THE REPTILIAN TELEPATHY OF BIRDS by R.K. GALVEZ

1) THE MOON-SHAKERS

The broken down moon-colony was not nice. The term "nice" had been obsolete for a long time ago. The Luna-colony did have an official name but remained classified under the codename: Project BrandyIxacidTabwine; a rogue "Demon" resources-based agency from the C.O.G. that had covertly set up this colony without any authorities knowing. A brief description of the colony was all that had remained, as any photographic data has been lost or destroyed by enigmatic C.O.G. censors.

The colony was a strange mish-mash of bio-domes and metallic structures reinforced by ancient architecture. A strange kind of architecture: art deco mixed with some kind of abstracted influence from Mars circa 3459 AD. It was cause for concern. The colony also doubled as a stasis colony for fattened individuals wealthy enough to live long lives in some futuristic world.

As you can tell, people had to use dimensional slip-streams within our earth-realm to travel there. It was a strange command. There were buses in and around Hounslow that would occasionally provide safe transit there; but with all the pzi-muto activity, these soon stopped. Thankfully, the Illuminati had nothing to do with it, of course. They are not to blame for everything and I will not hear a bad word said about them. They would make a right pigs ear out of it, not to mention that silly Scottish Brotherhood.

That little issue aside, things got problematic within the failing colony. Chief Krugler had run out of ideas - his mind-mapper had been lost for some time - and his population was in rapid decline due to the mutation rate. His brain was stormed by various anxieties. He needed some Soul R stimulation, although most things were diluted on the colony.

"If only these mutants could do something - something amazing like in those old comics and films," Krugler said to himself.

As far as the research went on this secret moon-colony, the mutants formed here had no powers and no abilities - although some studies claimed that these useless lumps of mutated flesh did not feel pain. This dark testing process was broken by the Mutant Police Class A Team, known as Trogger and Professor Norkgrub, in another time, aeons ago. They must have cut up a lot of them, thought Krugler. What was interesting was the fact that these mutants could reform themselves. Krugler pondered the nature of the research; he didn't know what to think anymore.

I cannot dress this up any more. No matter how fanciful the concepts of back-story can be, none of these so-called facts had been considered as "real" history. On the surface, it seemed like another epistemological anomaly. The mutants scavenged for a timeless period, which was unable to be assessed by human chronology. The scared human population became more insular; they spent less and saved everything they had to freeze themselves as soon as they got fat and rich enough. It didn't hide the decline and Krugler was under severe political pressure, despite the only political force was his C.O.G. agency overseers known as Goodmann and Goodnow.

The moon-colony(or LunaCol, as it was called by those in the know, I don't know if you might know...)was struggling to cope with its ballooning mutated population. No-one worked as the colony slowly fell apart. Strange mutated entities existed alongside the few humans. These mutated entities had no real powers, like you might expect in some kind of propaganda comics. They seemed to be useless, but had the ability to move via astral projection within various forms of existence.

They were evolving while the small human purist population, particularly extremely wealthy humans, devolved. Each individual was obsessed to eat themselves into a fatty oblivion and over-indulged in a truly decadent fashion. These huge, fattened, soft bodies were put into stasis where they set for revival for immortal life once the moon was reformed properly and colonized enough. Once they were so fat, they were unable to do anything else. However, the expected technology jump never happened; it stalled thanks to the unpredictable mutations.

In one of the major ports - formerly known as Orienti7LK4 - things had got a lot worse. Supplies had been cut off and the computerized monitoring system was on stand-by. The cold metallic structures - left to gather dust and collect natural lysergic deposits - looked like they had never been inhabited by humans. It was once a bustling area, but people had stopped coming to the colony now. As if it had never existed.

It was this idea which was worrying Krugler. Why had the people vanished? They were not here now, mainly due to the fact that the colony power source, deep underground, remained the warmest and safest place. It was here that the colony was struggling to cope. Recruitment was down and they could not understand what was happening to the colony as a whole. People were simply vanishing. Maybe the fat bodies were mutating in stasis too? Or going into the myth-world associated with space-stasis?

Chief Krugler was baffled by all of it. He was out of his depth; he had known that a long time ago. He already had over fifty nervous breakdowns, which had been an average amount since the colony first started. He had to be cured through exercise: masturbation was his only choice. He was very repressed and had been forced to use standard issue C.O.G. sex toys to find that queer sexual stimulation he regularly required.

Time had somehow drifted away, as Krugler had seen the rebirth of this colony: he devised hopeless strategies to repel the scavenging mutated out-staters. They had mutated but were somehow fighting it. Half human and half alien mutation, these creatures consumed whatever food they could find, and taking whatever they could. It was as if they had a strange eating disorder that included things you would not normally eat.

Krugler admitted to himself he had not done enough research on this. And he laughed at the names of various conditions. At least it was keeping him busy. Krugler thought about these problems too much. He had tried to have sexual intercourse with a colony mutant and an alien mutant cannibal, but it had not worked well. The blob-like mutant burned him all over and the alien mutant cannibal had tried to eat him. Krugler had decided to change their name to Altered-Staters for marketing purposes. Out-Staters seemed a bit too technical and it sounded good in reports.

Who was he kidding? The majority of the population had mutated into some unknown entity or other. He had been stuck here for over eight years. Or so he thought. He had lost track of time and was a bit suspicious of the ancient repair Bots time-keeping practices. The colony's mining operation had never started as it was getting costly, and the fear of mutation had put the moon into quarantine; but the recreational possibilities of the colony were still endless. That's what Krugler thought, as he resumed his daily masturbation exercises.

]* * *[

As Krugler pondered upon those unknown recreational possibilities, in another alternative realm-space (near Tooting Bec) known as U&I303808TV, Professor Norkgrub watched the action. He loved this dimension as everyone, whatever they were, was totally euphoric the whole time. Stress died out aeons ago.

Norkgrub was quite unscientific and used hipster words like "Cool". These word-turds had no academic importance and were part of Norkgrub's strangely cosmic patois. He had hanged around with too many old hippies for an undefined amount of time. Time here defied chronology, of course. A day might have been a few minutes on out Earth.

How could Professor Norkgrub see all what was happening to Krugler, I hear you ask? Well, to the amateur occultist, this can be tough to explain. He should have referred more to the C.O.G. Dimension Space-Realm Controller, but Professor Norkgrub was a mystical zoophyte and he was able to use his crystallized methodologies to obtain sudden visions of various futures within Realm-Space. It was through this "groove" - as Norkgrub called it – he remained able to see everything in all kinds of worlds.

Good old Professor Norkgrub smiled a thin zoophyte smile; it was a great thing to witness: a multitude of universal mutations. Evolution can never be stopped; nature always wins, even if it helps to nurture it a little. Of course, too much nurturing can be problematic.

Norkgrub had four billion years to fritter away before the next universal evo-devo-phase. We're all life-forms at the end of the day, thought Norkgrub. Energy remains the key. Norkgrub loved to go on about cosmic energy. His feelers were everywhere.

Norkgrub - or Norky as he's known to his closest friends - needed to find out what team would be sent to help Krugler. He hoped his old intern, Zip Gregano would be involved. At least she's organized, even if a bit sexually repressed, Norkgrub thought. They needed a bit of dream-water to sort that out.

Professor Norkgrub felt he needed something to purge his anger-energy at the crazed ways of humanity; and he was also getting way too much telepathic feedback from Ludovic. Ludovic must be some kind of angry mutant bird. Of course, Norkgrub had no way to explain any of this; it was just a gut instinct. Just like his gut always told him sunshine yellow shined out of his soul.

Norkgrub climbed down from his large cushion-capsule and looked out at the crimson sky. The natural lysergic gases within the air gave everything here a euphoric feel. Norkgrub loved it, of course. Natural euphoria was all the rage. He didn't want to leave; he hated Earth and all of its petty laws. He was used to getting the best of everything in this realm. The zoophyte opened a small box - a small box he had hidden by an old Cacti-Mushroom tree for a couple of hundred years, or so; inside the box was Norkgrub's seed-shooter.

A fine weapon made from some kind of alien metal and refined by the Professor himself. He re-checked the lysergic gas free-flow dispenser and was content everything was in order. He plugged the gun to his seed-sacks, and felt that the gun was made for him.

"Looks like someone's going to have to bail you lot out if it gets out of control. Where can you find some decent cleaners these days?" Professor Norkgrub said to himself.

Another item inside the box was a strange furry crystalline communicator. It was called an e-pzi-astrl-comm-i. It was a personalized holo-communicator and differed from the ones seen in dubious sci-movies. This one actually turned a real entity into you while you using it. And possession was nine-tenths of the dimensional code.

"Guess I'm going to have that recycled. I don't think I can power up that old time-slide. I've been stuck here too long. Well, I suppose retirement has to end sometime. And I never got time to play a bit more of Fuzzy's Space Golf. Oh well, guess I'll just have to make do with that old-fashioned astral kick. I wish that crazy caveman turned up again!"

Norkgrub laughed. He was talking to himself a lot. Unfortunately, a permanent state of bliss creates this kind of flashback. And it usually occurred when one life-form only sees - and communicates with - another life-form every decade or so. And sometimes you see things, but he was living on a planet where most of the atmosphere was lysergic acid. It really was heaven. Norkgrub loved the Earth realm here more than that other real earth. If only he was able to get that tyme-craft fixed and slide back to Tooting. He hated technology; the astral kick was back to haunt him.

"I'll just give it a miss. I hate a colony with nothing decent on it. No wonder everyone's fucked - you got to have something decent there! I really hope the Earth's moon won't go away, though. There has to be five moons here. Every planet has to have at least one moon, doesn't it?"

I have no idea who Professor Norkgrub was talking to. I doubt the curious Professor Norkgrub did either...

2) MYSTICAL MUTO-ZEN METAMORPHING

Krugler had really thought things over. It was amazing that a violent revolution or some form of bloody conflict had never occurred on the colony. It was mainly because there was nothing left to save. Apathy had consumed everything and no-one really cared. Everyone and everything was slowly mutating.

Krugler, a strange squat man, with brown teeth, had never fathomed this. He was never pleased; a perfectionist by nature, but also very paranoid which made him doubt his ability to really be perfect. He had not masturbated over his pictures of his unknown father. These old time travellers usually were off somewhere.

Many of his staff[now deceased, of course] thought it quite natural for him to be this way, due to the fact he had so much operational responsibility. Thankfully he would not be the leader for much longer - as there would be nothing to lead - and soon he would be able to retire back on another colony. Krugler smiled. Maybe even go back to Earth, where he would be completely unknown.

Krugler thought on this point a lot longer than necessary. The nostalgic Earth he pictured was always better than the reality. He had almost forgotten Earth’s awful beauty. Scratching his fat chin, then his groin; he yawned for some reason. The process of constantly thinking about the colony was boring him. He took some state-sponsored stimulants and tried to regain his professional composure; he needed a wide variety of state-sponsored medications to get back into the right frame of mind.

According to his last stasis entry, Krugler had briefly lost it after some religious event called Tele-pathe in 1991. Krugler remembered his experiences. None of them had anything to do with bogies, tyme-crafts and love-crafts. He had never got that time back in the end.

Krugler smiled. What was he doing back then? It was as if he was another person in some other time. Of course, Krugler was too dense to realize he was another person back then(...you must remember Mr Cook's son?...) Krugler wished he was back there; back in those good old days of liberating bliss.

The bliss of nothingness, he didn’t quite know, but it was just better. Krugler started crying for his devastated home planet. He remembered, quite suddenly, that he danced in the rain and in the sun. He also didn't mind remembering how he danced under the moon, in his goat mask. He was a purified hedonist back then. Now he was getting fat and felt that he was worthless in his current state. He was only fit for stasis. You needed to be fat for stasis, or you just wouldn't survive.

Krugler started wailing, as if he was a child again; his memories were not good; he had forgotten the good bits and realized he had just remembered the first time he had copulated while covered in bright purple vomit. He remembered the strange bend in his penis. Luckily, his sexual partner [...whoever they might be...]thought the vomit was some kind of UV party paint. Krugler couldn't help his tantrum. Maybe he was just a big fat space baby?

After a while, maybe three or four hours, he was perspiring very heavily. Krugler dreamed about his en vitro birth; he had eaten his mother’s raw placenta with chilli and pure psilocybin. It took a while to defrost, too. Futuristic music streamed through his mind, turning his memories to anime inspired star-blogs. He had locked these times in the file "Detted 29-62". It was banging away, banging his colony mind. Krugler suddenly saw himself in the back of a shiny teaspoon-pen device. It was a spoon-pen from another colony, a mere souvenir. He couldn't remember how he had acquired this odd piece of technology.

All those lost lives, those lost times, Krugler had lived in a somewhat sudden blur. They could have easily been idle reveries, or meandering astral projections in different time-worlds. Maybe this was how the mutations started: strange visions of other worlds, other bodies, other memories.

Krugler didn't know if this souvenir was really his. He blamed his medication, which he had not taken for some time. He gave the pen-spoon device more of his blood, as there was no more ink left. Blood was slowly becoming a secondary currency. Tears, mixed with sweat, slowly dripped down Krugler's flabby cheeks.

Krugler then spent a full five hours looking at his reflection in the back of spoon-pen. It was not a true reflection and mutated his appearance. It could not have been good for his hypochondria; Krugler should have just got a mirror. But he was getting vain in his old age. He was fat and short - this made him look like any human colony-breeder - as he was almost ninety centimetres. He felt relieved: he was liberated being bald, pale and fat - but he had a large selection of wigs. After all, this was his entitlement as he was a pure human

Krugler didn't wear these at work. He was ashamed by the state of his teeth; no treatment worked, but he would still gorge himself on the faddy space root known as Norkweedroot. It was quite addictive and became a staple of the colony diet. It turned his teeth the colour of fresh human excrement. He had no idea how his breath smelled; he just wasn't bothered no more. There was nobody around that had been bothered by fictional halitosis…

3) THE MUTO-GUFFER

The buzzer rang, as Krugler was left in his reverie. A projected message vid-i-holo-e-tube appeared in the room. It was his last Corporal, Ludovic. He was tall for a colony man, and his features were stern, almost equine; but he was a jovial gentle giant of exactly 1 metre and 30 centimetres.

His laugh could be heard down the sterilized, empty, colony corridors. He was wearing a different skin colour; Krugler thought it bizarre that Ludovic would change his skin again. It was a costly process. Krugler had no idea Ludovic was so vain; this new skin made Ludovic look like a giant reptile – some weird extra out of an awful old sci-fi B-movie. Skin-tatt-ethno-shells had grown to be another popular colony design fad. They went will go the same way as holo-dream-tatts, thought Krugler.

It was because no-one wanted to be boxed up. Ludovic had looked different when he had his laz-r-nose-ring in. It did have some problems, like no anti-sneeze fail-safe. Many had needlessly died when Ludovic sneezed. Krugler assumed he was out of that phase. He was still staring into the back of the spoon, as Ludovic tried to inform of him of something.


The dialogue within his mind was blurred and went something like this:

SIR?............. Chief Krugler? Dr Krugler? Can you hear me?.....

...........WELL, SIR....I...

....Ludovic are you in my mind? Krugler thought.

Have I stopped talking?

Krugler had an image of the past[in his mind, as I was in his mind]: a flat in Islington, London. It had to be Islington. Only abodes so posh can be surrounded by so much poverty. He was daubed in blood and was performing various sex magick rituals with a string of different partners. Krugler gasped, as Ludovic appeared to be one, dressed as some kind of unkempt tramp....His erect penis looked like Willem Dafoe's fine specimen...Willow the Goat wasn't Krugler's real name...

...Goat Willow was not a girl? His former name had not been [classified] either. Why had they named him after a pornographic performer? Krugler didn't know. His erectile flesh burned, his sweaty veins protruding; the scent of cosmic mucous filled the room, mixing with the strange incense of.....

...SIR?...SIR?....DR?....DR?...

....SIR, I--

The dialogue suddenly ended... Maybe...Did you say that?

...Krugler rubbed his eyes. He wanted a major look. And a major laser. It must have been some kind of dream; occasional recreational psychic masturbation. Totally harmless, of course. The One Galactic Dove was never known here. The transmission had cut off as the dubbing was out of time. Not quite time out of mind, but it was a bit iffy. No communications device worked properly in the colony after the sudden mutation epidemic and everyone was a bit paranoid who was listening in. So nothing was arranged. As you can tell, this was always the way...

4) MUTO-TIME TRAILS

Professor Norkgrub tapped the evo-console; he had no printed read-out in his cushion-capsule. It was too environmentally friendly; it would e-mind-i-message him later. He was annoyed that nothing worked again. It was not a good idea to try fixing it; it had seemed to fix itself eventually. He had always been casual with technological matters. He hated all of it deep down. He didn't want to get a bot to fix it, he might end up God knows where.


It was at that moment, Norkgrub realized he was to use his astral powers. He didn't even know he had them. He vaguely remembered going back to 1967, and getting lost. That was some happening, he thought. He had seen Soft Machine and Pink Floyd. He had seen Hawkwind later - they were not around as Hawkwind in 1967 if his memory served him correctly. But he had been out of it when he saw the Mothers of Invention, Big Brother and The Holding Company and the Grateful Dead. He wished he had that photographic-memory gift, but he remembered they were joyous times; the euphoria would be eternal, so he didn't need the memory tip. The cosmic corona of souls was enough to keep him going.

That was when he met a younger version of his friend, Tommy Tellman. He looked like a RAF pilot, washed-out and stranded. He was the only person drinking pure prune juice (with acidic bubbles); Norkgrub didn't know why Tellman liked prune juice. Norkgrub preferred his prunes electrified. They were much better that way.

Tellman was known as a lost tymer (in popularized astral vernacular). His real body was still trapped in the Bermuda Triangle after being stranded there during an experimental flight of the Nayrair-Stealth in 1947. Tellman would try to move his astral force through Trevor in Sevenoaks. It was tricky, as many occultist adepts will inform the keen student. The Mystickal(with a K) archive holds much power.

The logistics were not always well-planned. Tellman's newly balanced tones were not making him sound tough; they just made him sound out of it. The future was the past to a life-coach like him. And it occasionally got a bit sticky; he had to monitor his thoughts. Everything involved with this process gets complicated by astral corruptions, as you can probably tell. We meet all sorts of hallucinations during ordinary life in these strange times. Tellman just wanted to go back to Atlantis.

However, Tellman and Norkgrub stuck together. That was until they crashed the Tymecraft and ended up here. Norkgrub didn't mind it, but Tellman faded away again, tied to the death of the tyme-craft. It was a shame they couldn't fix it. Maybe Tellman had pursued his dream of being a Life Coach Guru based in Frinton-on-sea.


*[ * ]*

Krugler pondered upon this very point for what seemed like years. The Once-upon-a-time concept had ended pre-maturely. That era of a fresh history was properly concluded. Time was timeless and golden once again. The colony was a disaster; he should have given up and tried to go back into stasis.

Nothing really operated properly; it was barely functional - apart from the “bots”, of course. These “bots” were even a bit odd and only fixed what they could. And they repaired themselves, as they were stolen from a secret C.O.G. department in 1955. Apparently, those robots were millions of years old and had first helped the Incas. They were hired out though, so Krugler had never really known much about them. He didn't spend much time on background information.

There was a knock at Krugler's cabin door. He checked the old viewscreen and just made out Corporal Ludovic standing there, looking ill. He had obviously just masturbated and taken too much Vitamin acids. Krugler wondered if his physician was still Dr L.S.Dee.

Krugler hadn't seen his doctor for a long time. He wondered what had become of all the medical team. Krugler was unable to turn the viewscreen off. The picture fuzzed as a million mutated faces entered the viewscreen, drooling and snarling.

They looked quite cute. Krugler looked in his drawer and found an old copy of 'Inside Sun Lodge' by Frater Shiva. He looked at it some more and realized the occult commentator Mr. J. Cornelius had left some notes in it.

What great news, thought Krugler. Some free advice. Unfortunately, Krugler was unable to read it all and decided to give up trying to comprehend it all. His eyes started to ache and his nose started to run a strange silver mucous. He did not want to come back as a snail again. He had been there before.

Krugler put on his E.C.U. glasses, and decided to re-activate the auto-door. Ludovic entered through it, still looking ill. The auto-door was made of recycled space-foil, so you could accidentally walk through it if you wanted to. Most things had been recycled with junk metals collected from around Earth's orbit.

Of course, nothing was made to last. Krugler tuned the E.C.U. glasses right into Ludovic's face, zoomed right in on his chin. A tiny penis made of pus was growing on his chin; it was growing like a tiny pimple. It must be aroused. Krugler had never noticed it before. It almost freaked him out.

There was almost something sexual in the atmosphere. The life-death cycle games had already started - what kind of cosmic pawns had they become? The conversation between Krugler and Ludovic went something like this:

"What's wrong with you?" Krugler hissed.

Image: erect penis sheathed in a futuristic metallic thong.

"What?" Ludovic replied, looking a bit confused.

Image: A pubis covered in blood; a wooden phallus, with the sign of Phul carved into it, slowly being guided towards the bloody pubis by some kind of invisible force.

"You know?"

Image: A burnt crucifix, being covered in bloody ejaculate.

"What?"

Image: A picture of Edward Kelley slowly coming back to...

"The message seems to be..." Krugler whispered, a strange sense of euphoria casually toying with his vital organs.

"I got the bots on it," said Ludovic.

Image: A little plant-man turning into a giant tortoise-bird.

"...They'll fix it, they always do, but--"

Krugler suddenly held his groin.

Image: a million flowers flowered; blood and detritus seeping from their petals as a million mutants copulated in a disgusting ooze orgy.

"...I was saying about--" Ludovic started, but gasped as if in a moment of extreme euphoria.

Krugler stared at Ludovic. Was this a spontaneous orgasmic combustion? He was not used to being a queer hero. He needed to research this form of mutated repression.

Image: A mushroom monster floats through the streets of Camden; Krugler smiles behind the mushroom monster, his penis glowing, erect like a wizard's rune-staff. One too many...

"I need you to, er, well, uh..." Krugler murmured, looking even more confused.

Ludovic shouted: "WHAT?" Ludovic was perspiring blood; Krugler saw the blood-pustules close up, as if they were giant insects.

Image: A freshly cooked pie, full of mushrooms and pieces of cacti, garnished with datura compound.

"You know? Damn it, Ludovic, I forgot what I was going to say!", Krugler snapped.

Image: Filtered sepia of a thousand factories burning chemicals; a giant tongue with a multi-coloured sugar cube on it, slowly dissolving.

"WHAT?" Ludovic whimpered.

Image: A giant zombie caveman on a giant winged lizard, like a pterodactyl. Maybe it was the other winged lizards. Krugler had no idea.

What was he thinking? He looked around and was unable to see; his sweat was looking like liquid flesh. It was not hurting him; maybe this was how Mr Fantastic felt? He had no idea of what he was thinking; Krugler slowly realized one key thing: he was losing the grip of his so-called reality. It must be stasis sickness.

Ludovic was banging on the floor, soiling himself; a strange purple-green faeces bubbled from his mouth, slowly spraying out of every pore. Ludovic obviously needed to get rid of some excrement brain-bug inside him. His flesh started to peel away, turning into fluffy fat flurries of skin-snow. Krugler was embarrassed, but slightly aroused by this show of affection.

Ludovic's mutation went on for some time. They probably both wanted to kill each other after a few minutes. Krugler didn't want any of Ludovic's polluted mutant blood. Krugler had a idea his Corporal would instantly mutate after this unprofessional outburst.

Krugler checked Ludovic's file on his i-e-perso-file.

Ludovic had married a muto-transgen pzi-sex worker called Anu. Anu was from the Sea of Tranquility and had become more unstable as the colony's infrastructure programme developed. She was always a bit odd, despite being considered an elite alpha wave tracer. Someone must have pulled the plug somewhere, thought Krugler.

After keying in Ludovic's file, browsing at where he went to school and all that boring information nobody really gives a shit about at interviews. Krugler sighed before deleting it all. One less member of staff to worry about, he thought. His bosses would be pleased. It was a good efficiency saving. Goodmann and Goodnow would find out about this and Krugler needed their trade.

[[*]] [[*]] [[*]]

Trade was Zip Gregano's last thought. She had been sub-contracted by the C.O.G. and did not like their slapdash practices. As a former intern of Professor Norkgrub, Zip had high academic standards. She had finished her thesis and started a side-career as an occultist pornographer and producer.

It was something she had always wanted to do. Her sister, Elaine Pettifer, also worked for the C.O.G. but they had been separated at birth so they would never know they were sisters. Zip had to eliminate Agent Hubbard for that information; she captured his pzi-essence aura in a walnut shell from Cydonia. In return for Hubbard's eternal imprisonment, Zip said she would help support his zany cult.

It turned out to be a truly infernal bargain; maybe Hubbard had planned it all along. Zip hated his pseudo-academic writings and only ended up occasionally giving them logistical support. They paid well for the freelance work, but Zip was keeping a close eye on the organization, as it was very totalitarian. Others agents at the C.O.G. were keeping a close eye on it too, waiting to assimilate it for other hidden agendas. Zip didn't need to rely on funding, or handouts. She was a real freelancer.

However, Zip remained cautious. She had been given a new team by the C.O.G. and it looked like more "Demon-Tecs". A beetle-bear and some kind of ape-like stick-insect. Great, damn mutos will be the death of me, Zip thought as she prepared herself for stasis. She had an idea the moon would have more in store for her and her team than what her superiors Goodnow and Goodmann had briefed her on. It was always the way.

5) KLIXHELIXOOZE

As the time dragged, Ludovic had already consumed his faeces; the mutated excrement was rapidly reproducing inside him; his stomach bubbling up, struggling to contain the toxic gases. Krugler's crush had suddenly faded - it was one less random sexual encounter on the colony.

He was finding Ludovic "dense". As in a little bit stupid. Personally, it's a bit harsh of Krugler, considering Ludovic had been infected with some useless mutation, destroying his genetic structure and melding it to some unknown alien entity. It was all too complex for Krugler. He wasn't into total science and preferred magickal formulae; and the kind of unscientific surveys that keep newspapers in print, along with freebies.

Ludovic's stomach didn't explode, which was quite lucky. Ludovic's anus ballooned up, slowly transforming into small little anus-sacks. And each excrement creature was excreted naturally over a twelve hour period. Ludovic was fine, but had to excrete through a fleshy tube that used to be his nose.

Krugler was amazed Ludovic had survived his sudden mutation. What foul science had saved him? Krugler pondered. And how was it possible when resources were so minimal? Krugler needed to stop thinking about masturbation and cybernetic anal intercourse. He had never experienced sex magick before[he needed his blood sugar checking, too…] He took off his contact lenz-play-e-r and decided to go back to Kaboom another time. It was too futuristic, but a great way to kill stress.

Krugler thought of his great progress, constantly trying to fool himself that the colony was a success. It was as messy as spaghetti. He had personally thanked the bot-medics, though they were not too skilled in assisting humans. They had tried and somehow muddled to find a quick-fix. Medical science always had a solution, no matter how primitive it may look to other societies. The colony had to use whatever means it was able to get.

Thank goodness the evil images had stopped, thought Krugler. Krugler wiped sweat from his brow and tried to look serious. He felt like he was melting. He saw himself suddenly melting, then it all happening very slowly. Krugler then fainted for an unknown amount of time.

[[[[***]]]]

Norkgrub woke up in a flat in Hamburg in 1934. What a queer time! He had just lost another alien-porn book, although he might have left it somewhere in 1723. He might have left it in Paris in 1959. He had travelled too far, and too quickly. It was that timeless sick feeling. Professor Norkgrub loved it. He tried to mind-phone his intern and good friend, Zip Gregano.

"What's going on, Zip?" Professor Norkgrub spoke within his deep dark mind.

There was a long silence then, quite suddenly, that strangely familiar orgasmic sensation was experienced by Professor Norkgrub. White crystallized seeds seeped from his seed-sacks.

"Professor Norkgrub? It's really you, isn't it?" murmured Zip, still a bit of an echo.

Zip gasped. She was probably using a corrupted ceremonial masturbation ritual to help her achieve the pzionik energy to sustain the time-defying astra-communication.

Professor Norkgrub wondered if Papus was with her, but decided not to ask. They went back a long time and they never got anything done; they were kindred spirits. He loved Papus and his cheeky ways. He was a good bloke, and really loyal to Millwall. Not many bona fide students of the occult support Millwall, do they?

"You're not using Papus' dagger hilt again are you Zip?" Norkgrub asked.

Zip laughed. "You guessed it, Norky baby! I had to use something to filter something out of the cosmos."

Norkgrub grimaced feeling the cosmic orgasm magicks infiltrating his zoophyte seed-sacks, reinforcing them and making them stronger.

"I agree what you're saying there."

"Help me, Norky, it smells like a set-up," said Zip.

"Don't worry kid, we don't forget anyone!"

With that Zip faded out; she must have passed out. Professor Norkgrub knew that feeling all too well.

6)TETRAURIEL+

Somewhere, in the dimensional chasms of the Seven Hells, a zombie caveman lived a frugal existence. This zombie caveman was an undead Homo Erectus to be precise. He remained one of the best agents the C.O.G ever had. Also, he had been resurrected too many times; his legendary life-death episodes were eternal, so he had to settle the score with the C.O.G. for giving him early retirement. The undead Homo erectus was known as Trogger. He did have codes, but he used them up a long time ago. He was unable to slip times again. He was trapped here.

It turned out to be a form of peaceful retirement for the immortal mystic homo-erectus. He was contained; he was no longer licensed to destroy worlds and dimensions. He was waiting for someone to turn up. he had ideas about seeing the treacherous Goodnow and Goodmann again. But he hoped to see his old Professor, Professor Norkgrub. He was ready to help him out. He wondered if there were more agents. He wondered what those silly cleaners were up to. Wasting their time for all eternity. It was a great time. And, for Trogger, the only time he got to think.

He decided to locate his blood gun. It was in a small wooden box. Trogger pressed a chunky button and the wooden box suddenly expanded. It was a great piece of design technology. It held the various parts to make up Trogger's blood gun. The viper-like sucker-tube, feeling for Trogger's familiar blood; it hissed as it sucked Trogger's blood. Trogger was set. He kept dreaming of Tortoise Birds. He didn't know why. He needed to catch another winged lizard; he didn't know what they were called. But he needed one. And he could keep them as pets later.

Trogger smiled. He stared at the mutated Iguanodon woman. She was a mystical lady of the Seven Hells and was his only companion here. She was morphed here as part of some strange experiment. She was a total nymphomaniac, of course. Trogger didn't mind; he was used to these things. He may even miss the crazy lizard lady. She had half the face of an Iguanadon, the other a waif like satellite dish- face of a posh model.

She had been a model in a previous existence, sticking to the Primrose Hill Third World; she had everything though and had experienced no social ills. And she never should have trusted the mysterious Agent Hubbard. Her thin tiny ballet legs combined with clunky reptilian limbs. Her tail swishing - particularly when she was in heat. She was unable to talk any known language; Trogger wasn't one for languages either. Moans and groans were the best they both could muster. Trogger was never going to be a linguist anyway, but the strange lizard lady was a truly bizarre mutation; however, so was Trogger.

He had got used to strange things and thanked Professor Norkgrub for his weird tastes. Good old Norky. It was nice to know nobody really died. It was good to have loads of friends in different worlds, thought Trogger.

[** ** **]

Recycled dreams of dead people had been flashing through Krugler's mind for several hours: the most powerful being a recurring dream of eternal crisis and disorder. Krugler dreamed of muto-riots, a small human population trapped in stasis, unable to do anything. And strange kinds of giant birds flying over the colony next to space ships. Don't ask why. Krugler usually had weird sex dreams, but these were getting blurred. They never seemed to last long. Maybe he was losing interest.

However, Krugler composed himself. He needed to keep law and order and get the colony working again. Orientis7LK4 was too soft. He realized the rest of colony as a lost cause. He had a weird feeling it was not originally called Orientis. He had been around most of it for years and he saw Orientis as the last hope for future human survival. All the rich fatties were locked up in holo-stasis here, deep down in underground bunkers. They had to be woken once the colony was properly terra-formed.

Krugler started to cry again. Krugler missed London. He missed Kilburn and The Good Ship. He wanted a quiet pint and to see how Fulham were doing. That sort of dull ordinary thing people just take for granted. It used to be called normal. But that was a few centuries ago. He should never have taken that immortality deal. Krugler just wanted to wake up.

From a painful message left in his blurred mind, Krugler had been informed a new Sub-Assistant-Vice-Deputy from the Agency Goodmann and Goodnow was being deployed to the moon colony to assist him with colony rejuvenation.

Krugler felt his Agency might not be a reliable company, but they remained the colony's last link to Earth. They claimed they had no idea what was going on down there; however, they always sent him information of their agents and operatives the colony contracted. It was as if they had designed him and had an insight into all his thoughts.

They had been on the moon-realm a long time, so Krugler still couldn't believe it was real. Maybe he was working for Goodmann and Goodnow on a mercenary basis. He should have stuck to Gumtree. Was it a conspiracy or was he just being emotional? He had not been emotional for a long time, but he was missing human contact so much he had loathed seeing himself every day. Maybe it was all another experiment.

Krugler chewed on some Norkweedroot and dreamed about still being on Earth, doing a menial job. It was so lonely on the colony; Krugler was getting lost in his own reality dreams. He had not experienced D-State for a fortnight. What kind of freakish nightmare immortality was transforming into - particularly if you were not able to remember anything. He was pretty sure he wasn't mutating just yet. He had also read literature like it before, where people thought they were in one place, but they were actually in another entirely different place. It was not new, in fact it was a little bit dull.

Krugler had a thought: was he ever in the armed forces? Krugler didn't know, but Ludovic had been a normal Corporal, hadn't he? Krugler felt that he just worked alongside them, like a consultant within his capacity. A little voice in Krugler's head said, "YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT YOU'RE DOING, MISTER SHIT FOR BRAINS!" Krugler wiped the heavy perspiration from his face with a semen-stained paper towel; he had to be strong. Krugler was having too many doubts.

]*[ ]*[ ]*[

Professor Norkgrub laughed out loud. As all zoophytes do. He couldn't possess Ludovic, but Ludovic was keeping him in the loop. Thank goodness for that useless telepathic muto-blob, thought Norkgrub. He keyed in some codes on his console and hoped they were the right ones. He was not one for precision but in this case, Norky had done well. His cushion-capsule charged up. The good professor needed to break on through. He looked at the opportunities; he needed some funding. That’s how he ended up thinking about going on the road with Soft Machine…

7) A BIT MORE FUTURE-THINK BLINKING

Krugler was sure he had never joined the army, so that was a relief. He had always welcomed the machines; he had also gained his B.A. Degree (an unqualified pass, of course) in Philosophy from the U.R.S.O.M.A.D. University. On the colony, this enabled him to gain his management grade as the colony Chief. Philosophy was now called Pyscho-Bullshit Strategy Studies. There was a complete breakdown of social barriers here, as there were none left to break down.

Krugler tried to smarten himself up and got himself to the dock-portal. He was expecting his new assistant sub-assistant. As he finished reading the i-e-file, he noticed the dock-portal had opened and there stood his new assistant. He was amazed to see them all. He was stunned, almost lost for words.

His new assistant was called Zip Gregano. She was being sent to the colony with Goodman and Goodnow Agency security agents, called Ovno and Tipp. They looked like mutants, but they seemed genetically stable. They did not look useless lumps of detritus that were the mutations here. They looked like ancient mythical beings. Maybe evolved was the word Krugler was looking for.

Ovno looked like some strange sort of ape-like stick insect and Tipp looked like a hairless bear-beetle with shiny armour, his two red eyes just gleaming. They were both enigmatic, their clothing even more so. Tipp dressed as a badly paid Japanese salary-man with a crumpled shirt and a loose thin tie, that looked like it had never been washed.

Ovno, however, dressed like some sort of cowboy - in a weird glittery waistcoat all-in-one suit - with thin little cowboy boots and a thin ten gallon hat. "Holy shoot, holy shat," Ovno quipped. He was in ranger cowboy mode. He had no Tonto, though.

"YippyKaiyayyippyyoyippyyay people," said Tipp.

"Bowwowwowyippyyoyippyyay,"said Zip.

They all laughed; a weird ice-breaking laugh. Much to Krugler's amazement, Zip Gregano was a tall Amazonian woman. She had short blonde hair, in a pageboy cut with a small pubescent satellite dish face of a catwalk model. Krugler envisaged ejaculating over her face. Zip always got her clothes from Laura Ashley, but her underwear was all PVC. She was stuck in her pastoral ways and got her kicks from that duality.

Apparently, according the files, she only wore leather at nights. Zip was very timid and had a degree in Sapphic Sex Magicks. On her file it was written down as L.I T.L.(to simplify, Love Is The Law is the only natural law, of course); Krugler scoffed at it; he had never studied the occult as he was scared of it. He didn't know what code that stood for, so he scoffed because he wanted to look smart. He wanted to get it on with Zip. Zip had an idea he wanted to look smart. He was the boss of a dead colony after all.

Krugler then had a small, slightly eerie, thought that interrupted a weird mini-fantasy. During his mini-fantasy, he had been licking Zip's waifish punch-face, ejaculating all over it. Maybe they were all part of the enigmatic Mutant Police? Krugler thought to himself, looking intensely at Zip Gregano, finding himself aroused by her strange elitist face. Krugler didn't know what was what. He had to be careful of all these C.O.G. spies. Who were the strange mutant police? He knew that Goodmann and Goodnow had invested too much in the colony for it to fail.

Ovno and Tipp stared at Krugler. Krugler didn't like it. The agents had promoted Ludovic and moved him into an office next to Krugler's. Ludovic was being retained as a cosmo-consultant. Apparently, Ludovic's mutated excrement was pzionik portal-stones to other unknown realm times within the universe.

Krugler tried to speak to Ovno, Tipp and Zip.

"Whwhyssjjdlodoeprnth?"said Krugler.

Ovno and Tipp looked at each other, smirking. Zip stared into space, shivering.

8) TRANSMIT: SKRYER MODULATOR

Krugler didn't know what was happening. Was he possessed? Krugler looked around, suddenly thinking of poor Ludovic's sudden mutation. Ovno and Tipp looked up at him and nodded.

"Corporal Ludovic just told us you're losing it," said Tipp. He got a paw-feeler and tugged the back of Krugler's neck. Krugler's fatty deposits were sticking together somehow. Krugler was slowly dissolving. Tipp wiped his paw-feeler with a weird tissue out of a foil pack. Tipp smirked at Krugler again.

"What will happen to me?" Krugler asked Tipp, somewhat baffled.

"It's fine, Chief Krugler," said Ovno. "It's all been slip-streamed for us by Ludovic. You're no dimension space controller, but we can understand you, so you don't have to fiddle with that useless word-tranz thing no more. They went out of business years ago."

"Oh, right. I see," Krugler mumbled, dribbling. He had not realized they were speaking a different language.

Tipp and Ovno laughed some more, looking quite relaxed.

Krugler sobbed to Zip: "I don't know what's what. I don't know what's happening to me. Or Ludovic. What's up with this muto-virus?"

Ovno and Tipp shrugged. They looked at Zip who still stared at the Earth from the zoom-star i-e-window in bridgecontrolview Orientis. Ovno went up to Krugler, his bony arm wrapped around Krugler, not minding dissolved flesh sticking to his arm, and said:

"Mister Krugler, we're mutants in different forms in different dimensions. We're just a small part of the astral demon-tecz from C.O.G., sir! We're the government you can never get rid of. On all planes of existence, on all those tiny planets, in all those realms, things just exist for no reason. Some people call them dimensions, but we're all one really. You see, the C.O.G. go there, monitoring and making sure things get sorted. We all need some good shit, right?"

Krugler was silent. It was too much of a shock. They were universally speaking and Krugler was not used to this at all. He was more equipped to deal with the other side of things. Kruggy had never been fully equipped for much. His instincts had been right, though: Goodmann and Goodnow had exploited him. He remained powerless. Worlds had formed while he had been isolated on this daft colony.

"What in God's name has happened to humanity?" Krugler cried.

Tipp and Ovno smirked again.

"Something pretty damn useful," said Tipp.

Ovno nodded, adding: "You mean to tell me, you think humans are easily controlled as Homo sapiens? Human history has shown humans cannot peacefully govern themselves. They need to be ruled. No way can you control dumb humans; they can't stop killing each other for fun! You got to be kidding me, Kruggy? It's much better this way. The mutations got thought of as a form of cancer, but it turned out they killed death. They'll live for a long time now. We're here to help the early mutations, they're tough but they need some care and special maintenance."

"You better tell me the future! I don't like secrets,” replied Krugler.

These misfits are too late, thought Krugler. And he was the only elected official in charge and Krugler didn't even remember winning any election. It didn't even cost him anything. What a weird lottery…

9) DUM-DUM PZI-GRIMOIRES OF HOPELESSNESS

Krugler slumped in his seat; his body slowly being liquefied as opposed to anything resembling solidification. He looked defeated.

"Zip knows how to key in the robots" said Ovno.

"Yeah, science stuff bores me to tears", Tipp added, laughing. He was chewing raw colony Norkweedroot.

Krugler didn't like these agents. They were too knowing, too cocksure. He wanted to approach the fragile Zip, but she would not speak to him. She had started keying in strange signs to the bots.

"I don't like anyone fiddling with the bots, they keep to themselves."

"It's just a pzionik-upgrade," said Zip.

"So you're going to talk to me?" Krugler asked - trying not to sound irate. He was close to having a commuter strop.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be rude. I've been travelling the space-time continuum for 5,000 years. It’s been a long shift!"

Krugler was silent again, he was close to tears but bit his lip. He didn’t know Zip was over-worked. As Krugler bit into his lips, he realized that they were dissolving. He looked at his ugly form in the pen-spoon.

"Do you like my pen-spoon?" Krugler asked Zip. He resisted the urge to suddenly gyrate to increase his sexual appeal.

Zip had finished the strange re-coding for the bots. The conversation was already getting phallic. And, in Zip’s humble opinion, they were getting a bit too personal. The legendary infrastructure repair unit bots were now glowing. They seemed to be rejuvenated, in a technological higher state of consciousness.

"I don't know what you mean, Krugler," said Zip, “I've just rejuvenated all your bots. You're maintenance was very lax. The central cores do get low every few million years or so. They can't do everything. I'm authorized to do a C.O.G. upgrade. They will make more long-lasting units now to fix the broken down parts of the colony."

Zip looked on, as she put her thin latex book of signs away.
She got a small flesh-bag of blood and etched another sign - like a basilisk - into the corner unit. It glowed and it's acidic residues filled the room. Ovno and Tipp laughed loudly, breathing the sulphuric blood fumes. They consumed a lot of Norkweedroot, too. For Krugler it was nauseating. It was a vile smell and Krugler almost vomited. Twice.

Zip hugged Krugler. Krugler secretly wanted her to massage his dissolving genitals. His need for company had dulled his senses; he regretted getting involved with holo-machines and lots of painful masturbation rituals that had utterly dehumanized him.

Someone once said they preferred batteries to people, but Krugler was unable to remember the last time he had any kind of intercourse. Everyone was a prospective mutation. And stasis fiddling was still a criminal offence. Krugler didn't want to end up as a crazed crusty occultist goat-shagger

Krugler wanted human companionship. He wanted it up close but not too personal. Zip was the closest to that, but there was something strangely alien about her. She seemed to be growing. She was a giantess. They're gods, thought Krugler, dissolving even faster now. They've been sent here to usurp me. Krugler had a idea his body language was giving him away. He was body-popping, his liquid form was heating up.

Tipp and Ovno looked at each other, as Zip controlled her growth surges. The flimsy colony was indeed stretched when Zip grew, pressing the weak colony structure, creaking it and setting off the few pressure alarms that worked. Zip was able to tone it down and needed a small bottle to drink from to control these godsize growth flourishes.

It was all above board, but Krugler was now scared.

"All right, people, just let me know what's what, O.K.?" Krugler said.

He felt defeated, but Ovno, Tipp and Zip looked at him, shaking their heads. They all looked strangely intoxicated; maybe the Norkweedroot was taking effect. Ovno and Tipp took something disposable looking out of a case. The case vanished and a suit formed out of it. It was a plastic skeleton of some kind, developed by some kind of alien technology. Between Zip, Ovno and Tipp, they gathered Krugler's gooey remnants and poured him in to the plastic suit.

10) MUTO-MOON-FARM

Krugler looked at his new plasto-skelton form and he found he was able to move with ease. He had never felt better. He had always wanted a plastic skeleton when he was a kid, but his family were very superstitious.

"Muto-moon-farm," said Ovno.

"What?" slurred Krugler, still somewhat confused by his transformation.

"Tipp, maybe we should get Ludovic to explain it to Krugler, you know, in his mind," said Zip.

"Not a bad idea, Zip," replied Tipp, a bit too cheerfully for Krugler's liking. Tipp continued: "Might just work, considering this guy has been really put through the system. It's true all terra-formers and colonists go crazy."

"I don't know why they didn't just leave the machines," said Krugler.

"The agency needed mutants. Don't you think it a little bit odd you haven't heard anything from Earth?" smirked Ovno.

"I thought it bizarre, but communications have been down for a long time and no-one had been authorized to service them. We don't even know the real time. The bots were not repairing them for some reason. We don't question what they don't fix. You don't think a human was able to fix them, do you?" Krugler said.

"Not really," explained Ovno, "It's quite simple."

"You mean, the agency turned a colony population into mutants to send back to Earth, to infect real humans?" said Krugler, slightly disgusted.

"You got it, boyo. Not as soft as you look. Ludovic had a good idea when he married into it, he was mainlink agent. The final hub for all our insider operations. You can't stop mutating. It's how humans evolve. The pollution's only getting worse on earth anyway" said Ovno.

Tipp nodded, continuing the lecture, like a TV Shopping Channel host. An incredibly bad one. Krugler was sure he had autocues in his eyes. Tipp spoke smoothly:

"Sending mutants from the moon means Goodmann and Goodnow can send mutants straight from here to sort out all these primitive problems all over the universe. Mainly on Earth. It's got pretty bad. I mean, the Earth needs some serious sorting out. Real time isn't working. Too many petty wars, so much life lost. Over nothing, that's the worst thing. It’s a total waste of karma and energy. With all these giant useless mutants evolving, it gives everyone a cause and promotes some peace. Over time they will kick things up; no human in any realm we know of has figured how to kill a mutant yet!"

Tipp smirked - a weird beetle-bear smirk - once his lecture had finished. So much for back-story - more like bore-story. The feeling defied description. Krugler was trying to control his emotions, but they all seemed to be one step ahead of him. Was he able to still get some?

Krugler was stunned. His loins were burning. So immortality does happen: accidentally and in a polluted, painful, fashion. Thankfully, he didn't mind plastic skeletons. Krugler had the idea there was a serious plan at hand but he was unable to tell how it would help save his colony.

11) EARTH-STYLE HICCUPS WITH A HINT OF UNIVERSAL BLISS

They had to save the rest of the colony. They also needed to save them from themselves. The Out-Alt-Staters were starting to eat each other. The last thing Earth needed was some alien mutant cannibals breaking through to other realms and times. They were starting to eat up everything here.

"We got to save the rest of the people," said Zip.

"I mean mutants," said Zip, correcting herself.

Krugler had started to fantasize about what his plasto-skeleton was able to do. Zip looked at him; she looked worried.

Tipp took out his blood gun, so did Ovno.

"What's happening to them?" Krugler asked.

The metal of the colony started to part, they heard howls. Horns and whistles also seemed to be heard.
A broken alarm tried to sound, but could only muster a muffled battery drained whirl. The bots gathered together and went into sleep mode.

"Those cowardly bots!" cried Krugler.

"It isn't their job to fight," Tipp said. "They can sense the total muto-cannibalism. It's an intergalactic eating disorders. We know how to get them. It's our destiny, Krugler."

Zip turned to Krugler and said:

"We need you, Krugler. You know your pen-spoon. Attach the device to your plasto-skeleton"

"Where do I put it?" asked Krugler.

Tipp and Ovno laughed.

"We don't have a blood-gun for you, buddy," said Ovno.

"Just stick it where it feels comfy."

"I don't know where, I feel like a cosmic virgin here!" Krugler snapped. He was starting to get emotional.

Zip placed the pen-spoon device and attached it to Krugler's groin. Krugler assumed it might be the start of some kind of weird magickal foreplay. The pen-spoon device was a snug fit. Krugler felt his repressed sexual behaviour surge through him, as if he had just taken some heroin.

"Use it as a penis-gun. You have to use sex magick. We need your supremely cosmic sperm," said Zip.

With a totally straight face. Krugler thought he was going to faint again. He had also remembered the dialogue from a pornographic film he had seen. However, he didn't faint. He just got hiccups. Krugler had forgotten about the torment of hiccups.

[* * *]

Above the moon-colony - aboard a biological mothership - the C.O.G. head honchos Goodnow and Goodmann watched from their onboard tyme-screen. They were strange operatives: Goodnow looked like a dodo, with flowing golden locks. A mutated dodo, his genetics spliced with some unfortunate human. His beak was crooked in a permanent expression of hatred; his accomplice, Goodmann looked like he had been burnt. His charred flesh was still smouldering, his eyes glowing. He looked dead but, according to preliminary records, was well over 100 years old.

Both agents had helped Crowley and Hubbard achieve their goals in the 20th century, and now felt they should be allowed some respite in the 21st century.
They had remained hidden; they were trapped in another realm, but they had been at the moon for a long time. They didn't mind it there. They had been reading Hubbard's trash to each other for a couple of centuries too long.

Goodnow smiled at Goodmann and said:

"The dimension space controllers won't get involved, will they?"

Goodmann nodded solemnly. After a brief silence, he replied:

"They might have too much time on their hands. They have more things to do. We'll make this mutant farm invade Earth at some point just to throw certain times laws off-kilter"

Goodnow laughed, a deep demon-like croak.

"We'll raise all kinds of hell, again, eh?"

"Just like Xenosis94," gloated Goodmann.

"We may need some distraction operatives. Ah Pook has been on hold."

Goodmann smirked at this development and pressed a dark crystal button. A morgue compartment within the wall slided out, revealing some skeletons in a glittery cosmic brine known as Jazzleva. They looked like a mummified manufactured girlband.

"We'll use the Occultist Dolls. They just need more flesh. Don't tell Papus, he'll want another job-share," said Goodmann.

"Oh no, this is personal. Papus has his own corrupted plans. We'll send them to Islington again, of course," said Goodnow.

The two demon agents laughed, a deathly cackle. They were destined to destroy time and to make things happen that no other human might predict. With the dark crystal button, an activation sequence occurred causing countries on Earth to lose money and to force debts on their impoverished citizens.

"The cycle must continue; it must be fulfilled for eternity," shrilled Goodmann.

The demoniacal duo cackled; their evil pzi-auras glowed purple.

12) 10:31 EXITS THE BEDROOM

Krugler didn't have time to think. How long had he passed out for? Nobody had said a thing, he just suddenly came round. He needed some rest though. It's not everyday you find that you have turned to liquid flesh and get to use some kind of futuristic plastic skeleton. It's not like it was a normal day for Krugler.

Krugler almost got lost within his thoughts again. The cannibals crashed in, with pieces of mutated flesh in their mouths. They had changed. Krugler recognized Corporal Tellman, Corporal Carter and Corporal Clinton. He had thought they had perished, but they had obviously had a negative reaction to the mutation.

"Can we save them?" Krugler asked.

Zip shrugged. She aimed a small sieve device at them and a beam of light fired out of it that transformed them into tiny forms. They were trapped in the sieve. Zip put this device into her bag.

"You can only save them," said Zip.

Her voice was devoid of emotional distress. They were just specimens to her now. Tipp and Ovno were busy using their blood-guns, blasting the advancing alien muto-cannibals. The blood-gun would cut through the advancing alien muto-cannibal, tearing their flesh like a hot knife through butter. The blood discharge from the gun would then return to the gun and whip out again at another advancing thing. No blood-orgy was necessary.

"They want to pass through. We need you, Krugler." Zip screamed. She seemed to be weakening, but Krugler slowly realized she was powering up.

"OK, I can do it," mumbled Krugler, fiddling with his penis pen-gun-spoon device.

Krugler aimed and strained. An orgasmic pleasure swept through him as a giant sperm blast burst out of the device and growled towards the alien mutant cannibals.

These cannibals looked confused, as they tried to bite the gigantic sperm with their deformed teeth. Many of them lost their teeth on this tough sperm. The giant sperm cell broke free from the cannibal brood and growled at them, flying around them. It then glowed as it secreted acidic semen over them that started dissolving all the alien mutant cannibals, releasing their pressurized pzi-souls.

That was it! Krugler laughed. Tipp and Ovno, smiled looking relaxed. They liked galactic sports.

"Always a good bit of lysergic juice gets them, too!They'll live again, they'll live!" Tipp laughed. He patted Krugler's plasto-skeleton affectionately. Krugler felt like crying.

"It's not over people," said Zip.

Tipp and Ovno had started using futuristic pzi-trance techniques to detect more alien mutant cannibals approaching. They were able to use them the blob-like mutants as pzionik scanners, too, looking for more hostile forms. That's why they needed Ludovic so much, thought Krugler.

"Cheers, Ludovic," said Tipp, quite suddenly

Ovno turned towards Krugler and said: "Ludovic just gave me the future scan, too. There's a lot more alien mutant cannibals coming our way. They can smell the blood and deathly detritus here. They're after everything and some of seem pretty big. We'll do our best. Ludovic's communicating with all the mutants out there, too."

Tipp and Zip already knew all this. Krugler wanted to clear his mind, but maybe Ludovic didn't want to communicate with him, due to his earlier experiences. The tension was still in the air. That's when he noticed Zip growing, like a giant. His giant sperm cell bark liked a dog, circling around Zip's waist.

Zip calmly spoke: "Don't worry, guys, I know you'll last til the end, no matter what!"

Ovno suddenly cried, "Here they come!"

"Be careful please," Krugler added. It was as if he had known them all his life. Maybe he had in another lifetime. He was starting to care for them.

"Don't worry, Kruggy, the life-ride has only just started! We're all riding life, riding that groove, as Norky calls it! Death's such a simple concept; it isn't just death, dude. You'll know when you live again," said Tipp.

Kruggy almost shed a tear for that weird shiny beetle-bear! He tried to smile warmly at Ovno, even if Ovno was a bit more of a jock than the soppy beetle-bear.

The giant alien mutant cannibals crashed in, tearing parts of the colony away with them, knocking into some of the bots. The bots would be fine, thought Krugler. But the poor colony was getting destroyed.

Zip suddenly enlarged herself some more, getting more than 80ft tall, more like 180ft. She burst through the weakly maintained colony bio-dome and almost destroyed Orienti all by herself. Harsh winds burst through the colony. The alien mutant cannibals gasped, then tried to bite her. Zip squashed and kicked out at them - squashing at them as if they were ants.

Zip was clawing at parts of the colony using it as weapons to squash the fleeing alien mutant cannibals. There were millions of them, surely too many for one giant. Zip's clothes had shrunk considerably, despite her garments being some kind of futuristic stretchy-spandex for giants, but it had started to sweat away. Zip ripped the last threads away, revealing her giant naked form, as the alien mutant cannibals tried to bite her.

13) THE UNIVERSAL K-WONKA MOVEMENTS

Krugler's giant sperm helped Zip, as the ferocious mutant cannibals attacked her ankles. Ovno and Tipp had fought valiantly but they were over-whelmed by alien mutant cannibals. As the alien mutant cannibals sunk their diseased teeth into the weird flesh of the stick-insect-monkey and beetle-bear, Krugler noticed that they just slowly faded.

"Looks like it's down to you, Krugler, you got to shoot off another load. You got to stick some K's in those movements, Kruggy; jerk and wonk it out. Krugwonk it, K-wonk it, go on! Just go for it! Get it? Get it?" Ovno smiled. Krugler had never seen a peaceful death smile before.

"I think I do; you meant to say wank, not wonk," said Krugler. He was crying. He had not had an adult conversation for a long time. He also didn’t realize how much he missed masturbation.

"Don't cry Kruggy, do your thing! We needed someone sexually uptight like you. It's all part of the cosmic trigger. We got the cleaners coming in. You're going to meet an old friend!" Tipp roared in pain.

They said these words as they were bitten to pieces by thousands of the alien muto-cannibal beasts. They ignored Krugler for the time being but soon they would run out of things to consume. Krugler sweated, as Ovno and Tipp were basically invisible.

Krugler cried, "I will avenge you, you saved me and I will save you all!"

He looked up at the beautiful naked form of Zip and steadied his pen-spoon-device near her giant pubis and felt a huge euphoric sensation rise up within him; it was one of the best highs he had ever experienced and he felt like a giant too. The lysergic energy must have helped him in some mysterious way. His device throbbed.

Krugler felt bigger than a planet as hundreds of giant sperm cells burst out of his device to help Zip attack some of the alien muto-cannibals. It was getting a bit technical for Krugler. And he didn't know anything about occult magicks. He preferred to leave those things alone and figured he was just having another reaction to his medication again.

As Krugler ejaculated his giant monster sperm, making the plasto-skeleton glow, a portal opened up within the pzionik realm-space. The fissure crackled and rumbled, followed by the sound of huge flapping wings.

Krugler looked up, through pleasured weakened eyes. He really was a great masturbator; his tears were crystallizing in the corners of his eyes. He had always enjoyed the release of semen in the morning. And now he was seeing things. It must be stasis sickness. The caveman was riding a pterodactyl of some kind; the reptile bird’s huge wings flapped as the caveman steadied a blood-gun and took aim at the alien mutant cannibals.

Ovno and Tipp laughed. They flickered, not quite fading.

"Cleaners, Kruggy! The C.O.G. got the cleaners out of retirement! Those jammy time-trippers! You'll be fine, Kruggy!" murmured Ovno.

Zip looked up and nodded at the giant caveman. He grunted at Zip, and continued his savage shooting. He jumped off the pterodactyl and allowed it to feast upon the alien mutant cannibals. The caveman started to casually pummel away at the foul beasts that advance upon him, slowly making his way towards Krugler. Krugler smiled. Tipp flickered for one last time, saying: "It's Trogger, Kruggy. He'll clean it up. I'll see you soon – you’ll see!"

With that Tipp faded. Ovno smiled, he would fade away too, soon, but Ovno jumped into one of the dormant Bots, and after a few moments a strange fizzing sound emitted from the Bot. From its waste shoot, Ovno appeared in a tiny metal suit.

"I'll stay with you for a bit longer, just until Norky turns up. The bots will be needed to rebuild this colony - you know we've got to recycle everything these days!"

The alien cannibals were unable to tear at Ovno in his little metal suit. He slashed at them with tiny blades on the arms of his tiny suit. Krugler waited then he saw the caveman known as Trogger growing. He started growing just like Zip.

Trogger crashed into the larger alien muto-cannibals, helping Zip out. For a brief moment, Zip might have smiled, seeing Trogger enter the fray. The zombie homo Erectus was a great friend, despite the fact she had never had a chance to talk to Trogger.

Krugler felt himself getting weaker; he must need time to replenish his giant sperm. Masses of the larger alien muto-cannibals had cornered some of his gigantic sperm cells and were slowly feasting off them. These foul beings were also trying to capture Trogger's pterodactyl; but the winged reptile was too strong and very smart at out-witting these primitive traps.

Krugler had a feeling this conflict was going to last for a long time. The colony had no decent supplements to assist and stimulant everyone during these dour times. These foul beings ignored Krugler due to his plasto-skeleton, so Krugler tried to think of something to help. He had no idea what this Norky being even looked like.

Krugler secretly hoped this enigmatic Professor Norkgrub would turn up soon. He did not want the next stop to be Time's past. Krugler had a fear of his own past, let alone mucking around with further back in time.

[ * ] * [ * ]

Professor Norkgrub was back in 1968. He was a roadie for the Soft Machine. He had been there right from the start, living at Robert Wyatt’s mum’s house in Canterbury. They had not noticed his ghostly green crystalline aura. He had been a lucky charm for them, and was thankful to Daevid Allen for originally summoning him. He had also been on Robert Wyatt’s window-sill for a long time; Mike Ratledge had tipped the tail end of his drinks on him and Hugh Hopper had even used him as an ashtray. Norky decided to go along for the ride.

They were all doing it again; they had no idea they were wasting time, repeating themselves. Why were they sleeping? Through wasting time, they were paradoxically not wasting time and were actually breaking through musical boundaries that would not be recognized in 1968. Even their record company had been frightened to release them.

Reset was all the rage. Rage for the wage, as the neo-Marxist posers had said. It was a bit trendy, but Norky had no idea about trends; he was a cool mover – some might say a smooth mover. He hated pop-cultural-psycho-babble dialogue and he never claimed to be a hipster Moses.

Norkgrub was crystalline green, his aura was ecstatic. He had summoned some minor demons, including Och, to him get revive his astral manna. It was all part of his time-sliding plan. The band had moved on. The Soft Machine had always been a strange beast of a band. Norky liked the lysergic energy; it was good to be inspired by chemistry.

Once Soft Machine left him, Norkgrub noticed another new band – called Qwerty Queers - were discussing their plans for world domination. They had just made an “underground” film called “Oh Shit!”, so they were definitely “hip”. It was not on after the usual Fellini fare. Norkgrub listened to the band’s inane babbling…

“He washes his feet a lot, too; I don’t think we should keep him,” said the drummer. He had sunglasses and a bandana on. He looked like a hippy radical stereotype; he had been trying to forge his own identity, but ended up looking like an extra from “The Strawberry Statement”.

One time, maybe it was a few minutes ago, the drummer had moaned: “Who fucking remembers the drummer, anyway?”

This drummer was clearly intoxicated during these outbursts. He had not gone to sleep for over a week as he had taken too much Mandrax; and he had been drinking bottles of whiskey all day long. He had been doing this for ages, during the tour. Unfortunately for the band, he was not bothered by the fact that he was regularly vomiting blood; he felt it was for sacrificial reasons and kept on going with the flow.

The lead guitarist had fallen asleep. He had a massive ginger afro that covered his freckled face. He was dribbling whiskey and amphetamine sulphate. The lead singer, with long blonde hair and a face like a rat, smirked, shaking his head. After playing with his hair - twirling it and flicking it into different styles like every other hippy poser - he said:

“What’s happening with the gig in Monterrey? Phone up Russell and find out, will you Bryan.”

No-one responded. An uncomfortable silence infiltrated the green room. Norkgrub slowly realized that this bunch of Qwerty Queers will get forgotten. They were already thinking of how to sell out, making sure they were able to make a smooth transition into advertising. At least their bassist got away. He might go on to bigger things, just like Lemmy. He probably knows Lemmy, thought Norky.

A crystal-comm sounded in Norkgrub’s crystalline ear and Norkgrub remembered his astral-lock was ready. He had to be reincarnated as a giant tortoise-bird that farted lysergic acid. Norkgrub silently faded out, as quietly as he had faded in. Norkgrub never rushed his cosmic triggers; there was always time to fit in everything - there’s always time according to the wise Professor. Maybe he had forgotten about that C.O.G. mission…

…It was almost Out-bloody-rageous.

14) THE MUTO-CHRONO-CHEMO SESSIONS

After two hundred Earth years went by, the alien muto-cannibals were slowly getting stronger. The colony was a total warzone, close to being totally destroyed. The stronger alien muto-cannibals had consumed the weaker ones and were taking it in turns to wrestle Zip and Trogger.

However, it had been a fairly rapid act of genocide for the colony officials. The alien muto-cannibal population was down to at least a million, as opposed to billions. The conflict had stretched the team in different ways: Trogger was already dead and any flesh wounds he sustained immediately healed themselves.

Zip was getting some larger wounds, covered in hideous purple pus. She needed all the help she could get. Her giantess naked ninja moves had been great to witness, as she defeated the cumbersome alien muto-cannibals one by one. They were getting tougher to kill. They refused to adhere to the project articles; they were out of control. Many alien muto-cannibals had grown, despite being slightly smaller than Zip. It had been a weird form of evolution for them.

During the lull, Ovno would scout around the colony spying on the alien muto-cannibals. Krugler had noticed Trogger and Zip getting intimate in between waiting for those vile alien muto-cannibals to attack again. It provided visual stimulation for Krugler. It was not every day you got to see a giant blonde woman copulating with a giant zombie Homo erectus.

There were weirder things in the crazy world, and capitalist democracies certainly produced many paradoxes. And Trogger was certainly erect and did not seem to be homo, Krugler had observed. Even the pterodactyl was cawing at the prehistoric bumping and grinding.

Krugler wished he was not in a plasto-skeleton and was able to participate in their casual copulations. Apparently, it was never meant to be. At least Zip was enjoying her internship with the C.O.G. Ovno returned looking grim and said: “There’s only ten left. They’ve got pretty fat. Some are huge. They’re putting everything into taking you guys out!”

They were all silent. We all knew it was the end. Ovno saw the ten alien-mutant cannibal giants slowly walking towards the remains of the colony. Zip and Trogger prepared for the endgame.

At that point in time, the sky caught on fire: it was some kind of queer cosmic fissure in reality, as a huge flapping sound was heard. It got louder and louder. Trogger’s pterodactyl shrieked; even the ten fat alien-mutant cannibals looked up in a baffled silent hatred.

The sound of an old Hawker Typhoon was also heard; what bizarre magicks were being employed. Krugler saw the Hawker Typhoon land. An elderly man, with long silver hair, jumped out of the cockpit with surprising agility and ran towards Krugler. He looked familiar, as if he had known him for eternity. He was dressed as an R.A.F. pilot from World War Two.

“It’s all right, Mr Krugler, I don’t expect you to remember everything. I’m Tommy Tellman. I’m your life-coach, at some point in time – don’t ask when exactly! We’ve beat these A.M.C.’s before; we always need a bit of A.M.C., though. In the future and in the past, of course! You better come with me,” said Tommy Tellman.

“This isn’t fancy dress,” mumbled Krugler.

Tellman laughed his wheezy laugh.

“I only wear this when I’m in the tyme-craft. I suppose it still looks like a Hawker Typhoon to you? It’s fine; at one stage I had a real one. I’m the only one who can unlock it all. It’s my curse, but I don’t mind it. It’s like being the Navigator out of Flight of The Navigator. It’s better than some curses – like yours, Krugler.”

Krugler stared at Tellman. He obviously had met him at another point in time. Krugler’s mind had gone blank; he needed more stimulants to help his concentration. The flapping wings were almost deafening, as the fissure emanated a strange lysergic mist; the hum of the Hawker engine was barely audible. The alien-muto-cannibals growled at Tellman as he decided to open up a jar.

“Sorry old boy, you’re going to have to get in here,” said Tellman.

“I didn’t realize I needed another vessel. I thought I could survive everything in this plastic-skeleton.”

Tellman shook his head.

“We don’t have much time I’m afraid. When Norky gets here, we’ll all get washed away. It’s his acidic deep clean.”

“How do I get out of it?”

Tellman unclipped the pen-spoon device and put it in his bomber jacket pocket. He then took out a small metal pot – from a hidden inside pocket – and, with a small metallic taper inside the pot, he slowly started to daub the paste onto the plastic skeleton. As a result of this process, it caused the plastic skeleton to melt. In Krugler’s mind, the cream looked like silver Vaseline. Tellman replaced the little pot in his inside pocket once the plastic skeleton was sufficiently dissolved.

“Pure acid, it’s all good. I got this fresh off Doc Hoff in ’38,” noted Tellman.

“I see,” said Krugler. He didn’t have a clue what this Tommy Tellman fellow was talking about.

Tellman helped to scoop Krugler up out of the remains of the dissolving plastic skeleton and put him into the jar.

“Sorry it’s a jam jar. It is clean, but I couldn’t find your other liquid-suits.”

“Will I need more of that Zero-Tee-Seven-Bee stuff again?”

“I don’t know, Krugler, I really don’t know. The C.O.G. might stick you into stasis again. You never can tell. The good Professor and I are freelancers, like most of the demon-tecs here.”

Once Tellman had scooped Krugler up into the jar, he ran with great speed for a man of seventy; he somersaulted into the cockpit with the expert precision of a professional gymnast. He then saluted to Trogger and Zip.

They nodded at Tellman.

“What about Ovno, Mr Tellman?”

“I’m already here, Kruggy,” said Ovno from the cockpit. “Ludovic’s been picked up by Goodnow and Goodmann; he should be fine.”

Tellman smiled, almost looking relieved.

“That’s lucky, though Goodnow and Goodmann are very odd agents. I think they just make it up as they go along, if I’m honest with you. I had already decided to pick Ovno up while he was making sure his suit was strong enough.”

Krugler groaned, like a fat toddler deprived of ice-cream.

“Don’t tell me I’ve got to get in there!” Krugler grumbled.

Ovno and Tommy Tellman could not help but laugh.

“No, it’s for Zip.”

Krugler looked baffled.

“You’ll see,” said Tellman.

Amidst the ear-shredding decibel defying flapping of reptilian wings, Tellman revved the Hawker Typhoon and depressed a button; a mushroom-shaped projectile appeared in front of Ovno. It was mounted on some kind of launcher.

“You only got one hit Ovno,” said Tellman.

The Hawker took off as if it had anti-grav propulsion; Krugler could not see much from his position in the jam jar.

“What’s going on?” asked Krugler.

Tellman and Ovno ignored him for a moment as Ovno aimed the projectile at Zip.

“You can’t be killing her?” Krugler asked, somewhat confused.

“It’s a health supplement, Kruggy; a psilo-bomb or a shroomade - as we call them. Zip’s got to shrink and get into Ovno’s suit. We can’t get her aboard as a giant, can we?”

Krugler had not thought of it like that…

[*] [*] [*]

In this interlude to space and time, Agent Goodnow had performed a satanic ritual. He had copulated with a genetically modified dodo then, at the point of his weak ejaculation, he slit the poor dodo’s throat. He then drank the dodo blood and bathed in it. He then felt refreshed; as if his soul had been cleansed by the gods. He abased himself to the Old Ones and then made his bidding with Belial; the mighty King created after Lucifer. He looked like a beautiful angel, but his chariot of fire can be high maintenance; he needs a lot of offerings and sacrifices.

Goodnow only found this out once he started to think he had outwitted Belial, like Michael. He was no Archangel-agent. He was a vain fop. Goodnow had seen his future self and realized he was vain after all. The dandy did not want to die out; he wanted to be powerful regardless of the cost. He wanted to assume complete control of the C.O.G and all of the world’s powerbase with it.

He activated his pzi-tab attached to his hypo-thalamus. In this precise moment in time, he always went back through his past to re-live it. He performed this recreationally, sometimes using a LSD drip. He called it a system check. It was standard C.O.G. practice to have no skeletons in your closet. Zombies were a different matter, of course.

Goodnow acquired the re-animated dodo that way. Goodmann was having a blood orgy, copulating with the Occultist Dolls skeletons. He had smeared his blood and excrement on them and had allowed them enough manna for his perverted sex rituals. Goodnow had already participated in these repetitive rituals and had left early on this one.

They had bored him; he knew what Goodmann was up to; total destruction and everlasting nihilism. Goodmann’s only political view was a strange form of totalitarian nihilism. Goodnow wanted more. But he had his pzi-tab on full power: he found something he had not seen for a long time. He looked at the document; was it an ancient grimoire he had not seen?

He found his copy of Magical Elements (the Robert Turner translation for anyone interested to know…) and thumbed through it. He knew something was happening; time had a strange way of japing with him.

Goodnow analyzed the old document more carefully.

This is what Goodnow read:

File 767676: THE REPTILIAN TELEPATHY OF BIRDS [for beginners] by Tommy Tellman

Editor’s Note:

The accounts of a possible episode of time-fixing, near the pov-tranced Z.F.Galvez{Zeus Fernando Galvez, 1750-1820} somehow spliced with an unknown - recently aborted - foetus that will never die again. This all happened in Kilburn. The world forces you to live, but to spend you must live unspent. Interrupted by the journal of a wasted anti-life [pre-terminal termination...] by 'Pzi-Doc's Gamussi and Ruhrbello [who is Gamussi's secret-soul trapped inside?… Maybe it’s me again; I don’t really know…]…

…Z.F. Galvez offers himself to be the punished experiment: he submits the world's pain, administered rectally. He takes it like a penitent man. Galvez zooms like a cosmic bluebottle; he's in the small trans-dim settlement of Noizoolu (near Blackhorse Road) - enforced hibernation awaits him, of course; people all seem to be a foul smelling sludge here…

… By the way, a new deal started here ages ago; everyone goes to work for another alien P.R. Company to convince them not to enslave humanity and then destroy the world. They have to work it off for eternity - in some kind of weird immortality existence legislation pact. I mean, what a waste right? No wonder they’re destined to die out…

{For official C.O.G. use only}

Note to other bureaucrats: I know your time is precious too. I wasted enough time reading this drivel. I don’t know what to believe; I shouldn’t have skipped all my meds. If you can’t be bothered to go any further, please skim over this short synopsis as my USP:

Craziness of the realms and inner-sanctums of old haunts within the mystic free-house; we see transitions of how the public house has been constantly destroyed and it was, technically, a mystic speakeasy within a bookshop/cafe. Has our hero(ine) imagined it all? Will there ever be a nice resolution for our American audience and for the under twenty-fives? I don’t know, do I? I’m just thinking whatever I want to think, it’s not like my brain…I forgot I linked my brain up to this… 140 characters per link… In that case, we’ll get him looking after his mum, struggling with bags of shopping, living off meagre benefits, washing the dishes and trying to attempt other domestic tasks that make him quit his once in a lifetime work placement as a robotic sex toy salesman. He ends a life of self-pleasure…

…He reckons he's trapped in a trans-dimensional advert. Reality used to be so much more real than the watered down virtual reality we have to settle for these days… How can you work so much when housework is another way of life? He’ll never be clean… He realizes that everyone should be a paid some kind of national housework allowance to replace benefits and realizes the house might be the key. The homeless, like Galvez, can get parts of the street to care for and maintain and are paid by the state to get housing; this will slowly eradicate general homelessness and forge a return to utopian-communist values.

{PLEASE DO NOT FORGET TO CENSOR}

THE TREATMENT:

PART ONE: Doctor Ramussi's room.

Doctor Ramussi stared out of his dirty window. He licked the dirt off the glass, tasting its fungal dreaminess. He was feeling very light-headed, almost airy.

Ramussi was a particularly peculiar soul; he dressed in a dry-cleaned cream suit and opted for a faded Global Hypercolour T-Shirt underneath. He also wore some ladies suspenders and a corset; but this would not have been known to the outside "real" world. He still likes to wear Velcro slippers in public, though...

He had no place in today’s world, but he always liked to move with the times. This weighed upon him and he seemed to be constantly concerned. He always had time with cause[s] for concern. He had also been a jinxed carrier many moons ago… Also, he was not a real doctor. He was a word-doctor, which didn't mean much today. He got his certificate from an online word-witch coven based in Brazil. They were pretty good at Scrabble, too. It was all electrifying. And the practical was pretty interesting.

As I observed him for longer periods of time, I realized that he was very lonely. He had friends on a camera linked to his micro personal computing-device. He would display his affections for them in various ways, usually in front of this very device. His favourite was a German called Good Mann, or something. He could have been a troll, or a dwarf or even a barbarian. I had severe acid reflux and I was playing Hero Quest at the time, so who really knows?

…It all seemed a bit dull for Ramussi. He would never leave the room. He continued to peer out from the dirty window. He was re-reading Jules Garinet’s ‘Histoire de la Magie en France’ (1818); he looked at the dark mangy clumps of mould that collected in the corners of the window. The gout had been replaced by a hard wearing plastic type substance. This fascinated him for hours. I did not envy existence sometimes. But Ramussi smelt the damp mould spores, licking the divine mould for too long; he started to fill his time by pulling more concerned facial expressions in his pocket mirror.

At the time, I had felt his concern – it was an extremely big concern, I must say - though I can only guess what he was concerned about. It was very hard. It may have been that letter the other day….

“Oh darn it,” said Ramussi.

That was the best conversation he was able to muster with himself. He was seeing people appear in the windows again. Not the mould-folk again… He needed to consult his dust-mites about these quasi-cosmic developments. Surely it was a silent invasion?

PART TWO: A Coffee shop [and: That Letter the Other Day...]

…Ramussi was an impoverished word doctor, so this made him feel insecure. Though he was familiar with various substances and part of the liquid opium legalization campaign, he had very few public causes. He was a strange individual. If I wasn't alien to this realm I would have thought differently, but then again, I suppose everyone thinks differently.

Galvez sweated, looking feverish. He was burning up and looked ill, feeling his rough skin; he tried to not think about the window.
“Umm” was all that Galvez managed to say; he knew he would continue to keep thinking about the window. The enforced diet of soya and refined urine had not helped his astral progression, despite his belief in the healing powers of various pollutants. He had become too weary to sit at the intersections, or wander through busy traffic at roundabouts.

He perspired more frequently and suddenly felt cold. Was the window open? [I do not know, but nor does Galvez. Unless Galvez checked the window, as he would need to physically get up...] He knew that constantly thinking about the window would keep making him think about whether the window was open or closed. It was a tricky kind of reality, but someone has to get lost in it…

Goodnow stopped reading and gasped in fear, screwing it all up; he did not know Tommy Tellman moonlighted as a pulp fiction writer as well as being part of the C.O.G. team. This was a disciplinary matter, even if he was a life-coach. What awful trash, thought Goodnow. It didn’t make too much sense either. It couldn’t be right, could it? It may lead him to a real grimoire. Goodnow was now worried; he had performed a ritual on a whim. He should have found out more; he cursed everything. What did the rest of C.O.G. team know?

And, the paranoid thoughts flinging through his mind, what were they up to in these other worlds? Hours went by and Goodnow had no rest. He had a feeling these colleagues of his were going to disobey his orders and find his true plans behind his muto-farm. He hated the mutant police; he hated the demon-tecs. He didn’t know what to do. Goodnow was in virgin territory. He had always known what to do. He needed the mutants alive. He needed some flesh out of this. That’s why Ludovic came in handy.

Goodnow took out a crystal phallus and stroked it gently.

“Oh Ludovic,”cooed Goodnow.

15) THOSE TIMELESS FLAPPERS STRIKE AGAIN!

The mindless self-indulgent reptilian flapping had caused the alien-muto-cannibals to go into some kind of trance. This strange trance was almost a strange incantation to the universal ether; and just happened to be full of ritualistic mating. They hypnotically copulated with each other, some occasionally consuming the weaker alien-muto-cannibals. There were about seven fat ones left during this process. They were very fat at this point.

Trogger and Zip were waiting for the fissure to close; but Tellman had already guided the Hawker Typhoon near to Zip’s giant parched lips. She held her breath; waiting for the shroomade to hit her.

“GET READY OVNO!” shouted Tellman.

Ovno nodded and aimed the shroomade at Zip’s mouth. She parted her huge luscious lips slightly as Ovno expertly fired the shroomade through the gap. Zip smiled, nodding.

“WE HAVE TO HANG AROUND, YOU’LL SEE WHY, KRUGGY!” Tellman shouted to him.

Krugler could just make out Zip slowly shrinking.

Ovno laughed.

Krugler heard Ovno talking in his mind, and he said: “My job’s finished - just as well I still got that sharp-shooting down well. Never lose it, do we? Anyway, people, great working with you all. I got to find Tipp. He’s probably gone back to the 1860s. He’s a demon, I’m telling you!”

With that, Ovno faded; he melted out of time as if he had never existed. The tiny metallic suit was empty.

“WHERE’S HE GONE?” asked Krugler.

Tellman shrugged, then shouted:

“IT WAS HIS TIME TO GO, KRUGGY! THAT’S ALL, DON’T TAKE IT SO PERSONALLY; HE’LL LIVE AGAIN, WE ALL DO!”

Krugler felt like crying but was unsure if he was able to cry in his liquefied form. He was amazed he was able to speak.

“WHAT ABOUT TROGGER?”

Tellman laughed his wheezy laugh; he had managed to light his cheroot.

“DON’T WORRY ABOUT HIM! HE’S GOT ANOTHER MISSION – YOU CAN’T KILL SOMETHING THAT’S ALREADY DEAD – LOOK, KRUGGY, THERE HE GOES!”

Krugler looked up and saw that Trogger had already shrunk down to his normal height of seven foot or whatever. He was riding on his zombie-pterodactyl and had managed to get through the time fissure. That was the last Krugler would see of Trogger.

Meanwhile, Zip had changed from a giantess down to the size of a primordial dwarf. It was an amazingly vital transformation. Tellman guided the Hawker Typhoon down, doing his cosmic strut, as if he was controlling it with his mind. Krugler realized Zip was still naked and had briefly thought something dirty about trying to shape his sludge form into a large phallus to slide inside her. Was intercourse even possible when you had been mutated into liquefied detritus?

“THANKS TOMMY,” shouted Zip, snapping Krugler out of his reverie.

Krugler gave Zip a shy smile. Zip eyed his goo-form as if she had guessed he’d been thinking dirty thoughts about her again. Tellman handed Zip a silver all-in-one stretch-suit; Zip looked even more of a cosmic pixie in this silver romper number. Krugler would have ejaculated if he was able to still. He couldn’t find his pen-spoon either.

Zip jumped into Ovno’s tiny metal suit, lodge inside the spacious cockpit. Krugler had banished all his dirty thoughts to the back of his mind- wherever his mind might be situated within his body of liquefied flesh. He needed to focus; he just had no idea what to focus on.

“LET’S GO, TELLMAN, WE’RE DONE HERE!” Zip barked at Tellman.

Tellman stubbed out a cheroot and smiled cordially. He calmly replied:

“SURE THING, ZOE! NORKY’S CLOSE BY, SO WE CAN ALL RELAX!”

Krugler was amazed that the alien muto-cannibals were still frozen in some kind of mystic trance. As Tellman guided the Hawker Typhoon up towards the lysergic fissure; the beating of wings was so intense it started to thud against his liquid auditory senses.

Tellman laughed - lighting another cheroot and flickered like a hologram - as if he was in a totally different reality. Krugler realized he was a demon-tec too; he was part of the team. He was just like Tipp and Ovno. What had he got himself involved in? He should have stayed in stasis and turned the colony job down.

16) A RE-BORN OCCULTIST ENTERS THE CRYSTALLINE ROOM

Trogger burst into the space-craft, not bothered by the fact he wasn’t breathing. He had come to rescue Ludovic from Gooodmann and Goodnow’s warped experimentation – Trogger had heard Ludovic’s pzionik screams - but he had not counted on Ludovic being trapped in a pzi-drain.

Trogger didn’t have much technical knowledge. You could safely say he lacked knowledge and wisdom; but Trogger had control of his eternal blood-gun. He was always trying to get into more knowledge and wisdom when he was able to find it and consume it easily. Trogger’s hunting instincts were not in question. He could smell Goodmann and Goodnow.

Goodmann and Goodnow both saw Trogger on their mini-i-cameras; he seemed to be feeding his pterodactyl in the docking bay. On closer inspection it turned out to be one of their devoted aides, Bishop Kunfy, who was being ripped apart by Trogger’s reptilian beast-pet. Not another re-born occultist, thought Goodnow. He grimaced, fearing the pain Trogger might inflict upon them.

“How did he get in here?” croaked Goodmann. “He’ll ruin everything! You know we can’t control him!”

Goodnow gulped, looking around at the controls. He activated a crystal phallus-button that glowed at the foreskin when depressed.

“The pods are ready; we’ll leave him with the Occultist Dolls. We can always get more.”
“You mean clone more?” Goodmann queried.
Goodnow smirked and shrugged quite casually.
“You know me too well, old friend,” murmured Goodnow. Goodmann despised Goodnow’s effeminate affection, but was momentarily flattered by this weird affection.

]***[

Krugler had no idea what happened. As he entered the fissure, he saw a huge tortoise-bird fly straight pass them and emit a massive lysergic fart over the frozen alien-muto-cannibals. Those A.M.C. blighters really got it! They started dissolving; the Luna surface started dissolving; the colony disappeared as if it had never existed.

The giant Tortoise-bird winked at Krugler. He looked to see Zip trapped in the suit and he looked at Tellman, as he faded. Zip whistled at Tellman.

“What is it, Zip?” said Tommy Tellman.

Zip smiled.

“It’s my stop, Tommy. You take care - I’ll seek you out in 2015; maybe you can be my life-coach?” Zip said.

Tellman laughed, nodding.

“Who knows Ms Gregano, who knows?” Tellman retorted.

Zip then hefted the metallic suit Ovno had made over the edge of the strange Hawker Typhoon and fell into the swirling abyss that seemed to make up the time fissure. That was the last time Krugler would see Zip Gregano. He would have to wait eight-hundred Earth years to see her again.

Krugler looked at Tellman. Tellman shrugged, his cheroot seemed to ignite without Tellman using a lighter or a match. Krugler thought his liquid vision was playing up on him.

“I’m going to have to drop you off, too,” said Tellman.

“Why can’t I stay with you, Tommy?”

“You can’t, Kruggy. I’m not really here. It’s all some kind of freaky hallucinogenic projection. I’m split in places all over the place. I’m a very fragmented old man, Mr Krugler,” Tellman explained.

It was not much of an explanation. He just hoped time clicked together and it all made sense in the end. Tellman just wanted to witness the gradual death of capitalist systems imprisoning democratic values.

As Krugler pondered what Tommy Tellman meant, Tellman saluted at Krugler in his jar and vanished – along with the strange Hawker Typhoon. Krugler then realized he was dropping. Krugler regretted not dropping too much in his youth – something had always held him back; he secretly wished he knew what was happening but Krugler was scared. All he had was his jar. Krugler dropped for an eternity; he was just waiting to be summoned. His descent through some kind of time continuum did little to stop him feeling horny, though…

17) THE REPTILIAN THEORY OF THE LIMBIC PROWL

Trogger was trapped by the Occultist Dolls. He smiled a thin zombie smile. Ludovic tried to contact with Trogger; the great mutated mind telepathically intertwining with the primordial mind of the zombie caveman. The limbic prowl had only just started…

“Throw my flesh at them, Trogger, they will not kill me. I promise, you will see!” Ludovic said in Trogger’s mind.

Trogger somehow understood this and nodded. He had an idea the rogue agents - Goodmann and Goodnow - had escaped. He needed to get those two another time.

As the skeletal Occultist Dolls surrounded him, Trogger realized he needed to use Ludovic. Trogger grunted his thanks - a strange Homo erectus form of thanks. Trogger suddenly picked up Ludovic’s bulbous mutated body and hurled him into all the Occultist Dolls.

There skeletal frames were engulfed by Ludovic’s mutated blob-like form. The skeletons hissed and howled in agony as they absorbed the mutated flesh and suddenly started making a vital transformation. Trogger aimed his blood-gun, but somehow one of the Occultist Dolls lurched forward and put her smouldering mutated bone finger on Trogger’s parched lips.

Trogger had no idea of magickal pzionik processes. He just heard voices in his mind.

“It’s all right, Trogger, I am Ludovic. We are al Ludovic and I have control of these fine sprites. They all have different names, but they’re magickal names so I can’t say.”

Trogger grunted. He hated pzionik magick, despite owing his immortality to such astral implications.

“They all want to please you though, Trogger. I can’t control their urges. That’s if you don’t mind me taking part, too?”

Trogger grunted; he had no idea Ludovic liked to swing in that kind of way. He just hoped his pterodactyl had fed up on enough of that fat Bishop. The limbic prowl always ended in some kind of filthy orgy. Trogger shrugged, as one of the Occultist Dolls moved a mutated fleshy hand towards his gigantic caveman member…


[***]

Les Barloy woke up. He must have dozed off again. This happened a lot when he forgot his medication. Les realized he was at his college in Greenford. It was not a normal day. Something had gone wrong with that Ouija board at lunch. He was also disturbed when he found an old creative writing exercise from five years ago. It was about his alter-ego Dr Ramussi and some random historical character called Z.F. Galvez. He always thought he had burned it up. His friend, Callum Cheevers had laughed it all off - as had Jinny Jonkins, Callum’s on/off girlfriend.

But Miss Combtitt had seen them; she always caught them experimenting. She said nothing to them; she probably thought it all a silly game. She was a young teacher. After lunch, Callum Cheevers continued to flirt with Miss Combtitt during Science; she had seen him coming.

Les then wondered why he felt all gooey inside, as if he had been liquefied in a blender. He did not know what caused it. But he had hoped he had not really been liquefied inside. He probably should not have trusted the wild mushrooms he had for breakfast. He told Callum it was risky…

…Les sweated it out some more, before looking around the classroom and noticing that he did not belong in this time. He needed to get out there. He thought about pretending to be sick – though he really was feeling sick – but he knew it would not work. Miss Combtitt was a stickler for these casual acts of truancy; she always supported the rules.

Just as Les thought that powerless thought, his brain decided to fly away. Les was confused at first, but he saw it all happen: Les felt synapse-stimulating tingles all over his body; he hoped it was not another seizure - he had urinated everywhere last time and all the class had laughed at him.

But this time it was something prophetic; something from the realms of astral magick: his brain was a blob, a liquid form. He was becoming euphoric as his blood brain barrier went through some kind of acidic transformation. Something had just dropped into it. Les could feel it smiling deep inside him. A small bead of ejaculate dribbled down the shaft of his penis. He felt a gooey tiny sperm creature clinging to his pubic hair. He did not know what to say, then after staring into nothingness, Les smiled and said:

“Kruggy?”

CUE: SEQUEL PREQUEL SEQUENCE. EXT. EARTH. LAND. DAY&NIGHT.

THE REPTILIAN FOLLIES OF TIME by TOMMY TELLMAN

CHAPTER 1: THE BIRTH OF A SEER:

[Please insert chapters here and give a Star rating to help the author’s editing process…]

Impressum

Texte: R.K. Galvez
Tag der Veröffentlichung: 18.10.2012

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