Cafe At The End Of Time 19.0

The next two weeks were a blur in his mind. He got

sick with the flue. He hadn’t been sick in a decade.

He did the “Stay Drunk” cure…one couldn’t tell if

it was working, but then, one didn’t care.

He couldn’t write. There was a certain kind of energy,

a certain kind of concentration, that just wasn’t there.,

even as the illness was lessening…there was nothing

to do but wait for the Muse to return to his body.

Maybe he couldn’t write again, there was no way

to know. But, at least he had an ending…

                                         ****

They were ready for assault. They had a mixture of

“Trench Warmers” …some ten gauge automatic

shotguns with fleichette ammo…some shotguns

with packets of flaming Napalm…whatever

happened next, they knew they’d take care of

themselves.  There was great nostalgia among the

mercenaries for the war type of the “Great First”.

Their blood hunger was real, and they recognized

coldly, without anger, that they had been trained

for this. Looking at their objective, they experienced

total calm…and they recognized this state as a

product of their training…Bushido/Tao/Natural Mind,

so that there was no question because there was no

doubt. It wasn’t so much that they weren’t afraid to

die….it was more that they hadn’t been afraid to live

for a long time.

                                  ****

The  “China Brothers”….he hit the ground running…

Cosmo and Portland had the clubs checked out and

logged into the defensive grid….Fantasia and Larry

looked after the sex trade and made sure they were

informed. This was going to go to the mattresses.

Frank was on the executive committee. He told them

a first strike might be the  best way. His colleagues

considered.

“A first strike…one you can control…see what their

strengths are…measure their response.”

“Oh, Frank, You’re such a tool…” Frank hadn’t noticed 

Tsnelda sitting on the zafu in the corner rotating a mala

or a rosary with fervent zeal since the time he’d been

there.