Chapter XI

At La Guardia International Airport, a large box with a return address in Nepal and a final destination somewhere in Ohio was unloaded from an Air India jet. Inside were a glowing green vacuum cleaner and a sleeping human. Their journey had started two days earlier, in Bombay, India...

"Into the box?" asked Maraharishi.

"Yes!" replied Gyro.

"Into the box?!?" asked Maraharishi again.

"Yes, Hurry! Someone is coming!" said Gyro.

This conversation was taking place in a corner of the international office of United Parcel Services in Bombay, India. Maraharishi climbed into the box, and lifted the vacuum cleaner into the box. He then closed the top, and whispered to Gyro:

"How am I going to survive?"

"Simple. Do you remember the meditation techniques you learned at the temple?"

Maraharishi remembered. He also remembered he wasn’t very good at them. He hadn’t even been as good as the two Westerners who had been studying at the temple.

"Yes, I remember." sighed Maraharishi.

"Good," replied Gyro. "Begin putting yourself into a trance. I will help you. I will awaken you when we arrive."

Maraharishi sighed again, and began to meditate. Gyro watched as the Indian vacuum cleaner salesman dropped deeper and deeper into his trance, until he was almost comatose. Gyro then felt the box being lifted, and tape sealing the top of the box. He uttered a silent prayer, hoping that the Savior would open the package when it arrived.

Seven miles northwest of Spearfish, South Dakota, a mere fifteen miles south-southwest of the geographic center of the United States, something unusual was happening.

It was raining.

This in itself was not unusual. The unusual thing was the object that it was raining upon. The bluntly pointed head of the MX missile was being assaulted by many thousands of raindrops. A very few of these found their way into small cracks along the right side of the missile, along the line of four screws incorrectly installed by a factory worker when the missile was built. These drops fell onto the launch computer, the cover from which some careless technician had forgotten to replace, striking the section for the six independently targeted warheads the missile carried. However, no one was given the chance to notice this, as the last part of a signal from Washington, D.C. caused the signal to lift off and head upwards.

Sergeant Yuri Pylaroski was just about to go off shift at the Siberian Division of the (former) Soviet Missile Command. He could almost taste the vodka, when a light began flashing on his console, followed by more lights, followed by a beeping noise. He immediately sat up in his chair and punched a few buttons, his eyes growing wide as he realized what was happening.

"Comrade!" Yuri yelled to his supervisor. "Come quickly! The Americans have launched a missile!" The supervisor picked up a phone, dialed a few numbers, and said:

"Get me the Politburo."

Yuri knew he wouldn’t be going off shift any time soon.

"She did WHAT!?!?!?!" screamed the C-in-C of NORAD. "My God... get me the bitch on the phone!!!"

"Unavailable, sir. She’s not taking any calls." replied the Secretary of Defense. "Congress has already been called into special session. The Russians are already preparing. I am ready to authorize DEFCON 2 to counter the Russian threat."

"Where the hell is that missile going, anyhow?" demanded the NORAD Chief.

"Out into space," replied the Secretary.

"Out into space?"

The drops of water slowly began to freeze as the missile rose higher and higher into the atmosphere, altering the warhead launch commands into a mass of jumbled signals. The missile continued upward.

The particle was nearing the end of its journey begun millennia ago. It passed into a small star system, an insignificant yellow sun in a backwater spiral arm of an unimportant galaxy. It was not noticed by the two huge starships parked halfway between the third and fourth planets of the system. It drifted on.

Not that it mattered much.

Chet DeGana ripped a sheet of paper off of the office printer, exclaiming:

"Dr. Anderson! Yolanda! Come have a look at this!"

Igmar Anderson came out of the bathroom, drying his hands on a paper towel. Yolanda stirred from the office couch, where she had been napping. "What is it?" they replied, in unison.

"I found a match for those numbers."

"Where?" they replied.

"Last hour’s coded weather observations for... Spearfish, South Dakota. They match up exactly."

"What does it decode to?" inquired Anderson.

"Hmm." DeGana tapped a few keys. The monitor lit up. "Hmm. Thunderstorm. Point-three-eight inches in the past hour."

"What’s in South Dakota?" said Win.

DeGana and Anderson contemplated this quietly.

In a tiny, windowless room in a large, windowless building, a man sat back in his chair and smiled as he monitored the transmissions of the Earthlings preparing to destroy themselves and save everyone else in the Multiverse the trouble. He felt so good, he leaned back in his chair and began to laugh. Suddenly, his chest felt heavy, and seemed to begin burning from the inside. his laugh turned into a gasp as the pain flared throughout his entire body. He leaned forward, gasping for air. But the fire inside was replaced by blackness. He was dead before his head hit the console. His wide, unseeing eyes stared out over his panel. Two small lights on the panel began to blink, almost insistently...

Raindrop looked up as a shower of brick and concrete rained down on her. She leapt out of the way, barely dodging the main stream of debris, but getting covered by small particles and dust. Theodore Lind grabbed her by the arm, and pulled her into the open rear door of the black Mercedes-Benz. Tibby leapt in behind her as Lind reached across and slammed the door. The driver, a dark-haired man, said "Hello, R.J. Please hold on," as he slammed down on the accelerator and sped off in pursuit of the limousine into which Clyde had so recently been pulled.

The small furry man cursed in a subsonic alien language. If only that stupid pigeon hadn’t ruined his shot! Nona must have thrown him a Chaosian curve. He realized that it was now necessary to obtain some ground transportation. He spied a large multi-wheeled vehicle with an image of some large animal on the side. He slid down the fire escape, leapt in, familiarized himself with the controls, started the vehicle, and drove off in pursuit of the Mercedes-Benz.

In exactly 15.43279 seconds.

He timed himself.

The Secret Service agent directly across from Clyde looked him directly in the eyes and said: "We will be returning you home, Mr. Millers. We were originally instructed to bring you to visit the President, but we have received new orders. You are to be returned home." Clyde thought of many questions to ask, but then decided it was not a good idea to ask too many questions of Secret Service agents, and chose instead to lay down and take a nap. He noticed that the package containing the doll’s arm was in the car, even though he thought it had been lost in the scuffle. What he failed to notice, however, was the amber light which suddenly surrounded the arm.

Clyde Pennet broke out of the dream of the infinite flamingoes to find himself dreaming about a completely dark planet. No lights shone on its night side. Clyde felt himself being drawn closer and closer to the planet, closer to its blackness, until it engulfed him...

Aboard the Imperial Roach flagship Plague, the Imperial Commander smiled and waved his antennae. The IRS cruiser Audit had arrived, and was rapidly recharging his vessel’s batteries. Within a few hours, the power would enable the Great Voton Plasmoid Cannon to be fired and destroy the Earth and its infidels forever. The Commander could hardly wait...

The missile streaked off into space, seemingly heading nowhere.

The particle drifted on.

The limousine pulled up in front of Clyde’s small house in Cuyahoga Falls, Ohio. One of the agents awoke Clyde, handed him the package containing Bert’s arm, and helped him out of the car. Once Clyde was on his feet outside the car, the door closed, and the limo drove off. A cold breeze blew. Clyde shivered. He strolled up to his front door, retrieved his spare key from under a potted plant, unlocked the door, went inside, and looked around. The house smelled slightly musty. Clyde dropped the package by the front door, went into his bedroom, took out a white undershirt, a pair of underwear, a white button-down shirt, and a pair of jeans. He dressed, grabbed his wallet and watch, put on a jacket, and went back outside, closing the door behind him. He walked down the street to the minimart at the end of the block, went inside, and picked up a case of Busch beer and a fifth of Seagram’s 7 whiskey. He took his selections up to the counter, paid for them, and carried them home. Just as he reached his front door, the wind began to blow again, and a cold drizzle began to fall. Clyde barely noticed as he went inside, took off his jacket, turned on the TV, sat down, opened the whiskey bottle, and began to drink.

The black Mercedes-Benz containing a scientist, a cross-dressing eunuch, a disillusioned 16-year-old, a frightened 5-year-old, and a Chia-like cat (No, Gilligan, the Skipper, Elvis, or the kitchen sink were not in there.) pulled into Clyde’s driveway. The aforementioned people piled out of the car and headed toward the front door. A few moments later, a large Borden milk truck pulled off to the side of the road near Clyde’s house. It looked very worn from the trip; even Elsie the Cow looked exhausted. The driver, a small, furry man, decided not to get out, but instead to wait for a better opportunity.

"It’s locked," said Ziggy as he tried the door.

"There’s another door around back," muttered Theodore, shivering from the rain and his lack of dress. Raindrop did not say anything; she just held tight to a very frightened Jonathan. She wasn’t sure why, but she felt a kinship for him. Maybe it was the white streak in his hair, identical to hers. But, somehow, she knew it was something deeper. She followed Ziggy and Theodore around to the back of the house. Tibby, however, entered through the cat door, and was shocked at what she surveyed.

Clyde was seated in his recliner, seven empty beer cans scattered around the floor. An eighth beer was in his left hand. The remote control was in his right, and an almost-empty bottle of whiskey leaned against the side of the chair. Tibby saw the other four enter through the kitchen door. She, however, failed to notice the package (which was now open) containing Bert’s arm, begin to vibrate and phase.

"My God, what are you doing?" Theodore screamed at Clyde.

"Gettin’ drunk. Go ’way," murmured Clyde.

"Savior, you must not stay here." yowled Tibby, racing over to him.

Clyde launched a kick in Tibby’s direction, but between the alcohol and his generally uncomfortable position, it missed. There was a knock at the door.

Clyde got up and answered the door. An UPS employee was standing there, one hand resting on a dolly, carrying a large box, the other proffering Clyde a clipboard.

"Package for Mr. Clyde Millers."

Clyde signed the sheet almost mechanically, and the employee wheeled the large package inside and left it there. Clyde returned to his seat...

Gyro stretched and prodded Maraharishi. "Wake up! We have arrived." Maraharishi began to stir, groggily. Gyro began to pound on the top of the box, tentatively. He was having difficulty breaking open the top when it was ripped open, and two faces, one female and one male, peered over the top. Each was topped by a shock of auburn hair, with a white streak running through it. "Gyro!" exclaimed Raindrop. "...and... who are you?" Maraharishi sat up and shook his head. "Abri kangoola Maraharishi Veda." Raindrop, Jonathan, Ziggy, Tibby, and Theodore Lind looked puzzled. Gyro nodded his nozzle and began to translate:

"My name is Maraharishi Veda. I am from Katmandu, Nepal. I sell vacuum cleaners. Would you like to buy a vacuum cleaner? Would someone kindly explain what is going on here, please?"

The last bit came out in English, as all of the people in the room, (except Clyde, of course,) gathered around the box and helped Maraharishi out, and lifted Gyro to the floor. Gyro asked: "Where is the Savior?" All turned and pointed to Clyde, as they chorused in unison: "There."

Clyde was succeeding in ignoring the goings-on. He was busily flipping channels. he bypassed a Naughty By Nature video on MTV, Madonna’s "Bad Girl" video on VH1, a bespectacled, red-haired adman pitching a John Williams boxed set, and an infomercial, paused briefly at the Weather Channel, where a rather rotund fellow was trying to explain the recent record rainfall and how it caused the flamingo population in Florida to grow dramatically. Clyde then flicked on past several other channels, barely noticing what was on. He paused again at the end credits of a movie, and wondered what the movie was. The credits music was familiar... ah yes. U2 "Until the End of the World" from the movie of a similar name. I always did like the song, he thought. He watched for a few moments, then flipped to CNN.

"...lly Ballou reporting live from the Senate Chamber, where impeachment hearings for President Eciper were initiated just an hour ago. The charge? Cold blooded murder. Apparently the President shot three visitors to the Oval Office early yesterday, killing one and severely wounding the other two. Their names are not being released, pending notification of their families. There are also reports, unconfirmed, I repeat, unconfirmed reports of a nuclear missile launch. Do not..."

Clyde changed the channel. Ah, Star Trek: The Next Generation. Which episode? Ah. The one with the primitive Vulcans.

Clyde began to watch with interest.

High above, a few thousand miles from two huge, immobile alien warships, a great meeting took place.

A small particle of dust met and somehow got through a small crack in the skin of an American MX missile. It fell into the coverless computer section and struck the fire-control computer, melting the ice crystals that were jumbling the firing codes.

It completed a chain of events began before time itself began.

Electrons danced and sparked across the particle’s surface, translating the information coded into it millennia ago. The cover of the missile fell away, and the six independently targeted warheads launched, four toward one target, and two others toward separate, totally different targets.

The particle then rested. Its long journey was now done.

It mattered.

A man awoke from a frighteningly strange dream. He looked around and gathered in what he saw. He was in a room with no windows, and no furniture, save the bed he lay upon. The only other thing he noticed was a door... no, a portal roughly cylindrical, rounded at one end, ragged at the other. He stood and walked toward it. It was filled by a bright yellow light, and he could not see what was beyond it. He stepped through.

The small, furry man saw a large black van with tinted windows pull up across from Clyde’s house. The driver’s window rolled down. The small, furry man watched in horror as he saw a roach’s antennae poke out of the window, followed by the barrel of some sort of weapon. the man began to fumble for his gun.

Kopra the roach knew that he was going to die. He had been sent to atone for his error aboard the flagship by killing the one known as the Savior before he could stop the imperial Roach Empire from destroying the Earth. however, Kopra would be left behind, to be destroyed when the great weapon was fired. Oh well, Kopra sighed. I guess it is better than being eaten as the main course at the Queen’s High Feast, Kopra thought. He took careful aim.

"Go ’way. ’S the good part." slurred Clyde, hurling a Reader’s Digest, which clanged hollowly off Gyro’s side. Theodore Lind looked disgusted. Raindrop comforted a sobbing Jonathan, who was crying after having been struck a glancing blow by a ricocheting beer can. Suddenly, Maraharishi uttered a sound halfway between a gasp and a cry, and fainted.

There was a soft powf! sound.

A man in pajamas stood where the box containing Bert’s arm once sat...

"Fully recharged, sir."

"Excellent! Prepare to fire the Cannon." replied the Imperial Commander of the Roach Empire.

"Commander! Incoming fi..."

The first two missiles struck the flagship amidships. The third hit the "jumper cables." The fourth struck I.R.S. Audit squarely on the bridge.

Twin sunlike explosions soundlessly lit the blackness of space.

Gyro collapsed.

Ziggy stumbled and fell.

Jonathan went limp.

Tibby crumpled.

Raindrop fainted.

Theodore Lind toppled.

Clyde looked blankly at the stranger.

On the TV screen, the Mintaxan fired his bow at Picard, who fell.

Kopra pulled his trigger.

The small, furry man fired at the roach van.

The electromagnetic pulse from the explosion struck the Earth, moving at the speed of light.

The stranger said.: "My name is Clyde Pennet."

All of the lights went out in Clyde Millers’ house.

All of the lights went out in Clyde Millers’ neighborhood.

All of the lights went out all over the world.

I am become Death.