by Ernest Hogan
This was more of the sort of thing his brother Quetzalcóatl would have liked to do, with his passion for order. For a moment, Tezcatlipoca regretted having tricksterized his brother, getting him drunk so he couldn't help but give in to his secret desire to stick his oversized penis into Quetzalpetlatl, their sexy sister. When Quetzalcóatl had made that raft of live serpents and floated off into the ocean, eastward, to the region of Tlapallán, Tezcatlipoca had believed that now he had it made: The universe was his.
But then, Tezcatlipoca hadn't had access to all the pertinent data. He had had no idea that there could be more to the universe than he had known. That the aliens would come and totally transform his world, and that it would take him over five hundred years to adjust and become powerful enough to conquer the aliens, too. Would Quetzalcóatl have fared better?
My brother, Tezcatlipoca thought, where are you now?
*
Some frantic noises from the infosystem got Tan Tien's attention. Carefully, she put down her tea and glided over to check what was flashing on a few screens.
"Interesting," she said. "The Tezcatlipoca entity is contacting entertainment and music nets on a planetwide scale. It's giving them the same message, and what seems to be a high-quality sound recording, a piece of music of some kind . . ."
"Music," said Zobop, putting down his tea and going over to check the screens. When the cathode ray light reflected off his obsidian-dark eyes he pursed his lips. "This all may have more to do with blues than I first thought. Perhaps we should play it?"
"What could it hurt?" replied Ralph.
Xochitl made the sign of the cross.
Phoebe and Caldonia were bored and looking into each other's eyes, and touching like lovers. But when "Smoking Mirror Blues" came on, they forgot about each other.
*
Beto could hear it.
He could hear it even while Smokey was using his mouth, his voice to instruct the roadies on how to pack up the equipment. They had been at the El Monte studio too long, reporters and fans were starting to close in, so Tezcatlipoca had found a new headquarters in the Anaheim Hills. And through it all, Beto could hear "Smoking Mirror Blues" coming out of a hyperamped radio, through the ears that had once been his, and echoing through the brain that had been hooked up to them.
He recognized it as being based on "Tezcatlipoca Blues," the song that had hypnotized him and left him open for possession. But more had been changed than translating the Náhuatl into English. The beat was even more percussion-oriented, and more complex in its polyrhythmic structure – it slowed down and speeded up in a way that distorted the sense of time, made time seem to cease to exist; it got hard, deep, then softened as the "trickster war news" lyrics of the original version were altered by Smokey's vocals, which were compelling, but which communicated more through moans and growls than words, like lines about "returning lost gods" and "screaming restless souls" and the "joyous devouring of hot, juicy hearts." Beto was enthralled again.
And he could feel himself fading away.
*
So, I don't know about you recombozo and recombozoettes, but I'm gonna shoot some of my hard-earned credit to GloboNet through my local entertainment agent so I can check out this historic world-wide event! Not to would be so un-sumato!
*
"You know," said Lila, "Smokey really must be a god."
"Really," said Chucho.
"I guess so," said Zen.
*
Zobop forced his eyelids down, clamped his mouth shut, frowned, and was the first to talk after "Smoking Mirror Blues" came blasting through the infosystem.
"Extremely power blues. It's beautiful," he said, "but dangerous."
Tan Tien's eyelids delicately fluttered. She took three complete yoga breaths, then said, "Yes, Zobop. The rhythm pushes the listeners into a near-dissociative state of consciousness in a way that is more effective than most of the world's ritual music. It could open people's minds. It could also enslave them."
Caldonia's head snapped up, her eyes wide; she made a noise that was halfway between a gasp and a whoop. "Damn that Smokey," she said, wiping the sweat from her brow. "I'm either going to have to kill him or have his baby."
"Oh my God," said Ralph.
"Ay dios mío," echoed Xochitl.
Phoebe licked her lips, closed her eyes and said, "Oh Smokey! I want you! I want to be at your concert – in the flesh!"
Caldonia smirked and gave her an elbow in the ribs.
"Chingow!" Phoebe said, rubbing the impact area and giving Caldonia a oh-you-vicious-insensitive-bitch look.
Then a blast of static surged through the infosystem and said, in Smokey's voice:
"Your wish will be granted, Phoebe!"
*
It is worse than we could have possibly imagined. The Satanic Tezcatlipoca phenomenon has created a soul-destroying song that it obviously plans to use to damn most of the human race, using modern information technology. We must immediately proceed to use the god-simulating program to create an artificial intelligence manifestation of the One True God. It is the only way we can save the world from Satanic domination. May God have mercy on their souls.
18. HOLLYWOOD HOLY WAR
Special tactical team leader reporting. We are approaching the old Bank of America building at Hollywood and Vine. All weaponry has been locked and loaded. We are ready for the encounter with the heathen devils. May God have mercy on their souls.
*
Macha felt strange as she, Oscardo and the others neared Hollywood and Vine. It was that feeling she often got just before some kind of violence broke out.
"I gotta feeling," she said.
"Feminine intuition?" asked Oscardo.
She punched him in the arm, hard enough to bruise. "We're in trouble. We better look out."
"We better listen to her," said Pit.
"Yeah," said Kitty-Kitty. "She's never wrong about such things."
Oscardo grumbled. Pirañha and Snork gave some affirmative grunts.
*
We've spotted six individuals of various sexes heading towards Hollywood and Vine in a fast march. They are dressed in Los Olvidadoid colors. Smokey Espejo and the Satanic Tezcatlipoca entity have Los Olvidadoid connections. We'll be ready to engage them if necessary. We will attack if they approach the old Bank of America building first. May God have mercy on their souls.
*
Oscardo, Macha and their teams crossed the street toward the Old Bank of America building at Hollywood and Vine and immediately came under attack. They couldn't tell who was attacking them. People jumped out of the crowd and flailed at them with people prods, stun guns, irritant sprays, gantleted fists and booted feet.
The Olvidadoid guards and enforcers tried to fight back, but it was hard to tell who the attackers were: The man in the suit that gave a simulated view of his internal organs? The woman in the multicolored outfit of sequins and feathers that only showed her blood-red lips and gleaming white teeth? The old euro man in the uniform of a Chinese Cultural Revolution Red Guard? The flame-eyed, monkey-faced demon? The little afro woman with the blonde pigtails and the vagina-pink communion dress? They were good. Pros.
Then there were reports of shots from short-range Bigazzi bangsticks, shotgun shells fitted on dagger-like handles rigged to go off with a stabbing thrust.
Kitty-Kitty was the first. They got her from the back, just to the side of the spine and below the ribcage. Her guts burst out in front of her, flowing all over the street and passersby. She cried and clawed at them with her long, artificial nails before going into shock and losing consciousness.
Snork got it in his thick neck. He head came completely off. He looked surprised.
Oscardo got it in the heart, like an Aztec sacrifice. He stared into the bloody hole in his chest before falling over.
Pit's head was exploded like an overripe melon in the summer sun.
Macha got it right between the legs, and gave birth to her own death in chunky flood of blood
.
Pirañha got it in the side of the mouth so her sharp, shiny teeth went flying across the street along with most of the mangled contents of her skull.
The crowd went berserk; some folks joined in the mayhem, while others ran for their lives.
*
The sound of gunshots and fighting tore Ralph away from the flashing screens that were overwhelming him with what Tezcatlipoca/Smokey Espejo was/were doing. He dashed over and looked out a window.
"Hey . . ." he said. ". . . uh . . . there's a riot going on out there."
"Shit," said Caldonia.
"It's on these screens over here," said Xochitl. Ralph and Caldonia turned away from the window and watched the screens.
"Chingow," said Phoebe, rubbing her aching ribs, staring at the image of Smokey on a nearby screen.
*
Police? All hell's broken out at Hollywood and Vine! Where are you? Oh. So, call the National Guard and get them over here! There's blood all over! People are being killed! No, this isn't a crank call! I've got it on video! For God's sake, hurry!
*
Director Ho just shook his head as the call came in on one of his monitor screens. It was going to be like last year all over again; rioting everywhere, his hands tied; and even if it could be stopped in time, the National Guard would get all the credit. And there would more cutbacks, so he'd be even more helpless and useless next year.
He thought about moving someplace where they respected law enforcement, like Singapore. If only they were more tolerant toward Christians . . .
He didn't know what to do about the stuff on the screens coming in from the link with Tan Tien's infosystem. AI god-entities being conjured up and infecting the entire mediasphere . . .
What was becoming of the world? How could God allow such things to happen?
He was disillusioned. But he prayed anyway.
*
We have dispatched the Los Olvidadoids at Hollywood and Vine. May God have mercy on their souls.
We are proceeding to the Ti Yong/Hoodoo Investigations office in the old Bank of America building. May God have mercy on their souls.
*
Tezcatlipoca tried to contact the guards and enforcers, but there was no answer.
"Oscardo? Macha?" he cried out through the system. "Where are you?"
They simply did not answer.
Scanning brought him media coverage of the riot at Hollywood and Vine.
Forces he could not control were at work. This bothered him.
He wondered what his brother Quetzalcóatl would do.
*
When part of the infosystem started beeping, Tan Tien and Zobop sprang up and checked that special little screen.
"A large group of individuals are approaching us," said Zobop. "They are heavily armed."
"Could they just be part of the riot?" asked Tan Tien.
"Shit," interjected Caldonia.
"Could be," said Zobop, "but they are not engaging the National Guard. They are heading for our door."
"Shit!" Caldonia danced around like a boxer. "What are we going to do?"
Zobop did some quick keying. "I'm activating our proactive security system."
*
This had been the craziest day Mario Li had had since he first started pulling limo duty for Novacorp eight years ago. First a brawl in the lobby of the Bonaventure, then a reassignment to go to Hollywood and Vine to pick up the same rider. He didn't know about this Smokey Espejo character, but even if he never picked up this Phoebe person, he was still on the clock and bucks were flowing into his bank account; and besides, he had gotten a free Smokey Espejo T-shirt that his oldest daughter would probably like.
The things kids were into these days. Sometimes he wondered what the world was coming to.
By the time he got to the intersection of Hollywood and Vine it was full of fighting, spattered blood, and National Guardspersons. It wasn't cordoned off yet, but the fighting was so thick he wouldn't be able to get through even with his special permit to take his hydrogen-burner into the no-car zone. He wondered if he should call Smokey.
Riot foam erupted, engulfing the self-destructive crowd in its tranquilizing embrace like devouring blob-creature from some silly twentieth-century sci-fi flick.
He decided to drive clear of riot, find a place to park and suck some Fun until things calmed down.
*
The man in the internal organ suit, the monkey-faced demon, and the girl in the communion dress managed to make it through the riot and the foam to the main entrance of the old Bank of America building.
"Hello," said the building directory. "May I help you?"
"Yes," said the communion girl. "We need to get to the office of Ti-Yong/Hoodoo Investigations."
"Simply follow this map," the directory said as a multilevel floor plan appeared with the way to the office highlighted in bright yellow on its screen.
The demon pointed a claw at the screen. "This leads through an elevator."
The organ-suit man frowned. "Insecure."
"This map requires the use of an elevator," said the communion girl. "Is there a stairway we can use?"
"Yes there is." An alternate highlighted path using the stairway appeared.
"Thank you," said the communion girl.
"It was a pleasure to be of service," said the directory.
*
We are in the old Bank of America building, making the final approach to the Ti Yong/Hoodoo Investigations office. May God have mercy on their souls.
*
As you can see, the dangerous, spontaneously-generated near-riot situation here at Hollywood and Vine has been successfully neutralized with Goldfarb-Oster's fantastic new product, Peace Foam. Just minutes after deployment this entire famous intersection was just brimming over with green foam, and rioters were rapidly absorbing heavy doses of new synthetic tranquilizer, designed to have relatively few side-effects. Suddenly, there was peace and quiet! Even the Dead Daze music was temporarily blotted out by the slurpy sound of Peace Foam. The foam itself is dissolving now. Soggy, tranquilized ex-rioters – and probably a few unfortunate innocent bystanders – are emerging from the receding green muck. Let's see if this experience has left any of them any the worse for wear. Hm. This woman looks interesting. Kind of overdid it on the feathers and sequins, but my, what lovely teeth. Excuse me, but what was it like to be in the middle of a riot, then tranquilized by Goldfarb-Oster's new Peace Foam?
"The forces of Satan cannot stop us. The Earth Angels will triumph in the name of the One True God. Destroying lives is justified if it saves souls. Let God sort them out. We are the Earth Angels, the instruments of God!"
*
"Uh," said Ralph. "Earth Angels?"
Xochitl took a few seconds to decipher the English, then shuddered.
"We've heard of them," said Tan Tien. "A global monotheist terrorist organization dedicated to fighting the trend toward religious and other diversity in this new millennium."
"Bad news." Caldonia growled.
"They have access to the latest technologies and are almost impossible to trace," said Zobop. "It is apparent that they have corporate, gang, and government sponsorship."
"They have follow me all the way from Mexico!" Xochitl's eyes were glazed-over and unfocused. She clutched her left shoulder, then realized that she was wearing Ralph's shirt. "Ay! Ay!" she cried. "I forget it's gone! Gone! They have it! They have it!"
Phoebe put her hand on Xochitl's shoulder and asked, "What?"
"The chip! They follow me! Bother me! For the god-simulating program!" Xochitl was frantic.
"Was this the one that Beto used to conjure up this Texa-Smokey thing?" asked Caldonia.
"Sí – I mean yes!," Xochitl could feel her command of English going. "Only I make improvements some."
"Interesting," Zobop was inscrutable, as usual.
"You mean more like pants-pissing terrifying!" Caldonia was on her feet, pacing, almost dancing.
"What doe
s this mean?" Ralph nervously looked out the window. Things were quiet in the street, if a little wet and tinged with green.
"It could be," Tan Tien was matter-of-fact, being a tireless explainer of things esoteric, "that they either want to destroy the chip and the program so that the creation of cybernetic god-entities will be suppressed . . ."
"That wouldn't be so bad," Ralph sank like a pile of wet laundry into the Persian rug-covered couch.
"Or," Tan Tien went on without pause, "they may want to use the program to create an artificial intelligence simulation of their own god."
Caldonia's eyes got big and round. "Why if one measly, smartass Aztec god in the mediasphere can cause all kinds of trouble . . ."
"An omniscient monogod could be even more trouble," said Zobop.
"Ay dios mío!" Xochitl crossed herself.
Ralph's pale euro-from-Arizona suntan faded to a ghostly white.
Meanwhile, Phoebe was getting bored. Smokey's face appeared on a nearby screen; she saw it and smiled.
Caldonia balled up her fists.
Then the security system beeped.
"Our visitors have just left the stairwell," said Zobop, with a smile that could have meant anything.
*
The communion girl, the organ-suit man, and the demon walked directly toward a door that was decorated with mystic symbols from Asia and Africa, with TI-YONG/HOODOO INVESTIGATIONS handpainted just above eye level. The others stood back as the communion girl reached for the simple, functional chrome doorknob.
A bolt of electricity shot up the communion girl's arm, causing her blonde braids to stick out straight as more bolts zapped the organ-suit man and the demon.
When the electricity had died away, the communion girl's eyelids fluttered; she swooned and fell back against the men, who, being stunned, collapsed in domino fashion.
Then, with a sound like quiet fart, the air was filled with a gas that was lightly lemon scented and colored. The three Earth Angels fell into a deep sleep.
*
Once Zobop clearly saw through the proactive security system that the Earth Angels were all incapacitated, and once the digital display showed that the gas had dissipated, he got on the building intercom: