Part 6

In which Marilyn finds herself apprehended and subject to interrogation. Wishing a little Garbo-time to herself, she exited via the main-brane point of the multiverse convergence that was concealed behind the mirror in the Roosevelt Hotel, but instead of gin, Nembutal, and a long sleep, she was immediately surrounded by men in suits and ties, and ugly women with pads and pencils. She was hustled to a suite on the seventh floor, and pushed down into a low armchair. The questions came so thick and fast that she faltered and stopped even trying to supply these people with answers.

“What do you want?”

“We want information.”

“Whose side are you on?”

“We want information.”

“Who are you?”

“The new Number 2.”

“Who is Number 1?”

“You are Number 6.”

Marilyn recognized this game. ”I am not a number, I am a blonde goddess.”

Part 2134

In which Marilyn finds herself both outraged and distressed. Without the slightest hint of what might be coming or any suggestion of transition, she materializes seated on a bed in a less-than-luxury hotel room, next to a cyborg, drag-queen replicant of Jane Russell. The environment is, of course, total illusion, and she has no doubt that this is the work of the lizard thugees from Zeta Reticuli, but she also has no clue how to reverse the process and get the hell out of there. It wasn’t by any means the first time that she had been abducted by aliens, but the lizard thugees, who usually liked to gloat from behind the rectal probe, are refusing to show themselves, and that is much more disturbing.

Part 0100100

In which Marilyn, expansive and gorgeous, excitedly leads the celebrations. Santa Clara has fallen, the armored train is derailed, the British Homosexual in the burnoose and white robes takes no prisoners, Zombie Bankers have packed their gold and uranium and taken it on the lam. The Mugwumps scatter in confusion. Apollonians put down their weapons and surrender in their thousands. Drinks are on the house and victorious Dionysians are as drunk as skunks in twenty dimensions. The files of the Secret Police are burning. The Men In Hats have gone with the wind. Princess Aura has been arrested and will be tried by The People’s Courts. Birds sing. Cats dance. Dogs have their day. But Marilyn is well aware that, in the reality streams of the multiverse, it only takes one inadvertently stomped butterfly to change everything.