, who you are all meant to be. 
     Gaia vanished. The spacecraft she arrived in took off and left the crowd below bewildered, and enlightened, and silent. 
 
Final Scene
     OOPS  --  Enter Xenon—enraged ex-husband and villainous alien with all his Astrogen warriors dressed in full riot gear landing on the beach before the shocked thousands of party goers.  An epic galactic battle is about to ensue.  Suddenly Martin shouts over the PA   “Can’t we all just get along?”   Martin’s voice echoed and reverberated like strawberry thunder across the crowd…  

     “ L e t ’ s   D a n c e ! ”

     The music swells once again, the crowd, including the police and military personnel, begin to dance, but this time they were celebrating the discovery of their own immortality and true humanity.    
(Lots of loud shit)
            It is a giant music concert on South Beach. Martin presents this Truth to all his musical listeners. Taya’s message is that all humans are immortal. It is now known that She is the original deity who brings enlightenment to all Mankind. Taya finally presents the ‘DNA Crystal of Life’ to the world.  In a public performance, hosted by Martin, before thousands of people live, and millions of others in a spectacular global media coverage, Taya brings forth the DNA Crystal and in an explosion of light, the world becomes enlightened.
Silence      And then he pushes a button - the award winning theme song is blasted out    and….
            Everyone is dancing—the Xereans, the Astrogens, Taya, Xenon—everyone!   Even the characters like Klonedeister, Bogosity, Skimmletoe, etc. make a final appearance on the main dance floor on the beach. All dancing together with the thousands that have gathered.  And the millions more watching on cable and internet streaming hook-ups.  The video ‘Thriller’ wishes it was this big
            Cut to shots of folks dancing in Paris, Istanbul, Moscow, Tokyo…    All over the world!
            Everyone dancing.      We are indeed immortal.     Let’s dance.