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"Today, I want to rap with you about one of our former co-worshippers," Gari
said, waving his crystal-tipped wand.
He pulled down the poster-size picture of Bronson Manolo. The Op was standing
beside a surfboard, with a bikini babe, caught by the camera in mid-jiggle, on
either side. His teeth shone, and his implanted chest hairs could have been
painted on his sculptured pectorals. His ballsack swimming pouch made him look
as modest as Michelangelo's David.
"When you look at Bronson Manolo, guys," the guru said, "I want you to see a
loser!"
The Pyramid People hissed like Dracula confronted with a crucifix.
"Loser, loser, loser," they chanted. Some people threw things of little
value: gold fountain pens, diamond earrings, last year's wristwatches. Gari
would have them picked up later.
"Here was a cat who seemed to have it, but inside he was just a zeroid waster
or else he would be here today."
They were shouting now, screaming their hatred at the outcast.
"Remember, guys, the beautiful never die!"
"Never die, never die, never die!"
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Gari was happy. He had his people at the pitch he wanted them. The collection
later would be his best yet.
"Winners never die," he shouted, "never die, never die, never die!"
He stopped shouting, and let the Pyramid People's adulation get to him. It
hit him like a cocaine rush, but it was better than that. It gave him a thrill
in his penis, and he knew he could convert this feeling into anything.
Afterwards, he could have any of them, have all of them if he wanted. Promise
people eternity, and there was nothing you couldn't get out of them. Nothing.
"Never die! Never die! Never die!"
Gari showed his teeth and extended his arms. His multicoloured robes caught
the light.
From the back of the Pyramid, looking out through the clear-glass windows
down to the beach, Gari the guru was the only one who saw the tidal wave
coming.
"Never die, never die, never die," chanted the Pyramid People.
It was a pity Branson Manolo was dead. This was one wave he would have given
anything to be on top of.
Raging against the Adversary, the Jibbenainosay dwindled, its matter being
compressed in on itself. The process introduced it to the concept of agony. It
felt the whole physical universe pressing against it, and yet knew there was
no way back with honour into the Outer Darkness. The Ancient Adversary
squeezed.
"This is Lola Stechkin, interrupting your scheduled broadcast to ask the
question that's on everybody's lips this afternoon, October 8th, 1998. Just
what the freak is happening? Later, we'll be going over to our weather bureau,
our correspondents in Washington, Moscow, Tokyo and Rome, to our espers and to
experts from the Universities of the world. And we'll be asking you to
interface with your datanets to give us your suggestions. But first, here's a
message from GenTech..."
... and squeezed...
"Musterr Banks, Musterr Banks, 'tis turruble, turruble, turruble. Wullie the
Whale's alive, alive, alive. And the Bolivian ambassadurr's burruthdae
partie's still on insaide hus stummuch! We're doomed, doomed!"
"Freak off, Jock, I'm counting money."
... and squeezed...
"Chantal, it's Father O'Shaughnessy..."
"Father, I'm pleased to hear from you. I've been working through those
Glenzugge theorems, and I've had some thoughts."
"Papa Georgi wants to see you. It's important."
"I'll be there directly."*
*for more on Sister Chantal's mission, see Demon Download by Jack Yeovil.
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... and squeezed...
Dr Proctor stumbled through the sand. He had lost one of his shoes, and was
leaving bloody footprints.
He pushed on, the desert swallowing him.
... and squeezed...
Nguyen Seth convulsed, and his eyes shot open. "Roger, we've lost."
That couldn't be.
... and squeezed...
Hawk-That-Settles had been drifting in and out of consciousness. Now, he
snapped awake. The horseman was gone, but his wounds were bound. He felt
better. The storm had passed.
... and squeezed...
The Ancient Adversary held the collapsed mass of the Jibbenainosay in its
aura, and felt the Dark One lose its grip on the universe. The wormhole opened
up, and the Jibbenainosay was sucked back through it, its being unravelling as
it jetted back up the funnel into the Outer Darkness. There, Ba'alberith, the
Mythwrhyn and Nyarlathotep would be awaiting it, waiting to chastise it for
its failure. Strengthened by its victory, the Ancient Adversary allowed itself
to shrink, to recede, to spiral down.
Krokodil stood alone in the vast space of the desert. The remains of the
monastery of Santa de Nogueira were a mile or so in the distance.
She was tired, but unhurt. The thing she had found in herself, and let loose,
was coiled safe in her chest again.
At her feet was a lump of crystal, clear but shot through with threads of
red. She picked it up, and was transported...
... she floated in the midst of an eternal Darkness, sensing titanic
presences, witnessing their eternal struggles. Aeons passed, and the course of
the battle swept across the expanse of the Multiple Creation and back, but
nothing really changed. The Dark Ones and the Nullifiers still struggled, but
there was no victory, nor did either side truly desire the destruction of the
other...
... she dropped the crystal, and it sank into the sands.
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