by Gary Starta
We both stood in front of a tank of water. Brahms held a remote in his hand and doused the colored lights. “We don’t want anything to influence the water but ourselves.”
Minutes later, on Brahms’ instruction, I found myself chanting the worlds love and gratitude. I really wasn’t feeling the love and Brahms called me out on the carpet.
“Come on, Agent Diggs. Say it like you mean it.”
So I did. I thought about my sister Tara, living a world apart from me along with my beloved pet, Celeste. They were my family and although I couldn’t be with them, I knew they were alive and well. My voice quavered. “Loove…gratitude…love…grat-titude…”
When we finished, Brahms took my hand and cupped it in his. “That was very lovely, wasn’t it?”
I smirked. “Yes, yes it was.”
“We have left our imprint. Now in order to fully convince you that the water completely understood our message we must deliver another message that is diametric in nature. Actually, I respectfully can’t ask you to partake in this portion of the experiment. But you can watch me if you like. So you know I wasn’t fudging the results.” He ambled over to the water tank located in the opposite corner.
Minutes later I knew why he excluded me. Brahms, usually the picture of a distinguished scholar, had again transformed. He hurled epithets and curses at the tank, he stomped his feet and even put his thumbs in his ears while simultaneously flailing his hands in child like defiance at the helplessly trapped liquid. Could one feel sorry for water? As strange as it sounds, at that instant, I did.
“Now we wait,” he said.
“For what?” I asked.
He explained the water would now be frozen and later, photographs would be taken using a dark field microscope. “You will see for yourself that vibration of human intention physically affects the molecular crystal structure of water. And hopefully you will conclude that being nice to your next glass of water is most definitely in your best interests.”
Brahms offered to send the pictures via his camera phone. I suggested that might be risky, perhaps drawing the attention of the Knights of the White Temple.
“Don’t be concerned. I’ll send the pictures from another location. I never bring my phone to the lab nor would I be so stupid as to broadcast what I ate for breakfast on that damned Face List.”
Satisfied Brahms’ secret lab would remain a secret, I left. I called a cab from a payphone and made for my home. Later that evening, I enjoyed Brahms’ works of art. The photos were exquisite, brilliant. Beautiful crystalline structures had formed in the water we’d blessed with our love. But the ugly machinations of Brahms were also revealed in the other less fortunate tank of water where blackish streaks of ugliness gashed the water in brutal scythe-like fashion. Now I not only felt sorry for the water, but empathized with its pain.
So we had a working theory, but we had just that, a theory. Cosmic remotes, coded water and manufactured wormholes were engrossing subject matter. But not the kind of hard evidence I could include in a field report. With both resolve and doubt, I’d call in the favor Nephthys had promised me.
Chapter 10
Tut Tweets
Assistant Director Grant, aka my boyfriend Chuck, appeared to walk in two different universes. Although he was dressed in a pastel lime suit with an olive-colored shirt, the ornament dangling from his neck betrayed his solemn expression. Such jewelry, called a scarab, also dangled from my neck and from the thousands of citizens gathered to meet what the media had dubbed “the Entourage.” Arm in arm we approached our front row seats for the meet and greet, feeling small and insignificant below the white and gleaming Washington Monument. But as we seated ourselves, I believed our esteem issues were more rooted in the presence of our Egyptian visitors than a towering statue. Yes. I still did not feel like a goddess despite my mind-share with Isis.
We all sat in awe, wearing the gifts of the Egyptians, a beetle-shaped green amulet called a scarab associated with the god Khepri who we would meet along with a host of gods and goddesses. Along with these lesser gods—basically any other god not part of the Ennead—were Egyptian humans, most notably King Tutankhaman—or Tut for short. Basically, any visitor who hadn’t arrived via comet and water bubble fit the bill.
Arriving in no more than a dozen ships, the Entourage wasn’t a large consortium of Egyptian divinity and the reborn. It’s probably the main reason why our government, our people and our media refrained from the normal human hysteria associated with facing the unknown. I also had to suspect some sort of spell was at work. Despite Dr. Brahm’s assurances that the Ennead did not operate via magic, the very words “land of Egypt” are rooted from the word alchemy—an ancient magical power of transmuting. And if you ask me, you’d be hard pressed to find an ancient Egyptian from, oh say, three thousand years ago—who didn’t believe in hocus pocus.
Getting back to the nifty jewelry, the amulets are so named for scarabs which are dung beetles that roll their eggs in a pellet. This symbolizes, for ancient Egyptians, the pushing of the sun across the sky by the aforementioned Kephri. It so doesn’t bring to mind any sun-related imagery for me. Nonetheless, the scarab beetle became a symbol for rebirth, or the ability to be reborn. It would seem magic controlled the entire universe for the ancient Egyptians. And as I began to watch the Entourage file onto a platform, some part of me believed magic had indeed been responsible for this alleged rebirth. Although Brahms did a good job at convincing me the Ennead had stored their genetic coding in water, awaiting a resurrection, I now had to ponder just how did these other beings come into being? They traveled more conventionally, in a starship. All right a starship isn’t quite conventional, unless you’re a trekkie, but it sure seems so compared to water-propelled bubble-craft.
The crowd murmured, conversation frothing like foam on a wave. Bits of scattered phrases could be discerned. All were thirsty for knowledge, it seemed. Would the newly arrived Egyptians share the secrets of space travel or the construction of the pyramids, if the not the most coveted of mysteries, our very afterlife? The media broadcasted a prepared memorandum from the Ennead stating that all arrivals would assist the human condition, be it via workshops or online tutelage. Yes, these Egyptians somehow knew all about our modern culture, our languages and even our fashion. In turn, citizens were eager to adopt not only the scarabs but other symbolic jewelry including a representation of the Ankh—the symbol of life. Some months back, I mysteriously received a tattoo in the shape of the Ankh, which bears resemblance to a looped knot. You might recall it stung me during my investigation of the president’s assassination. You also might have guessed I’m a lot less enthusiastic about its presence. But it’s purple in color and Chuck finds it very fashionable if not downright sexy. I couldn’t tell him it just magically appeared, so I blamed it on a misjudgment of youth. Although I felt awful lying, Chuck didn’t even seem to hear my explanation, too enraptured in the tat’s ink-based thrall.
Speaking of thralls, Chuck nudged me from my stupor with his arm. “So how is the investigation coming?”
“It’s in the hands of Nephthys and her investigators, Chuck. I have little or no leads.”
“How can you say that? You still suspect a connection via water? That means—”
“I know what it means. It means I have a theory. That’s all.” I felt Chuck’s impatience slice through me, the uneasy butterfly feeling you get in your stomach when you know something just isn’t right. “Okay, I’m not a hundred percent convinced the Ennead aren’t somehow involved. But they’ve responded to my request.” I stammered. I wanted to say more. I didn’t want to go off on a tangent in public.
Chuck took my hand in his. “I’m sure if Deputy Director Seals condones the Ennead’s assistance, then all is right with the world.”
I smiled before he did. “Okay, got me.” I laughed and poked a finger into his toned abdomen.
“That tickles. You’re not playing fair…” He feigned anger but his eyes were filled with mischievo
usness. In truth, I loved it too. But I couldn’t help deciphering his word choice. It removed my focus from sex and put it back onto the arrivals. Yes, it seemed—on a much grander scale—that the Ennead weren’t playing fair. The frustration was that I couldn’t put a finger on it, despite my Isis connection.
I knew about the ancient Egyptians, I had learned from Charlize. She informed me their love of festivals rivaled none. In fact, my pet Bast—so named for the Egyptian cat goddess Bastet—was often the focus of love fests which included much imbibing of alcohol and, as a consequence, a whole lot of sexual indulgence. Okay. Back on the sex vibe, I playfully ran a hand, spiderlike, over Chuck’s thigh. Fortunately, I stopped before a young admirer caught me.
“Charlize, I’m so glad you made it!” I rose and hugged the teen with exuberance. At moments like these, I loved her like a daughter, whether she was genetically crafted or not.
Chuck flashed a beaming smile which was great because he was not initially sold on the idea of exposing the paranormal songstress to the public. I wasn’t either. But with the demons gone, I didn’t think the Knights of the White Temple would notice. Why wouldn’t they too be celebrating, dancing in the streets, with their arch rivals obliterated? My anger flushed my cheeks.
“Something wrong, Star of the Sea?” Charlize asked.
“No, dear. I mean, I’m still concerned for your safety, that’s all,” I whispered in her ear.
“I know. If my mother weren’t out of country, I would never be here.” All of a sudden, her eyes lit up. “Look, I have someone who wants to say hello.”
She opened a carrier and out popped Bast. Feeling concerned about Charlize’s loneliness, I’d let the teen temporarily adopt my Tonk. It had lifted her spirits. I knew she felt abandoned, not just by her mother’s absence, but because of the demon disappearance. She had no demonic urges to inhibit with her lovely voice. I kissed her cheek as Bast danced in her lap.
Charlize giggled. “Don’t you think it’s fitting that Bastet meets the Egyptians?”
I smiled and wondered if the real Egyptian cat goddess would make an appearance, but she never did.
A host of gods including Anubis, the jackel-headed god of the dead; Hathor, the Egyptian cow goddess and Anat, a warrior goddess spoke about the concept of R.E.A.P.—or the reunification of earth and people.
Anat who carried a rod known as a was—spoke forcefully but diplomatically. She addressed the crowd as if a football coach, citing the importance all of players or citizens.
“Some of you will not achieve what is defined as greatness in the modern world. You may not possess great wealth, a great career and never invent a great machine or produce a work of art. You may have never even thought to walk these paths; instead, you may have sought comfort in another human’s arms or strived to make a family. For this, you are to be commended. Re’s rays of light loves you not any less. We are all children of the light, and—we are all connected.” She raised her was in salute.
The speech met with varied response. Chuck shook his head, “Sounds like a great excuse for banality to me; an excellent reason to become a couch potato.”
I could only fathom it was Anat’s attempt to bridge the gap between the gods and the people. If these gods indeed walked on ancient Egyptian sands at one time, did they have to work at congeniality? Or did the masses readily and willingly fall to their knees in worship in their presence? I wondered if the gods would perceive a less than zealous reaction as an act of defiance. I noticed my heart beating just under the smattering of applause. It made me wonder if exposing Charlize to the arrivals was a smart idea. Besides being equipped with superpowers, I had a strong suspicion their starships possessed some cutting edge weaponry.
Yet Charlize remained relaxed, gently stroking Bast’s fur throughout the talks. A typical teen, she seemed to care less about the gods’ efforts to retune people with its Earth. I believed she would find what she dubbed “the after party” to be more palatable to her tween tastes. In ancient Egypt, pyramid workers were rewarded with beer and onions for their efforts. Now, some three thousand years later, the same type of food and beverage pleased the palette. Only Americans, the Egyptians were advised, preferred their onions to couple with things like pizza which took a bit of sting out of the pithy vegetable. Good thing. I could imagine a gaggle of foul-breathed watery-eyed groupies failing miserably in their quest to bed a god. Speaking of which, I caught Charlize quite agog over a boy king I recognized to be none other than Tutankahmen.
“Look,” Charlize squealed, pointing an unabashed finger, “Tut is texting. It’s soooo cute.”
I recalled Charlize’s attempt to educate me on this world’s history. I wished I paid more attention. I tried to remember if this world’s Tut died at the same age as in this world. If so, the boy king appeared to be about nineteen, the age of his demise in my universe.
All the while I pondered, Charlize gave not so surreptitious glances at Tut. I wondered what kind of domino effect I might have set off. Joking about groupies vying to bed gods and goddesses was one thing; it was quite another to observe a girl who I would be proud to call my daughter ogling someone whose history I was unsure of and most likely had no living parents I might interview to ascertain his worthiness. Yes, you heard right. King or not, Tut had to earn his way into my Charlize’s precious heart.
Chuck nestled his mouth to my ear. “I wonder what this Tut might be needed for, not to mention, the sampling of ordinary folk.”
I moved my lips, unable to form an intelligible answer. I theorized the people who appeared to be nothing other than human might serve as servants. But what would they need with a king?
It was as if Charlize heard us. She answered on cue. “King Tut was beloved among the gods because he re-introduced the belief in multiple gods. Whereas his direct precedent, Akhenaten, tried to abolish most of the complex mythology that had grown up around the solar cycle, including the belief in the scarab you are so fashionably wearing. When Tut reigned, the belief in a monotheistic religion died along with Akhenaten’s brief attempt to outsource the Ennead.”
I whisked a beer off a passing tray and downed a sip. “Ooh”, I said, wiping my lips with a napkin, “you didn’t just see that.”
“I’m nearly legal,” Charlize responded with Bast dangling on the perch of her shoulder.
“My, my, what a lovely pussy,” a voice said out of nowhere.
I turned on my heels—with Chuck’s assistance—to find myself face to face with Hathor. She was a cow goddess in name only. In other words, beauty radiated off her skin like the sun; her chestnut eyes glowed with just a glint of orange and her green linen dress slinked off her shoulders exposing the most supple, moist skin I’ve ever seen on any goddess. Translation—she was no cow.
I caught Chuck drinking her beauty with his gaze. I couldn’t blame him. She was an otherworld babe. I, on the other hand, was just a fetching Bureau agent in a very ordinary low-cut black dress.
Charlize defended me in her own adorable manner, but made an even awkward moment, more awkward. “Don’t you just love Agent Diggs’ black dress? Isis was always depicted in black because of her association with the Nile.”
The little factoid failed to faze the cow goddess. Instead, she put out a hand to greet Bast. But catching my beloved Tonk off guard resulted in a scratched and bleeding hand.
“Ah. Don’t worry. I heal quickly.”
She was right. Very right… In seconds the bleeding stopped and new skin formed a seal over her cut.
I took Bast into my hands to comfort her. Hathor blazed a smile that could rival the sparkle of a diamond, but I sensed little warmth emanating off her. It might be because I’m not very empathic regarding gods. Or she might be a phony.
Charlize introduced us all—ever the adult.
Hathor grabbed a slice off a passing tray. “Bastet, you say?” She paused to bite into my favorite American indulgence. An indulgence I could no longer afford because I needed to purify myself in the word
s of Briana; who, by the way, I caught out of the corner of my eye collecting some herbs off a kiosk.
Hathor finished her mouthful and lit up the world with another one of her dazzling smiles, much to Chuck’s delight. “It is ironic she would be named Bastet and find herself in the company of Egyptian divinity.”
“I thought so too,” Charlize said smiling, nonplussed in response to Hathor’s high and mighty rhetoric.
“Come,” Hathor motioned with her arms and took Charlize into her embrace. “It’s a joy to see the youth have a very bright future ahead of them.
“And it was so nice to meet you, Agent Diggs. As you may imagine, the Ennead—and—all of us lesser gods and goddesses would be fascinated to share a meal with you. It would allow us all an opportunity to spend time with our beloved goddess, Isis.”
I nodded, only to be polite.
I turned back the way I faced to find the god Thoth staring me down.
His eyes were ferocious. I feared I would be devoured by his gaze until a smile put a cinch in his armor. “You might want to watch out for that one,” Thoth said, his gaze following Hathor’s departure. “Oh, by the way,” he added, “nice kitty.”
I had little time to digest the cryptic statement. Briana jogged towards me, arms full of glass jars.
“What have you been up to?” I inquired.
“The usual…herb hoarding, if you must know.”
“You better watch out or you’ll end up on some reality show.”
She feigned to gag. “Not on this ethereal plane, my dear.”
“So what you got?”
“Cinnamon, cumin and lotus… But we have little time to discuss the Egyptian’s affinity for homeopathic remedies. I have a message from Nephthys. She needs to meet with us ASAP.”
“Do you know why?” I asked.
“It’s about the case, no doubt. Deputy Director Seals feels she’s going to tell us who murdered the president.”