The War of Immensities (23 page)

“No
worries.”

“Have you still
got your contacts in the States?”

“Got a few,
yeah. Ex FBI blokes mostly. What do you need?”

“There’s a man
I want to find out about, quietly.”

“Sure. What’s
his name?”

Barney had his
pad and pen ready.

“Harley
Thyssen. A geologist, he says. I guess he is. Seems to know his
stuff. They called him Professor. MIT, I gather. I want to find out
who he is really working for.”

“Should be
easy. Any reason why you doubt him?”

“He looks more
like a lumberjack. Remember that bloke Pop-eye was always fighting?
Bluto or something, wasn’t it?”

“I think so.
Anyway, no reason why a geologist can’t look like that.”

“No. But I also
want to know about the latest biological weapons research and that
sort of thing. What’s being covered up at the moment?”

“Just about all
of it.”

“This might
have something to do with toxic waste being disturbed by volcanic
eruptions. Something along that line.”

“Wow.”

“Of course, I
may be way out. But I want to know about Thyssen.”

Father Gilbert
sat with quiet respect while she spoke, sipping the tea they
shared, a plate of cream biscuits of which Chrissie had devoured
four in her anxiety.

“I know you are
going to think I’m insane,” she told him.

“I’m here to
listen, not to judge,” he answered.

He was a young
man, earnest-looking, bespectacled, and had a very scholarly way
about him. Chrissie supposed he was just the sort of priest she was
looking for.

“Do you believe
in Judgement Day, father?”

“Naturally.”

“I think it’s
going to be soon.”

“I know of no
reason why it should be either soon or not soon.”

“I’m not really
allowed to tell you anything about it.”

“Everything you
tell me will be held in the strictest confidence.”

She eyed him
dubiously. He had all the right answers, the right attitude—that
was what bothered her. Would he really be able to take her
seriously?

“I don’t think
you’ll be able to.”

“Able to
what?”

“Keep it in
confidence. It’s too big for that.”

It shook him
all right—physically—his head, at least.

“I’m sorry,
child. I’m not following you. Too big for what?”

“To be kept a
secret. You’ll have to tell people. Warn people. Make preparations.
If you believe me.”

“Child, what on
earth is it that troubles you so?”

He was probably
a year or two older than she, but called her child. She decided she
needed to shock him.

“They’ve been
saying in the news that there’s been a lot of volcanoes erupting
recently.”

“I have noticed
such reports, but...”

“The eruptions
are increasing in intensity, and frequency, and I did a little
calculation. It all comes together on July 15th, next year.”

“I see,” he
said, and she heard his sigh of relief.

“You don’t
believe me.”

“Who told you
this, Christine?”

“I’m not
allowed to say but he’s one of the top scientists in the
world.”

“And he said
that was the date?”

“Oh no. He
supplied the information. I did the calculation myself. I admit I
got a `Z’ for Maths, but it was very easy. And that was the date
that the converging lines came together.”

She offered him
a sheet of paper with the lists of dates. Chrissie saw he was
impressed by her reasoning. She was feeling very proud of
herself.

“Then that, I
think, will be Judgement Day. It’s really going to happen.”

He was silent.
He took off his glasses and cleaned them with a few huffs of breath
but she knew that wouldn’t help him see things any more
clearly.

“You don’t
believe me. I knew you wouldn’t. That isn’t why I’m here anyway. I
just thought you’d like to know, so that as the date draws nearer
and the disasters become more frequent, you’ll know what it
means.”

“Christine,” he
said, having finally gathered his wits, “in a frightening sort of
way, I do believe you. But what I believe doesn’t matter. You
believe it, and we must deal with that accordingly.”

“Quite so,” she
smiled. “As it happens, there’s more.”

“Oh
really?”

“Six people
appear to have been chosen—I don’t know why, but I know that they
are. Chosen, I mean. And I’m one of them.”

“And the other
five?”

“Well, I can’t
vouch for all of them, but two at least are thorough-going
heathens.”

“Christine, it
really isn’t proper to joke about this...”

“I’m not
joking. Father, in the middle of this month, the six of us will be
put in a special hospital ward where a group of doctors will try to
find out why our minds have suddenly become connected. They were
linked because we were all at the first of the series of volcanoes
I told you about. Of course, the doctors are looking for brain
diseases and ESP and psychological effects arising from
trauma.”

Again Father
Gilbert’s glasses needed cleaning. This time she waited to see what
he thought, if he was able to think anything.

“Christine, you
are a rather new member of our congregation and... Why me?”

“I’ve decided
to stay in Melbourne and wait for this. There’s nothing back in New
Zealand for me anyway. I have no family, and I’ve lost my job and
my fiancee over this. I’ve taken a nice little flat down the road.
This is my local church—and a very nice one too—and you’re my local
minister.”

“If indeed that
matter falls within the scope of my ministry, of course I’ll do
what I can. But what do you want me to do?”

“Just pay
attention to whatever happens from here. So if I’m a Looney Tunes
who needs to be locked up, I’m sure you’ll know what to do when the
time comes. No need to discuss that. But what, Father, if Judgement
Day is really on the way and I am really one of the chosen. What on
earth are you going to do about that?”

The enormity of
it all made it somehow easier to grasp for the man of faith.

“I can’t
imagine. But I suppose we must seek out the appropriate
preparations and implement them.”

“Fine. So how
do we begin?”

“With a prayer,
I should think.”

Andromeda
Starlight sat in her flowing white bath-robe, delicately
administering vanish to her nails. Claws, Tierney might have said.
She paused to raise a cigarette to her glistening lips but made no
attempt to light it. With her eyes, she insisted that he pick the
lighter up and do it for her, but silly Tierney failed to get the
point for so long that the guard walked over and did it for him,
the revolver on his hip swinging under Tierney’s nose. Power,
Andromeda mused, was a wonderful thing, and just as satisfying when
used on a worthless germ like Tierney.

“Now, Joel,
sweetie-pie. I’m gonna tell yer how things are gonna be.”

“Bitch,” he
seethed at her. “Fucking two-faced bitch.”

“Such language,
Sugar.” she smiled. “Maybe I ought call Gordon back to cuff your
ears, or are you gonna attempt a smidgin of self-control.”

Joel Tierney, a
weedy little insect of a man, contented himself to sit and sneer.
She had, for some time, been telling him how it was going to
be.

There had been
a long series of telephone calls, followed by a number of visits,
which brought them to this meeting. At first he had raged, calling
her names and expressing his general regret at allowing the joint
access to their wealth.

“You mean,
lettin’ me spend some of my own hard-earned?” she asked.

“I kept it
because you woulda blown it all on dope in five minutes.”

“Well sorry to
disappoint you, Joel-baby. Ah am off the hook and lovin’ it. Bumpy
ride, but I’m startin’ to get a kick outa bumpy. Whacha think of
that?”

It wasn’t only
Joel who had been amazed. For all that time, he had controlled the
flow of uppers and downers and on-ers and off-ers into her system
by which means she kept herself alive and able to perform. Now she
had kicked the lot. Well, not actually. There were sleepers at
night and one upper before performances, just to maintain the
balance.

But all the
rest, gone for good. It was as if she had replaced the chemical
drugs with a stimulant of a new kind, one entirely mental. It was
called belief in herself. And it was working.

“Looks like
you’ve blown it on a luxury lifestyle instead.”

“No point
having success if you don’t enjoy it, Joel.”

“You got your
success from me!”

“No. I got it
because I’m a right talented girl, Joel. You just managed the
bookings.”

“Well, now
you’re gonna have to manage without me,” Tierney had raged. “See
how long ya last.”

She got herself
a gig at the Melbourne Casino and two engagements on television,
and booked into this hotel overlooking the Yarra and its ramparts
of skyscrapers.

“I’ve decided
to keep you on, Joel. If you learn to behave.”

Each time he
telephoned, he was arranging bookings in places a little closer to
Melbourne. She refused them all. As soon as he resorted to abuse,
she hung up. He was learning.

“I told you,
Joel. I’m not available between the 10th and 30th of May. You’ll
have to cancel it.”

“But why?”

“Because I’ll
be in hospital, Sugar. I told you.”

“Put it off!
This is the Sydney Hilton, god-damn you! Biggest gig in the
country.”

“Not available,
Joel-baby. Sorry.”

“You fucking
bitch, why...”

She hung up. It
was so satisfying.

Finally, he
brought himself to Melbourne. Each time he tried to invade her
hotel or her latest venue, security threw him out. He was a slow
learner. But worth it, she knew. Joel Tierney might have been a
lowlife germ and a minor drug pusher, but he was basically honest.
It would take her such a long time to train a new manager, and
time, of course, was running out.

“All right,
bitch. We’ll do it your way. What do you want me to do?”

“Behave, Joel.
Learn a few manners. And buy yourself some decent rags. Spend some
of that brass you’ve been pimpin’ off me on yourself.”

All along she
had continued to pay him his thirty percent.

When it finally
came down to this visit, she had employed Gordon, the security
guard, to be present and make sure he behaved. Joel Tierney, a
beaten man, looked just as downtrodden and weedy as when he was a
winner. But it was going to be a fine arrangement, she was sure of
it.

“Look, Joel.
I’ve made all these plans. You’re getting thirty percent and I’m
doing your job for you.”

“What is this
shit?” he protested. He hadn’t really looked at it.

“My new image,
Joel. Great, huh.”

It wasn’t
particularly great just yet. She had done the designs herself on a
computer the hotel provided. There was a photo of herself in a
glittering dress, in full song with arms wide-spread, and a few
stock images of the Earth photographed from outer space on which
she had superimposed herself by means of Photoshop and printed it
on a nifty little ink-jet. It was rough but it would do the
job.

“What’s fucking
Gay-yah?” he asked. He didn’t want to admit that it wasn’t bad.

“Gaia, Joel.
Goddess of the Earth. See the list of numbers?”

She had written
down the name of every song she could think of that had something
to do with extolling the beauties and wonders of the Earth. Only
Carol King’s: I feel the earth move under my feet was in her
regular repertoire and even that was really called Tumblin’ down
but soon many others came to mind. Joan Baez songs, Dylan, Kate
Bush. Great stuff. She was already practising all of them.

“Jesus, you’re
turning into a fucking greenie.”

“Get with the
program, Love-child. It’s just the two matters usually go together.
Anyway, I’m writing a couple of songs to link them all
together.”

“Bloody hell.
The Songs of Gaia! Who’s gonna buy ‘em when they can’t even
pronounce the name?”

“It’ll be a
name on everyone’s lips in no time at all, Joel. We’re riding the
crest of a wave here.”

He groaned. The
image was good, he could see, and suited her. The songs all had a
bit of guts to them and she was at her best when belting ‘em out.
She looked like a Goddess. To all this, Joel was slowly succumbing,
in the manner of sinking into quicksand.

“So where’d you
get all this from?”

She didn’t want
to attempt to explain Thyssen—there were no adequate words to do so
anyway. When she had asked, before they departed Kyabram, he had
given her a list of books—one on mythology, one on the geological
history of the earth, and the one by James Lovelock that carried
the whole idea.

“Gaia (Gaea)
the mother-goddess, first and oldest of all Greek goddesses,
deep-breasted giantess, whose soil nourishes all that exist and
whose blessing brings forth the fruits of the earth. The one
supreme goddess, worshipped not only by all men but by the gods
themselves. Gaia was not just the Goddess of the Earth—she was the
Earth itself.”

When she read
this to him, Joel Tierney nodded. “Giantess, okay. Deep-breasted,
yeah you got that. Boss goddess—got it all. So fine, I can see it,
but will they? The punters. Sure it ain’t too high-falutin’ for
`em?”

“They will
learn, Honey,” Andromeda smiled. “I will show them the way.”

“It’s a great
image,” Tierney conceded. “Yeah, it suits you. So, if you want to
play at her, okay. Fine.”

“I won’t be
playing at her, Joel,” she said determinedly. “I am her.”

Extreme! The
Max! Rip into it! He had to be tested all the way, in every way.
Kevin Wagner worked his body furiously, manipulating every muscle
daily. It was the only way forward. Use it or lose it. He could
allow no part to fail him.