I was bitten by a radioactive Jesus

(continued from 10: Patient Zero)

Leonard’s sources indicated that the Great Emaciator was making preparations for something big in California. I wasn’t privy to the exact nature of those sources, but Leonard assured me they were reliable. A demolitions supply company in Arizona had apparently sold a large quantity of exotic explosives to a man fitting Abraham Lincoln Johnson’s description, and several thugs, mooks, and gunsels known to be often in his employ had been spotted in the town of Twentynine Palms, gateway to the vast Twentynine Palms Marine Corps base. Leonard thought, and I concurred, that much as in Oklahoma he must be planning an assault on a military facility, perhaps to weaken confidence in the US government prior to supplanting it in some kind of coup.

I traveled by the fastest available airship to Palm Springs, and from there caught a mule train to Twentynine Palms. I was checking into the Twentynine Palms Resort Inn, University, and Casino, thinking about my strategy for reconnoitering the area, when I realized that it was happening again. Why had Leonard Nimoy sent me here? Surely he had access to special ops professionals, paramilitary cadres, and undercover detectives who would be far better equipped to handle this problem. A shortage of loaves and an overabundance of fishes was hardly likely to deter the desperate gunmen that the Great Emaciator had brought to the area, and whatever way in which a mass of high explosives the size of a humpback whale might be used to mess up a military base wasn’t going to be prevented by curing some eye infections and STDs. This was bad.

Convinced that Leonard had made a mistake, I called his direct line as soon as I checked into my cavernous room decorated in the style of the Sung Dynasty Imperial Chinese Court. The phone was embedded in a priceless jade dragon that weighed twenty-two kilograms, So I propped it up on the sofa, put my ear to its fanged mouth, and dialed the circular gold Chinese zodiac that was attached to its smooth underbelly.

“Hello, you have reached the offices of Leonard Nimoy. I’m sorry I can’t come to the phone right now, but if you’ll leave your name, telephone number and the general type and location of global emergency you are calling about, I’ll get back to you as soon as I can. If you are a casting director, please contact my agent Herb Vogel of the Hapsburg Agency at 213-555-ROLE. Thank you for calling. Beep.” I liked the way he said the word “beep” at the end of his digitally recorder outgoing greeting, but it was seriously upsetting that he wasn’t there to talk just now.

Since it was important I also tried his cellphone, his alphanumeric pager, his global satellite message relay station, the frequency for his Boeing, his six email addresses, his high-speed diplomatic courier service, and the emergency alert code for his military-spec, ruggedized, field data recording tablet, a gift to him from the President of the Southern California Gas Company in thanks for saving his life during a pipeline inspection in Guatemala three years ago.

Nothing. I was on my own.

What did he expect me to do if the Great Emaciator showed up? I could theoretically grant him a sudden and painful end by changing all the water in his body to a nice Chablis, but that was Against the Jesus Code, and just not something I could ever do.

“Besides,” I asked myself, “what protection could I afford to 4,635 heavily armed and highly trained US Marines?” “Sir! I don’t know, Sir!” was my reply. Was I here just to help the horribly maimed survivors after whatever was going to happen happened? That didn’t seem like a very good use of super Jesus powers to me. I should have been in Calcutta or the Cedars-Sinai Medical Center or somewhere like that healing as many sick people as I could get my sweaty, little, Jesus-powered hands on.

to be continued…