The Greatest Of These, Is Love

“The necessity of time, and all matters of time, which, The Creator, in his infinite wisdom, saw fit to create for the white man, indeed to burden the white man--The Creator, being gracious to the black and brown man, left them in their pure state-- without the obvious burden of time,” Harry Wutherford James V pontificated, closing his mouth, (careful to exclude his teeth) enveloping the genital orbitrator of Jose, the James’ family ace of all trades, on long-shambled purely rotten, Tequesta Estate.

As I surveilled him from the gopherwood closet, steadied my icamera950 against the various sensory mucks of this land, the thick black soil, ripe, spongy,teeming with vegetable, animal and alien matter, juxtaposed against the thin,slimy southern muckiness of Harry’s 5th generation Biocare Cyborg subterfuge , my dead father’s voice suddenly reminded me to “stay in my own lane”, and there he was, more than a memory, his smooth hand, guiding my shaky fifteen-year-old steering wheel, Georgia-smiling, pharaoh black. A Strong Aqua Velva whiff and two quick amygdala pina warning stings later, automatic reset clicked daddy away, and Harry into focus, as he choked on his breakfast of sperm, poached eggs, and the only the leanest cut of Velda farms fat-belly hog bacon. Then, the throbbing.

Jose, fearful of the deportation of all fourteen members of his this troop-- the illegal galactic crossings of which Harry had so generously financed, was an avowed hard-line, old school Venusian Catholic. When I asked exactly what he did for the estate, he snorted “ when Harry ask me to work, me work... me familia live here, grow strong !”, he said, washing his hands, face, and genitals, in the kitchen sink. “One day, all this place, mine”, he laughed, turning his hand around his head so wide, he inadvertently indicated the entire planet. “Fuck that puto”, he yelled, thrusting out his hand, “Chela Negrita, Chela, !”. I silently popped the top of an ice-cold recombinant beer, not two inches away from where he stood, myself clothed in a covert domestic persona, the one I chose to wear, to obliterate them all.

He laughed, deftly dematerializing my locket so quickly, I jumped to see it in his metallic palm, scrutinized by his eye laser. “Village man knew who he was, because he understood boundaries,” he opined, “Milagros” like these are redundant...and, contraband”. He waited for my response. Beat. “Pay attention today, Negrita”, he laughed. Turned. Transported himself into The outer bunker. My heart-shaped locket’s slow swing, invisibly replaced, seemed as ominous as any words.

A Product of the 2025 successful mating program, Aphrodite III, between the new U.N. member Venusians and desperate illegal immigrants promised Venusian citizenship, Jose was a typical hybrid, born of a hard working immigrant astronaut, and a royal hermaphrodite mother. Bred with stellar I.Q’s and impervious stratagems, Jose and his “family”-- members of the Venusian Catholic Uprising--were a handful of the many hybrids secreted pass the Intergalactic Perimeter Counsel. These hybrids were those who assisted ,( we came to learn) the successful Cyborg Uprising of 2047 nearly causing the demise of Earth. Armed with his superior brain, authentic cultural baggage, and access to the leader of the Biocare Cyborg Union, a human hybrid known as Harry Wutherford James V, we had tracked Jose across the galaxy, to Harry’s underground breeding facility, over the last three years.

They had tracked me, since I left The Creator, and moved through the security tunnel to arrive 50 miles west of Gadsden County, traveling by stealth, across the Florida panhandle. We were all actors in this final play, each assuming the other's moves, deadly, resolute, assassins all. Harry Wutherford James V, the most heinous hybrid double agent left in the galaxy. Secret leader of Glorious the dangerous global hybrid-militants, now connected to over 100 murders of allied counter-intelligence agents. The first horror Harry gave the planet was the old masterpiece, the stuff of history books and legends. Operation I.S.I.S, an advanced underground network of militant hybrid assassins who worked off devotion to a new galactic order, committing terrorist acts for which Earth had falsely accused “ cells”, a cover Harry invented. Clandestinely aggregated within these groups lay the Black Ops Hybrid military, Glorious.

The lives of hundreds of thousands of innocent fully human “people” paid the price. Ruthless termination of this bloody game of galactic domination, led by good ole’ boy Harry, from his Gadsden County drone protected bunker—was my final commission. Fitted with tactical espionage uploads, reprogrammed, and upgraded, I stood ready to terminate, tonight. The second horror Harry gave the planet ...was intercepting me.

I remember magnolias, I remember red clay baby...wet grass, ...heart-shaped touch...

He replayed the final unfinished line on a continuous loop, the first three days. Less so, afterwards. Agent Athene Harris, managed to stream the last download from her amygdala pina resonator, to his own. Her work had helped his team understand the extent of the Glorious-Venusian Catholic connection, and the power of The Uprising.

Assembling his presentation, he was the most dangerous man alive. Should Glorious allow him to live, he and the fleet of black-ops security forces arranged around his office, sprawled across the grounds of the Capitol--would arrive, bearing news no one prepared to hear. Soon The Uprising would change the galaxy forever. The Joint Chiefs of Staff and The Creator would have no time for recourse.

Captain Jude Harris placed Agent Harris’ Locket around his neck. Automatic reset began to engage, hand on the doorknob, He inadvertently remembered her beneath him, orgasmic, her taut thighs super-locked around his waist, sweat pooling between her mahogany breasts, where hung the heart-shaped artifact he had stolen for her.

Locket lay amidst rubble archaeology, shining out beneath the ruins of fully-human ancestors. This was what it had been like, he thought when village-man knew/understood himself to be more than a comrade. To possess Something revisionist, gauche, like the old stories of the one-souled-True-hearted. But what was this feeling? His program refused to identify it. A great and awesome word --had been so completely excised from all memory.

Genetically-enhanced property of the Galaxy Forces, Athene and Jude surprised themselves with an unprogrammed, visceral staring. Next, waiting for them: exchanging particle obliterators for sensual touches, exchanging pulled triggers for languishing ecstasy...he remembered her delicate dark hands pulling his ash blonde hair by the roots...unborn child... moment wet with red-clay hills and promise...grassy fields magnolias...dark skin flaming heart locket...Then, the throbbing.

I think of mother’s act-- extricating her data, cyber-freezing me, facing her own assasination. “Locket-Girl” they called me at Nanounity Academy. I am the differential. Fifty years inside that heart-shaped locket with my birth parent’s life work, differentiated me. Rebels found me while searching for safe water under The Uprising’s demolition rubble. That data fueled The Great Devolution. Our jagged peace.

My life’s work? Something gauche, I codify the taboo—without a word in all of our history books to define it. Something greater than all disciplines, which lies in wait for us, distracting our hearts in every epoch…an ancient staring flame.