2025 Chapter Date Dance

Several hours had passed since Joe popped his magic CD out of her laptop and left. He had told her to go seduce the awkward recluse down the hall, "now, immediately". Christina knew that "now, immediately" referred to her perception, not her actions. He was inviting her to think of the outcome in the past tense, to feel the completion in her bones and breasts, in her heart and crotch. He had given her the practice when she was a kid.

She wasn't supposed to go bust the guy's cabin door down and tear off his clothes. Success of this mission would require a plan and preparation. Feel it real first and the recipe of how will scroll up like film credits, he had said, long ago. The recipe and the ritual.

Holy fucksticks! How did she feel? A tumult of emotions were queued up, she probably ought to process a few. What had just happened and how did she feel about that? What flavor of real had that been?

Joe had shown her long ago that reality had lots of variants. He had demonstrated how to build a habitable house on foundations of sand, how to throw a dinner party in that house and host sleepovers. "Reality," he had said, "is like a sandwich. It's only what you make it." That wasn't exactly a zen koan, but she like it, she liked sandwiches for sure.

What had happened? A conversation with 'Melchior', one of the three wise men who followed the new star to find the infant Jesus. Wow, that was some pretty obscure Christian trivia, she didn't know she knew that. Her exposure to the big three mythologies had been minimal, Joe had emphasized a more results driven spiritual approach. 

"Ok, so. I'll start by listing the variants, then I'll check in with how I feel for each."

"Variant One, he was physically here as an flesh incarnated human. That means he faked his death back in 56 when I was 11. He waited 12 years, found me on this random boat, gave me a mission and took off. Total time in my cabin 42 minutes."

"Two, that was some astral plane transmission shit, with tactile feedback. He did die or was never even alive to begin with."

"Three, I've had a strong hallucination as proposed by my guidance counselor therapists in junior high. Yearning for pre adolescence, for the simplicity of childhood, the groovy foreshadowing of sexuality without the scary actuality I was experiencing. Boys. Hormones. I fled into imagined realities, fabricated fantastic memories. "Your endochrine profile deviates from the standard significantly, Chrissie. We can definitely balance that out with chemistry," he/she/they had said.  Back when the endochrine standard for teens was optimized for acquiescence to mind control and state indoctrination.

Their chemistry knocked out the visions for a time, at least until the wild years when I needed them most. When I realized my deviations were a feature not a bug.

"Four, that was Roger the space ghost or one of his ilk talking to me through an easily assimilated persona, my dead Uncle Joe, likeJodie Foster in Sagan's Contact, where the alien demigod puts on her dad's skin."

How do I feel about scenario one? That fucker, alive all these years and not a word. He told me he wasn't really going to die, he told me... but I guess I forgot. His departure felt pretty permanent, like death. I mean if he wasn't dead, why did he leave me alone? Why couldn't I have been with him? I was a little kid and I missed him, I've missed him my whole life since. I had his practice and I guess I kept up because that was him, my remembering.

There weren't many other 11 year olds like me. He made sure I had the basic toolkit, enough to figure out the rest. He said no kids had ever been given the practice, I was his highly classified experiment.

If I am going to be totally honest, I like the idea he was really here, even if he was sort of an asshole and didn't give me any idea when I'd see him again, if ever. Also though, if he was really here then most of that crazy shit he said and showed me when I was just a kid... real.

My memories of miracles and caverns and saucers, all real. Interesting to notice there's been a tiny splinter rooted in my heart all this time. Even through the practice has got me through the wild years, now for sure it was luck, but deliberate luck, luck he taught me how to make. Never kidnapped, raped, a couple of bruises from tussles along the way, no big deal. I'm great at scavenging, I can see where things are hidden. If he was really here today, then for the most part I feel great. Maybe I needed him to show up, to show me, to pluck that splinter of doubt out.

Fuck two. If he wasn't ever alive then nothing means anything. If he's astral projecting from beyond the grave, then the cosmos is whacky. He could just pop in anytime, why now? Nope, that feels silly and dull.

Three. I'm just another refugee groping in the dark, waiting for my number to be up. I've lived the wild times like I was made for them, but all the helpful visions and near misses were just accidents, blind chance that worked out well for me, mostly. Don't fuck with the crazy girl, you might catch the crazies. I am definitely leaning toward scenario one so far.

Four. What does an interdimensional demigod want with me getting preggers? Underneath all the gabble and fast talking, I felt the love - familiar, easy, fun. I've haven't seen Joe in a couple decades and I've changed a lot since then. Can I definitely identify the quality of connection as Joe, or would any benevolent entity feel about the same? The patter and mannerisms were pretty spot on, but I wouldn't rule out an evolved entity being able to impersonate Joe or create a reasonable facsimile of his aura. Divinities are pretty boss, that way.

Only variant one feels worthy, and I've decided I feel pretty fine about that, all things considered.

How do I feel about the mission, mother to the Daughter of God? Fuck it, why not? I've always been a freak, the misfit. I'll bet all mothers of god feel that way. By definition, you have to be. Blessed or cursed, what's the difference?  I guess there aren't that many mothers of god, except if one mother is, then every mother is, because we are each of us the cosmos entire. The whole shooting match, as somebody's grandfather used to say. You give birth to the cosmos, that's pretty much the last word, no argument. If I do this guy, then quasars, white dwarfs, entire galaxys will pour out of my pussy. The divine she from me. I'm down. Plus what's his name is hot in an escaped convict sort of way.

Ok, down to business. What did I learn from watching Joes's "live feed". Could I draw any conclusions from the offhand comments by the Big Boat's executive staff? She inferred he was supposed to be involved with her interview and onboarding, but was too busy with the boats various tech systems. Someone had made a barely audible aside about "upgrades, always upgrades," colored with both with mild exasperation and respect. She had forgotten who had said that.

They called him AE, which was short for Acting Engineer. She didn't know his name, and Joe had forgot to tell her. She couldn't imagine how she would manage to get his pants off if she didn't even know his name.

Hookups have been a thing back when Joe was a kid, back in the 1500s or whenever he was born, but this recluse was a standard issue mortal human male surfing the wild years. He hadn't survived the last four by being a dumbass. Sane men with limited access to medical supplies and expertise didn't bed the first skirt who knocked their door. Who knew what virulent super bugs she might be packing in her snatch, 

Snippets and hints, clues from the nearby now. As Joe had taught her, she prepared to enter a narrative trance. She pulled the pillows and blankets from the bottom bunk and piled them on the top bunk. She stripped down to her favorite bra, lay down on the bottom bunk and tucked the quartz gua shau stone under the sternum clip. She had a brief flash of the nice crystal Joe had given her, but that had been lost in the swirl of myriad relocations, some voluntary others not so much..  She half closed her eyes and counting backwards from 11 to 1, opened up to the guideways.

"Upgrades, always upgrades," was practically bursting with data. The respect indicated that the AE was dedicated, the second order nuances felt like the dedication was noticed, appreciated and perhaps even 

.

She would need an approach, a costume, a script. A costume! 

 

xShe knew what he was asking - rehearse the future.

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