Milky Way Marmalade

by Mike DiCerto

  It was all part of Spydersloth's show.

  The low ceilings and the just slightly convex floor made it virtually impossible for anyone but the front dozen or so rows that ringed the podium to see the Great Arachnid. This kept the crowd pushing, antsy. It kept tempers high and passions flaring. As the crowd converged around the podium, the pulsing purple light ascended to the ceiling and accented an opening iris. A floating disk descended, like a magic carpet—or rather, a magic bathmat—and the long, satin-encased legs of Spydersloth Blaust appeared.

  A ruckus, a combination of gasps, screams, cries of joy and moans of ecstasy exploded with such force Caffrey Quark felt his head would explode from the audible shockwave. He stood back, more than happy to gain some breathing room in the area clearing around him. The various breathing mixes seemed irrelevant as the melting pot of people began inhaling foreign mixes. This, of course, was another of Spydersloth's scams. The segregated sectors were, in fact, all fed the same special combination of gasses. Often sold in interstellar road stops and various survival stores, Uni-Breathe was a special mix of gaseous elements that could keep most lifeforms in the Milky Way healthy and happy—some extremely happy, since certain species reacted to the gas mix with psychotropic symptoms, adding to the religious fervor.

  Spydersloth Blaust descended to the podium. He was a large being, standing over eight feet on four of his eight legs. His thick thorax was dressed in his usual silver-and-blue satin cassock, the O.D.O.R emblem displayed proudly at its center. Atop his round, squat head sat a glittering crown of diamond, filled with millions of microscopic phosphorescent points of light that made it glow with a rainbow of colors.

  Spydersloth Blaust raised his four upper arms and bowed with feigned humility to the crowd. They dropped to their knees. Only Caffrey remained standing, alone and apart.

  Spydersloth noticed Caffrey's irreverence and smiled privately. He began to speak.

  "Once again we stand before a world polluted and caught in its own quagmire of the wretched evils of music and the harmonious way of life."

  The crowd hissed and booed and some even vomited, encouraged to purge themselves by pure and utter disgust and disdain. Spydersloth continued. His words were deep, coarse, and machine-gunned out of his small mouth in an odd oscillating volume that waxed and waned, using his highly evolved holographic language ability. Tens of millions of diverse communication methods were entwined in the single sound wave of his spoken words and extracted by the specific language center of each audience member's brain.

  "Music!” The word was sprayed over the crowd like liquid garbage. “They revel in music! They dance and sing. They sometimes will even hum whilst bathing! They blow into reed instruments with blatant gusto. Strum strings. Pound skins. But every note they play...” Spydersloth grew angrier and more animated, and the volume of his pronouncement boosted. “...will be the fitting death dirge. For after today, the shortsighted fools of Haptiwoo will be no more!"

  Ululating cries of support filled the room. Caffrey couldn't help but turn on a sad, sentimental smile, for he could remember listening to the ancient recordings of Spydersloth's band, The Riders of the Purple Shems, he had dug up during his quest for Rock music samples. He recalled how uplifted and inspired he had felt by the lyrical and positive music. It seemed impossible that this could be the same being.

  "Before we commence with the conversion of Haptiwoo, I want us all to celebrate the Labates Day of the young son of our Lord of Disharmony, Nefarious Wretch. I will have the honor of meeting the child face-to-face for the first time and present him with this special gift in a few days, while wishing him a non-rhythmic life. Until then, let us speak the traditional Labates Day tribute together."

  Caffrey's eyes widened as a square box wrapped in black metallic paper with matching bow was placed on the podium before Spydersloth. It was the same size and shape of the box that had sat on the sidewalk outside the Crimson Court Pub after his band-mates had been compressed. Perhaps Violet was right. Maybe his friends had been deemed the perfect gift for this foul offspring of Nefarious. As Spydersloth began the Labates Day tribute, Caffrey's mind went to work.

  He had to get the package.

  * * * *

  Angie was acting as a fly on the wall, following the entourage of Galactic bigwigs from the landing bay through long hallways and fanciful lobbies and lounges. She sensed something—a familiar bio-electric pattern. She determined it was coming from the area surrounding Ba Ba Banaki, the tall, burly Fizizi, feared head of the strange and dangerous Janknorian Sector.

  Angie scanned his elaborate adornment. He was dressed in a ten-piece leather-and-satin suit, and he wore platform boots that added three hundred centimeters to his already two-and-a-half-meter height. There was something odd, she felt, about the fur epaulets on each of his four broad shoulders.

  Yin! Angie cried to herself.

  Sitting on Ba Ba Banaki's outer left shoulder was the little Bopple. Dazed and limp, he was attached to the Fizizi by a thick black leather band. Three other furry canine-type creatures adorned the other shoulders, also dazed, limp but very much alive.

  Angie moved closer.

  "Yin, it's me, Angie. Are you okay?” she whispered into his ear.

  Yin, his eyes at half-mast, groggily raised his chin and, summoning every ounce of energy in his little body, managed a single response.

  "Woof,” he answered softly.

  "Hush!” Ba Ba Banaki cried, smacking Yin atop his head.

  Bully! Angie thought. She whispered into Yin's ear again. “Yin, my dear, hang tight. We'll free you. I have to find Caffrey first."

  "Wooo...” was all Yin managed to squeak out.

  Angie took off as the Five Heads entered a large conference room.

  * * * *

  "Daddy?” Violet repeated.

  "Yes, my friend. I am Greppledick Quark. I built Poe 33,” Greppledick explained, turning toward the source of red light. “Brighten yourself, Peebo."

  The red light grew ten times brighter, exposing the little spherical android hovering in the air, throwing its crimson glow around the room. The Deck of Ruby Gilding was a trapezoidal room with solid ruby walls covered in impossibly elaborate etchings—seemingly volumes of words written in some ancient alphabet and apparently telling ancient tales. Greppledick Quark wore a teal robe tied about the waist with a rope of snow-white linen that matched his hair. His eyes appeared as once-overflowing vessels of bliss that had recently run dry. He looked at the enigmatic Portsmith of the wise L'Orange, still on his knees and sobbing.

  "Get up, Poe, you're embarrassing me,” Greppledick instructed, looking at Violet.

  Poe 33 rose to his feet and bowed his head before his maker.

  "Look me in the eyes,” commanded Greppledick, “and stop being such a bloody poof!"

  Poe 33 lifted his head slowly and locked his gaze with Greppledick. Tears seemed to have somehow welled up in his artificial eyes.

  Greppledick smiled warmly. “How have you been, Poe?"

  Melodramatic music composed of sad saxophone and melancholy piano began. “I have been on a grand adventure. I have failed the Great One, my galaxy, my mission, my maker and, perhaps most importantly, my ethereal essence. Have you returned to destroy me? To take me offline? To render me a useless conglomeration of individual parts?"

  Greppledick took a deep breath and shook his head, tossing a grin at Violet, who rolled her eyes at the android's melodramatics.

  "My, my, I must have been in a whiz of a mood when I built you! What's with the music? I never programmed that!” Greppledick exclaimed. “And I am not here to destroy you. I'm here to give you new instructions. I want you to serve Spydersloth. I want you to help him and Nefarious Wretch retrieve the L'Orange for their use."

  Violet's purple eyes bugged. “Are you daffy?"

  "But I am the enigmatic Portsmith to the Great L'Orange! I have vowed to protect and escort the Great Wise One!"

  "Self-important little bastard, ain't you? D
o as I say, Poe 33. I am your father!"

  "He will do nothing of the sort,” Violet spat.

  "Oh, yes, he will. Peebo, detain this woman."

  In a flash, the hovering probe unfolded with lightning speed into a spherical cage engulfing Violet. Before she could blink, she was hovering two meters above the ground. She drew her weapon and made a number of vain attempts to fire it. Greppledick snickered.

  "Weapons are useless aboard this craft. One of Spydersloth's little tricks."

  "You sell-out!” Violet fired back, blasting him with her eyes, having little other recourse.

  "Father, I would have to agree with Violet. How can you join sides with O.D.O.R? How can you ally yourself with the organization bent on galactic destruction and ego-based redevelopment?"

  A strange glaze, like rotted pineapple-flavored jelly, spread across Greppledick's eyes. “Poe, this is beyond O.D.O.R. Nefarious is mightier and grander than that square hunk of orange jelly could ever be!"

  Poe 33 was aghast. Greppledick hectored on.

  "Yes, Poe, it is true! I have been reborn! The Great Nefarious has filled my soul with the truth of the wonders and magic of a non-rhythmic and non-lyrical way of life!"

  Drool formed on his lips. He raised his arms wide and threw back his head.

  "Oh, Great Nefarious, forgive me for my prior disdain of your ways! I shall dedicate my existence to the elimination of music. I will help to rebuild—stone by stone—the galaxy in the image of You!"

  Greppledick spun around like a dizzy top, a string of drool following him like a kite's tail.

  "Oh, my,” Violet mumbled to herself.

  "What shall I do?” Poe 33 asked.

  "You will be presented before the gathered in moments,” Greppledick advised, still spinning. “Then, you will take your seat on the throne of the Prime O.D.O.R Entity. The P.O.E. Your true lot."

  "Throne?” Poe queried.

  "Yes. They will bow before you."

  Poe 33 smiled.

  A tiny, Mona Lisa smile.

  * * * *

  The Labates Day tribute was winding down. Caffrey managed to move closer to the dais, never taking his eyes off the package. The din of the gathering settled, and Spydersloth pounded his fist on the podium.

  "Reveal the sacrificial world!” he shouted.

  The perimeter of the room went instantly transparent, revealing Haptiwoo sitting like a naïve child before them.

  "In moments, one less note will ring through the galaxy. One less piece of the traitorous music that infiltrates and destroys our souls. The transformation of Haptiwoo marks a special day. A day of prophecy and a day of conversion. Today, the Great Android Poe 33, the last Portsmith to the L'Orange, has surrendered himself to us. He has vowed to assist in tracking down and delivering to me the prima materia of music."

  Great cheers rose up in every language.

  "And before us also stands a human. A human who has come here to join me. A man who was at one time a purveyor of the horrid light of music, as I was all those eons ago.” Spydersloth aimed his gaze towards Caffrey and smiled. It took a moment, but eventually Caffrey connected the gaze of the Arachnid and the person of whom he was speaking. He pointed to himself curiously—very much caught off-guard. Spydersloth smiled wide.

  "Caffrey Quark. Welcome to the Crystal Guise. Welcome to the Order Destined to Overthrow Reality."

  All heads turned, and dozens of varieties of applause sounded. Caffrey pouted.

  "Now!” Spydersloth Blaust shouted. “The world of Haptiwoo will begin its rebirth! To the womb of the mighty Nefarious it will go! And, when remolded, it will never again ring or sing or croon or tune. The population will forever toil in the wondrous ways of Non-euphony!"

  Twin beams of red light flew from the bow of The Crystal Guise, entering the center of Haptiwoo. Immediately, streams of dust and matter were pulled from the world, spinning and twisting like multicolored waters down a spiral staircase. Down and around poured the planetary stuff, into the pitch-black hole of the mystical singularity. The planet's spin increased with each revolution as it diminished in diameter until it was gone.

  Caffrey wanted to cry. Everyone else cheered. He made his way closer to the podium. He would simply grab the gift, unwrap it quickly, free his band-mates and—

  And what, you fool? Caffrey cut off his own thoughts. It was a poorly constructed plan, destined to end in some horrible and very embarrassing death for both himself and, most likely, his mates. He would be patient.

  His thoughts were interrupted by a static pop and an electrical, fuzzy kiss on his cheek.

  "Love pumpkin!” Angie whispered excitedly in his ear.

  Caffrey's eyes filled with surprise—then rage. “How did you escape, you wench?"

  "I'm not Oafelia. She thought she could keep me from you. She thought she could destroy me, but our love guided me across vast oceans of space. And I found you, my monkey bar cheese puppet."

  "Prove it. Prove it's really you,” Caffrey demanded, walking off to a quiet spot in the room.

  "How? What can I do?"

  Caffrey thought quickly. “Do you remember our trip to Santa Piragua?"

  "Yes. When you bagged the six giant marvelo clams!"

  "Never mind the clams. I'm talking about what we did that night?"

  "Oh, Quarky, You're making me blush. We played strip poker. And I won."

  "Easy for you. I never won a single hand."

  "There's a lot going on. The Five Heads of the Five Sectors have just boarded the ship. One of them has Yin."

  "Yin?” Caffrey's eyes doubled in size, “Where?"

  "He's being used as an epaulet."

  The confusion on Caffrey's face was expected by Angie.

  "On the shoulder of Ba Ba Banaki. They're in some large conference room. Please trust me, passion puss!"

  Caffrey weighed the events in his mind, developing an intellectual hernia. The Five? In the same place? Quigmo alone usually makes that impossible.

  "How true! His girth amazes even me!” a familiar voice interrupted with a laugh. Caffrey turned to see Spydersloth Blaust standing before him. The crowd shifted in an ordered field, like metal filings around a powerful magnet.

  "Blaust,” greeted Caffrey, with faux civility.

  "Are you so antisocial that you can only converse with yourself?"

  "I can only aspire in my wildest dreams to attain the levels of social grace that you possess,” answered Caffrey, with a deep bow.

  Angie suppressed her giggle.

  "Well said, Caffrey Quark. Well said!"

  Spydersloth wrapped one of his long hairy arms around Caffrey's shoulder and turned to the crowd. “Gathered supplicants! I introduce to you Caffrey Quark. My new Vicar of Negated Music Registry!"

  "Your what?” Caffrey could only wonder.

  "Caffrey Quark, like Spydersloth Blaust, was once a sorcerer of the light art,” Spydersloth divulged, referring to himself, as is the practice of megalomaniacs, in the third person. “But he has taken new paths. He has generously presented me with a very special gift. He will now join the ranks of O.D.O.R, in charge of cataloguing every song, every orchestration, every aria and opera, every ditty and jingle. All becoming part of the growing list of evils that none shall ever partake in again!"

  Spydersloth ended on a thunderous note, lifting the voices of the crowd to a fervent rouse once more.

  Caffrey took advantage of the noise.

  "Angie,” he spoke furtively, “The Moby Dick's escape pod. It's sitting in docking corridor number ... number—oh, bloody hell, I've forgotten where I parked it!"

  "Where's The Moby Dick?” queried Angie.

  "She's gone. Let Violet, Poe and Yin know we'll meet at the pod on my signal. Use the communicator in the Willy. Let me know what landing bay we're in ASAP."

  "Oui, mon rouge papillion amoure,” Angie whispered in her most seductive French inflection.

  * * * *

  Deep in the circuits of Caffrey's exotic weapon, Oafe
lia smirked like the devil she was. “Oh, my sweet loyal pretty. You do have spunk. I will give you that."

  She slipped from the confines of the device and tailed Angie.

  * * * *

  "Come, Caffrey,” invited Spydersloth, leading him to the platform holding the podium, which began rising as they stepped on board.

  "All hail Nefarious Wretch and O.D.O.R!” Spydersloth cried out as the platform lifted rapidly up and back above the ceiling from where it had emerged. The crowd's voices rose with it.

  * * * *

  Spydersloth stepped off the platform, tossing the black-boxed gift back and forth between some of his hands, and guided Caffrey through a gauntlet of bowing personnel. They walked the length of the carpeted catwalk forming part of a series of crisscross walks situated above the Holy Arachnid Lounge.

  "So, what did you say my title was again? Vicar of Fascist Posers and their Respective Suck-ups?” Caffrey asked the question in an innocent voice belied by a wicked smirk.

  "Vicar of Negated Music Registry,” Spydersloth corrected, conveying only the slightest hint of agitation.

  "Honest mistake. Sorry, Blausty,” Caffrey acceded, pushing his luck.

  "I've learned your history. You know the worlds of this galaxy almost as well as I. You can help record the musical history of the planets devolved. And, you can help to weed out some of the hidden ones—those in the darker and odder corners of the galaxy that practice more subtle and insidious forms of the light art."

  Caffrey wanted to spit at the Arachnid. He wanted to send the largest saliva clam he could muster into the eyes of this horrid beast. Instead, he forced a smile.

  "Lovely package you have there. May I ask, what did you get for the child, for his special day?"

  "The perfect gift for a future creator and purveyor of a music-free galaxy and, eventually, music-free universe."

  "That's quite an order,” Caffrey commented.

  "In another thirty thousand or so years I will be dead. I will get to see perhaps the local sectors converted. Nefarious is infinite. And with the destruction of the L'Orange, music will never be able to manifest itself,” Spydersloth prophesied, pumping his fist in a corny but appropriate manner.