Walter Greatshell - Apocalypse blues

Tuxedoed waiters with trays of cocktails circulated through the crowd, eager to please, and as one of them approached us with champagne, I noticed it was Dr. Langhorne.

"Jim! How nice to see you!" she said, not sounding at all sincere. "Care for something cold?"

"Why thank you, Alice. I just might do that." He picked up a glass.

"And your little friend?"

"She can speak for herself. Lulu, you two have met, haven't you?"

I nodded, unsure why Dr. Langhorne was so angry.

"Sure, we've met," she said. "We're just a couple of soul sisters, aren't we?"

Turning serious, Sandoval leaned toward her, and asked, "Everybody ready?"

"All is in readiness, sire." She gave a mocking curtsy.

"It better be. It's all or nothing now."

"You've always been able to trust me." Without offering me champagne, she smiled poisonously, and said, "Well, I'll be trotting along. If you two need anything, just give me a ring."

Sandoval smiled sheepishly, and said, "Already have, thanks." When she was gone, he said, "Phew, she's in rare form tonight."

"What's the matter?"

"She's my ex-wife." Seeing my dismay, he laughed, "Don't worry about it."

As we approached the fringes of the crowd, and people began turning to acknowledge Sandoval, I had another unpleasant shock.

"Oh shit," I said under my breath.

The beautifully made-up girls that I had been so happy to see were entirely made-up. That is, they were not girls at all, but gleaming-coiffed boys. The boys from the submarine-my boys.

"Yep, a lotta sod," Sandoval repeated.

They wobbled on their sinking heels and miserably marked my approach, some arm in arm with their brazen guardians… as indeed I was myself. I recognized Rick and Henry and Sal, Sasha and Derrick, Andy and John, Dexter, Todd, Dan, Freddy, Bryce, Tony, Aram, Kyle, Gen, Lucas, Chuck, Nate, Bill, as well as all the dozens of others whose names I had never properly memorized. Recognized them in spite of the blond falls and rubber boobs and killer clothes and expertly applied foundation and lipstick and eyeliner I knew so well: They had Miss Riggs written all over them, every one.

Their dates, the Moguls, smirked with joshing camaraderie, some more serious, more sneering, or more envious than others, but all completely in the game. This was their world.

It was as if a drain in my spine had become unplugged, and all my strength leaked out. I could barely stand. Sandoval felt me lean on him and took it for affection, giving me a squeeze. A scream welled up, and I forced it back, shuddering, admonishing myself to be as strong as the boys. But in my mind I screamed: We should have died! Why didn't we all just die? I wanted to just start running, run free until someone put a dot on me and blew me to bits, but the solemn faces of the boys, weirdly savage in that Kabuki makeup, held me back. They smoldered with the harsh desire to live, and I was shamed by their hideous perseverance.

Sandoval whispered to me, "Now, Lulu, I know you'll be extremely sensitive to these men's feelings. They want to feel that their companions are every bit as feminine as you."

I made an involuntary grunt of disgust.

"I understand," he said. "It's like a comedy, isn't it? But unless you'd embarrass these men, you should be totally respectful. Otherwise, they might take it out on your friends."

"What does that mean?"

"It means, most of these men are not homosexual. This is a big compromise for them. If they are humiliated, who do you think is going to suffer for it?"

"Why don't they just stop doing it, then?"

Sandoval chuckled, kissing the top of my head. "My innocent."

I stood back demurely, wanting to retch as Sandoval was enveloped by his backslapping peers. The dolled-up boys and I regarded each other amid the swells with an all-knowing blankness, not saying a word.

More champagne came by on a cart, as well as iced caviar and oysters, and I accepted some-not only to appear calm, but because it was too good to pass up. The boys regarded me with loathing as I ate these delicacies. Apparently that was where they drew the line.

I began to notice that all the waitstaff were doctors from the research compound, including Dr. Stevens and even Rudy, who was standing off on his own next to a large pet carrier emblazoned RUFF RIDER. Their eagerness to please reminded me of teachers during Open House. In some way they were on trial tonight and were doing everything they could to make a favorable impression.

No one spoke to me, but Sandoval was congratulated again and again on his "coup"-the right to throw this party and get all these VIPs under one roof. Apparently it was an unprecedented feat of influence. The snide tone of these compliments suggested that he had forfeited a lot for the privilege… perhaps too much.

"You're a romantic, James," said an olive-skinned man with several chins erupting from his cravat. "A bloody dreamer! The extraordinary concessions you have made and the expectations you have raised-it's shocking to a conservative man like me. It's like the risk you take by claiming this little one." He gestured at me as if I was a pet. "You have two women when others have none-it shows a lack of delicacy. Ah! But what can one do? You lead with your heart."

"Not my head, eh, Ibn?"

"I hope not. It is your recklessness that is keeping the other egos in check. You are the lion tamer, James. They are afraid to cross you. But if you fail to impress them tonight, it will be every man for himself. Very bad."

"That sounds like an ultimatum."

"I said 'if.' But it sends a confusing signal when tremendous capital is expended for no apparent tactical advantage." The fat man indicated the spectacle around us. "It smacks of desperation."

"Then I've confused you."

"Not at all! As a descendant of Shah Jahan, I admire great passion… as well as great folly. But either way, use plenty of raw force to back it up, yes?"

"I'll try to remember that."

We reached the pool. It seemed hazardous to me, that deep well in the ice, the Arctic Ocean depths right there in front of us. It was about the size of a large swimming pool, but it was bottomless. My skin crawled as I realized I could see part of the boat's gigantic hull down there in the emerald dark.

Turning away, I asked Sandoval, "Why don't I recognize any of these men? I've always been a wiz at Jeopardy, but I don't see anybody familiar in here. Bill Gates or whoever."

"That's because those people were not the true arbiters of power, but only the front men. Wealth is not power-rich men are just cash cows; they generate capital, but those assets are not really theirs. It's these men who control them, from within, just as they do political power. And can use them at will. They hold the keys to the kingdom, the secret passwords that open back doors into every significant enterprise on Earth."

"How did they get them?"

"Birthright, for the most part. They wouldn't be here otherwise, and they know it. That's why publicity is not something a truly powerful man seeks, because it only reveals what an obnoxious parasite he is. But anonymity is a commodity like everything else, and he can buy all he needs. He operates through many layers of intermediaries in order to accomplish what he wants to in complete privacy and freedom. If his full range of interests was to be known, barriers would rise, so he makes sure he can attack from many different angles, using his pawns in business, government, religion-whatever-to do his bidding for him."

"Why do they?"

"It's their only purpose."

"The corrupt ones."

"'Corrupt' is a misleading word. It makes more sense to say 'conservative,' because they're only doing what they've always done. Familiarity and tradition are much more effective tools of manipulation than money."