Born Hard Again: Book Three of the Future Remembered Chronicles (18 page)

The rest of the group did not flinch.

"You didn't have to kill them!" I slapped the glute on the back of Alphonso's head. 

"Who fuckin' cares?" Koochy posed the question.  "Jes get us tha fuck outta here, mane!"

"No, wait!" I protested.  "They clearly want something from us."  I had a weird feeling about this.  There was something in that mechanized sarcophagus that I felt I was supposed to witness.

"Yeah, mane, dey want our motha fuckin' ride, son!  What the hell you thank dey be wantin'?"

"I'm with Koochy on this one, Preston.  I didn't mean to kill that guy, but I really think we should be getting out of here," Alphonso weighed in as if his opinion was significant in my decision.

Instead of arguing with them, I tossed open the door to GMS-KJH86 and hopped out.

"Dammit, son!" Koochy cursed to my back as I fearlessly strode forward towards my mysterious rendezvous.

***

As I neared the five remaining robed figures, I could tell they were male.  And Russian.  All five men were similar in height and stature.  They were all very tall, lean and gaunt.  They looked straight ahead without blinking, but their eyes were so heavily covered in cataracts that their irises and pupils were muted white and not visible.  They looked wrinkled and old, but also ageless and strong.

The large machine they were flanking was indeed some kind of human preservation chamber.  It was fancifully decorated with lavish and ornate carvings covering its polished obsidian frame.  Various blinking lights spotted the entirety of the machine.

There was a very old man in the contraption.  I could see his weathered face, tiny and shrunken looking, right at the nexus of the ominous device.  He had long white hair and a beard, both of which were thinning and unsightly.  His face was far more elderly than those of his companions and his body was completely concealed in the depth of the device in which he rode.

We stood there for a moment, without speaking.  Staring into each other as the winter winds howled and whipped up ice dust into my eyes.

"Who...
are
you?" I finally broke the silence.

"Я Aoas Nhark, хранитель двенадцати колен Boojina. Я жду возвращения Кливленд Иисуса и собрались свою паству в подготовке его пришествия. Я твой верный раб, Aoas," the oldest of them spoke softly in Russian.  His voice had a soothing, melodic quality.

"Oh, for Chris'sake," I groaned.  Nothing was ever easy.  "Koochy!" I called back over my shoulder.  "I need you and your compute-pad to translate!"

"Man, yo' ass always needin' somthin'," Koochy joked as he jumped out of the ship to join me on the ice.  In a moment, he was by my side.  "'Sup den.  Big Kooch, clockin' in.  Unnnghh!"

"They're speaking some kind of Russian," I told him.  "Can you translate?"

"Ain't no thang but a chicken wang on a strang!" Koochy responded confidently.  He fiddled with his compute-pad and then held it aloft.  "Go 'head."

I locked eyes with the patriarch.

"I am Cleveland Jesus," I told him, flatly.  Might as well get right to it, I figured.

That phrase definitely provoked a response.  His eyes got big and he looked as if he might weep with joy.  He began speaking again, but this time, much faster and in a more excited manner.  Thanks to the power of technology, I understood him this time.

"I am Aoas Nhark, keeper of the twelve tribes of Boojina.  I await the return of Cleveland Jesus and have gathered his flock in preparation of his coming.  I am your faithful servant, Aoas," he repeated.  "Are you really... the Cleveland Jesus?"

I smiled, confidently.

"Yes," I told him.  As I talked, Koochy's compute-pad translated for me in real-time.  "I am  Cleveland Jesus."

"You... you have returned, my lord!"  His face was pale and sweaty.  I realized this must be a religious experience for him.

"Yes," I told him.  "I am Cleveland Jesus and I have returned."

"Where... where have you been this whole time, my lord?" he questioned.  I hadn't been prepared for this one.

"Uh... I was... around," I adumbrated.  "Here, there, everywhere.  Doing Jesus stuff.  You know."

He looked confused.  He didn't know.

"Look, I'm here now.  I work in mysterious ways.  Don't question me," I warned him, severely.  That worked.  His face regained its composure.

"Y-yes, my lord," he lowered his eyes, respectfully.  When he raised them again, they were filled with a youthful exuberance that stood in contrast to the heavy lines pressed into his aged visage.  "I am your faithful servant, my lord.  I have kept watch over the twelve tribes, just as you commanded."

I looked beyond him at the hundreds, maybe thousands of people, that were congregating on the vast expanse of frozen ground.

I knew that now was my time to make my mark as a leader.  I took hold of Bronson and used my engorged penis as a makeshift podium, nay, a pulpit.

"My followers!" I announced.  "You have long known that this day would come.  The twelve tribes together, each entrusted with the protection of their piece of the holy artifact."  I was just guessing at this, but it sounded about right.  "Come forth, and proclaim your devotion."

Koochy held his compute-pad aloft and it chirped out some Russian-sounding noises.

Immediately the crowd started murmuring.  Some members looked aghast, and some of the women fainted.

"What?  What did I say wrong?" I asked nobody.

Aoas Nhark spoke again, rapidly and with suppressed anger.  I looked to Koochy's compute-pad for an explanation.

"You smell not popsicle!" the compute-pad translated.  "You SMELL NOT POPSICLE!" Aoas emphasized again through the machine.

"Koochy, what the fuck?" I complained.  "That doesn't even make sense!  What kind of translation app are you using anyway?"

"Sheeit, I dunno mane!  Cain't see... oh ain't dat some shit, dis hurr trial period expired," Koochy explained.  "Is aiight tho son, the free version translates e'ery other word.  Chill den!"

"I can't work with this," I told him.  "Every other word isn't good enough when you're a god.  Can't you buy the full version?"

"Fuck that!  I ain't buyin' this shit!" Koochy yelled back too loudly.  The crowd was growing restless.

"We're CEOs of Taco Bell!  We ball like that!  Just connect to the store and buy the app!" I practically begged him.

"I took a little Russian in fourth grade," Alphonso chimed in helpfully.  "The guy over there said you're an evil spirit, or false divine something, uh.  I dunno.  If you guys need to go to the bathroom, I can ask them where it is though!"

"Shut yo' ass up!  Nobody cares about yo' shit!" Koochy hollered.  Alphonso shrugged and popped his collar while flexing, making himself look like a complete tool.

I needed a way to prove to these people that I was their real god and should be obeyed regardless of what I said.  A god who has to explain things to his followers was no true god anyway, I figured.

"My followers!" I yelled at the top of my baby lungs, from my position of power on the penis podium.  "My people!  I have come... for you!  I have come..." I was frantically searching my memories for vaguely religious phrases that would be fitting.  Dammit, there was a reason religion was banished to the outer colonies; "
shit is stupid, son
," I thought in Koochy-speak.  What were all those old prophets about, anyhow?  All I could remember from my studies was the child molestation scandals that had destroyed the large churches of Earth.

"I have come to deliver you!"  I found a good word and used it without hesitation.  "Just as the prophecy foretold!"

Both Koochy's compute-pad and Alphonso attempted to translate simultaneously.  I feared the result, but could not comprehend it.  I studied the faces of my audience; their reaction would clue me in to my next step.

The uproar that had taken the crowd moments ago was settling to a murmur.  Aoas' eyes burned a brilliant white as his pupil-less gaze bored deeply into me.  I could tell he wasn't yet convinced.

"I have returned, my disciples," I lifted a fist to the heavens.  "To the twelve tribes of..." what had Aoas called them?  "… Boojina!  You have all waited so patiently.  Living in squalor and shadowed by despair as you desperately clung to hope of my reoccurrence.  Let the downtrodden in your midst rejoice!  Today is that holy day.  You are here!  You are the fortunate, the chosen, who will witness my second coming!  The second coming of Cleveland Jesus!"

Koochy jumped back.

"Sheit, mane!  Yo ass betta not be comin' on me da damn firs' time.  Fuck outta here wit dat second time shit!  GOT-dammit," he espoused.

Without acknowledging his inanity, I moved to the crescendo of my sermon.

"And now, my faithful flock, I will deliver you from this frozen land of death.  When they speak of this day, forevermore, let them say:
For I heard him say, let us go to Old Detroit!
  I shall deliver you to Old Detroit!

"JESUS CLEVELAND!" I invoked my name in the manner I hoped would trigger some kind of impressive supernatural occurrence that would sway the doubting Thomases in the congregation.

I was not disappointed.

The ground began to tremble and quake as it had after Alphonso had ripped into it with a missile.  This time, an unseen supernatural force was the cause.  Deep fault lines opened up on either side of the crowd dotting the surface of the ice.  The members of the twelve tribes of Boojina grabbed onto each other and held on tight as the shaking intensified.  Rocks and huge chunks of ground broke free and were flung far away from us, as if by an invisible hand.  At first, it was just one or two big fragments of earth at a time, but as the phenomenon continued it increased in frequency and speed.  The frozen lake was disappearing around us in a flurry of flying stone slabs, while the strip on which we stood remained whole, steadfast.

The volume of displaced natural materials was sufficient to build large hills around us.  What had, for eons, been a vast, flat frozen lake had transformed in a matter of minutes into a cascading mountain range besetting a narrow valley which stretched on in the direction of Old Detroit in one way and Old Cleveland in the other.

Looking back to Aoas, I could see my plan had succeeded.  His mouth was agape; his lower lip, trembling.  His empty, blazing eyes had softened and were glistening with tears.

"My... my God..." he muttered in Russian-accented English.

"Now!" I called.  Bronson bowed up under me, giving me another several inches of height.  "Now, you see!  Now, you have seen my works!  Now, do you believe?  Who among you does not now believe... in my holiness?!" I thundered, feeling unassailable.

Only the howling of the bitterly cold wind could be heard in response to my challenge.

"Gather yourselves!  Gather your things!"  I raised a single, significant finger to the heavens, paused there for a dramatic, full minute, then leveled my arm in the direction of Old Detroit.  "We sally forth... to Detroit!  To...
glory! 
For...
history! 
For...
freedo-
"

"Mane, shut tha fuck up already, a'ight?" Marcus gave me a hard nudge. "You is startin' ta sound like a damn preachy bitch!  Chill da fuck out with dat whack ass dogmatic shit, dog!"

"Shhhh!" I hissed back.  I couldn't have him undermining me in front of my followers.

"Oh, hell nah! You ain't jes' shhhh me.  You ain't jes shhhh Big Kooch!  'phonso, tell me dis foo' didn't jes try ta put da shhh on tha Kooch-train! 
Kooch, koooooch!
" Marcus provided transparency to his thought process.

"He did too," Alphonso nodded eagerly.  "He told you to shhhh."

"Awww, hell nah!"  Koochy puffed up his chest out and charged me.

While Bronson had made a sturdy impromptu pulpit, neither Bronson or I could maintain our posture under the force of Koochy's tackle.  We collapsed onto the cold ground in a heap of thrashing limbs.

This was not very godly of me, I realized.  I needed to regain my composure quickly, or I feared my disciples may again become skeptical.  Having so many followers was a lot of work!  Defeating Koochy physically was not a challenge now that I had a ten foot long arm on my side, upsetting the balance.  Bronson expertly shot out and decked Koochy in the jaw with a right-cross.  Next, Bronson delivered a merciless hail of body blows, knocking the wind out of my friend with an audible
whoooosh
.  Finally, Koochy was knocked unconscious by a sharp upper cut that caused his teeth to smack together in a way that made the skin on the back of my neck crawl.  His body went limp.

Extracting myself from the entanglement that was my torpid best friend, I stood and had Bronson dust me off.  I raised my eyes to my flock.  Aoas' eyes were riveted on me; his expression was confused, yet earnest.

He still believed in me.

"My people!" I again raised my finger to the horizon.  "Let us gooooo!"

Obediently, the cold, huddled masses turned in the direction I had indicated and began to trudge off towards Old Detroit.