Space Soap Opera

Another teaser from work-in-progress

Espinho, Portugal

Portugal’s time zone was an hour behind Serbia, the sky still illuminated by the last rays of a setting sun; making it imprudent to land Advaita Vedanta in an alley, invisibility technology notwithstanding.

Brandon Lopez should have flown the van, a mistake painfully evident upon deboarding, unremedied by sending the spaceboat off to a parking slot in orbit.

Maryanne Orsa’s one-hundred-eighty-two-year-old English/Norwegian/AjJivadi mother, Lisbet Porter, met him at one end of the alley with a tiny dog on a leash and an admonishing tone in her voice. “Did I just see you land a spaceboat seven blocks from where I’m living?”

He cringed. “I’m an idiot.”

“That’s what you are.” She gestured. “Let’s get moving before the neighbors show up.”

They trotted. Brandon carried the dog. Lisbet was so aggravated he thought she might not calm down enough to give counsel. Three blocks away, she slowed their pace, made him put the dog down, and said, “Okay. I’m over it.”

“I’m really sorry. I hope nobody noticed.”

“It wouldn’t be the end of the world.” She peeled out of her sweatshirt. “At least I got my aerobic workout for the day.”

He fell into step alongside her. “Did Hazel have puppies?”

She nodded. “The sire’s a Chihuahua from next door. An enterprising lad if I ever saw one.”

“We’re keeping border collies on weekends.” He reclaimed Hazel’s leash. “But I might like a dog of my own.”

“I have one puppy left; a male.” Lisbet led him down a beach access path. “A real cutie. Rambunctious.”

“Yorkshire Terrier and Chihuahua?”

“Chorkie. Twelve weeks old. Three pounds. Will probably top out at nine.”

“I wouldn’t want a big dog.” Grass gave way to sand. They stopped to take off their shoes. “Not with my lifestyle.”

“How is your life these days?”

“Busy. Carmen and I, and I guess Roy Keller, are teaming up with Stefan Tot and his daughter Gabrielle to start trimming the dragon’s toenails.” Brandon stepped gingerly across a band of seashells. “It’s the wrong end of the organization chart, but there’s little else to do right now.”

She gave him the eyeball. “Singapore.”

“Yep. We’re telling the wardens at Zeze it’s piracy, and kindly leave us alone.”

“Any luck finding out who did the deed at Galapagos?”

“If there was, I’d be interfering with the flow of political and economic capital into nonsense initiatives like United Nations Agenda 2030.”

Lisbet laughed. “As if the UN is going to eradicate famine, injustice, inequality, war, crime, and a dozen other maladies in the next four years.”

“Let’s play a tune we learned from Joseph Stalin. What could go wrong?”

“But you know, that’s who it has to be.” Lisbet waved in the direction of Brandon’s landing site. “What is that thing you came in on; a warship?”

“Mayur Upanaya’s battle launch, later acquired by Amil Leyta.”

“And you’re Upanaya.”

“That’s what I’m told.”

“So, maybe you could shoot those wretched, unworthy custodians of generational wealth living in places like the Hamptons, and not worry about who actually did the bad thing.”

He laughed. “Planet of the Unseen.”

“It worked.” She paused. “For a while.”

“And now it appears we’re back in the soup.” Brandon dallied at the water’s edge. “Have you talked to Elbert lately?”

“No, and I’m staying away from SagGha House until Francine makes her move, if that’s what she’s going to do.”

“Are you afraid Elbert will think you’re there to collect him?”

“He’ll know it.” Lisbet stuck her chin out. “I should have gone looking for him after Maryanne was born, and I’ve had a hundred-sixty-two years to think about it. If Francine neglects to reclaim what’s hers, I’m putting my hand up.”

“Wow. Life can sure get complicated.” Brandon acknowledged a beach walker. “You can pet her. She doesn’t bite.”

The woman knelt to rub Hazel’s ears. “Did you see the spaceship land?”

He shook his head. “No, ma’am.”

Lisbet took his arm when the lady departed. “Numbskull.”

Brandon started walking south. “Maybe that’s why I don’t know who set off the bomb.”

“Oh, hell, Brandon. Detectives don’t catch murderers unless it’s a family member.” Lisbet tugged at his elbow. “I talked to Maryanne yesterday. She says you’re hitting it off with your new girlfriend.”

He shrugged. “Carmen’s in the early stages of age-reversal. Libido in women skyrockets. Might have nothing to do with me.”

“I’ll tell you what does have to do with you.” Lisbet pinched his bicep. “Ascendant male.”

“I’m aware. It’s not good for my confidence.” He caught her hand. “And then Louise is making friends with Carmen, which is good because we have to collaborate on a lot of things, but still …”

“Awkward?”

“I wouldn’t call it that.”

“What then?”

He shrugged. “I think Louise regrets breaking up.”

Lisbet pinched his bicep again. “Sounds like the formula for a threesome.”

He let go of her arm. “Speak to me, my Jivada Peace Corps hippie from the 1860s.”

“Live for today.” Lisbet moved away to wade in deeper water. “Tomorrow we may die.”

“I’ll take it under consideration.” He walked out to join her. “How about an idea having to do with getting my investigation out of the doldrums.”

“Find someone who’s dealing with the same enemy.”

“Our theory is that this enemy wants Earth to burn so they can herd whoever survives into work camps.”

“How will the elites weather the storm?”

“Here’s the funny thing about that. We’ve been spying on your entitled wealthy for about a week, and they think they’re going to ride it out on board our migration ships.”

“After trying to bomb Ruksa Zila?”

“It’s nuts. They imagine themselves better than everyone, destined to land on top after a great reset, but they’re actually underperformers, useless, slow and stupid.”

Lisbet shook her head. “The first to be shot.”

“Cambodia, all over again. The revolution will parcel their property out to the peasants.”

“And yet this is who believes themselves fit to rule us.” Lisbet sighed. “So, who’s their natural enemy among the nation-states?”

“I don’t know. Israel?” He blew out a breath. “Maybe I should look into that. There’s this man with some kind of connection to IDF. He sniffed out our operation in Tel Aviv.”

“Do you know him?”

“I know his name.” Brandon told his phone’s Oma, “Ask CH Banks, who is Asher Stern.”

His phone replied, “Economist. Consultant, task force to expose enemies of Israel.”

Lisbet said, “Call him.”

“I will.” Brandon pointed his thumb north. “Can we go to your house? I’d like to meet the puppy.”