FLIPKA

Chapter Nine, Part 1

“It’s the Nova lady, Cal. I wonder what happened to her.”

The speaker stood directly over me shining a bright red light into my face. I was floating through a universe of veins and pounding orbs, afraid to find out if my mortality had run out, when something cold and oily dropped onto my bare neck. It rolled between my clavicles and then ran over the edge of my neck and presumably to the ground, leaving a slime trail as it did. The smell – ah yes, the smell of that goo was enough to raise the dead. 

The light pivoted as I was examined from the other side, “Yup, it’s her. She sure does show up in the darnedest places.”

“Think it’s a coincidence?”

“In the magical universe there are no coincidences and there are no accidents. Nothing happens unless someone wills it to happen,” I interjected. “William Burroughs on the subject of coincidences—happy and otherwise.” My body felt as though it had been put through a meat grinder, but the mouth still worked: “Whoever you are, would you kindly not shine your light directly in my face so I can open my eyes?”

“She’s alive!” 

“Quite possibly, but I may have broken something, and I’d prefer not to be blinded as well. Where am I anyway? The morgue?” 

“She’s alive and kicking,” one of them joked as he backed off, and the world grew grey. I opened my eyes. Above me hung a forest of stalactites, lit bubblegum pink by the lanterns my rescuers held. Slowly I remembered slipping like a silly goose on a piece of oily shale and sliding down the old mine shaft, faster and faster as the ground became increasingly wet, reaching out to stop my slide only to accomplish a change in direction that propelled me out of the shaft and into a black hole. My fall must have been softened by the mushy surface on which I lay. 

Carefully I checked my extremities, wiggling toes and fingers while rising to my elbows. All seemed well. “Where are your cowboy boots, gents,” I chuckled, as they helped me to my feet. They were outfitted like deep-sea divers—spotlights on their helmets, safety goggles obscuring their eyes, and knee-high mud boats.

“You can’t wear cowboy boots working down here in these caves.”

“Then I presume you two are caveologists?” 

They exchanged looks. “Yes. Caveologists. We work for the Lamarckian Echolocation Cultivation Theory Administration, or as we like to say, LECTA.”

“LECTA, huh? Let me guess - Agriculture department?”

They nodded. Somehow the name LECTA sounded familiar but my head hurt too much for any complicated processing of data, “Well, if you could just show me how to get the hell out of here, I’ll be much obliged and you can go back to your caveology activities.” 

“What are you doing down here in the first place? These caves are government property. We have to take you in for a 2-8-9 at HQ, don’t we, Cal?”

“Oh, for pity’s sake. I’m in here quite by accident. One of the inmates at Enev was about to show me how she and her buddies have been fleeing the coop when I fell—or was pushed—down an old mine shaft.”

“We don’t know that, Ma’am. First we run into you on Big Gulch Road and now down here. How can we be sure you’re not a spy for BLM?”

“Luke, does she look like a spy for BLM?” Cal interjected. “This is a matter for Fearless Leader to decide. Remember our Code.”

Spies, Fearless Leader, the Code – these guys sure were a hoot. I decided to play along with their game: “Earthlings, take me to your Leader.”