Canto 18 – Spelunking with Dinosaurs
Ged had gotten the planetary coordinates from Frieda for the so-called Hammer of God. As they took instrument readings on the surface, they could accurately determine by use of a gravitometer the device was located in one of the deep places in the Bedrock Undercity. An expedition would be organized to retrieve it before they believed Trav and his Slaghoople connection would be able to mobilize the criminal element.
Ged took both Tara and Tkriashav along to teach him more about Psions. He couldn’t help but look longingly at the beautiful teenager, Tara Salongi. The facts of it made him feel terrible. Bam-Bam Salongi and Sinbadh went along for muscle. Ham couldn’t help but bring the beautiful Nebulon Princess and her young son. The two of them seemed to persistently attach themselves to Ham, though Ged noticed the boy looking at him more than once.
The Slate Cliffs had a huge cavern opening in their northernmost face. It was there that most people gained access to the Bedrock Undercity. The rocks there were an oily gray and led into a series of caverns that were torch lit and gloomy.
“Do you know anything about these Ancient artifacts?” asked Ged, looking sternly at Tkriashav.
“Yes,” said the almond-eyed master. “I know what prophecy says. The Prophecy of Master Xan says that the White Spider shall be reborn and he shall use the sacred tools of God to remake the Great Web Across Darkness.”
“Good God!” said Ham. “What does that mean?”
“Ged is the White Spider, the Weaver of Golden Destiny. I have foreseen this myself. The tools of God are the ancient relics of Grandfather whom some describe as God Himself. These would be the Crown of Stars, the Hammer of God, the Celestial Dragon, and the Orb of Essence. Ged will use these, I believe, to remake the very stars into a new and better Empire.”
Ged sighed. “That’s a lot to ask of a simple hunter.”
“You will do it, I have seen.”
Tara slipped her hand into Ged’s and smiled up at him shyly, more like a teenager now than when Ged first met her. He felt uncomfortable, thinking of what they’d already done together. She was still very much a young girl. Still, he couldn’t make himself let go of her soft and delicate hand.
They entered a wide and much-traveled stone footpath into the middle of the Undercity. Many cave men and women were already there, going about stone-age business. A billboard advertised the big Rock-ball game on Monday night, and another mentioned Stone Cold Cola in glowing terms.
“What will you teach me about being a Psion?” Ged asked morosely.
“I can’t teach you much. You are already a Master of Shape-changing. You can control cellular regeneration. That power alone will make you immortal as long as your brain doesn’t die. Your power as a hunter will also make you formidable. And Tara telepathically gifted you with most of the instincts you didn’t already have. If you know enough about a creature, if you can read its DNA, then you can become that creature. Unlike most who can change shape, you are not limited by your size. You can change into things both larger and smaller than yourself.”
“How do you know this?” Ged asked, puzzled and irritated. “Is it by your vision?”
“Oh, no. I can also read your mind.”
Ged looked violated and perturbed. He had not even sensed another’s presence in his head.
“Don’t be offended, my son,” said Tkriashav soothingly. “It is not as intimate a reading as Tara did. You still have secrets that I will not violate. I am as strong a telepath as you are a shape-changer. I can even read the Nebulon boy, and he’s going to be a very powerful telepath with tutoring.”
Ged looked at the naked blue child clinging to Ham’s reluctant hand. “What can you tell me about the two Nebulons?” he asked.
“The Princess has a very important father. He will not be pleased with the boy, a child caused by abuse as a prisoner in the Imperium. His father was a Galtorrian-fusion bully. The boy as yet has no name. What he does have is psionic ability, and a strong connection to your future as the White Spider.”
Ham, on hearing this, stroked the boy’s bright yellow hair with a loving, sympathetic touch. “What’s the Princess’ name?” Ham asked.
“In her language, she will now be called the Madonna. She is mother to a fatherless boy. The name is Inouijuc. She is very much in love with you Ham. She believes she owes her life to you, Trav, and Ged.”
“Princess Inouijuc,” said Ham, “What shall we name our boy here?” Ham put a hand on the blue child’s soft shoulder.
“Hamfast Aero Junior,” said the Madonna clearly and without hesitation.
Ham blushed. Then he smiled. He didn’t say another word or protest the decision. Ged also smiled. He couldn’t help hoping that Ham decided to settle down with this pretty blue princess.
Ahead of the party, a row of raptor riders lined themselves up across the road. Nine of them. The riders were armed with stone-flingers and spears.
“What do you want, Goober?” Bam-Bam Salongi asked of the beady-eyed leader.
“We mean to help you and your friends, Bam-Bam,” Goober Slaghoople answered the silver-haired caveman. “A friend of mine witnessed the death of Rocko Slaghoople. That other group after the Hammer is evil and foul. They must not have the thing.”
“We welcome your help,” said Tkriashav. “As Rocko’s nephew and only living male relative…”
“I am now leader of Don’t Go Here! Yes,” proclaimed Goober Slaghoople.
“We are honored to have your help,” added Ged. “My brother, Ham, and I are the new owners of the Don’t Go Here Space Port and the Grange Station. We will be working with you from now on for the planet’s own good.”
“Don’t Go Here has a star port?” asked Goober Slaghoople, flabbergasted.
Pay tentershawn to Dingle when he schtumms, koz when he schtumms he schtumms from eggzspearie antz.
Today’s Tabula Rasa
Make no mistake about it. I am quite capable of waking up in the morning with nothing at all in my head, no ideas, no words, no plans, no dreams… I can be the most idiotically stupid witless twit when my brain is thoroughly drained. But that is not the natural state of any man, and certainly not of someone like me who has lived for more than sixty years with a totally fermented head.
So suppose I woke up this morning without remembering anything at all that I have learned about the world. What would I do? What would I write? What would I think?
I think the first thing I might do if I didn’t remember anything at all about the world I find myself in, I might turn on the TV to find out what is happening, or watch cartoons, I can’t be sure I would know which should come first, if I even remember how to turn a TV on, or what a TV is…
But when I turn on the TV and look at what is really happening, and assuming I can tell the difference between Donald Trump and Donald Duck… Oh! Gonga! My gawd! How could it be this bad?
Donald Duck is president. And he gets totally angry and quacks on Twitter with that infamously hard-to-understand word-mangle of his, delivered while jumping in place and swinging his fists at the air around him.
A basset hound with a nose for clues has been tracking his every movement. And that basset hound is a former FBI chief. He’s very good at accurately sniffing out duck trails.
And then there is a lying and evil Keebler elf at the head of the justice department who is pursuing marijuana crimes relentlessly because he hates black people and wants to put them into the for-profit prisons he owns even though the rest of the country is deciding to legalize marijuana.
This totally evil elf, it turns out, has been talking to Porky Kislyack, Russian spymaster pig about campaign collusion even though he swore to Senator Frankenberry in his confirmation hearing that he was guilty of nothing… that he could recall. Hopefully the basset hound has his evil elf scent too.
And the racism and evil doesn’t end there. Gasper the Unfriendly Ghost is still hanging out with the president, feeding him just the right duck food to create dyspeptic outrage in his duck belly. Gasper will then spur Donald Duck on to quack more about border walls and guarding our southern border because too many Speedy Gonzaleses is a brown mouse problem in the closets of our country. We can’t have too many queso-eaters here.
Gasper the Unfriendly Ghost
And so, if I were to wake up with a Tabula Rasa, a truly empty head, and watched morning cartoons… or news… or whatever the heck that stuff on morning TV is… I would be left wondering what I was going to do about it. The options? Certainly I probably need to vote this year. Or I could bang myself on the side of the head with a brick and possibly knock all this stuff out of my head again, re-establishing the emptiness in my stupid head.
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Filed under angry rant, cartoons, commentary, grumpiness, humor, politics
Tagged as Donald Trump, Jeff Sessions, John Locke, politics, politics and goofiness, Steven Millar