Chapter V

Somewhere in the universe a monolith groaned. And fell. Several stories. And being several tons of monolith, it made a satisfying "PLUNK" when it hit. A satisfying plume of dust and debris rose high into the air, causing the satisfying strangulation of a small city downwind. Some particles of the dust made it into the upper atmosphere and a few gradually drifted into orbit. And one -- a tiny particle encoded millennia ago with minuscule instructions of a sensitive nature -- one particle began a long, lonely voyage to a distant planet.

Not that it matters.

Later, back on Earth, on a jungle-laden beach off the coast of Madagascar where the capitol of the Lemurian Empire once glimmered and shone with rare jewels and glorious golden arches (until it was wiped out by an insidious matter-destroying virus engineered by the jealous, money-grubbing Atlanteans¹), our hero relaxed naked on the sand. (For the more confused of our readers, the hero is currently Clyde.)

Clyde, in fact, was not as relaxed as he might have been. Just a few minutes ago he had been deep in heated "conversation" with a beautiful cockroach in Atlantic City, and some residual tension remained both from the threat of insectoid sex and from the matter transference beam. (Unfortunately, there were no peanuts present.) As Clyde knew nothing about matter transference, he had no clue where he was, how he had gotten there, or why he now had two penises, one of which was black and phasing in and out of reality in time to his heartbeat.

Clyde yawned, stretched, vomited, shook his head, and levered himself off the beach. He cursed unimaginatively at the sand sticking to his skin and scanned the coast as far as he could see. There were no people -- no bathers or surfers or fat ladies or boats or bright umbrellas. There weren’t even any empty chip bags. Clyde shuddered. The only life was a flock of sea gulls doing synchronized aerial maneuvers.

Then, with a screaming whistle and a flash of blackness, a hairless cat dropped onto the beach.

"Tibby!" cried Clyde.

"Mreiuoooow!" cried Tibby, fleeing in haste into the jungle.

"Wait!" cried Clyde, running after him as quickly as his two bouncing members would allow. The cat disappeared down a scraggly path and Clyde followed, ignoring painful pokes from low branches. Cats are lazy, he thought, so I bet he stays on the path. He’d better -- I’ll never find him otherwise.

A strange caterwauling came from further ahead, then cut off abruptly. Clyde put on a burst of speed and rounded a turn -- and ran straight into the center of a circle of chanting, man-sized banana slugs. Tibby was nowhere in sight.

"Greetings," said the largest slug. "We are the Sanctified Amorphous Beings of Thule. We are here to help."

The boy huddled in the corner, crying silently. Every so often, a nurse would walk by and peer at him like an etymologist at a bug. Rumors had been flying around the ward since he had been brought in. The boy himself didn’t help matters -- he just sat there and cried, and occasionally muttered something about a "Bert". The nurses assumed that the name referred to a family member, possibly a brother. So far, it was the only lead to the boy’s identity.

Nurse Applemart knelt next to the boy and tried to tempt him with a lump of greenish Jell-O. She jiggled it and joggled it, but he just turned away. She shrugged and stood as her supervisor, Nurse Tartleton, walked over.

"I wouldn’t bother with him," Tartleton said.

"What’s with him, anyway?" asked Applemart.

"The police brought him in about three hours ago. They found him wandering down the middle of Highway 26 in the rain. It’s a wonder no one ran him over. There are no houses in the area and he won’t say where he lives, so he’s here until someone claims him. IF he has parents at all. Personally, I think he’s an alien clone dropped off on Earth to mutilate cattle and kill the next coming of Jesus, just like they did to Kennedy."

Nurse Applemart nodded vaguely and wandered off to find someone else to entice with her Jell-O.

Inside Jonathan’s tousle-haired skull, prime numbers in binary and base seven cavorted and frolicked around a blaze of flaming, screaming physicists of a hundred species. In the background, mathematicians laughed and joked and drank cheap beer. As the features of the scientists in the bonfire melted, a young human woman of Spanish descent stepped forward. The dancing numbers stilled and they and the mathematicians gathered around her to listen. She shook out her long ebony hair and her flame-red cloak emblazoned with the number "9" and addressed the crowd in a voice that carried even above the screams.

"Tonight we celebrate, my people! Tonight we celebrate the deaths of these infidels that call themselves scientists! These cowering fools and bleating sheep who refuse to honor our great goddess Pure Math, who try to pollute her beauteous soul with filthy empiricism and experiments! Who sully her dress with so-called ‘practical considerations’! Tonight we watch these fools die, and tomorrow, and next week! Soon we will bring all the unbelievers low -- the biologists, the chemists, the astronomers, the computer programmers, the engineers, and all their ilk! Soon, my people! Even as I speak, our operatives are infiltrating even the most primitive societies, preparing for the coming day of liberation! Soon, soon we will be free!"

The crowd swelled with cheers and unintelligible but happy yells. A short furry fellow in the front row started chanting the woman’s name, and everyone joined in. "Nona! Nona! Nona!" they shouted. She smiled infernally and raised her hands above her head.

When the cheering died down and the numbers started feasting on roast physicist (the mathematicians ate chicken), Nona drew the furry man aside. "Stiles, I think that boy is still tapping into our broadcasts. I want him killed, and soon. He might try to warn the authorities or some such. It’s your home planet, and I want you to handle it personally. Got it?"

"Yes, mistress. I’ll get on it immediately."

Huddled in the corner, Jonathan whimpered.

"So you mean to tell me that you’ve been living inside the Earth -- which, by the way, is hollow -- with these green-skinned women just waiting for a chance to get back at the Roach Empire of Neptune because several centuries ago they insulted your favorite type of cantaloupe??" Clyde was incredulous.

"Their leader said it looked liked the head of Gharan-tzu, yes. It was a most grievous insult." The head slug... er, Amorphous Being... was covered with red and blue tattooed chevron designs and smelled slightly of chocolate. The human found it an unappealing mix. "We are most eager to help your species fight this scourge," the slug continued, "especially now that we have a (dramatic pause) secret weapon." A chanting slug with purple bruise-like marks stepped forward and held out a cardboard box, postmarked Cleveland. Clyde sighed. The lead Being gave a ghastly, toothless grin.

In a tiny, windowless room in a huge, windowless building, a man desperately hit a button. A high-pitched whine permeated the air as the man’s words rang through the hallways. "Red Alert! The vacuum cleaner spilled his guts! Red Alert!"

  ¹ The Atlanteans later fell pray to their own genius. The virus escaped and destroyed their entire continent. It was not until a new species -- man -- evolved that a counter to the virus was found. Man called this miracle substance "cream cheese."