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The whales’ dance on the dark bluish background lit by the tiniest reflection on floating seahorses and other sea creatures, made the scenery look like an eerie night skyline, full of moving stars.
The added feeling of weightlessness was empowering, and soon, the three queens passed side glances, barely interested by the words of wisdom of the hologram, and catching each other’s mind, almost asked their question at the same time.

Terry was the quickest this time, “Please, please, can you do a rendition of the Name Game with your disco ball lights, we’re all dying to do a dance! Please?”

Interestingly, the Hologram didn’t show any hesitation as it started to sing, and the three queens were all glowing as they adjusted their wigs, fins and other appendages.

The Name Game
Terry!
Terry, Terry bo Berry Bonana fanna fo Ferry
Fee fy mo Merry, Terry!
Sadie! Sadie, Sadie bo Badie Bonana fanna fo Fadie
Fee fy mo Madie, Sadie!
Come on everybody!
I say now let’s play a game
I betcha I can make a rhyme
Out of anybody’s name …

The lights were on, and the dresses glittered, Terry in the spur of the moment added kelp extensions to her wig to match the sardine tones of her suit, while Sadie’s only concession to fashion was a little glowing golden jellyfish that seemed to match her bob cut, and made for a funny pulsating hat.

Adamus was on, and unstoppable

The first letter of the name,
I treat it like it wasn’t there
But a B or an F, or an M will appear
And then I say Bo add a B
Then I say the name and Bonana fanna and a fo
And then I say the name again
With an F very plain and a fee fy and a mo
And then I say the name again
With an M this time
And there isn’t any name that I can’t rhyme.

A chorus of dolphins tried to join, having Consuela burst hysterically into peals of unstoppable laughter.

Consuela!
Consuela, Consuela bo Bonsuela Bonana fanna fo Fonsuela
Fee fy mo Monsuela, Consuela!
But if the first two letters are ever the same,
I drop them both and say the name
Like Bob, Bob drop the Bs Bo ob
For Fred, Fred drop the Fs Fo red
For Mary, Mary drop the Ms Mo ary
That’s the only rule that is contrary.

Maurana was shaking her head in seducing moves, pretending not to die of envy of the others, and expecting her turn.
And the music went on…

Okay? Now say Bo: Bo
Now Belen without a B: Elen
Then Bonana fanna fo: bonana fanna fo
Then you say the name again with an F very plain: Felen
Then a fee fy and a mo: fee fy mo !
Then you say the name again with an M this time: Melen
And there isn’t any name that you can’t rhyme
Maurana! Maurana, Maurana bo Baurana Bonana fanna fo Faurana
Fee fy mo Aurana, Maurana!

And they continued with all sorts of names for quite a while, even some of the whales’ and dolphins’ who were obviously enjoying the interlude.

“Did you get all that on video?” Maurana asked Sadie.
“Of course I did, the ezapper got it all. Linda Paul and the network won’t believe their eyes, it’s some heavy material! Even better than gold bars!” Sadie could barely believe what had just happened.

The whales seemed to have been so thrilled that after a moment of silence, a smaller one broke off the cycle, went to the huge crystal and took a heart shaped shard of it to offer them.

“I guess that’s their way of burning a DVD, what do you think?” Consuela was blissfully hopeless with technology, but could also have some moments of brilliance.

“We should go now” Sadie said looking up from the ezapper “it looks like some unidentified giant blue crab is coming at us, and we better let the whales handle it.”

“Are we going through that awful sewer again?” Maurana was starting to get green at the idea.

“I don’t think so, I had Sanso pick us up at the underwater cave thanks to Consuela surprise reconnaissance mission. He just arrived and he just texted me his location. It’s not far from here. He seems to have managed to herd a few octopi to carry us across. Always surprisingly resourceful this one, I might start to like him…”
Snapping from her emotions, she continued
“Time to say your adieus to 2222 ladies. Tonight, everyone’s a winner. We’re going to be famous.”

“That’s amazing”
“How wonderful!”
“Wow, so great!” … For a moment, was all they could say, in varying lengths and tones of “ooo’s”.

While they were looking at the show from a distance, Sadie realized they were not alone.

“Madam, if I may disturb, it seems you have dropped your key”
The robot which had suddenly appeared looked vaguely like the one which had dropped them underwater, except for the octopus costume. After all, all robots looked the same.
Sadie took the key a bit suspiciously, and in the second she took to examine it and as she was about to reply it wasn’t hers, noticed the robot had already vanished.

“How strange it looks just like the sister key to the one Maurana got in France, the key from the ferrets… Wonder never ceases…”

“Honey, may I interrupt your voovvvs and borrow your key for a minute” she asked Maurana.

The two keys seemed to match, and when pressed together, clicked and became one, without any visible seam.
Without notice, it suddenly escaped Sadie’s grasp, and darted towards the crystal, as if activated by it.

Sadie covered her ears, thinking it would shatter the crystal, but its vibration absorbed the key, and it started to glow more wildly.

A voice started to echo deep under.

“My name is Adamus St Germain, please ask your three questions.”

Secretly, Sadie had a beautifully laid out plan in her head, like a vacation plan with stop-overs at luxury hotels, and activities to entertain the children.
That made her slightly miffed about the succession of sidetrack adventures and the lack of focus of her protégés.

The plan was simple enough, they had to take the magical crystal from under the whale’s noses, and get back to the closest Time sewer, where they could funnel up (her fancy verb for “complete”) the special reboot edition of the Time Draggler’s show.

Surprisingly, Linda Paul’s interest and instructions seemed to have weakened and her usually generous and unwarranted input have been inordinately limited. Maybe the summer heat wave had mollified her, or her projects had shifted since the pilot of the Time Draggler’s show had failed to grab the network’s attention and fulfil its promises.
She couldn’t say. But something in what the techromancer told her had stuck, and she couldn’t quite shake it out. “A train will come for you, and you will have to catch it, this Time is your train.”
The hell if she knew what Time that was anyway.
But one thing was sure, this one-time gig was growing on her, and she didn’t want to get back to dog food tasting. So one way or another, she’d have to make it work, and move the drag’s lazy butts to make a heck of an entertaining show.

“Look! I vink vey’re over vere!” Maurana was getting the gist of the telepathic conversation.

It was lucky the interior of the cave was lit, as outside the night had fallen like a cold black carpet on a pack of dust bunnies, dropping the water’s temperature. Luckily, the suits seemed to have their own warming as well as glowing mechanism.

Terry was over Consuela, who seemed unconscious and in a REM sleep.
“Hey! Consuela learnt your eye rolling technique!” Maurana gleefully tuned towards Sadie.
“Don’t be silly, I think he’s in shock, pass me that electric eel, to wake that bitch up.” Terry was always for a bit of drama. It seemed to do the trick.

“Woah, you can’t believe the stuff I’ve seen…” Consuela’s pupils were dilated so much it was hard to see the whites of her eyes.

“Classic case of red algae intoxication, no need to consult the ezapper for that” Sadie said. “It is known that dolphins use it as a shamanic tool to astral. The concentration in these waters is surprinsingly high. Nothing than some fresh water can’t cure.” Too much time under water, she started to babble like a fish.

The Time window wouldn’t stay indefinitely open. She needed to get them move, and take back her authority. With children like them, one thing that worked was to shake some shiny stuff in front of them and let them follow it.
“Anyone interested in a Whale Queen’s Race?”

“Isn’t that the greatest thing about those underwater goggles”
After the shark threat had vanished, Sadie had contemplated for quite some time her new-found underwater abilities, and how to shift the weight of her body gracefully underwater. And then, she realized she could roll her eyes in the most peculiar way, with the membrane of the transparent skin massaging her eyeballs in the most relaxing manner. She’d never felt so good about rolling her eyes, and that was saying something.

“BrllllSssadiieeee” came the urging sound in bubbles and gurgles, with a hint of despair dragging her out of the lovely eyeball massage session. The underwater acoustics needed some fine-tuning, so she had her wits to thank for understanding quickly the situation.
Despite what might have looked like her sending messages on her ezapper, at the same time she was having in-her-body experiences, she was merely testing experimental echo-localization to pinpoint the spot where the pod of whales would be most likely found. The feedback buzzing had prompted her minutes ago that it had found 6 potential spots, and one only which was the most probable and located less than an hour’s diving distance. One thing she knew was that you had to be careful with automatic location instructions, so she’d run a second independent check and was waiting for the results when the alarmed look of Maurana turned and rolled in front of her face, almost giving her a fright.

“Gbbbllood gracious, Maurana, what’s the matter?”
“Gbblbl wooohoooglllbb bbbllrsfffftt plk plk plk skwooobbll!”

“Oh, for fucks sake,” she telepathied “will you stop nattering in French, be more articulate.”
“The others are drowned and I no longer see them, it’s awful, what should we do?!” the thought came back with force and a bit of campiness.

“Well, that would depend what it is you want” straight answers were not Sadie’s forte.
“I want to have our party with costumes and dances, I want to be the black pearl of the Ocean, I want to have more glitter and less molluscs, more chic and less kelp…” she started to sob profusely, half-choking and breathing from her tears. “I want my friends, and to be back hooooome”
“Bloody hell, Reggie, now is not the time to lose your shit, pull yourself together dammit.”

The reaction was immediate, the telepathic swearing was so out-of-the-ordinary that Maurana looked twice at Sadie, with her bob cut surrounding her face like a heavenly halo. Suddenly self-conscious, Maurana started to reapply some waterproof mascara to cover the stains.

“I found them,” said Sadie with infectious calm “the ezapper’s first scan took them for a pod of whales or octopi for some reason. Let’s go get them, then we go visit the whales. But first, you have to try this, it will soothe you…”, as she started to show some more rolling motion of her beautiful blue eyes.

This one is not a Lemone quote but could have been.
It’s from a series called Perception (S03E05)

Daniel: Think of your life as a story. Actually, you already do.
fMRI studies show us that following a story, a narrative with a beginning, middle, and end causes our brains to release cortisol and oxytocin.
These chemicals give us the uniquely human ability to connect with someone, even a total stranger, and empathize. In other words, stories are what we use to find meaning in our lives.
Now, imagine for a moment that we lived without the understanding that our story must eventually end.
What if our lives were as infinite as the universe, if the ticking clock never stopped?
What would our story be then? Would we… still love? Or care?
Would those tiny, fleeting moments that mean everything… Mean anything at all?

After almost 33 years on the road doing their their show, Geoffroy and the Théâtre du Soleil had had their share of success.

Of course, with an average age of the troupe being close to 66 years old on the eve of July 1789, they were not all young and restless, nor as high on hallucinogenic mushrooms like every other day.
Admittedly, their fate took a turn for the better after that show cancellation at Versailles the day of the attempt on the King’s life. They were stolen a balloon and a tub of lard, but what they gained in exchange was beyond wondrous. Sparks of inspiration had brought the team closer, and even the occasional quarrel between Lison and Francette was a blessing. Now, there was already a new King in Versailles, not better by far, and the wig fashion had improved only so lightly, but it gave good fodder for sarcasm and witty plays.

It wasn’t so much that their play-writing abilities had improved dramatically, to the contrary, but their common hallucination in the Royal Chapelle that day had unleashed their creative power. Their new plays had become famous overnight all over the Europe, liked by peasants who were enjoying its simplicity and nonsensical timing and plots, or even snotty critics all alike, who were somehow discerning artful and intricate royal satire that maybe they’d just invented to sound clever.

Tonight they would play a revival of their universally acclaimed chef d’œuvre, “The whales and the frogs”. With buffoonish wigs and corsets, and their share of heavy compulsory make-up. For some, the frogs were a symbol of the poor people carrying the heavy queens and kings of old, with crazy old Time as a driver, flanked with Janus the two-headed Janitor. Well, that sounded quite erudite and a tad pompous, and frankly for them, they didn’t care what symbol it was, so long as it brought the final money they needed for their retirement plan in sunny Mediterranean where they would take a boat and sail to the new world.

There was a lot of commotion that night.

It all started a little bit before 6 PM, while the winter sun was very pale and slowly rolling behind the horizon. Jean-Pierre Duroy of the Royal Intendancy had the maids rounded up in matching uniforms to finish the cleaning of the Opera House, and ready to start to light the thousands of beeswax candles with almost military precision. This didn’t go without hiccup of course, but they did mostly well, and the Opera House was ready for the comedians before 5:55, leaving them with 5 spare minutes to catch their breath before the eighteen rings of the bell.

Even a little bit before that, Nicole du Hausset who had spent the whole dreaded day in anguish about the Queen’s lost ferrets, while attending to Madame’s every whims, realized after scouring through the Palace and hearing through the grapevine of the maids’ ring of deals in stolen goods that she should slide a word to the Royal Intendant through some unofficial channels (she knew well Helper, who was a great influence on Cook, who then could talk discreetly to Annie Duroy, of the Royal Pastries and Cookies) so an investigation could be carried out without any particular mention of the ferrets. As she would realize later the morrow, not only would the ferrets be retrieved at the Opera House and the Royal Chapel, one for each location, except slightly lighter and cut open, an act that would be seen as a hidden message and possible attempt on the Good Queen’s life, and dealt with appropriately by a specially appointed Inquisitor —but also, and notwithstanding any longwindedness, that it would make little difference as the perpetrators would be nowhere to be found the next day, having vanished, it seemed, in the ensuing confusion (of which we will come to in a minute), stealing in the process the Royal Balloon and a few chouquettes from the Royal Cuisines.
Her duties fulfilled, and being now on the other side of the fateful date of Jan. 5th, 1757, at 17:57 without any significant change to her reality or life, she deducted her mission as the safekeeper of the time-smuggled ferrets was by then accomplished, and she could focus on her more pressing duties.

It was only 5:57 PM shy of a few more seconds, that Madame Pompadour, powdered like there was no tomorrow, would be helped by her two maids into her gorgeous John Pol Goatier designer dress, and her lambswool petticoats. She was dressed to kill, and that made her all the more suspicious in the minutes to come, but we are getting ahead of ourselves.
Madame de Pompadour’s schedule for the soirée was very precise. At 6 PM, she would greet her guests, and the King back from his afternoon at the Parliament at the entrance of the Palace, so they could all head to the Royal Opera, passing through the Chapel into the brightly candelight-lit half-built building where the show would take place.
There was to be a toast first, from fine champagne delivered the morning in zebra carriage (one of the Queens’ daughters idea, which had pleased enough the King that he’d booked them for an evening ride into the Gardens). She was all set, and with great dignity and carefulness, arrived at the spot a mere seconds after her Grace to great the King.

At the same time, Jean-Pierre Duroy, who had not seen them as he’d passed through the Chapel the first time (ungagged but still under sleeping curse and tucked in the corner of the stained glass windows depicting the martyrdom of Christ), and as he was getting anxious at the lack of punctuality of the comedians whom he’d thought sleeping in their trailer parked nearby, was notified that the trailer had been found empty by the bellboy he had sent to remind the comedians to be ready in 10.
A man of great resources, always ready with plans B to Z (he wouldn’t boast, but the zebras being one of such past plan Z, second only to an unlikely belching toad plan, the details of which we won’t get into just now), the Royal Intendant was ready to put in motion said plans, but the comedians suddenly emerged from the Chapel slightly groggy but apparently ready to take over their duties —especially the two ladies, who were bickering with the two men about being the Controllers of the Ascension. Little did all of them know at this moment that the hot air balloon was being highjacked by a team of rogue maids in cahoots with the Russian Ballet props technicians who had arrived some days before the bulk of the Russian troupe trainees.
The Russian ballet dancers were indeed still stuck in the heavy snows somewhere along their trip to Versailles, so the four comedians with their balloon and tricks were technically, already a Plan B.

By then, it was well into 5:59 PM, and the next minute would seem to stretch forever, but for the sake of a patient audience, we will not make it over 10.

In the first half of this fatefulest minute, Casanova had arrived with Father Balbi, his travelling companion, followed by none other than St Germain, all dapper and heavily scented. A score of less important nobilities the names of which we won’t go through were also here.
There were seconds enough in that first half minute, to rub cheeks and say plaisanteries and even utter a few rude witty comments with sweet tongues laced in vinegar, whatever that meant, and also enjoy the sparkling wine served at perfect chilly temperature.
It was only as we entered the second half of this minute that the King arrived, padded in heavy and warm coats and looking exhausted.
Seconds were spent in the same proceedings as above mentioned, if only in a slightly accelerated fashion, and slightly and almost unnoticeably higher pitched voices.

That’s only when the mission bell’s sang Welcome to the Eighteenth’s Hour et ali (for naught), in loud and ringing dongs that the unthinkable happened, living all witnesses traumatized enough that nobody could think of anything to do before the third dong had elapsed.
The King collapsed, a knife in his ribs. The perpetrator was caught by the guards before the end of the last dong.

While the King was rushed to the RER (Royal Emergency Room), and attended to by Royal Leechers and Clyster Masters who felt it was wise to call the Royal Priest seeing that there was little blood to leech, back at the Chapel and Opera House, the maids and Jean-Pierre were in a rush to blow out the candles, as it was obvious their attention was required elsewhere, and that the show would be cancelled.
Everyone would sigh in relief, but not before a few more hours of the drama, when they realized the King’s heavy padding had saved his life, and that the gapping wound everyone was dreading was no more than a pen’s prick. This would encourage Annie to admonish her children when they wouldn’t eat more of her delightful pastries.

Meanwhile, using one of the last candles, the maids and their Russian lovers had lit the tub of lard of the hot air balloon, which rose slowly in the night sky, out of sight when most of the attention was directed towards the King’s fate hanging on a thread.

The four actors where vaguely wondering if they were still dreaming when they saw the carriage of thousands of tinsy frogs croaking through a portal, with brightly coloured dressed lady-men inside, and driven by an unkempt man with a wild gaze and an air of sheer insanity.

Of course, by then, they knew better than to discard it as a mere dream.

“Sorry love, I was a tad busy with the whole time travel department reorganization. Had to call HR to fire some of these incompetent nincompooptarts. Can you imagine they not only manage to send you in the wrong period but also… I’m ranting now, sorry about that sweetie pie.

“Look, there’s no nice way to put it, so I’ll cut to the chase. The show’s been canceled by the cable network big potatoes. Too darn expensive not enough audience. You know all that jazz. I tried to argue, but all they wanted was excitement, glamour and bitching and yeah, all they got was a black tunnel and some green vomit. Got to admit, there’s no amount of special effects and sewing mojo you can raise to make your bitches look great in those dresses. Face it darling, they deserve gorgeous, but they’re still as ugly as sin.
Hell, I guess those shareholders twats just couldn’t stand the marvelooks of us…, now I’m ranting again.

“Long story short, forget about the ferret, keys and whatnots and get your pretty asses all right back as fast as you can or they’ll pull the plug out of the time sewers. And you know very well what that means for ye all.”

An ominous sound effect played from the ezapper. Darn Linda Paul always had to amp up the drama.

“And how are we going to lip-synch?” Terry said in horror, realizing the XVIIIth century sound system left too much to be desired. No glittering disco ball, no laser effects, gosh it would be like being naked on stage…

“Well, glad you asked”, Sadie said looking at her ezapper. “You see, this little device can do wonders, such as projecting very convincing holograms to create the most amazing scenes with little props needed, but I’m afraid, it needs a little boost in our case.”

“It needs juice now?” Maurana wondered.
“No, that much is OK, thanks to some fish extract, its battery is now fueled back on for days. All it needs now is an amplifier. That was one of the use of the ferret key, you see.”

“So no key, no extravaganza?” Consuela said with tears in her eyes.

“If you must spell it out that way, yes… But of couse, you can still complete the show without any special effects.” she added mischievously

All three of the queens recoiled in horror at the heretic thought of them performing without any of those bare necessities. The thought of them singing acapella was enough to give them nightmares for days.

Geoffroy didn’t realize at first. Then something struck him. That people didn’t pay attention to him was of course a bit curious. Then evidences of something witchy became bright as day, such as the fact that he had no consistency and could walk though stone walls, or that he could see things as soon as he thought about them.
All of that was disorienting, even for an acrobat used to twists and turns, and he had to reign himself back from jumping from here to there, in all matters of attention that he would like.
For one, he would have loved to drag his companions out of their own slumber, but they seemed under a powerful spell.
Some sudden doubt crept along, that he was all but dead — seeing his body lying on the floor was a shock. But then he realized he was still breathing and smiling too. And all the things he could witness with the three transvestites was surprising enough for him to know it could not just be a product of his fertile mind… Or was it? He dismissed the thought before it could take hold.

He heard the strange lady talk about ferrets, and became curious. She had a not quite French accent when she’d briefly talked to him, but now, he could almost see her thoughts, without a filter, and they looked dazzling with tinges of the most marvelous green.
He wondered if she was talking about the Imperial Russian Ballet troupe who was invited by the Queen for the avant-première of tonight’s show.
And sure enough, as soon as the though happened long enough in his head, the scenery whirled around and he popped right in front of the dancers …

“Who are you? Are you part of the show?”
The dragqueens had not noticed the four actors coming in the chapel, who were now standing in the aisle with some doubt clouding their faces about possible unexpected competition.

“And who are you?” Sadie returned the question with suave authority.
“The Wonderful Theater du Soleil, ma chère. You have in front of you Geoffroy du Limon, Lison Tailleur, Jean Pastisse, and Francette Fine, à votre service.”