Moreaugarin's Crusade (standard:science fiction, 4322 words)
Author: bufnila ovidiu	Added: Mar 28 2003	Views/Reads: 4582/2518	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Ibhib the Gunner of Longville stormed me up from my den. He had scored about the catacombs of Beauburg for the best part of a week

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mantles of ancient-light. The Venusians couldn't resist temptation. 
They wanted to become immortal, too. Abjured their creed. Left their 
temples to neglect and decay. Next they stoned their priests. Then they 
marched together in the City. Yet the Pilgrims' plan failed. The 
Venusians' rage burst out all of a sudden. The walls collapsed under 
the canon fire and it took the Venusians just one autumn to butcher one 
another... “Do you know what happened next?” Ibhib asked and took slug 
from the bottle. “You tell me.” “These Pilgrims wanted to become 
masters of all the worlds in the Universe. They travel from place to 
place hoping to find a spot to their liking. After they had destroyed 
the Venusians civilization they salvaged part of the walls of the Ideal 
City and squeezed through one of the hundreds of “worm holes” crossing 
the Universe.” “So where they stop?” I asked impatiently. “Somewhere 
near here. On planet Terraria.” “That imperfect copy of the Earth, 
right?” “Right. But they couldn't build their Ideal City here. The 
gravitational field was unstable. Now and then, which is quite often, a 
strong temporal vortex changed the geographic position of the 
settlements. Garbage and other refuse dumped from the Earth appeared on 
the beaches in Terraria. Out of that putrid heap all sorts of 
unimaginable beings came to life and they continuously changed the 
entropy index of the planet...” “Listen to me...” “Wait. I'll be 
through in a moment. The Pilgrims got to...” “To the Earth.” “That's 
it, Max boy. The Earth. The walls of the Ideal City are made of 
ancient-light diamonds.” “And we grab them, all right?” I shouted 
eagerly. “Moreaugarin splits the stuff with us.” “Look here, Gunner, do 
you trust him? I don't. I suggest that we play his game up to a point 
then in some way or other we get rid of him.” “We thought about that.” 
“Who's “we”? What do you mean?” “Well, there are others: Brulla, the 
man with the talking parrot and a barrel organ, Ploto the butcher from 
Venus, Vlasko the Trumpeter, Gargarelli the Philosopher, Totora the 
Circus man, and one thousand other rogues, just the best of the whole 
lot.” I joined them. I had nothing to lose but my life. Seeing only the 
bright side of things, the boys in the gang were as playful as kittens. 
At the break of day we set off to Moreaugarin's fabled castle. It lay 
beyond the high piles of radioactive waste, on the edge of the ocean. 
We had the colly-wobbles with hunger when we got there. We nearly broke 
down the gates of his castle. Moreaugarin the serpent treated us 
gently. Easy does it. Soft spoken. Honeyed eyes. Tricks we all knew... 
He gave a speech. Without losing any of his starch, he showed us he 
still had the fab gift of gab. He was perched on that funny-looking 
machinery puffing out sulfurous clouds. You'll never see the like of it 
again so no one knew whether it was a scarab, a mechanical octopus, a 
demon of plastic, glass and metal or only a chimera. The machinery had 
sparkling red spheres. Silver shafts full of spikes. Multicolored 
prisms to read your past, present and future. A huge Fulton dynamo. 
Snaking inflatable pipes. Fire balls. A one-ton piston. A German 
revolving beacon light. A steel rammer. A Van der Graff jar. Shiny and 
slippery scaffolding. Catwalks. Cellophane snakes and winding 
holograms. Organic aggregates from which fearsome soldiers were born. A 
transparent pyramid emitting blue streaks of lightning. A launching 
pad. And a supercomputer Mettryks. Moreaugarin walked stiffly up and 
down the bridge deck and shouted at the top of his voice. “Welcome, my 
lions! My tigers! My brave fighters! I remind you that occult forces 
are trying to bring shame to my name. My scientific genius is not 
acknowledged. The Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals sued 
me for allegedly experimenting on a brontosaurus, which I reactivated 
without their approval. Hah, hah, hah! Moreover, they even want saddle 
the nuclear bomb ob me. But forget those pygmies! We'll show them good 
and clean, tigers! Quite soon! Swellings? Spittles? Booming farts? 
Vomit? We'll dump them all ... and now, listen to me carefully! The 
Ideal City was brought to Earth. By Pilgrims. Intruders from beyond the 
cosmic horizon. They laid their hands on Its walls and carried It all 
over the Universe. We shall free It.” That was nice. Soul lifting you 
may say. But we all really wanted to know how much of it would be ours. 
Moreaugarin began fuming. He gave a piece of his mind. He gave us a 
hell of a laundering. He said: “You ignorant pitiful bums! Can't you 
get it into your goddamned heads that you will be the Deliverers of the 
City? In the name of the Cross, we shall fight, my tigers! The Ideal 
City belongs to man. He was born in It millions years ago. He was 
banished from It. He was robbed of the City when he was still unable to 
speak. It is I, Moreaugarin, who will free It again! We'll do it 
together, my knights!” That was pushing a little too far. Knights. We 
were all weathered soldiers who had fought planetary wars. That was 
more to the point. We kept weapons hidden I our bodies. We could say we 
were fallen angles, perhaps. Casual passers-by. Where as deep down we 
were beasts. Downright frightening. In short, the Knights of 
Apocalypse! “Look, Moreaugarin, you say we should go on a crusade?” 
Brulla asked him halfheartedly as he was stroking the ruffled feathers 
of his talking parrot. “What about the diamonds?” “Hah! Moreaugarin 
laughed. “Is immortality itching you?” Now I see what you mean! You'll 
be immortals. That much I can promise. You'll ride through the 
centuries by my side!” “Hold on a minute, don't burn yourself out. You 
gave us the slip once before!” Totora the Circus man bleated out, 
making faces. “We want to know the price. That's where it hurts. The 
clink of money is the real tune for us. Then we shall see about 
immortality. The crux of the matter is, what's in for us if we 
slaughter the Pilgrims?” “Oh, what a pity! God poured a drop of spirit 
in a whole barrel of hogwash! Look at yourselves, poor Totora! You're 
festering with pus! We shall cure you by fire. I'll burn you with the 
hot iron, you misbegotten son of a bitch. I'll give you money. But 
glory? Did you think of that? We shall deliver the Ideal City! We shall 
throw Its gates wide open. So God's sheep will drink the ancient light. 
On your knees, you God-for-nothing bums!” We all fell in the dust full 
with shame. Moreaugarin stepped on a pedal and a green RAY hurled into 
the sky. The air sputtered. Oh, God, that scholar was going to hoodwink 
us again. We were hopeless. We'd bought ourselves a lot of trouble, for 
sure. We were his puppets. He could strangle us. Or break our heads 
open, fumble inside and suck up our vital fluids. Or he could slash 
open our chests and play with our hearts and make them sing by driving 
in his fingernails. We were mesmerized. Fallen in the trap. All hope of 
escape gone. We went aboard Moreaugarin' s battle cruisers and started 
crossing the ocean, on and on, to the walls of the Ideal City. Near the 
Horn of Africa we sank a pirate's ship already cut to ribbons by a pack 
of cuttlefish, which had been doing a spate of foolish things for the 
last hundred years. We took on supplies in Gibraltar and lied to the 
people telling them we are going to fish for whales in the Far North. 
Well, the Americans, the Russians and the Spanish and the English got 
wind that something was afoot. Even the Genovese had inkling. Add to 
that the people beyond Tibet. Others on a nuclear submarine followed 
us, as they wanted to take part in that terrible crusade, too. We 
laughed in their faces, cracked our chests and pulled out our heavy 
artillery and sent them flying. Poor Earthmen! How could they fight the 
Pilgrims if they had no idea how to shift time phase and tune 
themselves in on frequency of the Ideal City? We had to conquer it, 
first to get our pay, then to rebuild it in the holy lands. “Hey, can 
you see anything?” Moreaugarin kept shouting from early morning till 
late at night at the man in the crow's nest. “Just a desert of water!” 
For a while we used the sail, keeping our store of coal for the great 
battle. “Ship ahoy!” Vlasko the Trumpeter yelled one morning like a 
madman. We rushed to the steel bulwark, gazed at the expanse of blue 
sea and shouted at the mechanics to stop the wind blowing from the 
stern pumps to fill our sails. “This is heavenly,” Moreaugarin called 
out, spraying the waters with his green ray, and hit the boat. “Oh God, 
it's a monk!” Bloto cried and burst into tears. The monk was barely 
breathing. He had a wiry tangled beard. He had had nothing to eat for 
days. His boat carried a strange device. He spoke in whisper. “I've 
been voyaging for years with a secret yearning. I would like to record 
God's voice: I implored Him to say one word to me. A single word. But 
He will not. I have records with me. And a gramophone. Yet, I won't 
lose hope. If you give me some food I shall wish you every success, my 
sons.” Hmm, this skinny monk was worth his salt, he had the hang of 
what we were actually after. But how? Could life in the desert waters 
have taught him to read others' souls? We swapped gossip. Gave him some 
food. He ate ravenously. Then he explained how he worked his device. 
Like this and like that. He was giving us half-truths. My friends, the 
crusaders, stood rooted to the spot. The monk kept talking us into 
listening to some waltz, or a tango or a conga. To ease the creases in 
our brows. To forget the business of war. But how did he know that deep 
inside us we had weapons that the eye could not perceive? “We are at 
the end of our rope,” I said looking him straight in the eyes. “Let's 
call it a day and we'll talk again tomorrow, Your Holiness. Wouldn't 
you like a soft bed?” He agreed. His eyes sparkled. He mumbled 
something under his breath. Leave him; I couldn't sleep anyway. I heard 
him at midnight. He tiptoed noiselessly on to the deck under the 
moonlight. He went to the stern. Fumbled in the dark. I watched him 
closely. I saw him taking out his gramophone, going through his records 
and choosing one of silver. He had no sooner placed it on the turntable 
than I jumped out of my hiding place like a bobcat. The other bums were 
sleeping soundly. Moreaugarin's snoring could be heard from well beyond 
the Polar Circle. “Your Holiness, did you not fall prey to sleep?” “Oh, 
is that you, boy?” the monk mumbled in embarrassment. “I was just 
taking a walk. I thought I heard a voice. It might be God's, I thought, 
so here I am.” “It is not God's voice. It is the whales' song, Your 
Holiness.” “You may be right, my son. Wonderful work, this song!” “If 
you say so,” I said with a sneer and felt for my chest. “Um, just what 
monasteries are...” I stopped in mid-sentence. The monk placed the 
gramophone needle onto the record and some angel music began, flowing 
above the waters. I felt blood bursting out of my mouth and nostrils. I 
collapsed among the barrels full of finish. I nearly fell into the 
water. The sounds turned into poisonous arrows. My feet, shoulders and 
palms were bleeding. I managed to rise to my feet. My head was swollen 
to the point of bursting. I cracked my chest and fired a volley of 
red-hot bullets, ripping into the gramophone. “Treason! Ibhib the 
Gunner was shouting as he came galloping like a storm, dressed in his 
underwear. “Pirates! Gargarelli the Philosopher yelled as he began 
throwing swords of fire through the air. “The enemy! Ploto the Butcher 
hollered as he ripped at everything in sight with his steel claws. The 
monk had vanished. Moreaugarin hugged me and pinned a medal on my chest 
in an ad-lib ceremony. He kissed both my cheeks and promoted me to Rear 
Admiral. Later on, Moreaugarin and I each lit a cigar and talked while 
the bums were again sleeping and snoring like hell. “Rear Admiral”, 
said he “do you believe in fate?” “I don't like to waste my breath with 
flub dub”. “Can't you feel the liberating spark burning in your guts? 
Hasn't your spirit ever yearned for the ancient light from the 
beginning of the Universe? What will you do when millions of people 
pour through the wide open gate weeping with happiness once they have 
regained the Ideal City?” “I don't know. I...I'm afraid to find out...” 
I spoke no more. We were sailing through troubled waters. One of the 
pilgrims had tried to kill us. Perhaps by now they had prepared 
bubbling craters and heaps of asteroids to stop our march, to slay us 
and throw us into the sidereal chasm. “What will you do with your 
diamond?” Moreaugarin needled me as he was puffing billows of smoke 
from his silvery cigar. “Will you swallow it to become immortal? And 
then, how will you use your immortality? Well, boy? What, then, Rear 
Admiral?” The scoundrel! He was trying to sound me out. The old bastard 
in him was coming out again. He wanted me to give him my diamond. Oh, 
the selfish glutton! I laughed in his face. “Why shouldn't I be 
immortal myself?” “You are naïve. You should have been prepared for 
that long ago. It won't be easy. As soon as you swallow the diamond 
you'll never die. That's what I'm asking...” “Asking what?” “Will you 
sell it to me? I plan a memorable experiment. And I lack one diamond”. 
Oh, God Almighty! What a scamp he was. What a groveling wretch. 
Moreaugarin had no intention to liberate the Ideal City and offer it to 
he people. Oh, he had tricked us with fine words! I vented my spleen on 
him and I went to sleep. I tossed in my bed all night. In the morning, 
as we were sailing past floating icebergs we set our watches for 
one-second hop. Our armor clanged. We fell into formation on deck. We 
knelt and crossed ourselves. The great moment was coming. Ibhib the 
Gunner pulled my sleeve and drew me aside to show me a pouch full of 
money. He breathed out a sigh. “Max boy, let that immortality dream go. 
What do you care? Look here, we have all sold Moreaugarin our share of 
the diamonds. Go sell yours while the going is good. Good money for the 
wet days ahead!” I hit him so hard on the back of his head rust fell 
off the scales of his armor. I pulled his flapping ears and, seething 
with fury, I slapped him on his trap. Fucking cheap phony! I knew 
better than let myself be sold to Moreaugarin. “We shall see, Gunner! 
I'll make up my own mind!” The battle began. Heavy mists descended from 
the sky. There was snow. Blocks of ice fell on the deck of our battle 
cruiser. The Pilgrims fought like devils to the death. We chopped them 
to pieces. Ibhib pulverized them with his temporal gun. Vlasko the 
Trumpeter slaughtered them with their own songs that he turned to 
dynamite. Moreaugarin was yelling above the din. “For the Ideal City, 
fight on! Nice doing, my tigers, let liberate these ancient-light 
walls, which gave birth to the human being. Hurray!” Well, this did not 
square with the situation. He was playing it off-key. The air was 
trembling. Crackling. Moaning. The frozen waters began to boil off 
steam. The orange sun was detailed against the blue sky. A sickly 
looking star hung high above all this. “Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah!” Ibhib 
shouted, pulling faces to Moreaugarin. “In the name of the Cross!” 
Ploton roared. “Hurray!” Then there was silence over the wide expanses 
buried in deep white snow. It snowed for hours. We thronged at the foot 
of the Ideal City and started to clean our armor. The spotless walls 
were shining blindingly. Moreaugarin looked for a dry patch of high 
land to exhort the sinners anew. He kept looking at me because he knew 
he had to give me ancient-light diamond. The other ruffians did not 
care about me. They were already stewed to the gills with booze and 
were singing bawdy songs. True blooded sidereal hounds. “Thank you, 
tigers of mine!” Moreaugarin began. “My knights....” No one was 
listening to him so he gave up the rap and taking out his dagger he 
started scraping the walls of the City. I followed him. He roared madly 
at me. I told the Gunner to let you rot in your den. Boy, I never liked 
you!” “Moreaugarin, you promised you would give those walls to the 
people”. “Oh, yes, you're impassioned. Romantic. Melancholy. How could 
you be a true sidereal hound? You're a double dealer, Maxim, that's 
what you are!” “And you? You're a wretched bastard. I know you well. 
You've tricked us again. You, the great crusader... What experiment are 
you preparing? What is above immortality? You said you have already 
discovered it, didn't you? You could be reborn out of a drop of blood 
or...” “You are as ignorant as dirt,” Moreaugarin said, pursing his 
thick lips. “I said, I said, I promised... Knowledge, my dear fellow, 
is above all else.... Knowledge...” “I hate you!” I screamed and the 
sidereal chasm swallowed my desperate words. I pelted him with my 
hatred. I told him to get off the walls and return to Beauburg... 
“Don't be a spoilsport. How could you ask me to do that? I must have 
all the diamonds. You'll give me yours, won't you? I've got money. I 
sold the Ideal City to the shitty toad with silicon brains in the QET 
galaxy. For solid money. He went crazy at the idea of having it. We'll 
play the old game and cheat him. That wouldn't be the first time for a 
bum like you. Am I wrong, Max? Have you forgotten you're a fickle 
bastard, an outlaw hiding in the catacombs? You're nobody! How can you 
compare yourself to Moreaugarin? Hey boy, don't stunk, will you? You 
would break me to pieces, that I know, boy!” “I'll kill you one of 
these days, you bastard. You and that toad!” “Hah, hah!” Moreaugarin 
howled and chased me with the green ray from the machine, which whirred 
down from nowhere. “Oh, boy, you have a lot to learn. We are different 
beings. Take my head if you can, come on, do it! Ha, ha! Good-bye, my 
boy, good-bye!” And gone he was. Wrapped in dark blue smoke. Gone was 
the Ideal City... At dawn the next day we were again in Beauburg at the 
edge of the ocean. We cast the anchor and lay basking in the sun; we 
were exhausted. Sunlight made the anchor chain twinkle. Reddish 
sparkles played on the crests of the onrushing waves. The burns had 
started shooting crap – old habits die hard – and wound up fighting and 
trussing like madmen. I threw my armor into the ocean and stayed awhile 
on my knees to watch it sink. I lay on the warm sand and fell asleep 
and dreamed of the ancient-light walls of the Ideal City. Through the 
haze I could make out Moreaugarin's figure. I called out to him. I felt 
I could kill him in my dream. I opened my chest a crack and pulled out 
my gun. The report of the volley shattered my dream and my soul. 
Moreaugarin stumbled and fell. Face down in a puddle of corrupted 
blood. I ran up to him to cut off his head and take it as a bounty. 
Kicking the body, I turned it face up. Ready to sever his head, I 
shuddered and froze. I was looking at my own face. 


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