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Little Orange and the Engines of Creation
Ratings:
153 pages2 hours
Summary
The continuation of the adventures of Little Orange, as she and her friends attempt to locate the 7 Engines of Creation.
Publisher: Roger PenroseReleased: Aug 21, 2015ISBN: 9781310189104Format: book
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Little Orange and the Engines of Creation - Roger Penrose
author.
Chapter 1
1978
Hey, sir, we have an alarm in the upper sector.
The General moved over to the console the enlisted man spoke from. Is it water again?
No, it's definitely not water. Whatever it is, it has two legs.
The General held his breath. This might be the first sighting of an actual person in the afterlife. And that was the whole purpose of the exercise. Well, not the whole purpose. If they could SEE the afterlife, they could interact with the afterlife, and if they could do that, who knows what they could do? It would scare the shit out of the Russians, anyway.
The prospects here made living in this dank old pumping chamber beneath Portland worthwhile. If this was successful, he'd see another star. He might even get a seat on the joint chiefs of staff. He was confident in his crew...He'd selected only self-avowed agnostics for this mission, ambitious young officers and enlisted men who would do whatever it took to get rapid promotion. Even to the point of interfering with the hereafter.
But who the hell would have guessed heaven (or hell, not sure) would be under Portland?
Get a patrol ready. If that's a person, I want him brought back here.
Yes, sir.
The General looked around. All these newfangled computers served their purpose, he guessed. They beat having three or four hundred typists being brought in on the mission. Too many people. The General tried to imagine word of this getting out...The more religious citizens would go absolutely apeshit. No, better to rely on a few hand-picked men that had lots to gain, and lots to lose.
Sir, that's definitely a human.
Right, send the patrol out.
Six men in full battle dress ran across the bridge, and opened the door on the far side, then one by one, went through with their rifles ready. It was time to wait.
And wait.
And wait.
After 4 hours, The General barked at the console operator. Where the hell are they?
According to the machine, sir, they're all standing still about 80 feet inside that door.
Send a messenger. Get those men moving.
The messenger went. He, too, became stationary at about the same distance inside.
Then the door opened, from the other side. The General got ready to chew some ass. But it wasn't one of his men. It was a man who looked familiar. No, that was impossible. It couldn't be John Kennedy, could it?
But then The General remembered where he was, and what he was doing. As the deceased president approached him, he saluted. JFK just nodded, and walked right past The General. The General saw the horrible wound that the president had suffered in Dealy Plaza 5 years earlier, and felt a little ill. You'd think heaven would erase that sort of wound, right? And if this wasn't heaven, what was it?
Then JFK spoke. In his East Coast accent, he said, "You men do not belong here. You will depart immediately. The Skinsaw Queen sees fit to give you this one warning. No further warnings will be issued.
The General wasn't going to allow himself to fail. You men, arrest the president.
Four soldiers moved to detain JFK. He just laughed, and said, I never did trust generals. You men, sit down.
Mechanically, as if against their will, the men who had moved toward him returned to their seats.
JFK gave his famous smile. Now shoot yourselves.
As one, every soldier in the room - save The General - hauled out their pistols, and shot themselves in the temple.
You murdered my men!
Yes, General, I'm afraid I did. The living shall not trouble the dead, you see. The afterlife is not your arsenal. Good day, General.
JFK walked back towards the bridge. The General drew his pistol, and shot the president in the back three times. JFK just laughed, and said, Shooting the dead, General? How very droll.
He then passed through the door on the other side of the bridge.
The General picked up the secure phone to headquarters. Instead of it ringing, he heard what sounded like thousands of people laughing at him. Sweating, he slammed the phone back down on its hook, and headed topside.
Or tried to. The door, once opened, revealed solid stone.
To hell with this,
he thought, I'm going across there and fixing this myself.
He headed across the bridge. On the other end, there was a plaque on the floor he'd had installed, warning personnel from going any further. He took his bayonet out and scrawled POINT OF NO RETURN
on it, as a warning to any who might follow, then opened the door and walked through.
On the other side was a hallway leading to a large room. He strode down the hall, and then stopped. His missing men were lying in pieces on the floor. Standing above them was a beautiful woman in a dress that seemed to be made out of swords or knives, and on her head was a crown of fire.
Who are you?
he asked.
Why, I am your doom,
she smiled. I gave you a chance to leave the afterlife in peace, but I can see that's not in what passes for your character. Just look at yourself, General. You're not really a person, are you? You're a mass of ambition and threat posturing.
You shut up, bitch.
I prefer 'Your Majesty', if it's all the same to you.
Enough was enough. The General was going to take this woman hostage, and force her to let him out. What's more, he was going to take her with him, to show his superiors. The mission was still a success.
He went for his gun.
The Skinsaw Queen glided over to his frozen form. Oh, I do think he'll make a fine addition to my trophy room,
she said, I've hated this sort of person all my life.
She arranged for a maintenance crew to come by with a dolly, to take the General over to the trophy room. She then sat and considered things. The World Above was getting pretty close to finding out just what the afterlife was really like, and they certainly weren't becoming more civilized. Something would have to be done.
She couldn't see killing them all. She wasn't a General, after all, just a Queen. But perhaps the broken down engines of creation could be partially restarted. Perhaps, with the right people, changes could be made. It would take generations, but she expected she had some time left.
Perhaps if she found a way to separate the good people from the good
people, she could find the recruits she needed for her plans. Then a thought struck her, a means to kill several birds with one stone.
All that was required was to set the wheels in motion.
Chapter 2
Today
Ronnie washed the last of the glasses behind the bar, and looked at the clock nervously. It was the first of the month, after all, and Ronnie knew what that meant. Think of the money,
he muttered to himself, Angela is sick, and we need the money.
He and Angela had been together about 2 years, and she had suddenly come down with Crohn's Disease. And treating that cost a bundle. More than he could make at the bar, and she could make at the office, combined.
A man walked into the bar. Ronnie went cold all over. It was time.
Bourbon, same as last time,
the man said, laying $500 on the bar, Just you keep 'em coming, and then keep the change, just like last time.
Then he stopped, and laid another $1000 on the bar. I have two friends joining me tonight. Same deal for them.
Ronnie liked the money, but he didn't like the idea of more freaks coming in. This guy was bad enough. He was bald, no big deal. He dressed blue collar, or maybe undercover cop. But when he smiled, there were way too many teeth. Way too many. And his skin. It was tinged red, with a hint of scales.
Relax,
Ronnie muttered to himself, This weirdo has been coming in here for 3 months now, on the first of every month, and he never stays more than a couple of hours. There's never any trouble. Think of the money. Think of Ang.
Outside, The Bald Man sat at a table on the smoking patio, and lit a cigar. He took his first sip of bourbon, and enjoyed the way the last rays of the sun boiled the filth of the underground off of him. His friends should be along soon.
Ronnie looked up as the door opened, and just about messed in his pants. Two outright monsters had walked in. One was a walking statue of what looked like bronze, and the other was a sallow, eyeless man in an archaic surgical smock. Tubes tipped with needles emerged from his smock, and floated around him.
You are Ronnie,
the guy in the smock rasped. It wasn't a question. Where is The Bald Man?
Ronnie could hear the capital letters.
Ronnie forced himself to smile, and said, He's out back on the patio gentlemen. He has paid for your drinks. What will you have?
I think we shall have what he's having.
the smocked figure stated.
Well, go out back, and I'll bring them to you.
Very well.
Ronnie was wondering whether this weird gig was worth it. He'd tried talking to his boss, who harrumphed something about weirdoes being normal in Tucson
. He'd complained again, and his boss hung around - this was last month - to see for himself. The old man had freaked out a bit, and then edged up to The Bald Man and had a short, whispered conversation with him.
When the conversation was over,
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