Twelve labors of Har!cules
A warm northwesterly breeze blew through the open walls of the bar. Something farted. Something else belched. A rumbling of some substance in the turgid throes of being digested sounded from a far corner. It was pitch dark and the soothing sound of waves rolling gently to shore contrasted harshly with the sounds emanating from the floor of the bar.
The discordant CLACK! of fuses being flipped was followed by rows of bright lights illuminating a scene of utter chaos.
“Awaken!” a gentle voice urged.
“Dammit! There’s folk tryin’ to sleep off a drinkin’ binge,” a man growled. His name was Devlin, and he was face-down on a polished bar. He placed one hand near his head as if to block out the light and waved the other in a go-away motion. “These are important visitors from other worlds. I’m like… uhh, the ambassador. Yer gonna create one a them international incidents if ya disturb us. We’re closed. Go away. Don’t make me get up, rip yer ear off, and shove it down yer throat.”
“Awaken, Devlin. I require a favor.” the voice again implored.
Devlin didn’t bother to lift his head. “You and I got no further business together. Send Ben a detailed email outlining yer problem and I’ll officially ignore it.”
“I knew giving you the mug was a mistake. Oh well, what’s given can be taken away.”
“Now that’s some evil shit yer talkin’, ya useless bastitch,” Devlin said, rising carefully from the barstool. A quarter was stuck to his cheek. He peeled it off, stared at it it, smiled, and stuck it in his pocket. Devlin then retrieved a half-smoked cigar from an ashtray and set the end smoking using a metal cylinder that fired a whooshing six-inch long flame. He blew an acrid cloud of smoke towards the speaker, and lifted a huge lizard skull mug hanging from his neck by a length of leather cord. “Ya try and take my drinking mug and I’ll carve ya into disassociated molecules.”
He drifted past the man, carefully stepping over unconscious bodies, until he was behind the bar and holding a half-empty bottle of rum. He downed half of that, shook his head, rubbed the stubble on his chin, and emptied the bottle. He shoved the empty into a cardboard case and pulled out a full one.
Devlin cocked an eye upward and regarded one of the thirty-four alien heads hanging along the bars’ pipe-frame walls. Three walls of the bar were pipes set every two-feet, the rest was open to the outside. You could see the sand, the palms, and hear the ocean from the comfort of any seat in the building. “There’s a reason I got no roosters on this island, Rube. This is like earth’s Embassy. It’s a place of goodwill, pretty butterflies, unicorns, and good intentions.” Devlin swept an arm to indicate the mass of alien bodies sprawled across every open area of the bar’s floor. “I’m promoting peace, love, understanding, and excessive consumption of whatever makes ya wobbly. Har!”
Devlin thumb-spun the cap off the new bottle and poured half of it into the mug. It was an ugly thing. Greyish-white in color, it appeared as a large bowl-like shape widening to an elongated jaw full of sharp teeth jutting along its ridge line.
The visitor shook his head. “It is not even daylight,” he said. He was a non-descript man wearing a grey suit. Completely average in every facet of his appearance.
“Time and I have an agreement. I don’t break clocks and they don’t interfere with my drinking,” Devlin said, meeting the visitors eyes for the first time.
“I can see that,” the visitor said. “However, I would appreciate it if you didn’t get drunk before I have a chance to describe the problem I’m going to ask you to help us with. I’m even going to say please.”
“Yeah, and I’m gonna say, go blow smoke signals out yer ass and hope someone shows up who gives a shit.” Devlin chuckled and took another drink. He got up and stretched his long frame. He was well over six-feet, lean to the point where each knot of muscle and tendon danced visibly with his every move. His skin was sun-burnished a golden brown and had the appearance of worn leather. He wore loafers, no socks, baggy shorts that hung to his knees with numerous pockets, all bulging full of who knew what. The capstone of his clothing ensemble was the hideously colorful hawaiian silk shirt, now wrinkled and exhibiting a hole near the chest the approximate size of a lit cigar. His face was a gnarled assembly of wrinkles and furrows framing eyes alight with the promise of mischief and a mouth accustomed to showing merriment. He was smiling now, thick ropes of wrinkles showing on his forehead attesting to the force of that smile. “For someone who calls themselves God, yer some a the most useless clowns imaginable. Fraggin’ useless! Ya come whining to me every time some third-rate flying turd makes an appearance and ya pee down yer own leg.” Devlin paused to take another drink, then huff the cigar until his head was engulfed in smoke. “I’m tired of it. I got my own problems. Like trying to push this backwardsass planet into the space age. You have any idea how stupid people are? Lemme tell ya. The wrong ones are nearly always in charge. Not because they’re competent, noooo, because they’re ruthless, useless, assbags who never took responsibility for a mistake in their entire life. Anyway, there’s like eight-thousand other examples of why people are stupid, but let’s just agree it’s the truth without me boring ya further.” Devlin lowered his voice. “Even worse, I’ve allegedly impregnated my secretary and at some point, she’s gonna give birth to something. So ya see, my world’s in turmoil and I got no time to smite some two-bit villain yer skeered of. Crimany! Man-up and kick its ass, errr… whatever it is. If it kills ya, then you weren’t trying hard enough. I don’t know why I gotta be the one wasting time dispensing wisdom to everyone.”
“I do not call myself, God,” the man said. “I have told you this time and again. I am powerful. I try to help. But I am not God. I know not what I am, only that I am.”
“I don’t care what ya call yerself. Ya interfered and manipulated my life. Turned me into a monster without askin’ me. So ya must think yer a God. Besides, I can tell calling ya God irritates ya, and that makes me happy. It’s all about me, God Rube. HAR! Dumbass.”
The visitor listened while watching a figure attempt to get itself upright. It finally stood on unsteady legs and carefully approached Devlin. It looked somewhat like a pancake with spindly arms and legs. “Flapjack!” Devlin howled. “How ya feelin’? You was telling me a story about you sexing up three pancakes at once when allasudden ya just fell over.”
“Please forgive as I seem to have overindulged,” the pancake said.
“Nothin’ to forgive,” Devlin assured, while extending his arm and clasping hands with the being. “As long as ya had fun. That’s the key to maintaining good intergalactical relations. Well, that and the threat of unspeakably horrible retaliatory violence. HAR!”
“Indeed, I have not enjoyed myself to that extent in many years. Know this, Devlin, the Circle race is a friend of the Devlins and by extension, its ward, the humans. I thank you for your warm hospitality and those kudzu vines which are delicious. I shall present your felicitations to my superiors and return for additional trade. Good health to you, Sir!”
“Same to you, Flapjack!” Devlin said. The alien carefully exited between the buildings’ piped frame and headed toward the parked space vessels. Devlin then turned back to his visitor. “Ya see. I’m doing important work here.”
“You are getting drunk with different races,” he said. “Your assistant, The Nose, as you call him, does all the actual work. While we’re on the subject, can you be any more disrespectful? Calling a sentient being by the name of whatever shape you visualize is not the path to good species relations. The Nose, Flapjack. Must you set out to immediately offend everything?”
“Yes. Cuz if ya ain’t got a sense of humor, we ain’t gonna be friends. Reasonable folks realize that by me drinkin’ with ‘em and letting ‘em go on living, any name I call ‘em is an affectionate nickname made in the spirit of comradely friendship.”
“There are a great many things wrong with you, Devlin,” the man said, before adding. “We have a refuse problem.”
“Yeah, who’s refusing what?”
“Refuse, rubbish, trash, you moron. We have a trash problem.”
“Well,” Devlin said, taking another drink. “Take it out.” Devlin laughed. “I crack myself up. You gotta learn to laugh, there Gomer. It’s good for ya.”
“I’ll laugh if you ever say anything funny,” the man said. “Will you help us?”
“What am I, the Trashman? That’s like, uhhh, … what’s that word? Errr… INSULTING! Yeah, asking me to help with trash is insulting. Go away before I have to smite ya. Anyway, why don’t ya send in the lardass, Dunkin?”
“I did, and he’s disappeared. Along with several others.”
“Disappeared. It’s hard for a giant blubberball like that to disappear. Still, not my problem. I like the fat bastard, but I don’t like him enough to hunt for him.”
“Please,” the man said. Devlin stared at him for a long moment.
“Is there a chance I’ll get killed taking out this trash?” Devlin asked.
“A very good chance,” the man answered.
Devlin rubbed his forehead. “Good. Then I’ll do it.”
Chapter 2
Logistics, the Key to Every Successful Campaign
“They got liquor on this planet I gotta save?” Devlin asked.
“I have no idea,” the man answered. “It is not one of the planets under my wardship. This is a favor for a valued and trusted colleague.”
“WHAT!” Devlin bellowed. “Bad enough you bugging me every time one a yer pet rocks has a problem, but if you think I’m gonna kill things for every dipshit God-wannabe in the universe, yer deludified. Nope. No way,” Devlin continued his rant, took another drink, puffed a cloud of smoke from the cigar and began pacing back and forth. He paused to tap a finger on the ear of one of the stuffed alien heads. “I understand strategery and doing this favor is setting one a them bad precedents the lizard-tongued lawyers are always yammering about. Nope. Find some other sucker.”
“You have already agreed to do it,” the visitor said. “You would go back on your word?”
“Ya hoodwinked me,” Devlin said, stepping up close to the man and glaring into his eyes. “Ya got me to agree under falsified pretenses. What kinda God uses them kinda immoral tactics? Answer me that, GodRube.”
The man strolled behind the bar and poured himself a tall glass of expensive bourbon, took a healthy swig and rolled his fingers at Devlin across the bar. “Give me one of those Cubans.”
Devlin removed a cigar from his waistpouch and placed it and the flamethrower he used for a lighter on the bar. He watched silently as the man bit off the end, spit it in the garbage, dipped the cigar in his bourbon, set flame to it and puffed contentedly.
“It ain’t gonna work,” Devlin said.
“What?”
“Acting like yer one a the guys. Showing me ya enjoy a drink and a good cigar. Trying to make me like ya.”
The man chuckled. “You like me,” he said. “I delivered your Gourd of Destiny lizardhead drinking mug.”
“Dammit!” Devlin sighed, then emptied his bottle. “Yer about a manipulative bastitch.”
The man placed a new bottle of rum on the bar before Devlin. “This garbage problem could spread. Not only to here, but, conceivably to everywhere. All of us have studied it, and quite honestly, we don’t understand it at all. It’s a technology so alien it frightens us.”
“Everything frightens you chickenshits,” Devlin grumbled. “I never met a more wimpified bunch of pinheads in my life.” Devlin cast his voice comically high and continued. “Oh My! It’s the end of the world. Some giant monster is gonna eat everything. Something’s gonna blow up, create a black hole and kill us all. We’re all gonna die, it’s just a matter of time. Save us, Mighty Devlin. Use yer thews of steel to poke out its eyeball. HAR!”
The man was laughing.
Snortle walked in and hailed Devlin. “Good morning to you, my friend,” the strange creature said. He resembled a three-foot tall nose with hands and feet. He noted the presence of the other man. “Oh, and a good morning to you as well, Sir.”
“What the hell makes you so cheerful, Nostril?” Devlin grumbled. “It’s a crappy morning. One a them mornings that foretells the advent of an even crappier day, a crappified night, and continued crappification for the near future.”
Several of the alien species passed out on the bar’s floor stirred themselves awake, arose with bellows and grunts, and much vigorous rubbing of whatever passed for a head on their species body. A handful approached Devlin.
“Best damn party in years,” one said. His voice was a series of clicks. The translation device Devlin wore on his ear repeated everything in English and rebroadcast Devlin’s words into whatever language he was responding to. “We very much anticipate large business together in future.”
“Hells yeah!” Devlin said, smiling big and punching one of the large, gorilla-like creatures in the mid-section sending it flying back to the floor. It arose and walked out unsteadily, followed by the remaining aliens.
“That seems unnecessarily violent,” the man said.
“It’s one a them strange customs these folks practice,” Devlin said. “They’re kinda ornery. If ya can’t stand up to ‘em, they invade and try to take over. But, if ya pound ‘em right proper at the very start, then they settle down and ya can do some business. I tell ya, this ambassadorial-type nonsense is hard work.”
“Yes,” Snortle agreed. “It requires nearly constant drinking, berating, and beating on people. All activities you are uniquely qualified for.”
“That’s better,” Devlin said, slapping Snortle on the back. “I like yer sarcasm mode better than all that good morning cheerful folderol.”
“Things are going quite well,” Snortle said, his expressive face smiling. “I nailed down solid contracts with all of them before you drank yourselves stupid.”
“Good job, Nostril. I’m proud of ya. I’m putting a gold star in yer personnel record. Now, how much liquor we got on hand?”
“At your customary rate of consumption, forty-three days,” Snortle answered after fiddling with the information tablet he was never without.
“Things like that make me nervous,” Devlin said, his brow furrowed with wrinkles. “Check into buying a huge refrigerated ship and anchoring it on the other side of the island. Ya know, a huge one that won’t sink when the weather turns ugly. Something about the size of one a them cruise ships. Yeah! Something like that. We can fill it with booze. I’ll sleep better.”
“I will look into that right away,” Snortle said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Any effort is worthwhile to insure that, Devlin, who drinks himself unconscious each night, does not miss sleep worrying about his liquor supply. Never mind that he has a brewery fifty-feet away.”
“That’s irrelevant, Wiseass,” Devlin growled. “Keep it up and we’re gonna need a new Undersecretary of Offworld Trade. Now, I’m gonna need a three-day supply of rum… no wait! A dozen of them wooden barrels of rum strapped to one a them floating forklift things. Yeah. Oh! And make sure it’s got one a those force fields to protect it. Oh! And rig up something I can carry in my pocket that the forklift homes in on so it will follow me. OH! And mount a couple of them big speakers hooked up to my Earpod.”
The visitor was laughing again.
“What’s so funny, Jehoover?” Devlin snarled.
“I find your choice of supplies amusing,” he replied.
“Well, it ain’t amusing to me. It’s logistics. An army lives or dies by its supply lines. I’m not going into hostile territory, surrounded by creatures who may not be fond of alcohol, without my own supply.” Devlin turned to Snortle, “Ya get all that, Nose? I’ll be gone a couple days. Gotta destroy a planet. Yer in charge of the Isle of Frag Offworld Embassy while I’m away killing off a species, or a civilization, or committing planetcide.”
Snortle stood frozen, staring at Devlin. “This is not one of your jokes? You kill planets?” He asked.
“Not the planet, well, unless it did something to me. I’d kill a planet if it was aggravating me. No, I just kill off whatever species was irritating me. I killed this Universe-Eating thing. It was bigger than a planet. Took me almost a day. Maybe it was two days. Anyway, I ran outta liquor while I was busy smiting it. Not gonna let that happen again. Nothing I hate more than running out of things to kill, looking around and realizing, I’m outta booze.” Devlin’s features twisted into a caricature of unbearable sadness. “That’s the kinda hardship no monster should have to face.”
The visitor shook his head.
“Why would you kill an entire species?”
“Cuz they annoyed me,” Devlin said, flicking his chomped-flat cigar stub between the bars and into the sand. He transferred the cigar drool on his fingers onto his wrinkled shorts. “I get ill-natured when things annoy me.”
“I choose to believe you are joking,” Snortle said, looking from Devlin to the stranger. “I will sleep better that way. I will see to your supplies. Oh, and the young lady, Agent Jones from this planet’s american government has called numerous times. Her messages have become increasingly angrier.”
“Ah, don’t worry about her. Women are always pissed off at me for one thing or the other. She’ll calm down. Ya see, when it comes to women…”
“Yer a clueless dumbass!” A tinny voice interrupted. Devlin didn’t bother to turn around. “Ben, ya ratfink, I told ya to quit ferrying Ma over here with that teleporter stick. Hi, Ma.” Devlin spun around and saw Ben, Aggie, and Jennifer. “Jennifer! Are you still impregnated?”
“Yes, Devlin, I’m still pregnant,” she replied, her tone one of patient exasperation.
“Well, shouldn’t ya be off somewhere boiling water, stockpiling clean towels, practicing yer breathing exercises, and boning up on midwifery?”
“Quiet, Idgit!” Aggie snarled, then flicked Devlin’s ear. “We’re here to discuss the wedding.”
Chapter 3
I’m Not Fond of Weddings or Happiness
“Ma. I ain’t got time for wedding planning. I gotta go save the universe. With any luck, some four-eyed, giant, acid-spitting platypus will kill me and there won’t be any need for a wedding. Make sure ya don’t put down any large, non-refundable deposits for flowers and caterers and other wedding related stuff.”
Devlin lighted a fresh cigar and cocked one eye at his mother. She was a short, stout, leathery-skinned lady whose face now radiated crankiness.
“I’ll not tolerate your nonsense this time, Boy. We’re gonna finalize the wedding plans and yer gonna pay attention, stand still, and keep yer yap shut unless we ask ya something.”
The visiting man laughed. Snortle stared at the woman with a sense of awe, no doubt inspired by her ability to lecture a thing that bragged of killing planets. He sidled by her and quickly left the bar.
“Who are you?” Aggie asked the man.
“He’s God,” Devlin said, laughing. “Only he’s one of those useless Gods who can’t do shit but wander around watching stuff transpire. When he sees something going on that’s mean and ugly, he makes a tersely-worded entry in yer permanent record. HAR!”
“I represent several planets,” the man said, smiling at Aggie. “Devlin is correct in saying we have a dangerous threat to counter, however, I’m sure we can wait until you have outlined the preliminary wedding plans. And while I’m here, let me congratulate all involved in this exciting development and may your union be blessed with joy.”
Aggie, her features at first little more than an angry scowl, had softened to a look of friendship. “Nevermind who you are, I like ya,” she said, then turned back to scowl at Devlin. “Ya got any wiseass remarks, best fire ‘em off now.”
Devlin was glaring at the visitor.
“You rotten, lowlife, eggsucking bastitch,” Devlin snarled at the man. “It ain’t too late for me to change my mind. Ya coulda done me a solid and said we had to leave now or the world could end.”
“Nothing he said would have made any difference,” Aggie said. “No matter what he claimed I’d have figured he was lying to save your worthless ass from facing up to the fact yer getting married. Now, we rented that big dance hall in Tampa. This is gonna be a huge wedding! Hundreds of…”
“What?” Devlin interrupted
“Don’t interrupt me, Boy,” Aggie snarled. “Yer marrying way over yer station and she deserves a grand bash for consenting to hook-up with an aimless ne’er-do-well who’ll no doubt cause her years of grief by being a rock-headed jackass.”
“Geez, Ma! You just want an opportunity to glam around with that pack of old bluehaired ninnies you jabber with at the beauty parlor. Jennifer don’t want no lordly, lavish affair. She’s…”
“Yes, I do,” Jennifer said, smiling.
“I see how it’s gonna be,” Devlin muttered. “HEY! When you first ordered me to get married ya said all I had to do is show up. Now yer bugging me with details. That’s a violation of our original agreement.”
“Shut up,” Aggie ordered. “You need to make a list of who you want invited. Get fitted for your marrying suit, agree on the food to be served at the reception, agree on the band, agree…”
“Crimany! Invite all the undertakers, it’s only fitting they bear witness to the death of my bachelortude. Just tell me the date, the time, and the address.”
‘Devlin!’ a voice sounded in his head. ‘Your mother is having the time of her life. I’ve never seen her more happy. Be nice.’
Jennifer, a gifted telepath, could communicate directly in Devlin’s mind which never failed to annoy him.
Devlin glared at her and sent his own thoughts, “Stay out of my head, Succubus. If I get involved with the planning, Ma won’t enjoy it as much. If I start acting like I care about any of it, she’ll get suspicious and start worrying. Which might cause her health to decline and it’ll be your fault. If ya wanted to get married so bad, we coulda went down to the pawnshop, got a ring, and collared Father Cahill at the bar to say the bible parts in between pints. Now she’s gotta scurry all over town arranging things and she’s old, decrepit, unhealthy, and it’s all your fault.’
‘You’re mean.’ she sent back. ‘Don’t you care about others happiness?’
‘Yeah,’ Devlin thought back. ‘That’s why I try to limit my interaction with loved ones or anything I ain’t drinking with.’
‘Do you even want to get married? Be a good father?’ Jennifer’s eyes filled with moisture and her lower lip was quivering.
‘Of course I do. I also want to have a huge metal spike driven into my eyeball by a giant robot with a fifty-pound sledgehammer. Then, after that, I want a length of logchain wound around my testicles and…’
Jennifer released a small peep and the tears were now streaming down her cheek. Aggie glared at Devlin, then grabbed his ear, dragging his head down to her level. “I don’t know what kinda evil thoughts you’re sending to that girl, but by God you’ll stop it and apologize right now or I’ll bury a steel-toed boot in your scrawny ass.” Aggie lifted one boot-clad foot and waggled it menacingly.
“I was just making jokes,” Devlin said. “She’s hormonial. Pregnant women gets hormonial. I read that in a medical journal.”
At the word hormonial, Jennifer started shaking with laughter despite the tears, The visitor held a hand over his mouth to hide what Devlin assumed was amusement, but the shaking of his shoulders confirmed it.
“Now ya laugh,” Devlin grumbled as Aggie released his ear. He looked at Jennifer who was wiping her eyes and trying to compose herself but an errant snort escaped and through honks of laughter she managed to spit out; “I’m… snort… marrying… honk… an idiot.”
“Yeah, but a loveable idiot,” Devlin said, then lifted her to eye-level and gently kissed her lips before lowering her back to the floor.
“Medical Journal,” Aggie spat. “Boy, you wouldn’t recognize a medical journal if one fell out of the sky and dented that gourd head of yours. Now, enough of your capering stupidity. I swear, you could disrupt a panicked crowd. Ya gotta get yer tux fitted…”
“Just write down where I gotta go, what time, what day, what for. Geez, Ma. You know I don’t like to hear a buncha details. I forget ‘em immediately anyway. I’m not big on planning stuff. I’m a doer. I do things.”
“Yeah, ignorant things mostly,” Aggie said.
“He’s just scared,” Jennifer added. “I’m not going to change things, Dev. I know what you do is important.”
“HAR! And DOUBLE HAR! Yer just waiting til after we’re married to start nagging about my island, my drinking, my cigars, my collection of alien heads of things who tried to de-life me, my adventuring, my endless pursuit of galacticalized peace.”
‘No Devlin,’ sounded in his head. ‘You are wrong. I love you as you are. Including bad habits and the halfwit disguise you present to the world.’
‘Yer a woman, so I know there’s treachery afoot. I’m ready for anything.’ Devlin sent back.
‘Give me a hug.’ Jennifer ordered.
‘Come on,’ Devlin sent. ‘I already gave ya a kiss. I ain’t comfortable with all this lovey dovey dreck in front of that asshole, Jehovah. He’ll tell Dunkin and they’ll all laugh at me. Is that what ya want? Poor Devlin emasculated in front of his pals? Subjected to endless cruel jibes as to whether yer carrying around my gelded balls in yer purse. I feel my head reddening in embarrassment already.’
‘Hush! Stop being crude and give me a hug.’
‘Fine. But don’t be releasing all that happiness into me. I’m going on a mission. Can’t afford to lose my edge.’
Jennifer, in addition to her telepathic skills, was also capable of infusing others with an overwhelming sense of contentment. Only, with Devlin, it was stronger and leaned more toward happiness than simple contentment. She could also draw out horrors from others and all of this through a simple touch.
‘I’m warning ya,’ Devlin sent. ‘I can see the happiness all over yer face. I don’t like happiness. I don’t mind other people being happy, but I personally am opposed to it. If I wanted to…”
Devlin’s continued diatribe was interrupted when Jennifer wrapped her arms around him. His features, normally a horrifying blend of smiling, violent sociopath, melted into a dopey, relaxed visage of a smiling, violent sociopath. He enveloped her in his arms, gave a breath-clearing squeeze, and broke away.
“Dammit, Woman! You never listen. It’s gonna take hours of me drinking, calling people names, and breaking stuff, to get back my normal dispositionary turpitudinal cussedness.”
“I don’t know what she sees in you, Dolt,” Aggie said. “You should drop to your knees in gratitude. I’ll send the appointments to your phone.”
“I’m not good with phones. I know how to press the answer button and the other button that calls Ears and the rest of those CIA idiots. I don’t understand all those other buttons, and guess what, I don’t care to. Tell the Nose. He’s good at organizational-type stuff.”
“His name’s not that hard to pronounce,” Jennifer said. “You should stop calling him the Nose.”
“If I started trying to use his name, he might get the impression that I care about him, his hopes, his dreams, his family, or anything else he might decide to bore me with. You should probably put off making any appointments till I get back from facing the horde of angry monsters I’m likely gonna face. It might take me a while to emerge victorious or get kilt.”
“We’re not putting off nothing. You miss an appointment and I’ll beat your ass the way I did when you was just a wee hellion.”
Chapter 4
Double Dipped Deep Fried Donut Disappearance
“Did I mention that Dunkin’s missing,” Devlin said. “Are you sayin’ it’s okay to let the roly-poly bastard get kilt while I go fer a tuxedo fitting? Just wonderin’…” He continued, idly watching a buzzing fly as if distracted.
“What do you mean Dunkin’s missing?” Ben asked.
“The Heavenly Honker there sent His Rotundity down to some dipshit planet to quell some kinda terrible trash tribulations and the Lardmaster disappeared. Probably off eating some kinda local delicacy. Double dipped deep fried donuts I’m guessing.”
“Well, quit standing around drinking and go help him,” Aggie said. “Unlike you, he’s a fine young man who understands and accepts his responsibilities. Have you seen the pic…” Aggie was fumbling in her giant purse.
“Ma, if yer thinking of showing me a picture of the beachball Dunkin spawned, don’t. It’s early and I ain’t had my coffee yet. My stomach’s queasy just imagining what kinda M&M shaped mutant that giant triple-fat cheese wedge sired during a ten minute interval when he wasn’t depleting someone’s larder. No, you women coo and cackle over whatever it is. I got delicate sensibilities.”
“Shut up and look at the picture, Halfwit,” Aggie ordered, while holding a photo in front of Devlin’s eyes.
Devlin squinted for a moment, angled his head for a different perspective, then said, “It looks kinda normal. Wrinkly. I guess all that extra skin is there to hold the blubber infusion when them Dunkin genes kick in.”
“Boy, that’s a beautiful little baby girl and you’re an idiot.” Aggie forced the photo into Devlin’s hand. “You keep this. It’ll remind ya how important it is to help out that little girls father.”
“All it’s gonna remind me of is my disinclination to be around children. They’re noisy and they expect ya to pay attention to ‘em,” Devlin paused as if entertaining a moment’s thought. “And they don’t drink. Yep, I’m definitely anti-children when it comes to havin’ ‘em anywhere near me.”
“Get on yer way,” Aggie ordered. “We got things to do.”
“We’re going to visit muxipplewudget!” Ben said, visibly excited at the prospect.
“Maxipadwidget! What the hell are you saying?” Devlin asked.
“That’s his name, The Nose, I mean. I learned how to pronounce it!”
“Good fer you, Brainiac” Devlin grumbled. “I’ll call him Nose. He ain’t worth all them extra syllables. Let’s get outta here, Jehosaphat. Before they dig up more pictures or crank the nagging engine into overdrive.” Devlin snatched his mother off the ground into a hug and made a loud smacking noise as he kissed her cheek and announced, “Like I always said, it’s them that’s closest to ya causes ya the most misery.”
“Put me down, Jackass,” Aggie sputtered as Devlin stood her back on her feet and grabbed Ben by his shirt one-handed and lifted him to eye level. “Yer on my list, Squirt. Quit bringing people around to annoy me.” Devlin raised one eye and glared comically which caused Ben to laugh. “I mean it, ya little goblin. What good’s having a Fortress of Drunkitude if people of a non-drinking variety can pop in and ruin the delicate cranial state you’ve worked yer throat into cramps trying to achieve?”
“I can’t say no to Aggie,” Ben said, still laughing as Devlin lowered him back to the ground. “She threatens me with severe injury.”
“It’s all blusterin’ bombast. Ma’s all lip and no whip,” Devlin said, smirking in seeming appreciation of his own wit.
“I heard that. Boy,” Aggie said, digging around in the giant purse. Devlin laughed. “Don’t bother digging around for that perfume squirter. I purloined it from that duffle bag ya call a purse and buried… AACK!.” He just finished the final syllable in ‘buried’ when a focused stream of a sickly sweet smelling substance soaked Devlin’s shirt.
“Crimany!” Devlin howled, pulling his gaudy shirt away from his chest and shaking it. “Ya know that crap fouls my taste buds. Ruins my enjoyment of a good cigar.” He fluttered the shirt, his face twisted into a grimace of distaste. He scrunched his nose and met his mother’s gaze. “I don’t know how I turned out so even-tempered after being raised by a cranky varmint like you. Now ya see why I’d rather go fight monsters than sit with my own dear Ma having tea and crumpets.”
The man Devlin called Godrube was laughing silently, head bowed, shoulders quivering. Devlin speared him with a raised brow, “Laugh, Bastitch. hen-peck’ns always funny when it’s happening to someone else.” Devlin, shoulders slumped, his gait exaggeratedly mopey, exited between a pair of support beams.
His exit was heralded by his mother’s wheezing mirth punctuated by Ben’s and Jennifer’s restrained snorts threatening to erupt in laughter.
Devlin’s demeanor improved as three of the islands workers jockeyed a large, shiny floating platform loaded with wooden barrels toward the open area where the tree-line gave way to the beach. He stopped to smile and then looked around; taking in the blue sky, the gentle waves rolling in from the Gulf, the green foliage, the palm trees barely perceptive sway in the thrall of a mild morning ocean breeze, and back to the wooden barrels. The man called Jehosaphat stopped alongside.
“By God,” Devlin said, his voice low and respectful. “Right there is the very pinnacle of a civilizations’ endless struggle to progress. A floating, force-field protected, self-navigating, mobile liquor supply. I’m tellin’ ya, Godrube,” Devlin slapped his companion on the back causing him to stumble forward. “That kinda technological advance gives me hope for the future. Restores my faith in everything good. Makes me want to sniff flowers. Smile at butterflies.”
“Indeed,” the man said, straitening his tie. “The first rule of societal progression centers around protection, transport, and distribution of its varied intoxicants.”
“Yer learning, J. Edgar Jehooverphat,” Devlion said, inspecting his supply pallet.
“That was sarcasm, Devlin.”
“Wasn’t good sarcasm,” Devlin replied. “Good sarcasm don’t stray that near the truth. By the way, nice suit, but if ya want to blend in with yer supplicants try simulating some sweat. Yer lucky the guys working here are used to seeing unusual stuff. This is the tropics, Dumbass. Ya stand out like a fruitbat clinging to a white wedding dress.” Devlin pulled a fresh bottle from one of the stacked rum cases, spun off the cap and swallowed a generous portion. He smiled and extended the bottle to the three men gathered at the end of the pallet.
“Too early for us, Boss,” one of the men said and they all chuckled. “Besides, we’re on duty and, Mr. Muxipplewudget told us to ignore any attempts you make to get us drinking while on the job.”
“Crimany! Yer calling him zipplenipple too?”
“It’s Muxipplewudget,” one of the men corrected.
“No, it’s Nose, or Nostrilicus, or Nosehair, or Kesabe Melon, or Jumbo Booger Holder, or whatever I decide to call the crotchety, tea-totalin’ bastich.”
“He’s a good guy,” one of the men said, and the other two nodded in agreement. “Best boss I’ve ever had. His name’s not hard to pronounce and it just seems respectful to make the effort.”
“Have I drank with you pinheads before?” Devlin asked.
“No, Sir,” all three responded.
“Well, remind me not to.” Devlin glared at the three men who now seemed uncomfortable, shuffling their feet and staring groundward. “HAR! Ya should see yerselves,” Devlin bellowed, energetically doing more damage to the rum bottles’ contents. “You guys seem OK. We’ll bend an elbow after I get back from saving some planet, or the universe, or whatever nonsense is afoot.” Devlin investigated the inventory. Ten 50-gallon wooden barrels, 24 cases of bottled rum, two refrigerated beer dispensers, four additional kegs of beer, and six cases of sangria. He studied the supplies for a silent moment, absently rubbing a fingertip across the wooden barrels. “I hope this doesn’t take more’n two days, God Rube,” he said. “Not much liquor here. It’s the kinda distraction that interferes with my ability to perform mayhem. Ya know, being somewhere strange with no known source of alcohol near is a… err, vulnerability. Like Superman and that green rock… uhh… naseldriptonite.” Devlin paused, the wrinkles on his forehead bulging as he considered the situation. “I don’t like it. Maybe I should daisychain a few more a these floating pallets together. Like a freight train.”
“Devlin, you try my patience,” Jehosephat said, his tone not the usual gentle, yet authoritative delivery that set people at ease while demanding attention. Now there was a harsh, impatient undercurrent beneath his words. “Even at your profligate rate of consumption you’ve enough booze here to last a week. In the unlikely event this supply dwindles overmuch I shall personally travel for a resupply. The sooner we begin this journey, the sooner your participation is resolved one way or the other.”
Devlin stared off across the water. “You don’t seem to understand,” he said. “I drink. I spread joy with my wit. I stomp the life out of things. Generally, I do all of the above simultaneously. There’s a balance that must be maintained between the wit, the drink, and the stomping. Upset that balance and things get ugly.” Devlin paused to finish the bottle, then his voice rose with intensity as he continued. “Worlds tremble. Civilizations fall. Hope fades. Light retreats before a descending darkness. Strong men take a knee. Women and babes wail…”
Devlin’s outburst was interrupted by a string of curses and he found himself standing in a backwardsass city built of stone and sand. The sun above much larger than what he was accustomed to and it was hot. Miserably hot.
Chapter 5
Words Hurt, Swords Hurt Worse
Devlin laughed as he studied his surroundings. Jehosaphat continued muttering invectives under his breath.
“You are the most irritating being I have ever encountered,” Jehosaphat spat through gritted teeth. “I have a boundless love of all creatures, good and bad. For I can see both the good that is and the good that could have been. I am powerful, yet I cannot divert the simplest of creatures from a path once chosen. I can only observe as paths are followed leading to bouts of joy, eruptions of sorrow, or abominations of evil. Still I find a way to love all—except you,” Here Jehosaphat turned to glare directly at Devlin. “You are an asshole nearly beyond tolerance.”
“Man, yer cranky,” Devlin said, still laughing. “I can understand how the frustration grows when yer a helpless, useless rube laboring under delusions of grandeur. Decrepit, feeble, lame-ass, defeatist whining can strike anyone; sanitation worker staring at a mountain of nasty slurry, plumber who ain’t got the tools to fix a leak, even yer basic God wannabe who’d like to give the world a coke but suspects it would only rot their teeth.”
“Your childish behavior strikes a sour note,” Jehosaphat took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. “I apologize. This thing I seek your assistance with is beyond puzzling. It defies our knowledge. It should not be.”
“What a bunch of imbeciles you so-called Gods are,” Devlin said, still chuckling. “Just because you don’t know about it, don’t understand it, can’t grok some way to manipulate it, well, then by the Gods— it shouldn’t be! HAR! I got news for ya, Sir Sniveller, there’s lots a stuff out there you don’t understand. Get used to it.”
Devlin removed the lizardskull mug from around his neck and filled it from a twist valve on one of the barrels. He took a drink and looked around. “What a shithole.” He looked over at Jehosaphat and noted a look of sadness. “What’s yer problem now, Lord Weepy?”
“Words can hurt, Devlin,” Jehosaphat said, wiping an arm across his eyes. “Your relentless attack on my self-worth strikes at the core of who I am. Most distressing is you speak truth, it…”
Jehosaphat sucked in a deep breath as he felt Devlin clutch a hank of his hair, pull his head back, and hold the sword steadily before his eyes. It was the only thing that could kill one of his kind. He’d witnessed Devlin destroy two other God-Like beings with that sword forged from the metal of another universe. Though they were his peers, his enemies, predatory beings of dark desires anathema to his own beliefs, their destruction made him face something previously unthinkable—his own death. His eyes bulged as they focused on the ugly, pitted, uneven, razor-sharp edge of a weapon whose very molecular structure defied the fundamental physical laws of this universe. The slightest nick with that ragged, ugly blade and he would cease to exist. His own molecular structure disassembled and scattered.
Devlin stuck his head close enough that only the swords’ blade separated the two. “Quit whining before ya annoy me and I saw yer fraggin’ head off then relax with a refreshing drink or ten,” Devlin snarled. “Ya got it made. Ya been coasting too long, Brother. Ya ain’t rising to the challenge. Ya look around, see a never-ending ocean of misery and start weeping and wailing. I’m telling ya, keep looking at the sheer volume and you’ll remain the worthless snotball ya are. Try focusing on one piece of ugly at a time. Isolate it, end it with extreme prejudice. Ya gotta step out of the ping-pong spiral of looping stupidity,” Devlin backed away, dramatically placed the back of his palm against his forehead and wailed, “Oh, the sadness, the cruelty, the evil. I’m fraggin’ overwhelmed. I must now focus on the good stuff lest I fall into a pit of despair, then, refreshed, I will resume studying the ugliness. HAR!” Devlin grabbed Jehosaphat by his tie and drug him back until their noses nearly touched. “Find one thing and fix it. Shit happens. Ugly nonsense is going on right now in numbers neither one of us could comprehend. Focus on one, fix it. Repeat. Quit trying to pet the unicorn while calling on old Devlin to do the hard stuff, cuz ya ain’t helping and I ain’t doing all yer work for ya. I got enough problems, and I fix ‘em. One at a time. By destroying whatever’s causing me a problem, I mean, if I can reach its neck without too much effort and it don’t unduly interfere with my drinkin’ schedule. Here’s an example; pay attention: yer neighbor’s tossing turds over the fence into your yard. You’ve firmly requested he not to throw any more turds but he flipped ya the bird and tossed over another steaming clump. Ya go inside and watch the news and the grinning head says there is an outbreak of people who throw turds into their neighbors yard. Now, ya can either sit in yer recliner and bemoan the breakdown of civilization cuz yer only one person and ya can’t stop the turd flinging epidemic, or ya can go next door and kill the turd tossing terrorist. One at a time. That’s how you solve shit. Flowchart the annoyance on yer blackboard. Study all its various permutationary situationals. Analyze a buncha harebrained solutions. Then, go kill the bastard like ya shoulda done in the first place. Take my word, it works and ya feel uncustomarily sprightly the next day.” Devlin smiled, set flame to a cigar, picked up and drained the remaining dregs from his lizard mug.
Jehosaphat studied Devlin as he blew smoke rings and managed a refill.
“There are fleeting moments when I can see why Jimmy loves you,” Jehosaphat said, straightening his suit and adjusting his tie. “There is evil, and above that, floating alone in its own special place, is you, Devlin, a level that transcends mere evil.”
“Thats right, Godrube. All the meanies are pale amateurs when weighed against the monster you and Jimmy created. Just remember that, I’m yer fault. If it wasn’t for you and Asswaggers’ schemin’ I’d still be an alcoholic homicide detective minding his own business, catchin’ murderers, stompin’ the occasional asshole, instead of an indestructible monster who occasionally wipes out entire species. Now, let’s go investigate yer pal’s problem. The sooner we identify the culprit, the sooner I can kill it, its associates, its relatives, its gourdhead progeny, and possibly its planet if I got enough liquor supplies to sustain the campaign.”
“We are waiting for Gryph,” Jehosaphat said. “He should appear at any moment.”
“Oh, that’s right. This is one a yer Godrube pals’ pet rocks. Ya best send him one a them telepathygrams and remind him of the dangers involved when Devlin gets bored. On a side note, I’m rough on ya because I care. I know ya got power enough to blow the galaxy apart with an angry fart but ya have to study for a month before ya can pick an apple off a tree. But, that’s yer lot and ya gotta work with what ya got. Now, ya need to get proactive. Find some worthless bastard. Ya know, some completely rotten bastitch whose efforts are injuring a slew of folks. Focus on that one, take yer time, concentrate, then explode its fraggin’ head while it’s on TV holding a news conference. I mean just scatter blood and pieces a brain everywhere on live TV. HAR! The news will call it Exploding Head Syndrome and create a panic. That’s how ya send a message. I tell ya, I walk into a room full of goons first thing I do is dismember one of ‘em in the most grisly way I can think of. Makes the others more circumspecteral in how they interact with me.”
“I can’t kill anything, Devlin,” Jehosaphat stated. “I don’t kill. I won’t kill.”
“Then yer always gonna be sucking the hind tit, Godrube,” Devlin told him and blew a lazy smoke ring. “And I ain’t gonna run all over waging war on evil. Not gonna happen. Dunkin, Ash, and the rest of those White Haired Warriors dashing to and fro defending the innocent and dispensing justice are Dudley Doright dipshits. There’s gonna come a time when I can’t be bothered to bail your spindly ass out, so you’d best make alternate arrangements. It may seem like I’m a happy-go-lucky, carefree bastitch, but I’m getting tired of this constant nonsense. I’m lucky to get a week of peace and quiet before something’s trying to kill me, or something’s threatening the world, or something’s trying to eat the universe, or my damn liquor delivery’s late. My legendary patience and good will towards all is wearing thin. I find my renowned good nature occasionally turned surly.”
Jehosaphat coughed and stared wide-eyed at Devlin as if he’d suddenly grown a horn,
“The reason I’m wasting all this effort speaking to you is so’s you’ll understand that the next time you visit, it better be cause you want to have a recreational drink or three with ole Devlin. Not because your undies are bunched up and ya want me travel across the vastness of space to untangle your wedgie. I’m helping this time because the Crisco Kid’s got his behemoth ass in trouble again and if something fatal befell the fat bastard I’d never hear the end of it.”
Devlin stared hard at Jehosaphat before emptying his third mug of rum. He staggered and grabbed a wooden drum to steady himself, then draped the leather thong holding his mug over his head. “Getting wobbly,” he said. “Better taper off. This mug that lets me get drunk is the greatest gift anyone ever received and I’ll always appreciate ya making it for me.” Devlin belched and leaned against the floating pallet.
“I am accustomed to your rude, foul behavior,” Jehosaphat offered. “However, I cannot understand this animosity. I may indeed be useless, but my intentions are honorable, my heart pure. I can understand that you, a man prone to harsh words, quick decisions, and quicker action, will ridicule my impotence, however, I had come to think we were friends.”
“You wimpy bastitch,” Devlin bellowed, huffing a cloud of smoke. “In case you weren’t paying attention when ya dropped by to help me out during the Great Alien Smackdown, which, by the way, I appreciated, I pretty much told the entire universe on galactical television, that I’ll stomp their ass if they annoy me. Now, probably 99.9% got the message, but it’s just a matter of time before the thick-skulled contingent challenge my commitment to threat sincerity. I’m doing my best to get the populace ready to protect themselves, but it’s gonna be a mess. All that new technology is gonna toss the entire planet into chaos. There’s gonna be more plots and schemes than I can deal with. The nonsense is gonna get more and more serious and if I ain’t there, if I’m off galivanting across the universe chasing some giant planet-scarfing marshmallow, somebody is gonna do something to somebody I care about, and then I’ll do something so horrible you won’t want to be my friend any longer.” Devlin paused to cock one eye and somehow increase the already unnatural threat level of his countenance before continuing. “So, yeah, we’re pals, but you’re gonna have to put on your big boy pants and deal cuz after this favor I’m grounding myself on the home dirt clod and I won’t be accumulating any more Frequent Space Travel Miles.”
Jehosaphat slapped his own forehead. “How stupid. I truly miss Jimmy. I could always rely on his ability to anticipate events. Like seemingly all else, I’m not good at it. You are right, I’m not good for much of anything. I must endeavor to improve. I had not even considered the increased danger to Earth in the wake of your public display of violence and your assertion there exists a planet of Devlins who itch to destroy everything. You are correct in wishing to remain close to home. Less intelligent elements will likely challenge your assertions. So, you again have my apologies…”
“Plus,” Devlin continued, ignoring Jehosaphat. “I’ll admit, I’m a little high-strung due to pregnant women and pending nuptials. This is one a them rare annoying situations where killing something ain’t gonna help. Well, it might temporarily relieve the cranial distress I’m experiencing concerning my looming fatherhood… err… monsterhood. I mean, yeah, Dunkin’s mutant spawn looked normal and that’s a good portent. Still, I’m a good ways further along the genetical mutational monsteroidal evolutionarial spiral than Dunkin the Donut Disposal Dumpster.” Devlin paused to chomp his cigar and stare into the sun before adding. “As monstrosities go, I’m in a class by myself.”
Jehosaphat rubbed his chin, grabbed a glass and drew a beer from one of the tapped kegerators. He took a drink, swallowed, concentrated his focus on the now empty mug until his eyes rolled back in his head as if he were going to collapse. A short, plump, nearly bald man appeared wearing a filthy toga.
“Gee whiz, Josie!” The man squealed. “I was on my way. What’s the big hurry.”
“Gryph, this is Devlin.”
Chapter 6
Yeah, You Got Problems
The new arrival stumbled back until he tripped and landed on his backside, his eyes never once shifting from a wide-eyed freeze-lock on Devlin. He scooted backwards and sputtered, “I never believed… I mean, you said he might come and help, but…”
“You gotta be kidding me,” Devlin muttered, his jaw clenched down on the soggy cigar stub. “You Godrubes are a skittish bunch.”
Small crowds had gathered at the ends of the buildings along the narrow dirt street where they peered with equal parts fear and curiosity at the strange trio. Devlin spat his cigar stub to the dusty ground, drew a pitcher of beer and stared at the cowering yet curious natives. They were small in stature, the tallest no more than five feet and their builds were slight. They possessed six longish fingers on each hand, and their heads seemed just slightly too large for their frame. They wore no clothes, were completely hairless and their skin was a bright green mottled with reddish branches of apparent vein clusters. Devlin leaped upon one of the rum barrels without spilling a drop of beer and addressed the crowd. “Greetings, little green people. I come in peace. I will slay the source of yer vexations and in return you will provide me a generous portion of your locally distilled spirits. Let it be known to all that Devlin is a friend of the little green people. So says Devlin.”
A smaller version of the green people peeked from behind what must have been one of its parents’ knees, smiled and threw a dirt clod at Devlin’s head.
Devlin swatted the clod so as to facilitate its impact with Gryphs’ head.
“Ouch!” Gryph exclaimed, rubbing his cheek.
Devlin ignored the outburst, placed a thumb in each ear, twiddled his fingers, and made a horrible, goggle-eyed face at the small green person, who immediately lost its smile and cowered back behind its parent’s legs.
The group collectively drew in a loud breath as if part surprised and part frightened at the behavior of one of the young ones. The parent reached down and gripped a generous portion of the little ones cheek and pulled it out to stand before them all.
“HAR! Don’t hurt the little hellion,” Devlin bellowed. “He… err she, is just excited at seeing a buncha hideous goblins. I mean no disrespect when I refers to ya as ‘its’ but ya got no visible naughty bits. I can’t tell what kinda… err… whether yer male or female, and to tell the truth I ain’t all that interested in knowing. Anyway, it’s traditional for the aggrieved parties to organize a grand feast to celebrate the brave knight who’s come to yer aid in times of tribulation. And make no mistake, whatever’s gone wrong I’ll keep killing things until it’s fixed. It’s a strategy that’s never let me down. Anyway, tap a fresh keg and prepare the feast!”
Devlin continued to smile, seemingly oblivious to the undeniable fact that his smile, aimed at anything no matter the species, was not a calming influence. He cocked his head toward Jehosaphat and muttered quietly, “Hey! That fraggin’ language interpretater is gonna work here, right?”
“Yes, Devlin,” he answered. “It will work here. It will theoretically work anywhere. If the language is not already known it is capable of learning it within minutes based on a universal core language-specific AI…”
“Too much information. Yer making that vein on my forehead throb,” Devlin interrupted. “Quiet. Act civilized. I figure this is the village burgermeister approaching to deliver the customary welcome to weary travelers.”
Devlin leaped off the barrel to land before the approaching native. He spat out the cigar stub to his left, bowed, rose and squinted at the being.
“You are not of the copper merchants,” the Green person stated. “Do you also bring misery, pain, and death to our village?”
“I bring that pretty much everywhere I go,” Devlin answered truthfully. “But only to folks who piss me off. So far, you ain’t pissed me off. I was conned into coming here, find out who was causing yer current wretched affliction, killing it and getting back to what’s important in life. What’s yer name?”
“I am Falco of the Verdant Grasses, chief of this village called Havegrass. A great evil has descended upon us. Our people grow weak, wither and die. It is an invisible demon arrived with the cursed copper merchants and their foul dung piles.”
“Yeah. Falco. Got it. Havegrass. Right. Though, and I don’t like to bring this up, but, I don’t see any grass. I mean. The only green thing I see is you folks. But, hey, that’s none a my business. Anyway, I never go anyplace with the goal of learning stuff beyond what I’m gonna terrorize, make light of and kill without mercy. Too many details tend to sour my disposition. So, gather yer citizenry, whip up a feast. Hopefully ya got something like hot cheese full of spicy peppers and little chips a hungry bastich can dip into the cheese. I’m partial to that. While yer getting all that ready I’ll make my preliminarial observationary reconnoitery of the problems yer facing. Which in layman’s terms means I’m gonna locate who and how many I gotta stomp to death to return yer lives to their former pursuit of happiness. When I finish looking around we’ll be back for some informational interrogatories, some mild drinking and hopefully, some spicy cheese dip.”
Devlin speared Gryph with a raised eye, “Let’s go look at the problem areas, Godrube. I need to get a feel for my operational environment. HAR! I been studying military-type lingo in video games. I’ll follow you and keep one eye out for soft targets of opportunity which includes pretty much everything that has the potential to irritate me.” Devlin applied a foot-high flame to a fresh cigar, grabbed a fresh bottle and ambled along in a loose-jointed lumbering gait that to the interested observer screamed, ‘there goes someone who just flat does not give a shit what’s in front of him’.
Gryph led the strange crowd along the dusty path which cut through what turned out to be a rather large settlement. Some of the native folks had fallen in behind Devlins’ booze wagon and many others peered from out of alleyways and side roads. They left the main concentration of buildings in the city and proceeded to a massive roofed enclosure with no walls, only sand-looking pillars holding up a roof at a six-foot height. Devlin stopped and stared. He absently slapped the large button that stopped the freight pallet from following him, blew a copious cloud of cigar smoke which curled around his head, obscuring his eyes. Finally, silent, he bent down and proceeded to walk along the narrow paths separating hundreds, no, thousands, of pitiful, formerly green, now a sickly yellow, inhabitants of this planet.
He walked, his eyes narrowed, looking everywhere. Some obviously young, many appeared old, a few normal sized, but most emaciated to the point of little more than skin and a visible skeletal frame. Devlin knelt near a small green form, the same height as the one who had earlier tossed a clod at his head. Only this person was near to non-existent as a thing of flesh and bone and blood. The small one reached for Devlin, too weak to lift its arm for more than a moment. Devlin took the small hand in his own gnarled, calloused fingers. He placed his other hand on the young persons’ forehead, bent and whispered something. The sick little one smiled. Devlin rose and faced Gryph, his face revealed nothing but the usual barely-contained threat of violence. “Show me what’s causing this.” He followed Gryph and Jehosaphat back out of the low building and they continued through the dusty, barren land heading further from the village. The villagers didn’t follow. Instead, they bunched together muttering among themselves. Devlin heard them and increased his stride. They now called out for him to stop. To go no nearer the evil. Devlin ignored the importunate entreaties. Took another drink. Kept walking and staring ahead at the waves of heat floating above the parched earth as they topped a rise to face a valley with a large plastic-looking building sitting alone in the middle of nothing but dirt and dust. There was no visible plant life for quite some distance in any direction. Though, Devlin could see farther out, well further out, mountains veiled in green. Looking to the left rearward side of the glass building, he could see massive piles of what could only be described as mountains of rubbish. They extended as far as a human eye could discern. Devlin saw much farther, and everywhere, everywhere were mounds of trash. Devlin stopped, blew more smoke, exchanged his beer pitcher for a bottle of rum, and massaged the loose skin on his forehead as if to banish an ache.
Chapter 7
How Do You Spell Hope?
Still silent, and without waiting, Devlin approached the side of the building. The side where the piles of detritus began their spill outward. He veered immediately to a large V-shaped arrangement of twenty-foot tall, glowing pillars. He could feel the wrongness of the columns. They fair vibrated with an ‘I don’t belong here’ asynchronicity with the natural physical laws defining the universe they currently extended into. Devlin had felt something like it before. It emanated from the strange material his sword was forged of, from the planet-eating entity he’d killed a couple months earlier. Actually, he felt it whenever he made the mistake of looking inward. Allowing his hyper-aware senses free rein to absorb the myriad energy signatures around him and his own out-of-synch molecular oscillation. At times, when sober, Devlin felt as if he didn’t belong here just as he knew these pillars did not belong.
He spun and faced the seemingly endless expanse of refuse, closed his eyes and felt the waves of noxious toxins invade his body. The fumes ran the gamut of vile pestilent substances injurious to biological life. The worst was the radiation. He felt it invading his cells. Tainting their very cohesion. His body was automatically healing itself. But it hurt. Devlin bathed in the pain for a long moment. He spun and extended his left palm forward, facing the pillars.
“You feel it,” said Gryph. “It’s alien to this universe. It’s like nothing I’ve ever experienced. I don’t understand it. Neither of us do. Right, Josie?”
“Ya know,” Devlin said, taking a drink from his now half-empty rum bottle. “Back on earth they print these sports trading cards. Ya know, fer kids. They got this one. A picture of a basketball player flying through the air, legs fully extended, one to the front, one trailing straight out behind, one arm fully extended, hand palming a basketball, tongue lolling out his mouth like a panting dog after a lengthy run along the beach, his entire body focused on jamming that ball into the net that’s visible just before him. Ya ever see that?” Devlin turned back to glare at both Gryph and Jehosephat who both nodded in the negative.
“Ya should pay more attention to things going on in the places you purport to serve as benevolent, protective wards. Anyway, they printed posters, which is a big-ass enlargement, of that trading card. Millions of kids have that poster tacked up to their bedroom wall. They look at that poster, go out, jump up and down from anchored benches which helps in strengthening their leaping muscles. They shoot eight-million free throws. Fifteen-million jump shots. Fve-million explosive right and left handed drives to the basket.” Devlin paused to blow a cloud of smoke towards the Gods. “They do it because that guy in the poster had done something beautiful. Though, I’m positive half the times he did that flying dunk he should’ve been called for traveling violations. Anyway, like all things undeniably competent, it’s inspiring. That poster screams, ‘Hey, he can do it. If I work hard I can do it to. I can fly. For just a fleeting moment I can defy gravity’.”
Devlin unzipped the pouch belted around his waist and removed a small vial full of blood. He emptied it into the remains of his rum and drank the bottle empty. He frowned at the nasty coppery taste, shivered involuntarily at the frenzied cellular-level war his body waged against the damage done by the bombardment of radiation, then asked Gryph a question.
“Are those white haired warrior pinheads headed down here to pacify this mess? I know they got to have something to accelerate the half-life breakdown of all this radioactive shit. Or block it. Or something that fixes this kinda nonsense.” Devlin turned to stare at both his companions.
“No,” Gryph stated. “It is not good to interfere with the natural progression of a sentient species.” His voice trailed off as he saw the look in Devlin’s eyes.
Before Gryph could react, Devlin snagged his arm, vaulted forward and jammed it nearly up to the elbow into the humming barrier created by the infernal gateway. The screams from the being who called itself a God were decidedly ungodly. His body twitched uncontrollably in apparent agony until Devlin jerked him back and let him fall to the ground where he rolled from side to side and moaned.
Jehosaphat sucked in a breath to begin speaking and Devlin stopped him with a glare.
“Don’t say a word. I want ships down here immediately. I want this sewer rendered safe. I want the sick folks tended to. I want ‘em cured if it’s possible. I want it all to begin soon. Real soon. Before I start to get angry.”
Gryph rose to a sitting opposition and cried out. “He’s a psychopath. I have lost part of my essence to that portal. I am diminished. We must…”
He shut up when Devlin’s sword appeared an inch away from his nose.
“Quit whining. Send out yer orders to whoever ya got flying around that can fix this crap. The longer it takes the more likely I am to toss your dumbass through that portal. And I don’t want to hear any of your dipshit prime directive, non-interference justifications. These poor green assholes have already been interfered with. You’re both idiots.”
“For the record,” Jehosaphat said. “I told Gryph to call in assistance. While I agree on the basic logic behind the theory of non-interference I see it as more of a guideline rater than unassailable edict.”
“Quit yammering and start calling for help,” Devlin snarled.
“I cannot,” Jehosaphat said. “This is not my responsibility. It is Gryphs’. We do not interfere with each others wards. That is a path that would eventually lead to a cataclysmic confrontation between us.”
“Well, Devlin said, still pointing the tip of the sword an inch away from Gryphs’ nose. “I kill this useless bastard and you can make an emergency wartime command decision in the field. The emergency being you’re next.”
“I did it!” Gryph screamed. “I called them. They’re on the way. I was wrong.”
“Damn right you’re wrong,” Devlin asserted. “These green pygmies ain’t gonna see a spaceship today and build their own tomorrow. I don’t know if they’ve got a fraggin’ wheel yet. No. They’ll paint crude pictures of a spaceship on the wall of some cave and a thousand years from now some geek ancestors will scratch their heads wondering what the hell it all means. And before ya start yammering, who gives a shit if they worship us as Gods. Start up a religion. Everything needs something to believe in. They will find something to worship no matter what you rubes want. There’s nothing wrong with standing outside taking a piss, looking up at the stars, and admitting you and your species ain’t the friggin’ pinnacle of the universe. It’s a sad bastard in need of killing who sees itself as the very apex of intellects.”
Devlin set fire to a fresh cigar, took a drink and stared off at nothing.
“Everything needs hope. Whether it’s sparked by a leaping showboat on a poster or some strange bastards in a flying ship saving ‘ya from some kinda invisible killer ya don’t see and don’t understand. Death of hope pisses me off. Unless I’m the one making things hopeless. Let’s go see what the green pygmies laid up for a feast.”
“Do we really have time for this?” Jehosaphat asked.
“We’re in the preliminary stages of my investigatory tactical strategery. There are still things I can learn from the green folk. It’s best to have as complete a picture of the situationals so I can build a healthy level of pissedoffitude and thus render everything dead without feeling minor pangs of guilt which interferes with my drinkin’. I suspect I’ll have to engage in some dastardly levels of carnage before I’m satisfied things have been balanced and stabilized.”
He started to walk toward the crowd gathered at the edge of the village. “Hmmm. I guess I’m fraggin’ irradiated now. Make sure the rubes who arrive to sterilize this shit do all the folks. I figure I’m a walking death carrier. You got a problem with that, Gryph?”
