Descendant

by Jeffrey A. Levin

  “However,” Chandra adds, “we have decreed to banish both of you for fifteen years.” Chandra nods, signaling a dozen white falcons to escort Lark and Falk to their respective cages.

  A tear falls from Chandra’s eyes.

  Eschew opens his wings and flies slowly toward his wife. He strokes her hair slowly and lovingly. “You’re a beautiful woman, Chandra, and we have done what is necessary. Did you know that religion on Earth originated over sixty thousand years ago? However, our culture and religion on our own planet can be dated back to nearly six million years ago. We have the moral right to hold dominion over the Earthlings; indeed, it is our responsibility to take charge of them once again!”

  Chandra changes form once again, appearing as a majestic bird.

  “You are wise my husband.”

  Eschew nods his head, staring into the eyes of his loyal wife. “It’s time. As a distant descendant of the most powerful bird in all of our proud history, Cerberus Thoth Asmodeus, we must avenge his soul.”

  Earth

  Crypt in the Sand—Outside of Thebes

  May 14, 2401

  10:34.01 a.m.

  “My God, Michael, they’re coming after us; this is for real!”

  “Proto, is the signal still strong?” I ask.

  Proto nods. “I’m using XP band. It is near eight thousand gigahertz, using a radio wavelength of over 10.5 feet.”

  “In English?” Menes quips.

  Proto snickers. “It’s coming in like King Kong being hot-wired by Nikola Tesla!”

  “Whoa!” Maya exclaims.

  “What’s coming in on your Protonet?”

  “It’s what you expected, Michael. Lark and Falk are banished, but Eschew is coming after us. He’s not above revenge, Michael. Even though his words are lofty, he can be a bastard.”

  “How do you know?” Menes inquires.

  “Just ask the people on cha 110913-773444.”

  I shake my head. “For those of you in the dark on this one, let’s just say the rogue planet is now history.” I turn to Proto. “Thank you. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

  “Because these two characters, Eschew and his wife Chandra, are avatars—real spirits—it won’t be long before they find out we’re listening.” Proto adds. “I’m worried what they may do! Remember, Eschew isn’t like everyone else. He’s totally unpredictable. The man, or crazed avatar, is like a cross between Albert Einstein and Adolph Hitler. The more research I do on him, the scarier he becomes.”

  Shiva Temple

  May 14, 2401

  10:35: 02 a.m.

  In the Shiva temple, Eschew extends his wings toward Chandra’s beautiful, adoring face, wiping the moisture from her eyes.

  “We must be strong!” he says.

  Eschew touches his temporal lobe, setting off an alarm signaling the entrance of his top generals. Two strong and keen-eyed eagles fly sturdily toward them.

  “Yes, Lord Master!” the pair say in unison.

  “When the morning comes, I’m issuing an order to attack!”

  “It shall be done, Lord Master,” one of them states. They bow their heads and lower their talons, displaying humility and loyalty to Eschew and Chandra. “What technology do you want us to utilize, my Lord?”

  Eschew looks like a man whose bizarre brilliance holds no bounds. “We can start with long-range high-intensity acoustic fusion.”

  The eagle who asked smiles. “That will wake you up in the morning!”

  Thebes

  May 14, 2401

  10:37: 06 a.m.

  Back at the crypt, Proto shouts, “My God… it’s happening, Michael! I hate to ask you… but are you all right? I mean your depression… Will you be alright?”

  I place my hand on Proto’s shoulder. “You’ve all given me strength. I’m fine; don’t worry.”

  Proto winces.

  CHAPTER 63

  Egypt

  May 14, 2401

  10:39:04 a.m.

  The sand begins swirling like a serpent. The heavens have opened, appearing like a huge tunnel whirling frenetically in the sky. The quartz-like sand is moving as if it has a mind of its own. I hear the wispy sound of deranged sand funnels uttering the words “non compos mentis.”

  “My God, Michael, what’s happening?” Maya asks.

  I take a deep breath. “It’s almost as if the sand is moving on cue. I think we’re being given notice.

  “Notice of what?” Maya screams. “Michael! What’s happening?”

  I glare at the millions of tiny feldspar and mica granules lifting up as if they’ve been given a command. Someone else is in charge. Mounds of sand are lifting in the air like spaceships. They’re swirling in the air, lifting off, and then raining back on top of us like a maelstrom with eyes.

  “Eschew,” I whisper. “This can’t be God’s work!”

  For a moment, I swear I see the image of Ezekial’s face forming inside the frenetic sand, telling me it’s going to be all right. Then I observe many independent swirling masses of sand forming into their own independent vortices, circling like crazed tornadoes synchronized into one demonic dance.

  I need to hold steady. I’m in charge, and I believe the spirits of Ezekial and Bone are with me.

  “Dear God!” Proto exclaims. “It’s all over the intergalactic news, via the international news agency. She shakes her head in horror. “This isn’t good.” She throws on a new anti-WOZY T-shirt for the day. WOZY stands for white dwarf, open universe, zonal wind, and yetis. Proto yawns. “Two hours just isn’t enough sleep.” She thumbs through the intergalactic spectranet. “This guy Eschew is a prominent, extremely wealthy man who has little to no use for human beings—especially those inhabiting Earth.”

  “We’re in trouble,” I say.

  “Why, Michael?”

  “Call it revenge, or in Eshew’s case, call it insanity. Isn’t that what makes our universe roll? I’ve never been given a better explanation.”

  Maya reaches out, placing her arms around my waist. “We all have faith in you, Michael. You need to have faith in yourself.”

  “It’s quiet,” Proto whispers. “Too damn quiet. Actually, there are references to Eschew all over the universe. Apparently he thinks of himself as some sort of new-age God. Beware of him, Proto; the man is a genius and a dictator. He’s no one to be trifled with. I wonder which one of those stars Eschew lives on?” Proto asks, staring dreamily off into the sky.

  “Funny, Protes,” I reply “If he is one of the bird clan descended from Thoth, we’re all in trouble.”

  Sahara Desert

  May 14, 2401

  10:40: 33 a.m.

  I do my best to keep vigil over my little band of three all night. Have you ever spent an evening in the hot desert? The sounds are eerie; after all, the nocturnal carnivores become active only past midnight; like clockwork, these creepy crawlers emerge from whatever rock they’ve crawled out from under, stretching their creepy legs and extending their hairy tentacles. These particular insects can be extremely lethal; also the grotesque reptiles, the hairy arachnids, the horny vipers, and, of course, those insane-looking wheat eaters keep me company.

  “Mozart!” I say out loud, thinking about the creepy insect rhapsody penetrating my ears.

  Menes is snoring like a madman, cranking out horror story tunes that would rival ancient Marilyn Manson tunes.

  Yes, I plead guilty. My total mania drives me to do what I do next.

  “Menes! Menes! Wake up!” I say.

  Menes rolls over. “Is it happening?” he screams.

  “No, I just can’t sleep, man … I need company,” I say pathetically.

  Menes rolls over and grabs his guitar.

  “Michael, I think you might like my repertoire of Egyptian folk tunes.”

  “Sure,” I
whisper, thinking he’s got to be better than the vipers that have been serenading me all evening.

  As Menes begins his impromptu concert, I decide to lie on my back and stare at the myriad stars flashing like crazed fireflies.

  “This is called ‘Maqamat’; I think you’ll like it,” Menes utters.

  In case you’re interested, Menes’s voice sounds like Bob Dylan off drugs, or perhaps the ancient Monkeys on meth. Neither one is a pretty picture.

  Somewhere around 3:17 a.m., Menes whips out a type of flute called a ney. It sounds so good, I almost want to kiss him! Compared to the sounds of the soloist horny viper, not to mention the Egyptian folk tunes, Menes’s flute sounds pretty good!

  Against the moonless black sky, I begin to wonder, When is it coming? When is the shrill beam shooting across the galaxies going to reach our remote spot in the desert? I’m slowly going nuts, Egyptian desert style. The slow, crazy anticipation of annihilation begins to eat away at you, for all you can do is to absorb the eerie sounds of the stalking night.

  Menes places his flute down. “Did you know that the Egyptians have a god for just about everything? Aken is the god of night, and his colleague is a cryptic man called Ra, who crosses the underworld in the dead of night every evening alongside the ghost of Thoth.”

  I’m nearly nodding off. “Sounds nice, Menes,” I say as I begin to fall under the auspices of elusive dreams. Then I awake again.

  The hours wane on. I fall asleep, wake up, and fall asleep again. Finally I begin to dream about Thoth. I see his boat floating across the sky. For a while, it is quiet, until my new familiarity with the monstrous bird by the name of Eschew materializes into focus. Eschew is riding across the sky in a boat of his own. He is laughing at me, taunting me, and telling me to show my face and quit hiding under the sands of the desert. “Annihilation!” he screams, and then he disappears into the vacuous night sky.

  But that’s not all. I dream I’m in a cemetery. I have binoculars, and I’m looking for someone. Then I hear Eschew’s voice. “Where’s Maya?” he says pleasantly.

  “Damn, he’s after her too!” I feel as if I can’t breathe.

  My eyes pop open! I see only the blackness of the tarnished, forbidding firmament. The long, drawn-out melodious reverberations of Proto’s snoring, the peculiar intonations of Menes’s flute, and the high-pitched, wispy staccato vibrations of Maya’s sweet sounds form a melody that keeps me awake under the lonely, unforgiving black sky. My mind reels over and over again, thinking about Eschew’s request. Why does he want to know where Maya is? Why can’t he just leave us alone?

  I glare at my watch; it is now 10:41 a.m., and I am redefining “alone” in the insufferable desert. I peer at Maya in her red sleeping bag; then I observe Proto nestling in her soft protoblanket; yes, electrons were vibrating, soothing her body in subatomic coolness, offsetting the heat of the Sahara. Menes has literally fallen asleep playing the flute; now he’s engaged in a constant wrestling match with his cute little pink sleeping bag. Really?

  Oddly, I begin thinking about my dad. It’s funny how a blanket of foreboding darkness can dampen one’s mood. I smile, thinking about Benjamin and his wonderful quirks. I recollect a kid sliding down the bannister, knocking his dad on his keister. Maybe I was wrong about my dad all along.

  Eventually the sun comes up screaming overhead. Proto squeals at the top of her lungs, “Oh my God! There’s chanting going on all over the world!” She turns up the volume on her quarkometer. They’re chanting! I hear the Buddhists in India!

  “Nam-kyoho-renge-kyo!”

  “Hear it?” she inquires. “Listen! The Buddhists are chanting sutras! The Shakyamuni are shouting from the peaks of Nepal! The Hopis are dancing! The Mayans are gathering around ancient temples, praying for the god king to appear again. Women in the Isles are bringing chocolates to the church and singing the praises of God!”

  Some of the native ancient aboriginal tribes in Africa chant in unison, “Hail to the sun god!”

  “This is nuts!” I proclaim. “Proto, how did this happen?” I wipe the sandy soot off my eyes, staring into the bright sun of the new day.

  Proto charges me like a wild boar. “Do you remember when I went into the bathroom at Mummies in Thebes? I nod, feeling progressively more anxious.

  “There was a woman in there! It turns out that she was a journalist from Great Britain.”

  “And…?”

  Proto’s eyes pop outward, beaming like a cross between a serpent and the devil himself. “She planted a recording device on me somehow. She’s heard every word we’ve said since we left Thebes! Look! There’s a damn CNN Jetstream Skylon helicopter overhead. We’re screwed!”

  Menes and Maya slowly peek out of their sleeping bags. Menes’s eyes open like scared rabbits from his pink sleeping bag.

  “Do something, Michael,” Proto pleads. “Do something!”

  I shake my head. “We’ve lost all signals coming from Hevyo. Eschew’s on to us!”

  CHAPTER 64

  Planet Hevyo

  May 15, 2401

  10:43 a.m.

  Eschew considers himself to be a fair man. He is the foremost religious figure on Hevyo, but more notably, his creative scientific knowledge is surpassed by none. Total destruction of Earth? “Perhaps,” he utters. After all, there are alternatives. If anyone understands that, it is Eschew.

  Alternatives? Yes, alternative realities, Eschew reflects as he thinks about his simulated beach. He smiles, envisioning the mountainous waves crashing against the shore. After all, to Eschew, the entire universe is just one big creative playground to be manipulated by him.

  Being a philosopher extraordinaire, Eschew views people on Earth for who they are; they’re just a loud, violent, emotional, childlike species truly unworthy of major consideration. He clears his throat. “So why the fuss?” he says softly.

  Eschew studies a note from an old friend on Earth. “Interesting,” he says out loud. “Perhaps my clever friend has a point.”

  A caustic grin flashes on Eschew’s regal face as he walks out of his living room and opens a door, emerging onto his beautiful, surreal beach. He shifts his magnetic talons onto a mouse-like structure in the air.

  “More wind,” he says, and there is wind. “More blue in the sky!” Eschew smiles, observing his creation refining itself before his own eyes. “Whiter, more billowy clouds.” He watches the clouds transform to his liking. “Reality?” he whispers. “What is reality?”

  Why murder the people on Earth, when I can utilize them in my gigantic experiment? Yes, my friend may have a point. Eschew breaks out into wild laughter. And revenge will be sweet!

  Eschew’s own simulation of himself takes off his sandals and slowly saunters toward his perfectly created artificial water. He prefers 68.5 degrees. Perhaps it’s a little warm, but it’s nice. An entire ocean stands in front of him. “Flawless!” he says out loud for his own entertainment.

  “I like masterminding various scenarios, bizarre life forms… how much fun!” Eschew declares to the crashing waves on his simulated beach. “What an amazing dream!”

  “Higher waves!” Eschew says. Then he waves his feathers in triumph. “No, this isn’t virtual reality, my friends,” he exclaims. “This is reality! This is my reality! So what’s the important ingredient? Is it the physical surroundings, or is it simply consciousness itself?”

  “Yes! I will create temples! Altars! Sacred gods! They will worship me! Who can stop me? As for those people on Earth, they will become my minions.” Eschew didn’t like the word “slaves.” “That’s a nasty word,” he muses. “They’ll just be my friendly little helpers.” He shakes his head. “I guess I wouldn’t mind sharing this with my secret friend.”

  Eschew says, “Enter,” speaking into his remote microphone.

  A man appears. Yes, he is Eschew’s creation, but nevertheless, he is a man—Dr. R
aven Black.

  Eschew the creator! He creates man! The same as God! Eschew ponders.

  “Dr. Raven Black has been on my staff for the last fifteen years,” Eschew suggests aloud, using his newest technology. Does he have a name like that female narcissistic nut, Proto? He muses. No. “Life isn’t a product; it’s an art form.” Eschew says out loud for his own entertainment.

  “Hello, Eschew, I am here at your pleasure. What is it that you require of me?”

  No! Eschew thinks. I want someone less compliant. However, I do want someone who ultimately respects me. “Make Dr. Raven Black studious appearing, a little enigmatic, yet totally loyal to me! Now… enter! Dr. Raven Black is now my loyal servant. Done! Okay, let’s try this again; hopefully Dr. Raven won’t be such a tool!”

  Dr. Raven Black enters. He is dressed in black pants and a silky white shirt. His top three buttons are open, revealing his chest. Dr. Black is one of the world’s most renowned authors, having written the book Creating My Universe.

  “Okay… enter!”

  Dr. Black walks confidently on the sand toward the highly sensitive, brilliant Eschew. Dr. Black’s wings remain folded, demonstrating his respect for Eschew.

  “Hello, Eschew, I’ve been told that you are in need of my services. Yet I’m confused; I thought you wanted to destroy the entire planet—Earth?”

  Eschew smiles. “GR8!” he mind-texts. My voice recognition works. Okay, let’s let this conversation move spontaneously and see what happens. “I am a God!” He muses.

  Proto hits pause, stopping their MUMS tape of Eschew. “He’s something else, isn’t he? What do you think, Michael? Did you notice that he referenced me?”

  I laugh. “Yeah, he called you a narcissistic nut!”

  Proto runs her fingers through her red hair; then she places her Cubs hat back on. “You know Michael…The Cubs actually did win the World Series. I think we have a shot against this guy!”

  I take a very deep breath. “Well, let’s see; the man is extremely bright. He already lives inside of his own virtual reality program. He’s his own demigod. Perhaps he thinks he’s God himself.”