The uncertain glory of an April day
Which now shows all the beauty of the sun
And by and by a cloud takes all away

[Shakespeare ]

George DeVoe stepped into the Pink Solution, an establishment at the end of
the block between Oscar and William's Book Shop and the Davis-Crawford
Cinema Palace.

The TV in a corner of the ceiling was babbling some crap about the news.

George bought a scotch with extra ice from Jericho, the bartender, one of
those one-of-us for whom everything damn breath he drew was an expression
(he said) of gay lib politics. A walking argument for homophobia, that one.
The Magnum P.I. moustache didn't make George like Jericho more.

Jericho was wearing his T-shirt with these words on it: KILL 'EM ALL AND LET
GOD SORT THEM OUT -- BUT FIRST I WANT TO TAKE THE CUTE ONES OUT FOR DINNER
AND A MOVIE.

"Bad day, I see from your droopy manner," Jericho said as he got the drink.

"Yeah."

"How about a kiss then, George?"

"No way."

"When life gives you a kick, no better cure than to bond with a brother,"
the bartender said, taking forever to put ice and scotch into a glass.

"How many times do we have to have to have this conversation, Jericho? Both
of us being gay doesn't make us brothers."

Jericho finally gave up the drink. George took it and looked around for the
most distant corner table. There was an embarrassment of riches to pick
from. The only other person in the Pink Solution was a young guy, with a
shaved head, and wearing dark glasses and a rain coat, sitting at a table
looking at the cup of coffee in front of him. George made him for a college
student who had just come out, at least to himself, and was trying to figure
out how to break the news to Mom and Dad. In olden days, George would have
hit on him, but Mr. and Mrs. DeVoe's little boy, three weeks after the big
bust-up with Marty, was finding life a lot simpler, and liking it.

George settled at a table by himself and looked around the place. When the
joint was crowded, it had a happy, sunny look to it, like a bag of candy in
a teddy bear town in a psychedelic county. The tables and chairs were pink,
and wide purple and green stripes covered the walls and floors. Jericho had
helped set the place up so that the lava lamp on a high shelf between the
two restrooms was miked and hidden speakers, at quiet times, amplified the
sound of soft bubbling.

Jericho thought things weren't clean unless they smelled like lemons, so the
place smelled like a tent staked out on a lemon the size of the moon.

But, anyway, right at the moment the place looked like the interior of doll
house, grown grotesque and too large, and then abandoned by restless
children. The Pink Solution would continue to look this desolate until a
little after five, when the commuter exodus began at the local office
buildings and the afternoon classes at the local campus let out.

Jericho dried glasses. The young man with the shaved head looked up from
his coffee and looked at George and Jericho. Or seemed to, anyway. George
couldn't quite tell because of the kid's dark glasses.

"Why the long face, anyway, George?" Jericho asked.

George finally paid closer attention to the news on TV, ignoring Jericho.
Christ, all the news seemed bad. Well, George guessed that's what made it
the news.

"I got fired."

"George!" Jericho put the glass he was drying down. "That's horrible! Uh,
what did you do again?"

George sipped his scotch and rolled his eyes at Jericho's clumsy attempt at
empathy. "I was the puzzle editor at Open Horizons. For eight years."

"Oh yeah. I read that page sometimes. What did our local gay rag need a
puzzle page for anyway?" Jericho went back to drying glasses.

"I don't know, I didn't care, but the new publisher ended my little reign."
George looked at the TV. "Look, couldn't you get the game or something?"

"Would if I could, but it's just the news on every channel."

George took another sip and tilted his head. "Why? Is something going
on?" He lifted an eyebrow.

"Don't you follow the news? There were all these weird lights in the sky
last night, all over the world. Now there are reports of wars and
assassinations, and riots, on four continents. The doomsday nuts are
rewriting all their old speeches."

The young man with the shaved head, whom George had forgotten about, stood
and strolled over to George.

Lord no, thought George.

"It isssss time," shaved head man said.

Oh great. A fellow queen with a mannered way of speaking. Nothing like a
flesh-and-blood stereotype to get the day rolling.

"Look," George started to say, "if you're looking for your first time with a
man you could have picked a better hour, and a better man to -- "

The shaved head man grabbed George by the shoulders and pulled him to his
feet, saying again, "It isssss time!"

"Leave my customer alone!"

Shaved head man had George in a strong grip. George saw Jericho had the
.357 Magnum out and was holding it, with two hands, and pointing at the
suddenly way too physical young man.

"You heard me, buddy!" Jericho barked. "This isn't some frail fairy
gathering place where a punk like you can come in and toss his weight
around. I'm gay, I'm proud and I got a big gun here I'm willing to use, if
you don't start behaving!"

The young man whipped off his dark glasses. His eyes were red. "It isssss
time for the ceremony!" he shouted, and when he said it a tongue three feet
long, with scales, came out of his mouth.

Jericho shot him.

The young man's head shattered, like a jug would shatter. What seemed
normal and human about his head and face was only a shell, and underneath
all that he was a lizard-like creature.

The thing's grasp on him loosened. George walked slowly backwards.
Somebody had to say something, and George got out three words.

"What -- are -- you?"

"I am the contact herald of the Fellowssssship of Domination. Lassssst
night was the firssssst sssssstep of our latessssst expanssssssion. We have
moved every breeder on this sssssphere to another universssssse and replaced
them with ussssss."

Despite his panic, George almost laughed. "Breeder" was an old gay lib
insult term for straights, heterosexuals, back before the brave new world
where a demographic chunk of American queers got into committed same-sex
relationships and started raising kids.

Jericho looked at the alien, and the .357, like he didn't know if he should
shoot the thing again or not.

"What happens if the human behind the bar there took another shot at you?"
George asked.

"I would terminate, but another would find you for the next sssssssstage."

"Oh." George looked at his chair. "Mind if I sit down?"

"Pleasssssse," the thing hissed.

George sat. "What next stage?"

Jericho laid the .357 down and took two steps to the phone behind the bar.
"I'm calling the cops."

The lizard thing opened its mouth, baring yellow fangs. Wrinkles appeared
at the edges of its mouth and it made a quick, rhythmic choking and rasping
sound. It took George a few seconds to realize that all this was the
thing's equivalent of grinning and giggling.

"They've replaced most of the cops, already, Jericho." George looked at the
lizard thing. "That is right, isn't it? I haven't got lost here?"

"Yessssss. Regarding the firssssst ssssssstage locally, 98% of your local
law keepersssss have been replaced."

Jericho turned from the phone.

"George, do you know how crazy all this sounds? How crazy all this is?"

The lizard thing took one step toward the bartender. The ceiling lights
shifted shadows across its green and scaled face. "Be careful how you
ussssssse that word, human. Tossssssss it out in the wind on thissssss
planet, and it comessssss back to land on you. Watch your ssssspeciesssss
sssssometimesssss if you want to ssssssee 'crazy.' Really watch."

"Crazy, maybe yes, maybe no, but it looks like it's happening, Jericho."
George crossed his legs. "You got anything else to tell us . . . What do we
call you, anyway?"

"I am the Quesssssstioner for the Fellowssssssship of Domination. Asssss an
expressssssssion of the Control Principle, we travel the First
Cosssssmosssssss. The procreative inssssstinct issssss like gravity and
magnetism -- a ubiquitousssssss force. Thosssssse with the technology can
travel along the linessssss of emanation and replace the ssssssourcessssss
of thisssssss power."

"So you knocked the straights into another . . . I guess in science fiction
it would be called 'another dimension'?"

"Yessssss. Assssss you call it. Another dimensssssssion."

"I think I have to go throw up or something, " Jericho whimpered.

"Oh, I don't think you're going to want to miss this, whatever it is,"
George said. He looked again at the Questioner. "Well, why are you here?
And what is this ritual, and why me and . . . Hell, this Fellowship of
Domination has already won, hasn't it?"

George and Jericho looked at the TV. A bulletin came through about how
martial law had been declared in a dozen cities in America, the Vatican was
in flames and a well-dressed homicidal street gang, made up of lawyers,
journalists and politicians, was dangling dead bodies off the Eiffel Tower.

George shuddered. "Not only have you already won, you seem to all be
really bad winners."

The Questioner, this freakish and paradoxical monster from beyond the stars,
then sat down opposite from George. "It issssss an edict of the
Fellowsssssship of Domination that a represssssssentative of each new
conquered ssssssphere must not be capable. A capable ssssssphere, by
cossssssmic tradition, mussssssst maintain full rightsssssss of autonomy.
By tradition, to be capable isssssss to correctly answer the Three
Questionsssss. Obviousssssly, we cannot all asssssssk everyone on your
planet."

"Oh yeah -- obviously," George said sarcastically. "Why me?"

"Yeah, why George?" Jericho echoed.

"Our monitoring of this sssssssphere indicatesssss you, George DeVoe, are
bessssst sssssuited for the Three Questionsssss. You are of ssssssstable
mind, but have mysssssteriousssss depthsssss in your persssssonality that,
we knew, would allow you to immediately accept the reality of the
Fellowsssssship of Domination."

"Oh, there has to be a couple guys and gals out there like that," George
said with a shrug and blush.

"And you are good with puzzlesssssss."

"Paradoxes."

"What?" the Questioner said in reply to George's one word sentence.

"The solution to your Three Questions will revolve around paradoxes. Any
star-faring civilization that calls itself the Fellowship of Domination must
be, at heart, paradoxical."

"I hope that'ssssss not an accussssssation, human. Do you know how much
violence hassssss been done in the paradoxical name of your God of peace?"

"At least we don't put the nonsense right on the label. Now. You got Three
Questions?"

"What isssss the purposssssse of love?"

"It is useless."

"What isssss the fourth quessssstion?"

"Yes."

"What issssssss the most important thing?"

"Nothing."

The Questioner stood and bowed toward George. George gave his opponent a
small nod.

"In agessssss of conquessssst, thisssss isssss the firsssssst time the
Fellowssssship of Domination has been defeated. We will bring back your
breederssssss. May you prosssssssper on this isssssssolated ssssssphere,
George DaVoe."

"I'll keep trying. Any reason you picked today for this?"

"The sssssssolssssssstice."

The alien rose up from his bow. Then the Questioner, lizard head, long coat
and all dissolved into a green light and the green light faded.

Studio announcers and on-the-scene reporters on the television started to
report that the disturbances happening on a global scale were suddenly
stopping.

Fast entrance, and fast exit, thought George. He wondered if all aliens
from outer space were like that. He stood and walked over to the bar.

Jericho grabbed a beer bottle from out of the small refrigerator behind the
bar. He took off the cap and tossed it to the middle of the floor. He took
a swig. "So the answers that save the planet are those ugly, cynical
sentiments, huh? Plus that pure nonsense about a fourth question. We
just duck Armageddon from outer space, but I still feel like crap. The
secret to global salvation has been a nihilist banana peel we all slip on."

"Don't feel bad, Jericho. I said the solutions would be paradoxes. Love is
useless for each person, but it's useful for whoever receives. Love is
supposed to unselfish, right? The answer to the fourth question is 'yes,'
although the Questioner only had three, because if I were going to defeat
him I had to be ready for anything, even answering a question that didn't
exist. The most important thing is nothing, because everything is equally
important. People who put religion, or business, or science, or what have
you at the center of their lives, and exclude everything else, are walking
bundles of misery to themselves, or others, or both." George paused. "Got
all that?"

"No. And I have a Master's degree."

"In what?"

"Accounting."

"Let me buy us a round, Jericho."

"Um, OK."

"Good. Oh -- and Jericho?"

"Yes?"

"I still don't want you to kiss me."

THE END

copyright © the author, 2000