Chapter Sixteen: Over the Rainbow (In Seven Movements)

To write. With that, to set it in motion. In the motion, to lose myself.

It’s been years. It’s been lifetimes. Not that this clarifies the length of time in question. Lifetimes are shorter, longer, better and worse after each passing instant, after each passing. Extremes. They too are hate.

Too few lifetimes. Too recent, just like the memory of death. Ever waxing. Ever waning. It’s of no use to write it. May its uselessness be its redemption, as I pray mine will be my own breed of weak redemption.

For shame, I’ve been trying to hide the fact I lost track of the time. No more lies. Except… those… to avoid the greater shame. I can’t truth those. It would be the end of me. The reality. It hurts. Shocks, and I stand awed.

I have no real name. I can’t identify with the one in my passport anymore, no one who calls me that has any more meaning than those few paragraphs. To them, it is still hate.

Call me Ishmael. Call me William of Baskerville. Call me Cool Hand Luke, or Odysseus, or Virgil. I am the Narrator, and to that name alone must the pain hereby streamed answer.

Weak coward I am, I seize the omnipotence of narrative as a palliative to fill the hollowness of finding myself tiny after ages of egocentric delusion. A tiny drop in the sea. Shouldn’t I be glad? I still mourn selflessness. Too attached to self. Must detach. Arm. From. Body.

I am sorry. I have used an absurd number of times the word “I” so far, and if you are still willing to follow this mediocre Narrator all I can promise as a reward for your tolerance (or pity, whichever you deem me deserving of) is the revelation of my identity in the end. Only then, hopefully, you shall have learned to forgive me. Or hate me. Anything other than the contempt that would certainly follow such a tasteless revelation if it were to be spoken as of now.

My story. May it do you the good it didn’t for me. I, Narrator, pledge myself to tell you all the truth, or the cleanest possible cuts of it. Cue for depressing song.

First movement, Steuerung.

It begins, insofar as things begin, many years ago, in the remote system of Totolli. Remote isn’t a sufficient word, for it is of pre-space travel language. Totolli is one of those rare bizarre exceptions. Eccentricities. A star spat out of a galaxy because of a freak quantum fluctuation that triggered a chaotic series of events.

It might also be blamed on magic, but we know better names for synchronicities, don’t we.

Now, the funny thing about Totolli is not that it was a singularly faint star or that it had two planets, but that one of those planets, against all odds, was inhabited. With intelligent life forms.

Intelligent, it is, insofar as people can be intelligent.

Now, Totolli Two, as it was imaginatively named by the Gamezohan scientist who discovered it, was exactly halfway between our galaxy and the galaxy of Dewnhëem, which supposedly made it an important strategic site for the relations between both regions. Emperor (Wilhelm) Gauss of Gamezoha immediately ordered its conquest. Prinzip Okmahr of Dewnhëem ordered a blockade. Gauss moved his ships, starship carriers Yossarian and Saint-Germain to the system, which caused Okmahr to send in his own fleet. Gauss responded by positioning missiles on Totolli Two’s surface. It was the Totolli Missile Crisis, as historians came to name it.

I was young then, somewhat more so. My longevity will be explained later. The important thing to know is that, during the worst of those edgy days, I was assigned by my masters in the Newbelungen to infiltrate House Aberdash Military Intelligence and report on the deployment of the Gamezohan missiles. It was then I became a double agent; eventually I’d be a pentuple agent, but I couldn’t have known it by then… could I? The ghost of Tobias Knight still looms over me; he might be a distant ancestor for all I know.

Within HAMI I double-crossed my fellow Newbelungian spies, causing their capture and execution; with that I ensured high rank and esteem in both organizations. It was because of that, and the irony still doesn’t let me sleep tranquil and peaceful, that I came across the Rocket. Maybe I should write it the ROCKET. I saw, and I feared. I feared the minds of the Gamezohan arms developers that even thought of such a monstrosity - they all took part in it: Militech, Umbrella, Glock Church, Imperial Dragon Arms… - all the Eight Godfathers. They hadn’t unified yet under the aegis of Lucifuge Corporation.

I digress.

The Rocket was a threat to the universe, so I warned my Newbelungen superiors. I will never know what they planned on doing, for an AZTECH spy in their ranks took the information and handed it to their counterparts in Dewnhëem. Dewne intelligence informed the High Command, who informed Prinzip Okmahr, who pondered carefully the alternatives and then, under generous doses of Demerol (his doctors were in the Seers’s payroll, as I would be soon enough) ordered the total swift obliteration of Totolli Two with giant lasers.

The Seers at work. They knew of me, and they used me as the link to pass the message through to Dewnhëem, to create a history of fear and loathing behind the Rocket - maximum deterrence, minimum uncertainty - the ultimate fnord.

Eight billion creatures died. There was no war, for with the Totolli System rendered useless, there was nothing to fight about. Totolli Two remained as a memory of the Rocket, and even today you see in peace demonstrations people with t-shirts carrying the slogan ‘remember Totolli Two’.

The bloodbath produced enough souls for the whole inner circle of the Ancient Illuminated Seers of Bavaria to achieve immortality. I remember even today my ship racing from the encroaching plasma of the destroyed world and their spirits dancing around me, laughing - childishly! - chanting Ewige Blumenkraft… Baroness Gretchen Rockthriller (“Drusilla”), Secretary of State Lord Matthias Gamdoha (“Gracchus”), Dr. Franz Darian-Marik (“Syrus”) and Admiral Lysander Sphexoren (“Scipio”). The fifth Illuminatus Primus, codename Zoroaster, for some reason did not participate in the mass illumination.

He had, obviously, conspired against the other four. Their immortal souls were his, for slavery and abuse. He was close to completing the Deck and finishing his Plan.

I didn’t know it then, and it took me years to learn the full story. Cost me my soul (in a metaphorical sense, hopefully) and blood and life and thrill of living and whatever it is that makes people tick.

Enough with the self-pitying. I have a story to tell.

Second movement, Treibwerk.

It was only after I began serving the Order - and triple crossing everyone - I learned that the Rocket at Totolli Two was a fake. Gauss (senior) was unwilling to match strengths with the vastly unknown Dewnhëem realm, so Secretary of State Gamdoha (Saint Matthias, saint and protector of the lawyers, diplomats and politicians. The irony of the Vatican!) had suggested the plotting of the annihilation of T2. Upon that discovery, of course, my cynicism levels skyrocketed. But I was pretty much a robot by then, having been brainwashed more often than people take showers. Eventually from the repeated zapping of my synapses emerged a certain resistance, or second-order equilibrium, and eventually the detachment I needed to remain sentient for the Game. They call it a dance. Saint Matthias Dance.

I am just putting words to the unexplainable. It’s not supposed to make sense, I think. If it does, good.

Of course, it had been quite upsetting when the Secretary of State disappeared, together with the richest woman of the nation, the most praised hero and the Emperor’s physician. People began asking questions. They got phony answers, but there’s only so far a fnorded people can wonder before irrational pavlovian reactions kick in and they forget stuff happened. We are some fifteen years ago, in the story, I think. Prince Gauss (I’ll never get used to calling him Emperor) was already born… yes, fifteen or sixteen.

I was receiving generous doses of Vitalicium, Dr. Darian-Marik’s penultimate gift to humanity. I was already thirty years old, like I am today, and was at the time of Totolli Two. In spirit, I don’t have a clue. Chronologically, I’m probably fifty - sixty - whatever. Time isn’t a precious thing for a traveler, as Zoroaster’d say.

I digress.

The time in question is the time the Seers began reorganizing for the next event. There were four new Illuminati Primi, carefully chosen. Did I imply that they were villains? If I did, I’m sorry. They aren’t. They are good natured, but I’m not quite apt to tell, having my own quota of genocide on my hands. But… imagine… loads of power… and the imminence of death. It is understandable, isn’t it? Please tell me it is.

I worked with the AISB, but I betrayed them. All the time. After all, I was just infiltrating them to get data for the Newbelungen, right? Right? Or was it the other way round? Where did HAMI enter? In truth, I was so confused I just betrayed everyone to make sure I was betraying those I was supposed to. The Newbelungen are the real villains, I think. They created the Rocket. Did I tell you that before? They are behind the Eight Godfathers. Of course. The master forgers. The Ring of the Newbelungen. I should have told you that.

Pardon me. Let me stop all form of dissertation and stick to narration.

Ah. The day I stop is the day you change and fly away from me. Pardon me. The song. Zoroaster took my baby from me. Ramses the second is dead, my love. And so are you. An eye for an eye is fine for a spy.

What happened when our handsome prince was wearing diapers?

The Circle. Oh yes. New guys: Marcus, Tyranus, Orcus and Antonia. Total reorganization in the machine. Snuff vore bunnygirl trade underworld façade. A taste for theatrics. Don’t trust the Seers’ pragmatism. They come, they go. The plan, this time, requires Wendauerian collaboration. It fails, for reasons I couldn’t fathom then - before the Unblinking Eye set his merciless gaze upon my naked soul. Discord in the Circle, Antonia - who had been charged with the Adamus project - is cut off. Much commotion throughout the galaxy when the others suicide Bungren Zungvardenenen, the six-breasted porn star - and mother of more than twelve thousand children all over the Galaxy. What a woman. I met her, and was impressed. The sharpest mind hiding beneath the blondiest nature. Dirty trick. Réja vu.

She carved Ewige Blumenkraft on her wrists. Typical.

Third movement, Luftlage.

Not dead yet, I was still trying. The Rocket had to be assembled. We needed pieces. Tyranus was working on the casing. He had Newbelungen training, but had to seek asylum with the Seers after creating a new technique and not sharing it. He became the best in his craft. Zoroaster had commissioned three gargantuan carriers, the GENS Jimbo, the GENS Nova, and the GENS Punisher. In truth, half of the money went to the shell project. It became clear to me, and much did I laugh (I became close of illumination, almost touching the wise saying - ‘if it doesn’t make you laugh, it’s a stupid truth’). Zoroaster was using the Circle just as much as it used you. And you. Something probably used him too, or maybe not, maybe it ends somewhere. Either way, they were pieces in his game of chess. And I knew more about it than most others, because by then I had been assigned to the Eye and been brainwashed some more and was the protagonist in so many conspiracies they became as a second nature to me and I saw.

I saw, for example, why Dr. Darian-Marik had to create Aggregat Vierzig. And why his transcendental soul would have to be torn and distilled to produce the substance.

I saw Lysander’s strategic genius tortured until it became less than a vegetable, just to provide the Rocket with perfect Artificial Intelligence (I didn’t see Damocles then, twelve years ago, but I see now).

I saw the Baroness’s weapon research teams, working day and night for the warhead. I saw Bungren and David gathering the bunnies’ souls - and I helped them. They all worked, knowing only more or less what for.

If there is no hell, man must invent it.

Twelve years ago, I was saying, project Adamus wasn’t going forward. It was the only part of the Plan behind schedule, and only two people knew that - the Man himself, and I, the smartest pawn - how I prided myself on that.

I was leaving work at the Eye, just another G-man with a black suit and a briefcase. There was a demonstration outside against the testing of the new K-Bomb on the Chamaleen. I tried to push my way through. And then I saw her.

The green-haired witch.

She would haunt me, good as I’m evil, evil as I’m good.

REMEMBER TOTOLLI TWO, said the plaque she was holding.

I got angry, a rare state that is however inevitable when I’m not in control.

‘You don’t know one thing about Totolli Two,’ I said.

‘OTO does,’ said she.

Jump forward to the fourth movement, Beluftung. That’s when I see her again. The democratic uprising in the Rockthriller domains. I normally don’t deal with low stuff, but the Rockthriller scion would become my contact with AZTECH. But I was already a four-way betrayer and didn’t want to join Tobias Knight in history.

Demonstration. I’m among the students, in a group of Gargulean morphine-heads who wanted equal rights, peace and love. The Riot Knights are called in. They charge, to disperse the crowd with ‘minimum’ force.

And then I hear her voice.

‘Hail Eris!’ she cries. ‘All hail Discordia!’

I turn, and for one brief moment I’m off guard, my spell is lost and a Riot Knight boinks my head with a rubber sword. Boink. The rest is confused.

‘You!’

‘Me.’

‘You disappeared fast that day.’

‘Tricks.’

‘There is no Ordo Templi Orientis anymore and there hasn’t been one for centuries.’

‘I never said anything about that. I spoke of the OTO.’

‘There is no OTO! I know all there is to know about them conspiracies!’

‘The Rocket needs fuel.’

She stops looking at me, and time flows again. The policeman’s club rises. And down it-

The fifth movement is very special for me. It is where things stop making sense and I change from deluded feel-bad to despairing feel-bad. It’s called Zundung. We witness it a few years ago, three maybe. Mihai Costescu, may he rest in peace, is the protagonist. He finds the Pyramid and allows the beginning of project Tetrahedral Righteousness.

The Pyramid is the guidance system of the Rocket.

I have to explain this better. In the undying words of Malaclypse the Younger, hang on for some metaphysics.

So long ago, the Weapon Makers began it. Creating the Most Powerful Objects in the Universe. First of them, the Trinity. The all-pervading weapon, Vishnu Ashtra.

The THIRD would destroy the entire universe.

The SECOND would control what would survive such destruction.

The FIRST would create a new universe.

The Rocket. Just as the ten sephiroth (yes! They were mentioned. They always are. One day I’ll tell you of the Zarriphot, and then you’ll see) were spoken to create, the countdown before the Rocket ascends - transcends - is the facing, surpassing, unlocking, raping, of them all, one at a time - “Malkhut is Malkhut”, said he -, until the ultimate Grummet, hexagram 59, Huan, dispersion, or just Void.

“Malkhut is Malkhut”, said he. Who did? Casaubon. Let me quote him some more:

“Now I know what the Law of the Kingdom is, of poor, desperate, tattered Malkhut, where Wisdom has gone into exile, groping to recover its former lucidity. The truth of Malkhut, the only truth that shines in the night of the Sefirot, is that Wisdom is revealed naked in Malkhut, and its mystery lies not in existence but in the leaving of existence. Afterward, the Others begin again.

And, with the others, the Diabolicals, seeking abysses where the secret of their madness lies hidden.”

I’m sad. That part always makes me sad. The abyss has gazed back.

With the Rocket, he will break the hourglass of temporality. Have we lived in despair? The Seers fear the day they’ll have to answer this question before Eternity. I know I do. But Zoroaster isn’t a normal seer, and not only because his name isn’t Roman, as you’ve guessed. He’s Moebius, and he longs to answer that question - maybe just because he has thought up a witty answer.

Onward. All trinities are just derivations of a duality. Integrating the Trinity, we find the two energies the universe has come to name draco and fae, but which the Illuminati scornfully name Mux and Plohr. Kontrol und Freiheit. Right channel and left channel. Yin and its buddy. In-out, in-out, defined by opposition. The simple idea that to avert ex/implosion, the forces outwards and inwards must be balanced, and that he who controls them can blow stuff up at will.

What a temptation for a megalomaniac like Zoroaster.

Integrate the Duality. Unity. Reunion. Draco and Fae long for it uncontrollably, and must never achieve it. Must they? I am lost here. I was taught the Bad Way, and must live with it. Perhaps over the Good Way there is peaceful, blissful reunion. Not the case right now. The Reunion the Illuminati Primi seek means nothing but…

…you see, it all comes down to telluric waves. They are ripples over Atman-space caused by the Weapon Makers. They are non-physical weapon made of energy and probability. Data and dust. It condenses in knots. These knots are dragons.

Ooooooh, you say.

Collapsed wave forms. In many frequencies. Infrared is pure evil, dude. They’re the blacky dragons. Then you go the red of Rockthriller, the orange of Dactylos, the yellow of Sawarren, the green of Gamdoha, the blue of Sphexoren, the indigo of Ticine, until the noble purple of proud House Aberdash, and beyond, to the realm of silverness and the Imperial Dragons.

They're the fuel and explosive. Metaphorically, of course, but isn’t the Rocket just one big metaphor?

The sixth movement, Vorstufe. I now possess quasi-success. We must slow down, though. As we come close to the present, my omniscience will begin to ache.

This is the time of my brief dalliance with Consulary Operations agent Katje. Sorry, I’m not Nike. It would have been pretty cool, huh? Nah, ultimately, my name isn’t such a surprise and you’re probably prepared for it now. You know me as Special Agent Maximille of the Imperial Investigation Institute.

Zoroaster is, as you’ve guessed, Moebius.

Right, so I didn’t go very far with Katje. But she died, just about the same time good old Costescu met the Kirghiz Light. That pissed me off. The green-haired witch I hadn’t seen in years was special in an Ahab-Whale way, but Katje was the chick of my dreams, the same secret beautiful mind in the same perfect body - déja vu - oh yeah. The memory. At the time, we weren’t speaking. True, very true. I wasn’t her special love. That hot piece of collapsed telluric wave the eternals named Nike was obviously a much better choice, and we must commend her good taste.

I digress still.

At the time, the Circle was in motion. Tyranus had been substituted by his daughter, Lucilla. Fine girl, if I weren’t totally bitter I’d bet she still has some innocence in her scary indigo eyes. Antonia’s empty chair was finally given to Sylvia. And Zoroaster was still presiding.

He killed her because I was investigating OTO.

Failed assassin… as if Klot’s girl had any chance. No, the King would live no matter what. Him of Pure Soul. Must not envy. Must not envy.

Until my wounds are healed.

No, I must cling to honesty as the only viable lie. Joel was around. The circle kept busy trying to control his erratic nature. Things kept going wrong. I meddled with Olbaid’s writings at Marcus’ joint. Yes, Olbaid is perhaps the lamest name a Satanist writer could have ever picked.

I came close to Truth. About. The. King. Must. Write. Like. This. Lest. Moebius. Catches. Me.

There was discontinuity after the Necryptozoonomicon, the place I got the last pieces of the puzzle. Some chick resurrected me. I had yet to play out my role.

My plane landed, I was alive. Warp forward.

Seventh movement! At last! Hauptstufe. The Shadow will gather me in its sweep.

Gauss Jr. has overrun the galaxy with his forces. Wendauer was spared, but not for long. Moebius talking to him:

‘Here, take this ring. It brings great power.’

‘Hah, you must think I’m stupid. I’ve read Tolkien, you know.’

‘How about this earring?’

‘Whoa, cool. Why not?’

The Ring of the Newbelungen has, hahah, gone full circle. Young Wernher is one of the explosives. Mix him with his chick in the time of impact and boom.

There he sits, declaring war on Dewnhëem, since the Galaxy is not enough (Heute die Welt, Morgens das Sonnensystem!) There he is, finishing his State of the Empire speech with a clear Ewige Blumenkraft!. His wife, the loving, foolish Lucilla-Nicolette, believes she is just helping him towards godhood. Or does she? I kinda lost track of people’s motives after the last movement. Well, she is needed, if for nothing else, to maintain the bloodpool. This may not work. Or Moebius’ plans may be even more contorted than my singularly beautiful fucked up pseudo-mind can follow.

Pride. Hurts. Shush.

There he is, opening the delicate gold casing of his Kallisti King cigar - I put it on his desk. He reads the inscription - In ego veritas. He scorns doubtful. He lights it up with a simple spell.

Whatcha bake, mah drake?

Gargulean poppies, Alamut Black hashish, century-old silver lotus from the Imperial Greenhouse and, of course, Aggregat Vierzig, the most powerful hallucinogen ever and Dr. Marik’s last gift to humankind.

Ooooooh yeah. Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Yeah, yeah, yeah! Pzing-poing!

If I weren’t tapping his brain through his earring, I wouldn’t ever have guessed what a trip that was. It accounts for much of the present state of affairs, now I think about it.

Acidhead narrative ensues.

Rain down. This is my silver beret. There are few like it and this one is mine. I’m special. Mommy said so. Come on, rain down. Everyone said so. Mommy. On me. I didn’t want to get your dress dirty. I’m so sorry. So sorry. From a great height. Father! It’s your fault. You should have protected mommy from me, the monster. From a great height. I’m so… bad… evil… undeserving…Moebius said so. He did. I don’t know how, but every single word…the cracking… the fixing… …Krys…I never got to say… I did… but I wanted… more. More. More. The passion of lovers is to death, said he. I love you. Nicolette… I’m sorry…I… love you… Vinny… I want to have whelp-cub-babies with you… I am … lost…networking… …Nike, what do I have to do to get loved for what I am? What am I? Am I … just… a thing, like that Miriam? Loves her children… Just… wait… growing- tired- of- self- pity- Light! where from? Shiny big golden apple? Groovy colors. Oooooh. The Silberwald. The driads. The triads. In the water, my love. What? No, not now. Die another day. Can’t you wait? It’s so beautiful. Life. Never mind it. The trip. It’s so beautiful. Never mind it, the tripper. I die, I live, there are more of me. My God, so many suicides. Each me I killed in this war. How can I be guilty? I’ve only sinned against myself… So much rotten me… I’m sick, and yet…Reunion can wait. Time’s not ripe. I’m so stupid. I could have loved you again in any- wait- no- please- not my FREE WILL!!

Moebius was one step ahead, as usual. The guards stormed the Emperor’s office, poking him with their needles full of hate. OTO was this close to saving him. This close. Now they’ll make sure their drugs make him forget all he learned/saw/lived. Still longing for the False Reunion Moebius promises.

But la resistance still had plans.

Dewnhëem struck back with the help of high-level infiltrators - Sylvia, the green haired witch, illuminatus primus, second in command of OTO. Prinzip Omai the Just, son of Okmahr, enters the Gamezohan throne room to announce his victory, and end the war without the bloodshed necessary for the AISB’s plans. He is the Prinzip, holding office for the True King (our fuzzy-armed friend). He is the savior, the Markoff Chaney, the unexpected element outside Moebius’ calculations. With him alive, the True King’s arrival can’t possibly be threatened.

Right?

“Let me through,” I scream. “I’m with Omai’s Truthful Order!” I spit these words with a pride no pentuple agent deserves. “The Prinzip’s life is in great danger!”

I jump over the guards, drawing my sidearm. I would never desecrate my virtuous Master’s hallowed presence with such an action if I weren’t sure it was necessary to save him. Of course, that’s what allows my gun to enter the radius guarded by his spells. Then it strikes me. Who the fuck is Orcus? A maniac’s grin forms on my lips.

I fire. EWIGE BLUMENKRAFT!

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