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Liz had taken well to her new prescription drugs.
In appearance, it had seemed to have drained out the inexhaustible source of inspiration that let her write novels after novels. Or maybe that was just due to the absence of Finnleys to take care of the editing.

In the meantime, Godfrey had worked hard to nurture her back to whatever state she called sanity and suited her best, and gently coax her to resume her former passion.

“Godfrey, let me retire from writing, it’s too passé.” she was pouring concrete into the silicon molds to make new saint statues. Over the years, she’d accumulated quite a few of those saints and martyrs that she collected (or stole) from derelict places of cult during her travels. She liked to paint them back to life with gaudy colours, mimicking some sort of Mexican style. Sometimes she would dress them, and ask Finnley to sew them clothes and little hats.

Strangely, getting her out of the hospice had made her want to populate the whole house with concrete clones of those statues. Maybe to fill a void of inspiration ?
Nevertheless, Godfrey was amazed at her capacity to innovate. Her writing momentum was certainly at a low, but did she channel her creativity in many ways.
The last batch of Christian martyr statues painted in the many outfits of David Bowie were a testament to that.

The fine-angel balanced sheet and innergy bud-jets forecasts were his least favorite part of the now. Master Medlik had learned a long now ago that when they reappeared in his presence, it only meant a resurgence of certain beliefs. Master Finn Min Hoot would say mawkishly that it had to do with his tendency to believe in and cling to control.
Notwithdangling, those blessed sheets had to be handed over to Tittartoness, the Lady of Tetratron who was in charge of the Heavenly Fine Angels.

It didn’t help that everyone seemed to be procrastinating to hand over their forecasts. Desiree seemed more interested recently in plastercasts for Old Deities, and unwittingly triggering Earth disasters, while stripping old satanic temples of their idols. At least, Master John had done a few tries, and could blame it on the extreme cosmic weather of late, and his busy jiggong schedule. As for the elusive Floverley, the peak season of energy hosting up above surely meant a lot of aura cleaning.

So, he was on his own, and had to just take a leap of faith. He jotted down a string of random numbers, and sent it without even looking. Ahah! he explaimed jubilantly, how’s that for going with the flow!

His shift was almost over. Ed wondered why the funny guy had looked so insistently as his hands. That was not the part people usually stared at… He shrugged — people are always stressed when they get their new identity, probably a bit overwhelmed by the realization of how direly they liked their comfortable boundaries and restrictions.
Some people weren’t just ready for such a change. Actually, it had taken himself quite a few years as well, that it within relativilastic timing, all considering.

He looked outside the window, it was night already, but at least the rain had stopped.
Usually, he would wait a little more until the brunt of the office people had disappeared from the overcrowded stairs, escalators or “moving staircases” as they liked to call it.

But today he was feeling like leaving early. Liz’ would be waiting for him.
Putting on his raincoat, with his murse in one hand, he twirled his mustache with a grin and the other one.

~ ~ ~ ~ She forgot the trout! ~ ~ ~
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ A read herring, was as good as red. ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ But for a clue-fish, who would diss a trout ? ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“Liz’! Liz’!”
…
“ELIZABETH !” (sometimes caps were better to catch her attention)
“I’ve come back from Mars to take you home.”

She couldn’t make out whether the medications were wearing off or kicking in, or was that really Godfrey, back for her?

“Liz’, I’ve got to tell you the most astonishing things.”
“Godfrey… I think you should wait a bit…” she slurred words died out in a pool of drool
“Liz’, wait till I explain you all about the blue benders. Aliens, new frontiers! >-) There’s hope yet for a new best stellar! I’m taking you out of this dreadful nursing home!”

His mother had told him not to trust what he would see. Somehow she’d spoken as if she knew more than she wanted to tell.

After the mayhem with the quakes, and the meteor impact, he thought that was it. There was something more to the reality of these events.

But then, nothing could have prepared them for what happened next. “Bloody aliens?”

Suspiciously, everyone seemed completely hypnotized and blissfully eager to follow them wherever they led. He had tried to wake Yz up, she was usually the no-nonsense one, but she’d looked at him with vacant eyes barely recognizing him with a faint “Johnny?”.

He started to get really suspicious when one of the robots started looking at his behaviour, not packing like the others. It even tried to force him to drink water —dehydration was common in these airtight environments, it said. It was then it dawned on him, that there must have put something in the water. But for what? A Mars take-over?

How he was somehow immune? Well, for a while he’d collected the water dripping from the stones, and had analysed it, found it very pure. A few days ago, before the whole string of disasters, he’d tried to drink it, see how it tasted, and it seemed safe. Must have been why. By now, most of the stones he’d collected had dried up, and his water supply was limited.

While pretending to slowly pack his things, he was looking at everyone queueing in short lines, all very ecstatic to go to the implausible blue boot-ship surrounded by watchful Finnleys. The exodus had a very eerie feeling about it.

He could see most of the persons he knew, even the new ones, Prune cuddling a box with her hamster family, Hans, even that daft Lizette and the mines guy. The religious nuts were so stoned they were all following an obviously overdressed robot with a headpiece they probably took for their religious leader.

But wait… His mother? He hadn’t see her. Where had she gone?

“Simulation complete”
Master Medlik reappeared on the City above Ascension Island.

He’d been careful to take the second right at the light tunnel entrance. You can never trust those bureaucrats to process your Id right, and they would just love to put you on another loop of incarnation, just for the spite of it. But he remembered the door from his first awakening. They’d changed its place a few times, patched it and all, but it would always reappear at a convenient place with the proper state of mind.

Anyway, the simulation didn’t go very pleasantly. Of course, the model was a crude representation of Earth as it was, but it was supposed to be the base model for Earth 5D, and so far, they couldn’t get it right. Super-powers, teleportation, faster-than-light travel and technological progress didn’t bring any wisdom.
Before that, he’d tried progress along the lines of open borders and property self-regulation. That no man carries more than he can take, to avoid the big conglomerates conundrums. Well, that fared hardly better than collectivism, and didn’t bring any compassion.

Those parameters were difficult to tinker with. Progress was a delicate flower, and like a bread sourdough, needed careful attention in the cultivation process.

He wouldn’t listen to the little voice. But it was growing louder.

Whenever Nabuco projected to human consciousness, they had the habit of seeing him as a plump looking bearded vagrant, like a Pavarotti turned homeless. It had annoyed him for a while, but now he didn’t mind as much.

Nowadays, he was mostly off the bliss addiction of the Rays, so in a sense, it was fitting. If he were still in physical human form, he would probably have taken on quite some weight. And that made him a sort of pariah too, splintering off the great order of ascension, or whatever They called it nowadays.

With them, there was no denying he’d lived quite the grand life, being ascended and all. They used to called him Master Nebuchadnezzar — well, often Master Nabuco.
He’d gotten on the rayroll almost by luck. He was credited for inventing the chibubble technique, as a way of extracting bubbles and peals of laughter when people get all hot and excited. At the peak of the technique, somewhere around the 1968s, he had recruited and incorporated many gnomes into the fold, as nature spirits known as gnomes had a uncanny knack for extracting laughter off people. With the call for sexual liberation and getting closer to nature, they had plenty of opportunities to get people high, and chibubbles were all the fancy.
It had started to go down as fast as it rose, people were no longer interested in nature, gnomes working condition when forced to move to urban environments were a disaster, and the chibubble production plummeted. Now, the industry was a thing of the past ; sometimes there were a few chibubble memorabilia kept by other Masters interested in speculating on its rare value more than for anything else. Now kitten videos on social media had replaced the chibubble gnomes business and driven a new unseen growth of the Gross Divine Product.

He didn’t know if the gnomes were responsible for it, but living so close to them and nature for a while, somehow opened his perception to the falsity and the insanity of their quest for power. So instead of finding new venues for innergy extraction as they all did, he’d resigned.
Nobody had heard about anybody resigning before, so they suspected him of trying to be original, and maybe disrupt the clever and immutable laws of the universe.
Long story short, he’d managed to escape their clutches, and live on his own, and off unhealthy junk thoughts habits. Those were the worse, the craving of decadent thoughts, maintained by the entertainment and news industries, the social media and all of it. In the long run, that or the fuzzy bliss were faces of the same coin, and debilitating in the end.

Even when he tried to block them, he could hear the thoughts, prayers and all the inner chatter. The spirit world, or however it is called, was a medium ideal to carry those thoughts and reverberate throughout the whole universe. Like sound waves travelling under water for large distances. Now, he could resist the urge to answer, seduce and insinuate. Many of the thoughts were so naive and would welcome anything. He was still a junkie, and those offerings were never helping getting him off the wagon.

Humans hoped for ascension, but ascended masters like him who were trapped in a false blissdom could only hope to resume their path by descending to human form. Such irony.

There was one voice that seemed to stand out. It had the flavour of “dangerous” pinned onto it, the kind of bright colours that venomous snakes and toads have on earth to warn predators to keep off, or else. It could only mean one thing, a genuine seeker of truth, someone who had the potential to tear the veils to shreds.

He’d seen quite a few of those, they were usually young, and for many of them terribly naive and easily corrupted by displays of power. Search for truth and search for power were sometimes so easily mistaken one for the other. The bright colours would fade over time, but they were still dangerous, too unpredictable to be trusted fully. Learned Ascended Masters knew well to leave those to their own device, while tending to the less critical minds.

But what did he have to waste, especially now? Nabuco zoomed towards the origin of the thoughts, observing at a distance, the young Domba.

When Medlik connected to his Master, the Great Tetatron for guidance, he was a bit surprised at the suggestions of his Master to allow for the dissent at the news of no alarity increase.

“Send them love and light”, said the Master.
There was no need to correct or fix, or take responsibility for the lack of results.
He quickly chastised himself for his bad behaviour and lack of trust in the universal plan.

The Master, catching his mind, seemed to add ominously “You don’t want to lose all your oscars with unascended deeds, do you?”

Pádraig wasn’t too pleased by his daughter’s visit. They had not been on best of terms since she took the job to work on the military project they were recruiting heavily for 23 years ago.

He’d done what he could to dissuade her to join the army, but he couldn’t have done more without permanently creating a wedge between them. He had nothing better to offer her, jobs were scarce around, and that could really have meant for her the once in a lifetime chance for a better future, even if he couldn’t admit it. And by the look of her car, and the ranking on her uniform, it may well have been so. So their relationship was tense, and her line of work was as taboo a topic as his health and cave-carving hobbies.

“P’a, we need to talk…”

He was already on the defensive, ready to snap back at her that he didn’t want a help (or worse, a bot!) to clean out his trailer, or cook for him, but she looked different, almost genuinely preoccupied.

“What is it now?” he said in a gruff voice, his throat sore from all the dust of the cave
“You should take a break from your cave digging P’a, just for a few days. There’s going to be some important activity —military training— around the place, and you don’t want to be caught in between, alright.”

I suppose drones don’t really count then… he thought to himself

Before he retired and made cave carving his hobby, Pádraig was an IT engineer. That was a few years back, and not long after, most of them became redundant with the rise of new generations of NI (near-intelligent) phones and computers. He’d happily taken an early retirement, so that he could enjoy a simple life and get to reacquaint with his daughter. He’d succeeded at least on the first objective.

It was twilight when he’d left his cave, and looking at the horizon, he’d noticed strange shimmering, and a lone bird of prey circling the area in the direction of the restricted area of the desert.
It’d given him an idea.
He still had the old drone in his garage, from the time when they were all the furor. You could buy them on online stores very easily back then, even print them in your house. But then, some do-gooders became concerned, about privacy, security or all that bullshit, and they were banned. Actually, the only ones still flying where from the army, and they would tear down any unidentified hobbyist’s drone, and likely give them some jail time if they had the chance.

It was exciting to do something on the fringe of what was authorized. Pádraig couldn’t wait to see if he could make his old drone fly over the area, check what happened there.

He was a bit lost in his thoughts when the dog’s barking made him notice the white car parked in front of his aluminium trailer, which had triggered all his spotlights.
He had a moment of panic before he realized that the car wasn’t from the men in black or aliens, but worse. It was Imelda, his do-gooder of a daughter.