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THE SOLOSby Matthew Acheson

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THE SOLOS

by Matthew Acheson

There are some very compelling reasons why inter-dimensional beings arent allowed to

drink alcohol. A drunken Solos might get sloppy and try to unravel the mysteries of the cosmos,

whether it liked it or not, invent a multi-level marketing scheme, forget who they were supposed

to escort into the hereafter, or worse yet, run for political office. A second Solos would

inevitably be sent to clear up the mess.

One Solos has the power to change history. Two Solos manifesting themselves in the

same vicinity of the material world might inadvertently generate an unreality feedback loop that

subtly changes to the laws of physics, thus permanently altering reality. Putting three Solos

together could create a rift in the space-time continuum and obliterate the universe.

The Council of One Hundred frowns on that.

There are, of course, ways to repair an obliterated universe but I dont need to tell you the

procedure can be a real mess. Plus, its absolutely impossible to get the smell out of all the rugs

afterwards. Theyve tried.

For these reasons, and many others, the Solos usually work alone.

If asked directly, most people would tell you that a brawl at a fishermens pub in Bristol,

Maine couldnt possibly bring about the total annihilation of existence as we know it. Those

people would be very, very mistaken.

In his defense, Akhadhotep hadnt intended to get completely soused, just nicely drunk.

Rules were rules, but when youre an immortal, sometimes youve got to live a little. Forever is

a long time, and a little bit of Absinthe here and there can go a long way towards getting a fellow

through the millennia without collecting too many bats in the attic.

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Everything in moderation - that was the core principle upon which the Solos ruled the

universe. Unfortunately for the universe, when Akhadhotep started doing tequila shots with a

former Mexican boxing champion turned truck driver, well that changed the formula a little bit.

One of the hardest parts about being a Solos is having the ability to see all of the many

strands of existence simultaneously, thus being able to predict the outcome of every conceivable

action with absolute certainty. Booze cuts through all that and fogs the radar up a little bit.

Hitting the lottery every time loses its luster after a while. Sometimes its more fun to just buy a

ticket and hope for the best.

Akhadhotep and Alexandro hit it off immediately. When Akhadhotep learned that the

little Mexican truck driver was a former Golden Gloves boxing champion, he immediately

ordered them two shots of the worst sort of devil liquor imaginable Pepe Lopez tequila. When

those were gone he had the barkeep bring two more, and then two more after that. When those

were gone he left the bottle. Shortly after that was gone, reality began to get interesting.

Akhadhotep had thought hed seen every form of mating ritual known to humankind.

Watching Alexandro on the dance floor proved that humanity still had a few surprises up its

sleeves. The immortal was forced to drink even further to excess, just to cope with the emotional

trauma brought on by witnessing that little mans wild gyrations.

Round about the time the director of the Department of Universal Health andMetaphysical Wellness started professing his irrepressible craving for a bowl of cat chili to the

other bar patrons, fishermen and their wives mostly, the powers that be decided to send someone

to ease him back down off the precipice.

* * * * * * * * *

When Xylaither stepped through the front door he was struck hard by the dull roar of a

fishermens pub in the throws of a typical backwoods Maine, Friday night debauchery. Through

the thick fog of cigarette smoke he saw a multitude of horny primates bumping and grinding on

the dance floor to the music of an 80s hair band. Several dozen more were cramped together

around the bar and pool tables. The dull light glinted off a veritable sea of half empty beer

bottles and shot glasses.

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In one corner Xylaither saw a man making out with his best friends wife, while across

the room the friend was making out with his. That and he could sense things going on in the

walk-in cooler that would make a film producer blush. By the standards of the well ordered,

highly intellectual Solos, this was total chaos.

Humans needed to propagate the species, but was all this baboonery really necessary?

Xylaither shook his head, saddened by the knowledge that human civilization would have self

destructed ages ago without the behind the scenes guidance of the immortal Solos.

Xylaither could have brought order to the situation with a single thought. He could have

simply strung their minds like a puppeteer, and they would have immediately obeyed. But they

werent his concern. Unlike Akhadhotep, Xylaithers job did not involve managing the human

pretzel.

Xylaither was an inquisitor.

Wherever there was heresy, misbehavior, or an overabundance of theological curiosity

within the ranks of the Solos, the inquisitors were there to observe and intervene as appropriate.

The Solos abhorred unnecessary violence, and Xylaither found that he could resolve most of his

cases with a gentle touch. This was the approach the Council of One Hundred preferred anyway.

But Xylaither was no council desk jockey; he knew the awful reality on the street. Although this

particular mission didnt call for it, he brought his sidearm anyway, because, well you neverknow when a flaming sword might come in handy.

Xylaither scanned the bar, looking for the slight telltale hints that would betray a Solos

who had assumed human form. He didnt bother with the dance floor, no self respecting Solos

would lower itself to dancing. Actually, there was that one incident at Herman Goerings

birthday party. It took two inquisitors a month to iron the reality wrinkles out of that mess.

Unfortunately they missed a couple of spots, and bellbottoms and the Cold War were born.

You cant get them all right, and even if you could, the union wouldnt allow it anyway.

He sidled up to the bar and sat down next to a man of average height and build, with a

bad moustache and a worse haircut. Akhadhotep, he said.

Xylaither, the man responded.

A long, awkward silence passed between them.

Drinking again? Xylaither said finally.

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The director of the Department of Universal Health and Metaphysical Wellness licked the

salt off his hand and threw back another shot of tequila. Yep.

Thats four times in as many millennia, the inquisitor said gravely.

Four? Akhadhotep poured himself another shot a double. I only make it three.

Lower Egypt, Memphis, 2611 B.C.E. That ring a bell?

Yes.

Then there was that little soiree with Phillip of Macedonia, the inquisitor said. Which

got completely out of hand I might add.

True, but you didnt see those belly dancing girls.

Xylaither ignored the comment and continued. And of course there was that unfortunate

Russian Roulette incident with the blues musician in Texas.

Youre counting that? Akhadhotep slurred indignantly.

You shared a liter and a half of vodka and then he shot himself in the head. The

inquisitor frowned down at him over the rim of his spectacles. Yes, Im counting that.

Akhadhotep poured another shot down his throat. He was marked for death anyway.

He was supposed to die of a heart attack, the inquisitor said.

Details, Akhadhotep shrugged as he dumped a shot on the bar. He managed to get

some of it in the shot glass though, which he promptly slid in front of the inquisitor.There was another awkward silence, which in Solos time, seemed to last for an eternity.

Seven seconds in fact. Akhadhoteps eyes wandered back to the dance floor, where Alexandro

was still flailing and gyrating like an aerobics instructor in the midst of a psychotic break. He

nudged the inquisitor, whose eyes followed his gaze.

You ever seen anything like that before?

Xylaither contemplated the scene for a moment. No, I honestly cant say that I have.

Exactly, the director of the Akhadhotep said triumphantly before gulping down

another shot of tequila. Hes supposed to be dead, but hes not. Explain that.

Well, hes dry humping that mans wife on the dance floor as we speak, the inquisitor

began.

Another reason why its a miracle hes alive, Akhadhotep interrupted.

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It wont be a miracle for long. The inquisitor nodded towards an overly large, brutish

looking specimen with a Neanderthal like cranial vault and tree trunk arms. The husband is

going to knife him to death in precisely thirty seven seconds.

Youll see, the drunken immortal said confidently.

Are you suggesting it wont happen? He glared over at his colleague skeptically. Of

course it would happen. In fact, in some other reality it had already happened. It just took a

little time for those ripples to bleed over into this world. It had to happen. Everything the Solos

were, everything they believed in dictated that it had to happen.

Thirty seven seconds passed without incident.

The little Mexican truck driver continued to dance wildly and offensively with everyone

elses wives. Nobody tried to kill him, in fact, they all seemed quite taken with him. Alexandro

threw down with the most hideously inappropriate dance moves ever conceived in human

history, and his inexplicable survival was contrary to the dictates of fate. It was a violation of the

Great Plan. It was a spit in the eye of the rational universe that the Solos had dedicated

themselves to maintaining.

Reality was clearly breaking down.

Our mutual presence here in the material plane has created a wrinkle in the fabric of

reality. The inquisitor brought the shot glass to his lips and took a trembling sip. The tequilatasted awful. Its the only explanation.

Nope, his drunken colleague slurred.

For the first time in many centuries, the inquisitor was concerned. He never bothered

himself much about human affairs, but this was different. This might have far reaching effects

that could ripple out across the cosmos and eventually create a tear in the very fabric of the

universe. As any inquisitor worth his salt knows, you have to be extremely careful about tearing

the fabric of the universe, because getting fitted for a new one can take centuries. Its nearly

impossible to get the sleeves the same length.

What makes you so sure? Xylaither asked.

Because it started happening long before you ever arrived. Foregoing the veneer of

mild sophistication offered by the shot glass, Akhadhotep went straight to the bottle and took a

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good long pull. That is the eleventh time that he was supposed to die tonight. I started drinking

after the third.

I see. The inquisitor turned and craned his head back and forth, sweeping across the

length and breadth of the tavern, looking for the aura of another Solos.

Its no good, I already checked, the Akhadhotep mumbled.

Then its true, reality is breaking down. The inquisitors eyes grew wide and

unfocused, blurry even. He gulped down what was left of the shot in front of him, making a

funny face as he did. His soused colleague splashed him another. The two immortals raised

their glasses in a mock salute and threw the fiery liquid down their hatches.

That was it, reality was disintegrating. Everything would begin to unravel from there.

Xylaither had gone to that little tavern in Bristol with the best of intentions. By that I

mean that he intended to rescue a colleague from a drunken stupor, and see to it that a certain

truck driver was stabbed to death by a jealous husband. All so that the gentle balance that kept

the universe chugging forward would be restored to its proper state.

He had never anticipated that his involvement in this mission would entail the complete

loss of all motor functions through the repeated consumption of fermented vegetable drinks.

When youre an immortal, being intoxicated for the first time is a very strange condition to find

yourself in. Everything feels fuzzy, and the world seems to get all blurry and out of focus. Orwas it going back into focus?

One severely intoxicated Solos is an exceedingly dangerous thing. Putting two of them

together is the metaphorical equivalent of handing a sixty trillion megaton thermonuclear

warhead to a chronically depressed stock broker. The only thing in the entire universe more

dangerous than a pair of drunken Solos is a pair of drunken Solos having a theological

discussion. Another rule broken.

The Solos had made the mistake of debating theology once before, many millions of

years ago. The Council of One Hundred later banned such discussions amongst the immortals,

and for good reason. Lets just say that the inter-dimensional war that ensued hadnt been pretty.

Were talking Book of Revelations, End of Days, total annihilation of the universe not pretty.

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Now, there they were, an inquisitor and the director of the Department of Universal

Health and Metaphysical Wellness, getting shitty and waxing theological. If Alexandros

mysterious survival hadnt permanently crippled the universe, this almost certainly would.

So we created humans, and every other shpecies in the omnibus right? Akhadhotep

dribbled on himself as he spoke.

Universe, the inquisitor corrected.

Right.

Of course we created them, he replied between shots. Whats your point?

But we didnt create theumverse, the director added.

No, the universe was always there.

Aha! Akhadhotep thrust his finger into the air. Thash the point.

The inquisitors face screwed up with thought. What is?

That we created humans sright, and everything else that lives, but we didnt create the

universe.

I believe weve covered this already. The inquisitor took another sip from the bottle.

Clearly he was too sober to fully understand the intricacies of his colleagues thesis.

So who created the umverse? The director rapped a finger against the side of his head

meaningfully.No one, it has always existed.

And what about ush, who created the Solos?

We have always existed too, the inquisitor replied.

See thash what Im talkin about. The directors arms flailed wildly as he struggled to

remain seated on the barstool. Shomthing cant just exist, it hash to be created by somethin

else.

That could be true I suppose. The inquisitor conceded politely. It was an old

argument, and certainly not a very sophisticated or compelling one at that. But it was an

argument that had triggered a war all those eons ago, and pitted Solos against Solos, so it was

best to tread as lightly as possible.

You know what I think? The director wobbled violently.

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Much to his surprise, Xylaither found that the more he drank, the more he did want to

know what the director of the Department of Universal Health and Metaphysical Wellness

thought. His body was becoming all warm and tingly, and everything around him was looking

different somehow. What do you think?

Im glad you assed, Akhadhotep said as he poured the last of the tequila onto the bar

and took a shot of air from his glass. I think the humans created us.

He stared at Akhadhotep with a look of shocked horror. It was blasphemy, no worse,

heresy. He shouldnt be listening to this. But that conversation was a lot like a train wreck, and

he couldnt bring himself to look away.

You shee, what happened wash all of the different human soshieties splained away

where they came from by thinking up, um, a bunch of immortal beingsh and all that other

gobblety-gook. Cosmosis. Cosmetology. Cosmohegemony. Cosmogony thash it.

That still doesnt he interrupted.

The director waved him off. Sho we were formed from their collective thoughts. And

us being the supine, er, soprano beingsh that we are, we didnt want to go around thinking we

wash created by hairless monkeys. The director fumbled a cigarette out of his coat pocket,

accidentally breaking it in half in the process. After a brief moment of confused hesitation, he

shrugged, lit the end and held it up to the filter as he puffed.What are you saying? The inquisitors legs were jostling nervously. He could feel

reality beginning to twist and warp all around them.

We desthroyed the universe. Akhadhotep lowered his voice. Then we made up a

new one, and populated it with humansh and flowers and all shorts of pretty things.

Oh, the inquisitor said thickly. He was dumbstruck. The implications of his

colleagues insane theory were rattling around inside his immortal mind, wreaking havoc and

causing all kinds of permanent damage. We created the universe.

Akhadhoteps eyes rolled back in his head and he let out a soul rending belch. Wash

was you saying?

So we created the universe?

Thash right. Akhadhotep gestured to the bartender to fill his shot glass, then grinned

over at the inquisitor wickedly. And you know shomthin else?

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Whats that?

Shinsh this universe, the second universe, wash created by us, that means the firsht one

had to be created by somethin elsh.

Xylaither was terrified to even ask the question, because he knew that whatever answer

his colleague provided was likely to be heresy of the absolute highest degree. That kind of

thinking was punishable by death, dismemberment, demotion, and all sorts of other nasty things

that started with a D. He asked it anyway. So who made it?

Xylaither waited patiently as the director gave the question the careful consideration it

deserved. Actually the director had dozed off in his chair, but he had a very pensive look about

him. Eventually the snoring woke him. Mushta been god, Akhadhotep said with a

mischievous twinkle in his eye.

Yes, they were going to be punished. Severely punished. Supreme beings like the Solos

are inherently atheistic, because well, as far as they were concerned they were running the show.

No mysterious wizard behind the curtain necessary. An inter-dimensional war had been fought,

and the universe unmade over all that creator foolishness. The inquisitor knew they were

treading on unsafe ground. He could almost hear the branches of universal continuity snapping

all around them.

Xylaither watched in silent horror as space began to distort itself, and the distancebetween he and his colleague started to increase rapidly. He was sitting in the next barstool over,

but either the bar was growing, or the room was getting longer. Akhadhotep was trying to speak

to him across the void, but his lips were moving in strange, arcane patterns that were beyond his

comprehension. The noises that made it across the vast, rippling gulf were total gibberish.

It wasnt just the sounds that had changed either. The room was foggy now. Cigarette

smoke accounted for some of that, but there was something else present as well. There was a

thickness to the air that shouldnt have been there, and the light was all wrong. It came down at

impossible angles, bending and twinkling in impossible ways.

Reality was breaking down all around them.

As Xylaither sat on his barstool, quivering with a sense of profound terror, he realized

that the situation was far worse than he could have ever imagined. Everywhere he looked he saw

new faces, dozens of them. Many of them shined weirdly with an inhuman aura.

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The Solos were everywhere.

Three Solos at the same point in the material plane could inadvertently trigger the

destruction of the universe. There were dozens here, no, more. Though they were sitting

inconspicuously at booths and on stools all throughout the bar, they each wore masks that

bespoke of a higher purpose. Some of them looked angry, while others seemed almost insane

with glee. Had they come to stop the End of Days, or embrace it? Was this the beginning of a

second great war?

Xylaither began to prepare himself mentally for the conflict to come. His mind reeled in

mad horror as he watched the room silently dividing into two camps. No one made any overt

moves of course, the Solos were too subtle for that. That blonde kid at the end of the bar, and his

friends, local kids all of them, he would need to recruit them to his cause. Extra firepower, thats

good. They needed that. Alexandro too - they would need his Mexican fists of fury. It was all

starting to take shape now. A plan was forming.

Theres gonna be a bloodbath. Xylaither spat the words at his colleague drunkenly.

From the confused look on his face, he could tell that Akhadhotep didnt understand his

meaning. So he opened up his coat a little bit and brandished his flaming sword, grinning like a

fiend as he did so. Theres only one way were getting out of this alive.

The inquisitor turned to the barkeep and ordered three shots of Uncle Pepe. One for him,one for the director, and one for his flaming friend, Mr. Glinty. But when he introduced Mr.

Glinty to the bartender, everything became unnecessarily complex.

* * * * * * * * *

Jack Turner stared across the bar at the man with the spectacles and brown sport coat and

determined at once that feeding him any more liquor could have disastrous, legally actionable

consequences. Sorry buddy, were all out of Pepe Lopez.

The deranged maniac pushed the shot glass across the bar slowly and deliberately, and

repeated his demand. I want to see Uncle Pepe.

Jack looked the man in the eyes, right in those cold, piercing gray eyes. Eight years as a

bartender meant he could size a man up pretty quick, but not this guy. He and his friend were a

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whole different sort of crazy than the usual scum they got in there. There was something about

them, he couldnt quite put his finger on it, but they seemed to radiate a presence of some sort.

Authority? Maybe they were undercover cops, or FBI agents out for a night on the town? It

didnt matter much to him really. Drunk was drunk, and shut-off was shut-off.

I cant serve you guys anymore liquor, he said.

The man didnt seem to like that answer much, and he reached into his coat and pulled

out a very long, very sharp looking serrated blade. It was at least two feet long, and it seemed to

catch absolutely every ray of light in the whole goddamn room and focus it into a fiery glow. It

sure as hell wasnt like any hunting knife hed ever seen. With a flash of motion that seemed

unnaturally fast, the man stuck the point of the blade down into the bar an inch away from Jacks

hand.

I want to see Uncle Pepe.

Jack stared long and hard at the deranged menace across the bar, into mad eyes that

clearly meant business. These two would kill him, and anyone else that got between them and

their liquor. This job wasnt worth it. With trembling hands and a queer feeling in his stomach,

he grabbed a bottle of Pepe Lopez, and poured them doubles each.

Jack moved down to the far end of the bar, ostensibly to serve other patrons. His eyes

never left that strange pair for more than a few seconds at a time. Fortunately, they wereengrossed in their conversation. From what little bits he had caught, they were debating

philosophy or religion or some other such nonsense. Hell of a time and place for that.

Although the knife was still sticking out of the bar, neither of them seemed to be

particularly aware of its presence. Part of him wanted to just casually stroll on up and take it

away while they werent looking. He probably could have done it too, they werent paying him,

or it a bit of attention.

Then disaster struck.

Jimmy Mason, a local fisherman with a reputation for brawling, called out to them from

the opposite end of the bar, towards the pool table area. That aint right, he said angrily,

gesturing towards the knife sticking out of the bar. At first the knife wielding maniac merely

acknowledged Jimmy with a nod of his head and a friendly smile. But Jack knew that Jimmy

was persistent.

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I outta wreck ya for what you done. The fishermans bellowing voice carried across

the room and heads began to turn. The place quieted down almost instantly, and all eyes moved

to the pair of strangers at the bar.

The taller of the two, the one that had stabbed the bar, rose up from his stool and walked

calmly over to the angry fisherman. He didnt say a word, just stood there and grinned like a

lunatic on a weekend furlough from the asylum.

I aint kiddin, the belligerent fisherman said sharply. You two ever come in here

again, well kill ya and bury ya in the woods.

Why do we have to wait until next time? the fiend said with a toothy smile.

Several tall, stocky fishermen strode over and surrounded him on all sides. Three of

them were hefting pool sticks. The lunatics head turned and he looked back down the bar

towards his knife longingly. Jack followed his gaze and saw the other guy, the smaller one with

the moustache, gave a casual nod to the crowd of angry fishermen as he blew out a thick puff of

cigarette smoke. He too was grinning like a crackpot.

Jack Turners last thought, before the entire bar erupted into chaos, was that those two

were just too damn nonchalant about the fact that they were about to be jumped by six of the

biggest, meanest fishermen this side of the Kennebec River. It was as if they knew something

that everybody else didnt.

* * * * * * * * *

Akhadhotep opened his eyes to find that he was engulfed in absolute darkness. He felt a

heavy weight on his chest, back and limbs. Something pressed in upon him from every

direction. Its a good thing that immortals dont need to breathe, because if they did, that might

have been a problem. He pushed his arms and legs out into the thick, black ether, and began to

wrestle his way in the direction that he assumed was up.

His arms burst out into the open air, and with much effort he managed to drag himself up

out of the ground. When he finally stood up he looked around and took stock of his

surroundings. He was in an old, dying pine forest, and judging from the cold, it was late summer

or early fall. To his left there was a small mound of earth. He had absolutely no idea where he

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was, and had only a cursory recollection of the previous evenings events. Still, the mound of

earth by his feet seemed to remind him of something.

Suddenly, there was a spark of realization in his mind. He got down on his knees and

began scooping away the black soil with his hands. When enough of it had been exposed, he

reached down and dragged the inquisitor up out of the shallow grave by his collar. The two of

them sprawled out on the ground and took a little breather. Their heads pounded with the worst

hangovers they would ever experience in their eternal lives.

What happened? the inquisitor asked finally. The two immortals immediately broke

down into fits of hysterical laughter.

As more and more of their memories of the previous evening began to reassert

themselves, the laughter stopped, and the pair became grim. They rose and moved through the

woods silently. After several minutes they arrived back at a familiar scene - the parking lot of a

certain fishermens bar in Bristol.

You dont think the inquisitor said haltingly. The question was too terrible to finish.

That we destroyed the universe and the council remade it? The director of the

Department of Universal Health and Metaphysical Wellness raised his nose and took several

long sniffs. I dont smell obliteration, do you?

The inquisitor breathed in through his nose, and let it out with a sigh. No, he said,relieved. They made their way across the parking lot towards a newspaper stand by the door to

the pub. At the very least, we must have damaged the fabric of space time.

I think its safe to say we probably created a few wrinkles. The director glanced up in

the direction of the heavens briefly, then looked over at the inquisitor. One things for sure, the

council is going to be pissed.

How serious do you think the damage is? Xylaither put seventy five cents into the

machine and removed a newspaper. Scanning the front page he noticed an article about a ballot

recount in Florida resulting in the election of George W. Bush as President of the United States.

Bah, Akhadhotep snorted. So we had a couple of drinks, how bad could it be?