IMMOLATION a short story by Peregrinus Jupiter 22 July, 1992 Somewhere in the sands of New Mexico, Dr. Otto Donner, German ex-Patriot (as he liked to say) was busy at work being a security risk. He hadn't planned on giving away the secret of the bomb along with other gems of trivia-- it had started out as his regular Saturday-night snake-trek. But somehow he had ended up at the Our-Lady-of-the-Bleeding-Heart Academy for Girls at Canci˘n-de-los- Dioses. He found the stupidest tramp he could muster, and begging her permission, took her trekking. He quickly acquired a taste for the infantile squeal she let out whenever they ran over one of the prostrate rattlers. They somehow ended up drunk and not long after, she told him she had a fetish for anything German and he told her the secret of the bomb. "Ich bin šbermensch," Doktor Donner admitted, chagrinned, as he changed position. He had always liked to consider himself a virgin of sorts. "Ja, Otto, das ist better." She came quickly, almost dutifully. However, Brnnhilde could see that Herr Doktor was going nowhere. "Tell me more about der thing," she attempted. "Ist it big?" "Nein, sehr small," hybridizing for her convenience. He realized he'd never asked the bimbo's real name. "Like a seed," he added, aroused. "And does Sie plant der Seed?" She was either too drunk, stupid, or pious to understand any analogies. "Nein, ist dropped aus von ein Aeroplane. It explodes im der Air." (How ridiculous, he thought, considering he spoke English better than she.) "How happenst thassen?" This was starting to get too ludicrous. He felt himself chill. "Der Seed splits im half again und again. Und then there ist ein groá Ring von Fire." "Ein Ring von Fire!" Brnnhilde remembered out loud, ecstatically. "Ein Ring von Fire just for me!" He was irritated enough to lose it completely. "No not for you. For the enemy." "Der Germans?" He got out. "The Germans? Why the Americans love the Germans. You know, I like to say that every American-- " "Has a German inside trying to get out," she interrupted. She tried to pull him back in. "Please helpen Sie me. Ich am ein German trappen Sie in ein Amerikan's body!" He dressed and got into the car. "Greet Wotan for me," he muttered to the rattlers he crushed as he sped towards Niebelheim. There was hell to pay on Monday back at Los Alamos. It seemed that Brnnhilde, now a local hero at Our-Lady-of-the-Bleeding-Heart Academy for Girls at Canci˘n-de-los-Dioses for having scored with an older German, was spreading stories about magical seeds being split in half and conjuring up magical Rings von Fire. Although some jokester muttered something about treason, it was generally decided that Donner had better haul himself out there and clean the whole mess up. The trip seemed dull by day, what without the usual bumps, and Donner wondered whether he could drag the thing out until dark and make the trek home. He was surprised to discover that the dorm had just today been painted canary yellow, and four score sticky young girls were busy dousing it with red and orange paint. "What's going on here?" he asked a girl stirring the paint. "Can't you tell? It's an immolation scene." she drawled in Texan. "It's the lightest motif in exterior decorating." "He was suddenly noticed by Brnnhilde, considerably less trampish in the daytime, who, apparently having forgotten her abandonment in the desert, warmly escorted him to a large, ecclesiastical-looking building. Inside he was shocked to find not pews but an empty hall. In the exact center there was a pedestal holding what appeared from a distance to be a chunk of bloody meat under glass. "Our school was founded in 1877 by the Widow Helga. She was schooled in Nrnberg, you know," she began. "She left a lot of money to the school, but with a couple of weird stipulations." "I can imagine." "For instance, she required that whatever caused her death be put on display to be shamed by posterity." She waved towards the center of the hall. "That's why they keep that there. It's stuffed, though, I think." "Thus the name of the school," Donner added. "Oh, no! The Indians gave us that name. They loved her, you know. No, we're really called Bayreuth Academy." "Listen, about that stuff about the seeds last night. I made all that up, you know." Brnnhilde laughed. "Oh, I know *that*. But listen, we were all talking about the idea yesterday, and we'd like to make an off-Broadway musical out of it. We're thinking of calling it `Twilight of the Seeds' or something." "I wouldn't advise that," tried Donner. They walked out of Valhalla. "What kind of a school is this, anyhow?" "We try to combine a good core of biology with a strong emphasis on Wagnerian Studies." "I didn't even know that they were related." "Oh, sure! You know, evolution and all that, that's what Wagnerian Studies are all about. That's why I like your idea about the magic seeds. It speeds up the whole process. You know, normally it takes about seventeen hours." Donner assured his colleagues that they had nothing to fear from the Academy, and was hustled back to work. It was no matter-- they'd just learned that the Red Steam Roller was advancing from the east quite rapidly. A week, no more. Otto was secretly disturbed-- if not the Germans, then who? Certainly not the slanty-eyed Japs. Not the earth-defying Reds. But what of the hybrid Americans? Perhaps he had not been wrong about a Teutonic spirit as American as a trek on the freeway. Perhaps not a particular race at all-- that was the worse case scenario. No, that could not be possible. It would render his work useless, if one were forced to pick and choose from within a population. And dog-eat-dog would take so long-- it wouldn't be in his lifetime. He downed a gin and tonic-- ah, for a distillery. FINIS. Also sprach Jupiter. A PEREGRINVS IVPITER PRODUCTION (C) 1992 Peregrinus Jupiter. All rights reserved. -_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_- _ _ _ _ ((___)) "Blessed are those who have no expectations ((___)) [ x x ] for they will never be dissapointed." [ x x ] \ / \ / (` ') - Alexander Pope - (` ') (U) (U) *Cult of the Dead Cow Communications* *Remote Node* The Works: "It won't just scare you... It'll fuck you up for life." (617)861-8976 300-2400 bps 24Hrs. 5000+ Text Files On-Line Largest Text-Files BBS in the known universe. Information is POWER. Never forget it.