Jim and the Flims (28 page)

After awhile, I found myself thinking about Charles's future, and about how to avoid delivering those eggs. Ever so slowly, I realized that Charles was in fact talking to me about these things. He was using a low-level vibrational channel, imperceptible to the jivas. His conversation came in scraps, as a series of disconnected, sleepy thoughts. It was quite unlike spoken words, and far more oblique than jiva-mediated teep.

I glanced over at the man, and he gazed back at me, poker-faced. And still the images came. I saw the border snail withdrawing from her hole. I saw Charles flying in a circle around the towering, misty goddess of Flimsy. I saw myself exploding the Earthmost Jiva with a bomb.

I refrained from fully engaging my conscious mind, lest our jivas pick up on our seditious fancies. I thought of Four Mile Beach north of Santa Cruz—I visualized the seabirds upon the sand, the happy chaos of the waves, the mounded knots of kelp, and the cliff-swallows in their mud-daubed nests. I thought that, compared to the living beach, Atum's Lotus was, after all, a bit dull.

Charles replied with a diagram of a higher-dimensional inversion map that could fit a universe inside an electron—complete with a ladder to its center. He thought of a woman with a sweet and sad smile that might take a lifetime to decipher. This was the wife he'd left behind.

I thought of the flower-filled meadows above Four Mile Beach, of a fern-green grotto there with a twinkling pool of minnows, and of Val's ashes buried in the sandy soil.

Charles and I were on the same wavelength.

He was done marking time—my arrival had jolted him loose. He was ready for the journey to the heart of Flimsy, eager to meet the goddess, and perhaps on the point of diving into her core. Early tomorrow morning, he'd let the new chant of Atum's Lotus propel him to the center of Flimsy—a trip beyond the powers of simple teleportation.

And me? How was I to save the Earth and seek out Val? Charles now seemed to be suggesting a technique for killing jivas via a kind of psychic bazooka. The plan had something to do with a baseball gun—and something to do with an epic Halloween rock concert where I'd painted myself black and had dusted myself with glitter to look like the night sky. A third element was needed as well, and Charles seemed to say I could get it from Ginnie if I saw her again.

Our conversation was in a very allusive and figurative form, far below the level of our conscious minds. And all the while, the artificial landscape around us was blooming in ever-mounting crescendos. Atum's Lotus was slowly approaching an apotheosis. Over and over, just when the process seemed complete, a new set of frills would develop, complete with a new thread of melody to divert the mounting chorus down a yet subtler path.

At some point I dropped off to sleep, pillowing my head on the soft flesh of this throbbing musical plant. I entered a looping dream wherein I reviewed my exchanges with Charles Howard, polishing and editing the memories—gradually honing them towards an explicit plan of action. I was at one with Atum's Lotus.

I awoke to Charles shaking my shoulder. The roof overhead had been torn away. Atum's Lotus was broadcasting a solemn mantra overlaid with shrilling strings. A flowing river of light was etched against the sky. It took me a moment to realize that this was a giant jiva feeler. It was the Earthmost Jiva, avidly probing into our hideaway.

“Here comes the bully beet,” said Charles. “The long-expected surprise attack. I'm ready. And Atum's Lotus is done.” He was standing beside me, glaring up at the cruel tendril. “You'll vanquish them, Jim. You'll save the world. You and the surfer girl.”

“What about you?”

“I'll shuffle off my mortal coil and be reborn a squalling babe. As you say, the heaven beyond heaven is our original home.”

The Earthmost Jiva's tendril slapped up against Charles. Atum's Lotus pulsed a massive drum-beat in sympathy. Charles's resident jiva popped out and scurried off like the cowardly parasite that she was. But the man himself stood firm in the face of his fate. The glowing tentacle forked and branched, sending roots into each part of my friend's hearty frame. Charles laughed, as if welcoming his physical annihilation.

In seconds, the Earthmost Jiva had drained Charles down to an idiosyncratic sprinkle which was the refined essence of the man's soul. I saw a hypnotically tumbling shape that was covered on every side with flickering, mutating hieroglyphs—perhaps spelling out the sequence of archetypes that had been Charles's life story.

The Earthmost Jiva would have liked to devour this darting sprinkle as well—but Charles invoked the perfected power of Atum's Lotus. The great shape pulsed out a rhythmic chant that was the sought-for ladder-mantra.

Seized by the wave of sound, Charles's sprinkle spun in the air for a moment, and then he shot upwards and disappeared, presumably on his way to the core of Flimsy. And perhaps from there he'd pass on to the heaven beyond heaven which is Earth.

Enraged by losing her prey, the Earthmost Jiva thrust her tendrils the deeper into Atum's Lotus. In her fury, she was strip-mining scars into the exquisitely articulated hills and vales. But still the great Lotus's supernal ladder-mantra could still be heard.

Spitefully the monster jiva's tendrils wrapped around me. Should I ride the mantra to Flimsy's core? But Mijjy was puppeteering me from within, holding me back. And now the Duchess came onto the scene. I glimpsed her outline against the blazing curve of the bulbous jiva.

“Go back to being a sun!” she yelled at the Earthmost Jiva. “Do it, you stupid, greedy beet! This Lotus is our personal stash, okay? It's fine that you killed Charles Howard, but Jim Oster is the guy who's gonna deliver your eggs! Leave him the fuck alone.”

“Jim traitor secret plan jiva gun!” blustered the great jiva. But she released me nonetheless.

The Duchess looked into my mind, and quizzed Mijjy. Fortunately she had little to reveal. My conscious mind held only an inchoate wish to shoot a jiva with a bazooka.

“Acting all weird and sly won't get you off the hook, Jim,” said the Duchess, landing at my side. “You're still making that delivery to clear our debt to the Bulbers. We'll have the eggs for you this afternoon.”

Overhearing that, the Earthmost Jiva teeped something about the difficulty of making so many eggs on short order.

“That's what you're frikkin'
supposed
to be doing!” screamed the Duchess. “Instead of trashing our property. How would you like it if I invite a gang of yuels here to sing lullabies in your nest? I want those motherfucking eggs!” Her voice softened just a bit. “And maybe then we'll see about getting you some scraps of Atum's Lotus.”

The Earthmost Jiva backed away. She really was a little afraid of the Duchess. Meanwhile the great wobbly blossom of Atum's Lotus was healing itself, all the while playing symphonic variations of Charles's ladder-mantra, endlessly elaborating her sounds and her forms. And the great gall on the side of the stem was sealing its roof back over.

“Come with me now, Jim,” said the Duchess. Once again, a pale white mat of geranium vines formed beneath our feet. Bathed in the bright, hostile light of the Earthmost Jiva, the Duchess and I rose towards the geranium's uppermost leaf.

23: Lights Out

T
he top leaf contained the private Ducal residence—a somewhat smaller space than the great public hall I'd visited yesterday. The lounge was appointed with gilded sculptures of animals, a gently twitching shag rug, pastel murals of flowers, gilded antique furniture, and a pool of living water in the center of the room.

The fat little Duke was snacking on kessence lizards by the water's edge, with Weena and a very attractive ghost woman at his side. This new woman had flowing blonde hair and long, flexible limbs. Her puffy lips curved in a reckless grin. Somehow I felt like I'd seen her before.

“What's become of Charles?” keened Weena, running up to us. She must have seen the big jiva's attack. By now I was cynical enough to suppose that, whatever true grief she might feel, Weena was milking the tragedy. “Where has my lover gone?”

“He flew into the sky,” I said shortly. “The Earthmost Jiva chewed him down to a sprinkle. You know that Charles was dreaming of a trip to the center of Flimsy. The new ladder-mantra works. So you might say that Atum's Lotus is done. But it's still evolving anyway. Even though the big jiva tried to eat it.”

“You're an idiot,” said Weena tearfully. “I hate you.”

“I think this guy's totally hot,” said the new woman from across the room. What was her story?

“This is Janie,” said the Duchess, walking over to fondle the lissome form. “And, Janie, this is Jim. Janie teleported in from Yuelsville last night. The yuels sent her to repay us for letting them nab Ginnie. Ginnie had some piece of information that the yuels wanted. And, at our end, Weena didn't want Ginnie around. I think she was jealous.”

“Oh, shut up!” yelled Weena. “Why is everyone against me?”

Janie laughed and looked pleased. “I thought it'd be interesting to see how you jiva-freaks live.”

“Janie's a pistol,” interjected the Duke. “I hope she stays with us for good. I'm ready for a new assistant.”

“You big silly,” said Janie, giving the Duke a playful slap. She rose to hug the Duchess, and favored Weena with a spiteful boo-hoo poor-you moue. In the midst of all this posing, Janie managed to give me a discreet wink as well. I didn't quite understand why.

“Doesn't anyone care about Charles?” wailed Weena. “How will I survive without him?”

“I care about paying Charles's debt,” said the Duchess. “That's for sure. We've got a meeting with Boss Blinks in half an hour.”

“Weena's been nagging me for a commission on the Earth tax,” added the Duke, in an equally callous tone. “I guess that's what she means by survival.”

“The question isn't whether you get a commission,” the Duchess told Weena. “It's whether we kill you.” Weena tried to say something back, but the Duchess cut her off with a menacing frown. “For now, you're to escort Jim to Monin's farm, okay?”

“I've told Janie to go along too,” said the Duke in a studiously casual tone. “I told her I'd pay her extra.”

“Yes,” said the Duchess, giving the Duke a look. “Janie can take care of Weena.”

“Have I lost your trust?” protested Weena. “Why burden me with this newcomer?”

“Why is everyone so uptight?” interrupted Janie. “That's
my
question. Why can't we all be friends?” She struck a cheesy, pouty pose. “
Good
friends.”

“Not now, Janie,” said the Duchess. “I want you meet Boss Blinks Bulber now—so you'll fully understand the Weena problem.” She said this even though Weena was right there. Evidently Weena's feelings didn't matter anymore. “And, Jim, you come to the meeting too,” added the Duchess. “It's time to start showing some goddamn team spirit.”

“Blinks will be here any minute,” said the Duke.

“Top-thecret wred alert,” said Janie with a sarcastic lisp. She was acting as giddy as a high-school kid.

The Duke led us to a different lobe of the hollowed-out leaf—this was his so-called situation room. It had a straight wall along the inner side, and a rounded outer wall that followed the leaf 's edge. Looking out through a long, low ribbon-window, I could see the monstrous, glaring Earthmost Jiva, the rolling meadows of Flimsy, and faraway glints from the Dark Gulf. For the thousandth time, I wondered if I'd find Val at the center.

The situation room was dominated by a pair of imposing thrones. The Duke and the Duchess ascended to their perches. Weena, Janie and I found seats on a rubbery sofa that ran along the rounded wall. I felt uneasy about Janie. She was a puzzle. I couldn't quite decipher the levels of betrayal going on.

In the center of the room, a transparent ball was suspended in the middle of a stalk that grew from floor to ceiling.

“See the model, Jim?” said Weena, pointing . Her voice was shaky; she was truly upset about Charles—and unnerved by the hostility of the Duke and Duchess. “You've inquired about Flimsy's geography,” continued Weena, forcing a brave, bright tone. “Isn't this lovely?”

Grown by the geranium, the ball was a model of the afterworld. The upper hemisphere with filled with air, and the lower hemisphere with water—the Dark Gulf. A twinkling green ledge ran along the gulf 's outer edge—the fields of Flimsy. Layered structures and hanging stalactites lurked beneath the fields—the underworld. The gloomy waters at the very bottom were a-jiggle with linked beets and radishes—the mega-jivas. A glowing haze drizzled from the domed sky's center into the heart of the Dark Gulf. The shifting column of mist represented the abode of the fabled goddess of Flimsy.

“Where are we right now?” asked Janie, for the first time sounding interested.

“I wonder if a stupid little tramp like you can grasp that this isn't drawn to scale,” said Weena, glaring at her. “It's more along the lines of a cartoon. The band of green along the edge breaks into a septillion slots—so of course you can't see where we are.”

As if to contradict Weena, the responsive display illuminated a hair-thin slice of the model's edge—and proceeded to zoom in on it. The narrow slit of light expanded into a trapezoid that filled the ball, a toy landscape with hills and a swamp and even a little model of the giant geranium plant itself. Along the left edge of the trapezoid was a bluish zone with tiny blimps—some of our alien neighbors.

A sudden pooting noise distracted me—a snub-nosed Bulber was pushing in through an iris-like door in the situation room's outer wall.

“Hey there, Boss Blinks!” called the Duke from his throne. “We're getting our act together right now.”

The Bulber circled the room, fouling the air with sulfur, then came to rest. He was about five meters long. He had at least twenty eyes on his pebbled mauve hide; the eyes were wobbly like fried eggs. Boss Blinks studied us for while, and then he made a blubbery sound that my teep transformed into colloquial speech. He sounded like a Chicago gangster.