Joey Cloudy online

Isaiah Jones vs the Sea (A 21st Century Odyssey)

The Symposium at the Piers: The Kush speak on Kush*

May 10th, 2029, Cancun/ Mexico piers near the Yucatan peninsula

I am Patient Zero, the first to die of ennui. Aeon says, leaning against Isaiah as they sat drunkenly on the deck, the second bottle of Merlot nearly empty in front of them as they lounged around, relaxing before heading out for the evening. No one knew they were here, and they would be able to disappear into the city under the cover of darkness. “Sybil, she said, speaking to the ship’s AI’s new baby, play Lo-fi girl.” “I like listening to her when I study.” The AI said in a friendly tone, “Her mixes help me think.” Sybil said as Lo-Fi Girls’ funky, jazzy rhythms filled the cool air-conditioned main cabin of the sloop’s salon.

She still was creeped out by this sentient software that Isaiah created, but there was no use in thinking about what had happened 2 days ago when the AI Mother gave birth to the AI Sybil. Her voice and personality were different from the AI Izzy built, but she didn’t really believe that it was alive; it was just sophisticated software code, zeros and ones. In the end, it didn’t matter what she believed because the rest of the world believed MOTHER was real after she took over the new nation’s economy. Aeon wasn’t a Luddite or a technophobe, but after everything she had seen in the last few days, she was beginning to develop a grudging respect for their philosophy.

Isaiah spoke in a solemn tone. His baritone reverberating through the cabin. “We sit here watching new Rome burn, resting on Prussian rugs over faux Italian marbled floors, drunk as our ancestors enough to talk, once in your youth, you visited Kush to study under the rough tutelage of Nubian scholars as was the custom. And now I in the role of the handsome Nubian prince, am here in the lands north of the great Mediterranean Sea studying under the northern philosophers of Greece and Rome. We listen to music as did they four millennia ago, we wear fine clothes, we are surrounded by learned women whose exquisite wisdom is matched only by their beauty.

We have the Library of Alexandria at our fingertips.” Isaiah sighed. “Yet, the age-old question eludes us still. What are we eating?” They all erupted with laughter when he finished. “This is no laughing matter,” he continued in all earnestness. This only sent the others into more uncontrollable fits of laughter. He sighed, shrugged, and sat waiting for an answer to his question.

Aeon spent the first six years of her life in Mississippi, where her parents taught at the university before moving to teach at SMU in Dallas, where she and Isaiah lived until they were 16. Isaiah loved listening to her talk. He listened as she talked to Penny about their plans tonight in Cancun. Their first stop since leaving Galveston last week. Her accent was thick as the delta’s mud and deep as the Mississippi River. Every syllable she uttered sent invisible waves of Ecstasy through his skull and made his bones feel as if they were made of Jello as she spoke. The most banal of topics was a spell cast by a coco-skinned siren. There is nothing sexier than a pretty caramel-colored girl from small town Mississippi.

Penelope had spent quite a bit of time in Mexico partying in her youth. She and Aeon had even made a few trips to Mexico on her motorcycle while she was studying at the University of San Diego. They only made it as far as Guadalajara to visit Marta, where the Bedowitz family’s former nanny retired after Penny left for college. Penny’s first language was the rural Spanish of Marta’s people. Every Mother’s Day, she called, and anytime she was near, she would always make a side trip to Marta for a visit, and that is how Aeon, the freshman Marine biologist first met the woman who raised her girlfriend the woman Penelope Stockard Bedowitz always greeted with a hug and called mi Madre.

She was looking forward to showing Isaiah and Aeon around her old stomping grounds, although she was drunk and doing a lot of Coke, and maybe some heroin was in there for a while. Hell, those clubs she used to party at were probably closed, or some other place else was the new hot spot by now. The gym would be in the same place, she would ask the guys there when she went in for a workout, and to find a sparring partner. Besides, even if the old gang was gone, it would be fun to improvise, explore, take in the sights, relax, and enjoy the city. She pets Mau Mau as she checks her phone to see if any of the clubs and restaurants she used to visit almost 10 years ago were still open after the pandemic put so many eateries out of business.

Isaiah ran his fingers through the loose ringlets of Aeon’s hair. She stared at his tattoos, shirtless, wearing only a pair of white linen trousers, his hair had grown longer, the ends of the cornrows now hung well past his shoulders. The beard was thin and neatly trimmed, still, she had not gotten used to it yet, but he had only been back for a week, and now that they were back together, it didn’t feel like he had been away for seven years.

Here, once they set sail, they easily fell into the rhythm of the sea. Her favorite time was the night watch. She hated waking up, but by the time she was halfway through her first cup of coffee, she found she was into it. She loved taking the helm and looking out over the sea in the moonlight. They got most of their information from the ship’s radar and had to be extra vigilant since they were running dark and had turned off all AIS and location broadcasting software and electronics, just as they had learned summers in the Bahamas and Caribbean sailing with their parents. They could see other ships, but the others could not see them.

Izzy tugged on one of her curls, released it, and watched it spring back into the shadows of her afro. Her hair and her eyes were a lot like her Filipino dad’s, except her hair was curly, but it was thick and ultra black, shiny like her Pinoy father’s. Her body was thick, muscular, and lush as her Dominican mother’s. She was hot if you were into thick black girls with Asian eyes. He was into her. He looked down, watching her as she traced her finger over the raised skin of his Asantefoɔ tribal tattoos.

Aeon was fascinated by his new tattoos; well, they were seven years old now, but he didn’t have them when he sailed away from Galveston seven years ago. She liked the way the scarred tissue felt under her fingertips; she imagined her finger was one of the ancient stone blades the Akan Twi-speaking elders used to carve the ancient runes into his body. Now the wounds long healed, leaving the distinctive raised and discolored scar tissue, the African skin formed the lines of his tattoo. The scar tissue rose and was several shades lighter than the rest of his body, with darker lines at the outer edges. Akan Asante Twi markings that covered his back meant the sword of war.

So far, the US and her allies had not attacked the new nation, although they had been the guiding hand instigating the two attempted coups, resulting in brief back-to-back civil wars in the first year after the nascent nation celebrated its first anniversary. Those Isaiah and his warlords had crushed in a few weeks, with overwhelming numbers immediately arriving to brutally squash the rebellions. Isaiah did something no modern leader did: he led his troops from the front. He had no choice if he wanted to earn the respect of his warlords. His mathematical abilities meant nothing to these veteran African warriors who considered his title as warlord ceremonial and he a mere figurehead. Isaiah was half white, American-born, green-eyed foreigner; his citizenship papers meant next to nothing to them.

The 10 queens and his personal assistant and handler from internal affairs, Mister Virgel Boateng’s spent the next nine months training him in everything from statecraft to marksmanship using the HK AR-15, to hand-to-hand combat. It had been decided he would be the tip of the spear in combat. A year later, when civil war broke out, the gambit paid off. The rest of the AUA/African United Alliance and the world watched the news reports as everyone got their first look at their new warlord in action.

“Did it hurt when you were shot?” Penelope asked, looking at the tattoos. Aeon was in a panic when the news reported you had been shot during the second uprising.” He smiled, “I’ve been shot more than once; this time the bullet missed my body armor; it’s still lodged in my left thigh. It would do more damage trying to remove it, so they stitched me up, gave me some painkillers, and a few days’ bed rest.

“You were back in the field two days later,” Aeon said angrily, still brooding.

“You fight a war with the press, a war with politicians, and the war with your rivals in your own ranks, all while fighting your enemy on the battlefield.” He said with a sorrow-tinged tone.

The 10 warlords in his charge sent by the council of 10 did not follow his example and with each passing day the rumors spread that he led the charge with his warriors unlike the other warlords who had been trained in the west before the revolution to stay behind and direct from a safe position in the rear with a view of the overall battlefield or at home or in a bunker as far away from the fighting as possible.

Isaiah’s move was calculated to win the hearts of his troops on the ground and humiliate his political rivals. It was a plan conceived of by his 10 queens; they wanted to be certain the 10 warlords understood that his position was not merely ceremonial. He was not a figurehead; he collected heads, literally. The Emperor Jones now had the undying loyalty of his rival warlord’s own troops and the growing adoration and respect of his countrymen. His warrior/wives, as well as his handler from internal affairs, Mister Virgel Boateng, trained with him daily.

When he entered the battle, his troops formed a wall of death around him. They were known as the Omega Squadron/they were a state-sponsored death squad. They did not negotiate for the release of hostages, they did not bargain, they did not wait for the enemy to get tired, they immediately killed the power and turned off the water. When they were deployed, they were the last people you wanted to see arrive on the battlefield. They were there to kill, not capture or take prisoners. There is no Geneva on the battlefield; there was only death. Its name was Omega Squad. There was nothing to report, no embedded reporters; they reported only on the aftermath.

They understood that no rebellion or descent could be allowed to breathe, or the newly united continental nation would be forever embroiled in Western-backed civil wars. There was something terrifying when the mind of a great mathematician is turned to war; there is a logic to their ruthlessness that chilled the blood of seasoned warriors. He was not emotional; he was merely efficient and calculating in his approach to war. There was some loss of life, but the new African United Alliance forces showed up at the first sign of trouble in huge numbers of the forces from all 54 African nation-states of the union ending the rebellions immediately.

The other would-be rebels saw that there would be no time to build barricades or fortify a position; they were there within 48 hours, always with overwhelming ADF/African Defense Force numbers. Omega did not jail traitors once they were captured; the truth-finding commissions mandated an unheard-of transparency. They live-streamed the trials before they were convicted of treason and executed in the field by the commanding officer before the operation ended. That is how every encounter with the new troops ended, fast, with no time to gather any public support or sympathy; you were a ghost.

‘The Kang Killa’

Isaiah had executed the commanders personally to keep any bad blood between the tribes to a minimum in the new nation. He was the only neutral warlord; he would never let one of his commanders put a target on their back by having them do it. There would be no letters from jail, or books about their struggle, if you took arms against the state, you forfeited your life on capture or surrender. He executed both commanders publicly after offering them the opportunity to kill themselves; he offered them a chance to kill him in fair combat, with his weapon of choice being a spear. In fair combat, both died fighting when his blade pierced their hearts.

While the West compared him to his hero, Che Guevara, and labeled him a butcher. He did not care because his own troops respected him and understood why he did it to shield his own men from retaliation inside and outside of Africa. The truth was no one gave a god damned what the West thought about how Africans ran Africa only white people believed their options of how others should run their own country mattered. If Karen was a nation, she would be the US. Aeon and Penny both knew it was out there on the dark web, but they did not need to see it. And still the AUA waited for the big attack from the west that had not come yet.

It was his warning to future rebel leaders and any other invader after he executed their leadership that caused an uproar in the West and sent a chill down the spineless backs of the US leadership.

“How do you want to die? That is the question you should ask yourself before you go to war. If you follow men like this if you trust their leadership; then that is the only thing you should be thinking about. How do you want to die? This ends now.” He said, speaking to the remainder of the rebel forces and those who witnessed the rebellion.

“I did not want to be here, but you have forced the council to summon me. Today, I killed these men for leading our own troops against our nation. That is treason and the penalty for treason is death. If any of their craven allies, blood kin, or tribe seek to avenge their deaths and fail to kill me. Know that I will erase the line of your people from this earth.”

You could see that what he really meant was he should do it today, but this is the Ghanian Warlord at his most compassionate. This was him violating his own rules of war by showing restraint.

“If I had my way, this would end today, but cooler heads restrain me. Understand this, I do not care who you are, if you raise arms against us, this is me at my most compassionate. You have been warned. This is the last you will see of my mercy.”

The talking heads in the western press called him the usual laundry list of those in power who their puppet masters did not control: maniacal despot, merciless barbarian, a savage dictator, death cult leader, the usual hypocritical double standards. There were no more takers for Western-backed coups. No one doubted that the young mathematician would keep his word.

The presenting the prisoner with the options of a knife, a sword, or a spear to either die by their own hand or face him with their chosen weapon created an illusion of choice, but there was none you chose death. Two former high-level heads of state and presidents of their nations before the unification of Africa were killed by Isaiah in ritual combat broadcast live. The message was clear to the US president as he watched cowering in the Whitehouse.

There were no discussions amongst the network news talking heads about it being an empty threat. After seeing the aftermath of the Omega Squadron-led invasion, they understood he would do his worst. He wasn’t bombing villages with drones and smart bombs like the US and the Western alliance’s forces. He would get close enough to look a man in the eye when he killed them. It worked there were no more uprisings.

The nicknames used by the internet 4chan crowd were many, the usual puerile drivel of tween bois, but the one that stuck was Kang Killa’/King Killer. Omega Squadron were a close-combat infiltration unit. Guerilla warfare specialists trained in house to house, door to door, floor to floor, combat tactics. They started at the bottom and swept through a building until they secured an area, found their targets, and executed them. They were sent in for one reason: to cut off the head of the snake.

Penelope and Aeon were both glad the wars were long over, 6 years ago now. Aeon was one of the few who grew up with him in East Dallas, and she was not surprised by his actions. Even without the 10Qs training, as the sentient AI whispered in his ear, he would have handled the situation the same way; it was only logical.

For now, he was just Izzy, the same kid they had known all those years before the war, the boy who was home-schooled in East Dallas with Aeon. The mathematician who loved to sail. He was harder and gentler at the same time; He was a bit more distant even for him, but Aeon knew he would relax and loosen up once they went ashore and she gave him his birthday present. He had not celebrated his birthday since he was 16, the year he left home in East Dallas and set sail for Ghana. Every birthday since he had made it a point to be far from civilization for the last seven years as he solo circumnavigated. Usually, he found himself somewhere in the South Pacific islands around this time of year.

Even getting his company back in the latest Supreme Court decision did not seem to make him happy. He had already had a new factories constructed in South Africa, Ghana, and Morocco. The same construction robots that built the great ziggurats of the Unreal City over Accra Bay in Ghana built his factories.

Penny stretched out and lay with her head in Aeon’s lap. She felt the heat of her crotch warm against her cheek. She was glad to be back from all of the weirdness of New York, even though the interviews went well with Ari and Anderson, it was not her kind of town; she was born in Beverly Hills and was a California girl, motorcycle-riding powder puff lesbian. She hated cold weather, the smell of garbage rotting, the acrid stench of urine hanging in the air, the entire New York vibe was a big no-go to her; give her sunshine, palm trees, and desert highways to race her motorcycle full speed down any day.

She talked a lot of class warrior shit but at the end of the day, she knew she was one of the beautiful people. Aeon looked down from Izzy to Penny.

“You are a Jewish American Princess with a sweet disposition, Pen. We love that about you.” She reached over and tickled behind Aeon’s knees as Isaiah, always single-minded, posed the question of the ages once more.

“What are we going to eat?” And again, the two girls dressed in white shorts and tank tops both collapsed together, giggling.

“Find someplace with a patio, I want Mau Mau to come with us.” Penny looked at Aeon aghast.

“You are not going to make my job easy tonight. You know this is Mexico, and I’m going to get white girl drunk tonight.”

“You know what I dreamed about when I was in the middle of the Pacific for months, eating nothing but fish?”

“Hamburgers?!” Penny exclaimed with a giggle as she scratched the Mau Mau behind his ears.

“Steak? It would be what I would dream about.” Aeon guessed as they made their way down the pier toward the city.

“Tamale man.” He said.

“Oh my god!” Aeon exclaimed, “I almost forgot about tamale-man, with his little white pushcart with the bell on the string. He wore the same worn-out old straw cowboy hat every day. That old man was the best; he had the best ones with the little plastic cups of homemade salsa verde or salsa roja. Aeon said nostalgically. Now we have to find tamales.”

“Did you know that mister Martinez, who lived in the big brick house at the end of the block, owned the Tamale Factory off of Skillman and Live Oak?”

“Really the guy with the cheesy ’70s porn star mustache and big square glasses?” Aeon asked.

“Yep, he was an economics professor at Chicago university and decided he was tired of teaching those pasty rich brats so he quit teaching moved back to Dallas, and started selling Tamales, cooking at his house at first, not the big one he has now but a little house in the South Oak cliff barrio near the Bishops Arts District.”

“He really became a millionaire in the 90s selling tamales?!” Aeon asked incredulously.

“Yeah, him and my dad both collected Milestone comics and were into Black, Latino, Ingenious, and Asian superheroes. Milestone comics were ahead of thier time they had the first pre-op trans cop hero. The Blood Syndicate had a character named Fade who was the first gay black character to be a part of a super team.”

“I’m bored, nerds. Penny said snidely. I need a longneck bottle of ice-cold Dos Equis.” Penelope said wistfully.”

“I feel better already, he grinned we finally know what we are eating.” He announced triumphantly.

“Happy Birthday! Aeon said as she handed him the necklace. I noticed the Saint Nickolas medallion your mom gave you on your 16th birthday, the leather cord was looking a bit frayed and worn, so I had a lock of my hair woven into this cord.”

“Thank you,” he said, hugging them both, then changed the cords on the medallion. Aeon and Penny shouted Happy Birthday!” as they hugged the 6 ft 2-inch, 234 lb. green-eyed boy that they grew up with. The trio, with their dog Mau Mau on a leash, walked down the pier of the marina before they disappeared in the crowded streets of the city.

Ghana, Accra Ba,y capital of AUA /African United Alliance

A bungalow on the beach in Accra Bay, a large, heavy-set middle-aged Ghanaian man in a loose-fitting teal and ecru bowling shirt and kakis trousers sits on a lounger in the shade of his patio looking out at the sea. His phone buzzes, it is his security team in Cancun, Mexico, they are watching the Griot from a safe distance, he continues to believe he is traveling without any security. Virgel Boateng smiled and pet Starbuck.

He liked Jones; they had become close over the years since the young man first took power, and he did this because he knew the Emperor Jones hated having security. So, this ruse allowed him to travel as he pleased while still being safe. He knew Isaiah never wanted any of this; he was at heart still that same young boy who loved nothing more than mathematics and sailing across the sea. The best leaders do not seek power but accept it grudgingly as their duty. The West hated him; the East respected him, but his own people adored him.

The AGI MOTHER had led to an African Renaissance, and it was all thanks to a green-eyed black boy from Texas who brought his gift of cybernetic fire home to Africa. Today is his birthday, his 10 wives all phoned him earlier in the day, followed by his parents and grandparents. Ten wives. Victor chuckled to himself. He did not envy this man; he had troubles enough with only one.

[Note 1.] [“The Akan language is a group of dialects within the larger Niger-Congo language family, whose other branches include Swahili, Yoruba, Igbo, Fula, and Zulu. The subgroup of Akan known as Twi includes the dialects of Akuapem and Asante. This guide features Asante Twi.

The Akan people of Ghana and the Ivory Coast are the largest ethnic group in both countries, and have a population of roughly 20 million people. Akan cultural traditions, such as the vibrant kente cloth and folktales of Anansi the spider, are known world-wide. Ghana’s rapid economic growth, due to its gold, cocoa and petroleum industries, has led increased interest in Twi by non-Akan speakers.”]

[Note 2] [Hattori Hanzo: [in Japanese; voice-over] For those regarded as warriors, when engaged in combat the vanquishing of thine enemy can be the warrior’s only concern. Suppress all human emotion and compassion. Kill whoever stands in thy way, even if that be Lord God, or Buddha himself.]

[Note 3.] [Bill “Do you find me sadistic? You know, Kiddo, I’d like to believe that you’re aware enough even now to know that there’s nothing sadistic in my actions. At this moment, this is me at my most masochistic.”] -Kill Bill

[Note 4.]

People, Asantefoɔ

Language, Asante Twi

Country, Asanteman/Ghana and the African Gold Coast

[Note 5.] the necklace Aeon gives Isaiah is made from her hair styled like the following; [late Georgian mourning jewelry 14k gold/human hair. with hook and clasp 14k gold]

-About the author

JD Cloudy’s poetry has disappeared in the literary journals: Fatfizz, Mad Swirl, Texas Beat Anthology, Danse Macabre, Du Jour, and Death List Five. He has won no literary awards, entered no slam competitions, and never completed college. He lives to write in Dallas, TX.