I was in a state of disarray. I knew that I looked like heck and I didn't care. The rain hammered on the diner windows with a relentless clatter, only serving to exacerbate my already grey mood.
"Cheer up little camper!" said Jeff with a smile, clapping me on the shoulder. I glared balefully at him. We had come to have a cup of coffee and commiserate, partly because it was excellent weather for that sort of thing, and partially because Jeff's dad had died just the past week and my wife had left me. The only problem with our plan was that Jeff didn't quite understand the 'co' in commiserate.
I sat up. "Jeff, how can I cheer up? Madeline and I were together for over eighteen years." Even as I mentioned her, my hands started shaking.
He sighed, "I don't know what to tell you, buddy. What I do know is that it seemed like the two of you were on the rocks ever since you took that trip to Disneyland."
I frowned. Disneyland? What was he talking about...?
Suddenly a memory surfaced in my brain. A memory of pain, of torture, of terrible secrets, of the rise of a New World Order hidden underneath the all too clever facade of a family-friendly corporation. Disneyland. I had barely escaped from there with my life, let alone my soul...
"They're coming for me," I whispered in horror. I had to get out of there.
"Hold that thought," said Jeff distractedly, breaking my concentration.
I blinked. What had I been talking about? I felt like I had just remembered something vitally important only to forget it again. I shrugged off the feeling and instead focused on Jeff who was examining his watch with tremendous intent.
"What are you doing?" I said, wondering not for the first time why I hung out with him.
Jeff's eyes snapped up to lock with mine. "You need to come with me," he said, rising from his seat.
"What? What are you going on about?" I said with a frown as I also rose.
"No time to explain. There's a lot at stake," he said, glancing out the window nervously, as though something could burst through at any moment. I was shocked to notice that a gun had materialized in his hand. Before I could inquire as to where it had come from, he motioned for me to follow and then absconded out the front door. Against my better judgement, I followed.
The rain was even worse outside. I was thoroughly soaked in less time than it took to write this sentence. I ran after Jeff as he disappeared into a back alley. When I turned the corner, he was fiddling with his watch again. At last he seemed satisfied and he looked up at me.
"Stand over here," he said, gesturing for me to step closer.
"What's going on? I'm not taking one step closer until you tell me." I said, refusing to move. He stared at me, then shrugged.
"Suit yourself," he said, tapping his watch.
In a bright flash of light, I felt the sudden and unmistakable feeling of being tossed across the yawning gulfs of time and space. I didn't have time to protest before the journey came to a halt and I found myself sliding across the smooth tiled floor of an immense, immaculately white room.
After the wall had brought me to a sudden halt, I rose, rubbing my shoulder. Jeff was standing not ten feet away, still examining his watch. I was going to ask him just what had happened when another figure caught my attention. My jaw dropped. It couldn't be.
"David Bowie?" I mouthed. It was him.
"Once perhaps," acknowledged the Bowie, "Here most know me as Ziggy Stardust. Welcome to the Parliament of Bowies, traveller."
I didn't know what to say. Words had failed me for what seemed the first time in my life. Jeff walked closer. "Allow me to explain," he said, offering me a helping hand, "I have not been entirely truthful with you. I am, and have always been, an agent of a higher power, a power dedicated to serving and protecting the multiverse."
I took his hand and he pulled me to my feet. "You see," he went on, "throughout the multiverse, there is only one constant, and that constant is the entity known as David Bowie. All of the Bowies took it upon themselves to use their godlike power for the greater good, and formed a grand council."
He gestured to surroundings. As I took it all in, I realized there was no other way to describe it but grand. There were numerous artworks and grand stairwells rising into infinity, and endless doors scattered across every inch of the room. Everywhere there were Bowies, hundreds, thousands, perhaps millions of them. Ziggy Stardust Bowie had seemingly lost interest and wandered over to observe a trio of other Bowies who seemed deeply absorbed in some kind of game. Jeff and I followed.
"How was that?" queried one particularly pale Bowie, dressed in a sharp suit as he finished a series of pantomimes.
"That wasn't a very good Bowie impression, Thin White Duke," murmured another Bowie, a bit older than the rest.
"Hmm, I suppose you are right," mused the pale Bowie, "However, I thought I really captured the nuances of myself."
"I think that perhaps you were trying too hard," barked another vividly redheaded Bowie in a guttural accent.
"Agreed, Scottish David Bowie" admonished the Thin White Duke, "Yet in trying too hard to be myself...did I really find myself?"
All of the Bowies murmured their agreement. It was then that the older Bowie saw me. He walked over and extended his hand. "Hello," he said, "I am Neo-Classical Bowie, the Bowie of your own universe. We have much to talk about, you and I."
Before I could say anything, he continued, "Allow me to explain why Agent Jeff brought you here. We have a peculiar problem, a problem to which you alone have the answer." He gestured at the thin air, where a glowing screen instantly manifested. Upon the screen was a whirling, twirling cascade of silver bolts, blue and green lights, and vermillion bursts. It was blinding.
"There is the threat which we face," said Neo-Classical Bowie.
"What is that threat?" I said after a minute of contemplative silence from all the Bowies.
"Space Canada," the Bowie whispered.
"Space Canada?" I repeated, unsure of what I had heard.
"Yes," said the Bowie absently, "Everyone has heard of the United States and the Soviet Union's space programs. What no one has ever heard of is Canada's much more eclectic and ultimately much more successful attempts to colonize the chilling void between the stars. And now they have returned."
"Aye," growled Scottish Bowie, "They come in their coal-fired Space Dreadnoughts, with their legions of genetically engineered lumberjacks and elite Sasquatch brigades. They are lead by a man, a man whose very blood runs like maple syrup and whose beard is like steel wool. Aye, we know him as Space Minister Mackenzie. Before him, Earth has nary a chance."
"And that," said Neo-Classical Bowie, laying a hand upon my shoulder, "is why we need you. For Space Minister Mackenzie's full name is," he paused for dramatic effect, "Jeff Mackenzie."
I was staggered. I looked around at all of the Bowies who were solemnly watching as if the fate of all things rested upon this single instant.
"So," said Neo-Classical Bowie, drawing my attention back to him, "I have only one question. Will you save the universe?"
To be Continued in Part II of...
SPACE CANADA ATTACKS, EH?!?
Also, to help things make sense, here is Part 1 and Part 2.
