Born Hard Again: Book Three of the Future Remembered Chronicles (19 page)

"Preston," the badly muscled Alphonso was tapping on my shoulder.  "What are you doing?  Why are you bringing all these... people... with us?"

I pulled him down closer to the ground so I could speak softly to him.

"Look, something came over me, all right?"  It was true.  In my second life, there were times where I wasn't certain I was the only conscious force in my body.  "It just kind of... happened.  Hey, we wouldn't even be in this mess if you hadn't blown up the fucking lake!"

"Hey, no fair!" Alphonso protested.  "You told me to do it!  I was just sitting there, minding my own business.  And here comes Preston.  'Hey, Alphonso-buddy,'" he did a terrible impression of me.  "'say, why don't you blow up the lake so I can yell at you later about it?'"

I rolled my eyes.

"Don't make me dick slap you, Alphonso.  Let's get Marcus inside.  Let's get TK stable.  Fly us in front of all these people, but go low and slow so they can keep up?"

Alphonso shrugged.  "Sure.  You're weird."

I knotted my brow.  "So, it's not the dick arm that makes me weird, it's the followers?  I bet you're just jealous."

"Please!  I can get followers if I want them.  In fact, I have, like, twenty billion followers on my vlog," he boasted.

"Those aren't real people," I shook my head.  "I bet you bought those followers."

"You're so mean, Preston!"  Alphonso crossed his arms and stuck his lower lip out.  I noticed he had an unnatural set of serratus muscles around his chin.  They flexed and throbbed like little gills as he pouted.  "I did not buy them.  I am so not jealous!  How many followers do you have, anyway?"

I shrugged.  The crowd had swelled in size significantly.  I estimated there were almost one hundred forty-four thousand people before me. 

"Doesn't matter," I dismissed him.  "Here, grab his feet.  Lift on three.  One... two... three!"

We hoisted the sleeping Koochy and carried him gently into the GMS-KJH86.

***

After securing Koochy and TK, I joined Alphonso in the cockpit.  It had taken me several minutes to deal with my friends and after that I had to take a few minutes to excrete the last of the olestra I had gorged on earlier.  In that time, Alphonso had flown to the head of the throng and found a comfortable cruising speed.  We were moving at a snail's pace and very low to the ice. 

"Hey, what's up," I greeted him.

"Boooooring," he retorted.  I was sure he was right.  There was nothing exciting about this kind of flying.

"I'm going to go talk to that Aoas guy," I said, flatly.

"Okay.  Don't worry, Preston.  I'll take care of everything in here," he gave me an incorrect military-style salute.  Again, I rolled my eyes as I walked away.  God, Alphonso was annoying.

The ship was moving so slow and low that it was easy to jump out.  Much easier than jumping from a height of more than a thousand feet; I recalled my recent feat.  Aoas and his band of bodyguards were directly behind me, leading the rest of my followers.  I jogged over to him.

"Aoas!" I hailed him.  "Oops, one sec."

I produced the compute-pad I had lifted from Koochy's inanimate form.  A couple of quick clicks and I had unlocked the paid version of the translator app.

"Aoas," I began again.  "Tell me your story.  How... how did you... all... How did you all end up here?"

Aoas looked at me wordlessly for several minutes.  There was a grim determinism in his eyes.  When he spoke, his voice was hoarse, strained.

"Eons ago, when the world was young and innocence had not yet been cast to the outer colonies, Putin became obsessed with the prophecies.  He destroyed the entire mother Russia in pursuit of the prophecies.  He was a true believer," he paused.

"As you know, you commanded us to make ready for your return and the cleansing of the galaxy by preserving samples of our culture.  In a place safe from the trials of the great tribulation, we have long ago tucked away pairs of our people; samples.  Specimens.  Vessels for your holy word.  Instruments of your holy work!"

Holy shit, I thought.  This was pretty deep.  How had I missed this whole Cleveland Jesus cult stuff when I lived back on Earth?

"Yes, I know," I feigned familiarity with his story.  "But how did
you
come to be involved in all of this?"

"My lord," Aoas deferred.  "It was my destiny to lead your flock.  I am Aoas Nhark; preserver of the people.  I was presented to Putin by my parents as the obvious choice for this important position.  We were all sealed in these caverns centuries ago.  I have witnessed several generations come and go.  I am the only one of the first generation who yet lives.  Sustained, I am, by this device which has replaced all of the bodily functions required by my brain and head.

"It is a miserable existence, to be sure.  But, it has all been made worthwhile today, my lord!" he smiled, toothlessly.  "For, my eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Cleveland Jesus!"

I smiled and nodded. 

"Aoas, you have done well," I commended him. 

My mind was officially blown.  All of these people, turned to samples to support my coming.  If I only knew exactly what it was that my return required.  I hoped they didn't all die while I fumbled around figuring it out.

"I... I know it isn't my place to ask, my lord," Aoas started, humbly.  "But, I have waited so long.  Is Detroit where...
it
... happens?"

"Uh... yes!" I stumbled, dumbly.  "Yes, Old Detroit is where we will see.. what it is that we will see!"

"If that is so, then the second of your scrolls will be uncovered in that city, my lord.  Putin ordered it be put... within... at the same time as we were buried beneath the ice," Aoas volunteered.  Man, this guy was full of helpful knowledge.

"Of course it is!" I said more harshly than I had intended.  "But what I don't know is where the first of my scrolls is!  And, uh, is there a third of my scrolls too?"

Aoas nodded.  We made quite the picturesque scene: a dick-armed, hairy baby Jesus strolling along side an ancient Russian entombed in a hovering sarcophagus; walking along a path hewn by a god into snow-capped ice mountains made from sheer will; fulfilling centuries of lore and sayers of sooth.

"Your holy writ was the cause of the destruction of organized religion, my lord.  The world had withstood Catholicism, Mormonism, Moronism, Islamism, but nothing could have prepared us for the power of Cleveland Jesusism," he recalled.

"Ugh, my religion is called Jesusism?" I cringed.  "Isn't that a bit too close to jism?  Or orgism?"

Aoas wheezed out a laugh.

"I never imagined you would be funny, my lord," he told me.

I smiled at the compliment.

"Keep 'maginin' den," Koochy's voice came over the compute-pad.  "'cause you ain't funny, son.  Not e'en close!  Mane, I cain't believe you punched me with yo' dick.  We down fo' life!  Dat ain't right!"

I closed the translator app.

"Koochy, you're up already?  Err, I mean, uh, sorry about knocking you out," I stammered.

"Payback's a bitch, ya know wha' I'm sayin'?" he reassured me in his
"I ain't mad at ya"
voice.

"I'll be back in the ship in a few minutes.  I'm talking to Aoas."

"A'ight, a'ight, playa.  Stay up!" he closed his side of the connection and I re-enabled the translator app.

"Go on," I urged him.  He nodded and continued.

"Your followers were insatiable.  Ravenous.  You must understand.  Your word came at such a dark time for humanity.  All of the systems of man were failing, and obviously so.  There was no safety to be had.  Traditional religions and government institutions were shunned.

"It was during this time, that Obama the second seized the position of world leader by way of a coup to depose his predecessor, Obama the first.  The people wanted one thing, and one thing very badly: the end of organized religion, as recognized by the state.  Open practice of any religious rituals or activity was forbidden under penalty of expulsion to the outer colonies," he lectured.

This part of the story was already familiar to me.  From the history studies of my younger years, I recalled the narratives around the Great Banishment.  The government needed more colonists, badly.  ColonAIDS had hit early pioneers hard, decimating their ranks and scaring off new potential recruits.  The Good Man instituted a solution to the problem of dwindling ranks of volunteers: conscription!

Religion, contact sports, pornography, drug use, Cross-Fit, were all swept up in the rush to criminalize virtually everything.  Conviction was tantamount to expulsion.  The early outer colonies were brutal, unforgiving hellscapes which frequently generated stories that made even the most stoic of adventurers shudder.  After the initial waves of jettisoned convicts slimmed to a trickle, support on Earth for these activities waned to the point of extinction.

All of this I recalled, surprisingly well given how long ago I had learned it.  What I didn't recall was any mention of a
Cleveland Jesus
in that history.

"And then?" I prodded Aoas to continue.

"And then your scrolls were found.  Of course, the last representatives of what had historically been organized religion did their best to conceal, even destroy, your word.  Unsurprisingly, they failed.  Eventually, they also failed to outpace the Good Man and they lost possession of the parchment when they lost possession of their lives.

"Your holy writings were the remedy for the cancer that humanity had become.  It was evident to average citizens; even to babes.  So it terrified world leaders.  They united to suppress you," he explained.

"I
knew
it!  I knew the man was holding me down," I clenched my fist in grim realization.

"Putin, your most devout and prolific servant, waged terrible world war to secure all three and a third of your scrolls.  One was buried in New London.  One is kept on Ceres.  One third is kept in a necklace Putin rotates among his favorite concubines."

"Where is the last one?  That's only two and a third.  What's with the third anyhow?  Who does a third of a scroll?"  I blurted out, in an ungodly manner.

"One scroll was entrusted to me, your second most faithful servant, Aoas Nhark," he confessed.

"Whoa, where is it?  I want to see!" I interrupted him again.

"It is inside of me, O lord," he explained.  "It will kill me to give it to you, but that is a choice I will gladly make.  Shutting down my systems.  Thank you for letting me see your second coming, my lord."

"What?  No!  Wait!"  I held up all three of my arms.  "Don't kill yourself.  What are you talking about?"

"The scroll, my lord.  It is woven into my very being.  It is at the heart of this machine that grants me life.  It can only be extracted if the machine is deactivated.  Deactivating the machine will kill me.  As I said, it is a sacrifice I will gladly make, my lord," he seemed really eager to commit suicide in my name.  Was I leading one of those crazy everyone's-a-martyr religions?

"Well, look, one thing for sure... don't kill yourself.  I can wait to read the scroll.  I'm sure my friend Marcus can figure out a way to get it out of you without killing you.  He can hack death," I bragged, then realized I had slipped out of character.  "Uh, I mean, you are my chosen vessel.  I forbid you from harming yourself!  You must continue to lead the twelve tribes of... Boojina.  Your time has not yet come, Aoas."

"But... but, I am so very tired, my lord," he begged.  "I have been so patient and faithful.  Is it not time for my respite?"

"No," I shook my head.  "I'm not done with you yet.  I am not a lazy god, Aoas.  And neither are my devout!"

Without a further word, I turned and walked back to the ship that Alphonso was piloting.

***

SCHMACKK!

Koochy's fist smacked into the fat of my left cheek as I stepped into the GMS-KJH86.

"Owww!" I barked.  "That fucking hurt!"

"You damn right it hurt.  Hope dat shit hurt like hell!  Now I need ta rub my dick on yo' face ta make it even."

"Uh, please, no," I held up my palms in resistance to that suggestion.

"I'm jes fuckin' wit' ya, P!" he hooted.  "We a'ight.  What you doin wit' dat old ass Aoas?"

"Trying to figure out this whole prophecy thing.  He told me quite a bit, actually.  Some pretty fucked up shit," I shook my head.

"Dat be our spec-
ial
-ty!" Koochy reminded me. 

"Did you ever hear about any of this Cleveland Jesus stuff around the time of Obama the second?" I asked him.

"Hm..." he thought for a moment.  "Nah.  Nah, son.  I don't believe I do."

"Yeah, me either," I shrugged.

Remembering TK, I looked around Koochy.  "Hey, how's she doing?"

Koochy smacked his mouth.  "Sheit, I reckon at dis rate she'll wake da fuck up tomorra some time."

I nodded.

"Well," I yawned.  "I'm so tired I can't tell you how tired I am.  I'm going to take a nap."