83. Jimi & the Galactic Empire
The Baphomet idol stared at the eleven entities in its temple; only one was human.
“Speak,” the Celestial Maharani commanded. The goat gave no reply. “Make him speak,” she repeated, and Pepe was certain it was directed at him.
Fifty five years ago, almost to the date, a chubby baby was born who only grew fatter as he aged. The only thing wider than his growing waistline was his ambition. Pepe wanted to be rich; he was born to poor parents. From child to teen to young adult, his desire grew to filthy proportions. Everything about Pepe Gilgamesh was 5XL – from the physical to the material, and even more so, the soulful and spiritual. As obese as he was, he was definitely not lazy. He was as industrious as a lean worker ant. And he had street-smarts, antennae tuned to the trail of money. Music was what he got into by accident. As a boy he didn’t possess the resources for tapes and CDs, and he had no talent for instruments. He loved the radio, but what he loved more were street musicians. How they evoked the soul. He followed this black trumpeter everywhere, and when the jazz musician finally got a record deal, Pepe somehow found himself in A&R. He did all the shit jobs; met diva needs, bought musicians drugs, and arranged for hookers in the recording booths. He placated hotel managers when suites were thrashed, bribed policemen over bad rock star behaviour and usually tripled the amount when his talents weren’t allowed in a country over one law breaking reason or another.
The man had a nose for chart toppers. He is the most successful music exec to date. But Zero was his last signed artiste. After the breakup of the band, Pepe Gilgamesh felt it was time he ventured beyond to flex out his testicles. Spread his triumphant instinctive money making gametes. He is glad he did.
Pepe Gilgamesh reached out his thumb to Baphomet’s forehead. The Lucipher chip is embedded in his thumbprint, recognizing only his DNA. The idol moved its eyes, scanned the room over the eleven, and closed them. Leper spoke. Pepe had been communicating with Leper since Zero took a hiatus. He thought it was a guiding spirit; and still does. The fat one’s upbringing was idolatrous and superstitious, which naturally led to the occult. Perhaps it was packs with demons that brought him success. Perhaps it was mumbo jumbo. But Pepe Gilgamesh experienced the supernatural world first hand. And the supernatural is not that unnatural from time travels, multiverses, alternate timelines and communicating with the very distant future.
The very distant future spoke, “It is good to hear your voices again, your majesties. What do I owe the pleasure?”
“We’re here to negotiate a deal.”
“And what would that be?”
“Zero in the biggest concert ever,” Shu’ rHall rang clear as a perfectly crafted bell, “We can guarantee a crowd from half the universe.”
“And what about the other half?”
“If the head agrees, the body follows.”
“That head is in its own web.”
“We’ll see. But do we have a deal?”
“Leave Earth alone? Translate music to a higher plane?”
The Celestial Maharani hesitated. Then she said yes, but with an invisible reluctant nod.
To reintroduce music to the heavens after burning down the enchanted forest of Sorori and silencing all its singing and chirping and subsequently removing the hands and tongues of any caught rebelling musically was an extremely difficult conclusion for the Celestial Maharani to come to. But it was time to lay her prejudices aside. Shu’ rHall had suggested, and she intuited it right, that they could bring a larger audience to the One Song and Note. Why waste it on puny Earth? Her Pearly Gates had not heard the sound of joyful jubilation for ages. Perhaps it was time to be less paranoid and celebrate instead. There was too much of her unforgiving past that the Celestial Maharani grabbed on to. She was bitter, no doubt; extremely bitter. No one can disagree on that. She hadn’t had sex in a while. And even when she had in a distant past, it was bad and full of revolting memories. The Celestial Maharani had ruled an empire with an iron fist for far too long. People were afraid, but tired. Perhaps it was just easier to control people when they’re happy. Give them a dance, a rave, a trance magic experience. Give them...love, and the memories of an enchanted forest.
AI generated art prompted by author
This is a work of fiction. Any similarities to persons and events are coincidental. Use of names of public figures, places and events are purely fictional and are not representative of them.