[Veritas]

The ShareSpace lecture had gone well. Buzz had been greeted with a standing ovation, and his lecture had been well received. The only somber note was the announcement of Buzz's fellow Apollo 11 crew commander, Neil Armstrong, having passed away the preceding weekend. Many offered Buzz their heartfelt condolences during the after lecture meet and greet session; though he understood how everyone felt, to Buzz, the whole event felt more like a wake.

At precisely seven-fifteen, Buzz was ushered out of the ballroom and into the Magic.com studio. He had barely enough time to wipe the sweat off his face and freshen up in the dressing room before the briefing with Criss Angel, whoever he was. All Buzz knew was that he was a magician of some reknown; he had seen his posters in the lobby and in the lounge where he had met that gangster, Danny Springs or whatever he called himself. Buzz debated with himself about mentioning it on the show, but decided against it. The last thing he needed was to be linked to organized crime.

A spiky-haired girl arrived in the dressing room with a blue tackle-box-like case. She introduced herself as Melanie, the makeup artist, and she was here to "prep" Buzz for the show. Buzz merely said, "All right," and sat down in the chair by the brightly lighted mirror. This wasn't the first time he had been made up for a public appearance. He'd been making television appearances since the Seventies, and he had long since learned that makeup made him look better on camera. It was a bother, but it was necessary.

Melanie opened her tackle box and laid out the powders and rouge she would need. "It's a real honor to meet you, Colonel Aldrin," she said politely as she covered Buzz with a protective sheet. "I've never made up an astronaut before."

"Yeah, well," Buzz mumbled, "we're all human, after all. Same face, same skin as everybody else."

"You really wowed 'em at your lecture today," Melanie went on as she mopped Buzz's face dry. "Even the chief of security, and he's not an easy man to impress."

"Uh, yeah," Buzz said. "We've met."

Melanie set aside the wipe and picked up the powderpad."You did?"

"Yeah. Guy was reall happy to see me--damn near crushed my hand shaking it."

"You should see him when he's dealing with someone he's not happy to be with," Melanie said as she powdered Buzz's face.

"I'll pass, thank you," Buzz said.

Melanie giggled a little and decided to change the subject. "You know, I wasn't even born when you and Neil Armstrong landed on the moon," she said, "but I saw the film footage on YouTube. It was awesome! And, personally, I don't care what those wacko conspiracy theorists say--the whole thing was real as far as I'm concerned."

"Of course it was real," Buzz said, closing his eyes to avoid getting powder in them. "I was there, remember?"

This set Melanie to giggling even more. "Of course you were! It's just that, well, I don't understand why some people insist the whole thing was a hoax, that's all. I mean, we got the pictures, the films, the rocks and moon dust--why would anyone dispute it?"

"Well, people believe what they want to believe," Buzz said sagely. "They see things that aren't there, perceive things from a different angle. Like the man said, 'My mind's made up, so don't confuse me with the facts', that sort of thing. Me, I just ignore them."

"But what about--" Melanie suddenly clammed up, but Buzz immediately divined what she was going to say.

"About that guy I punched back in 2009?" he finished for her. "Okay, I admit I went a bit too far, but under the circumstances, well..."

Melanie brushed a light layer of rouge on Buzz's cheeks. "Sorry I bought it up," she said.

"That's okay," Buzz said, "I've put it behind me." Then he decided to change the subject himself to put Melanie at ease. "So tell me about this Criss Angel guy. What's he like?"

This simple query startled Melanie. What's he like? Hadn't he heard of Criss Angel, the MindFreak, the five time winner of the Magician of the Year award? Where has this guy been, the moon? she thought. Then she realized to her embarrassment that yes, he had. "Oh, he's great!" she replied, patting flattener over the foundation powder. "He's really awesome! He's done stuff you wouldn't believe! It's not as impressive as walking on the moon, of course, but still!"

A knock on the door and the words, "Two minutes, Mr. Aldrin," followed.

Melanie became a bit miffed. "It's Colonel Aldrin!" she half shouted to the stagehand who had just left. She sighed in irritation. "Guy's a moron," she muttered.

Buzz merely shrugged. "Hey, I've been called worse," he said with a smile.

Melanie pulled the sheet away from Buzz. "There!" she said triumphantly, "you're all set."

Buzz rose from the chair. "Okay," he said. He glanced at himself in the mirror. "Looks good."

Melanie packed her makeup materials into her box. There was another knock on the door. "Mr. Aldrin," the same ignorant stagehand spoke through the door, "you're on!"

"Well," Buzz huffed, "time to go meet the 'awesome' Criss Angel. Thanks, Melanie."

"You're welcome, Colonel Aldrin," Melanie replied politely.

"Call me Buzz."

"You're welcome, Buzz."

Buzz turned to leave. "Oh, and Buzz?"

"Yeah?"

"I saw that video of you punching that guy back in 2009," Melanie confessed. "Personally, I think that he had it coming to him."

[RACHEL02189]

This is going to be interesting with Criss and Buzz

[Veritas]

Okay, I am having some trouble here. I know how to end this tale, but I don't know what to do between now and then. I need some filler material. Any suggestions are welcome. Thank you.

[RACHEL02189]

Think about how Buzz and Criss are going to interact and if that kid gets to talk his nonsense to Buzz

[Veritas]

I know it's been quite a while since I updated this story, but my creativity seemed to have had dried up for a while due to work schedule changes and other problems. I promise to finish this story before the world comes to an end on December 21. My apologies for any delays.

Criss: Good evening, and welcome to MagicPlace. We have a very special guest with us tonight. It's my honor to introduce to you former Apollo astronaut Buzz Aldrin. (turns to Buzz) Buzz, it's great to have you here on the show.

Buzz: Thank you.

Criss: You're here at the Luxor through Sunday for your lecture series about your foundation. Care to tell us about it?

Buzz: It's called ShareSpace, first of all. It's to educate and raise awareness about the space program. We want to boost science education in this country so we can continue space exploration, even to colonize the moon, Mars, and/or other planets.

Criss: Wow, that's really far out. (laughs) No pun intended.

Buzz: (laughs)

Criss: Would you like to go back into space? Maybe revisit the moon again?

Buzz: Sure, I'd like to go. I got the experience, so...

Criss: On a more serious note, we received word of Neil Armstrong passing away this weekend. We're really sorry about that. Would you like to share any thoughts about him, any memories?

Buzz: All I can say is that Neil was a true professional, and I am proud to this day to have known him and flown with him on the Apollo mission. We remained good friends and collegues throughout his life. He will be missed.

Criss: I know you get asked this a lot, but what was it really like on the moon? I mean, I was only a baby when you and Neil landed there, so I kinda missed out. How did you feel when you set foot on the lunar surface?

Buzz: Well, just landing there was touch and go. We had to find a suitable place to land the capsule, and we weren't even sure the surface would hold--we thought we'd sink into it like quicksand. Once we touched down, we discovered it was solid enough to hold us. Neil went first, of course, since he was the one closest to the door, then I followed. As for how I felt, the only two words I could think of at the time was "magnificent desolation".

Criss: And that became the title of your book.

Buzz: That became the title of my book.

Criss: Magnificent Desolation

Buzz: (nods)

Criss: We have some callers on the line who want to talk to you. Caller One, you're on the line.

Caller 1: Hello, Buzz?

Buzz: Yes?

Caller 1: Oh, wow, I can't believe I'm talking to you! Uh, I just want to know one thing: how did you get the name "Buzz"?

Buzz: Well, that came from my sister when we were little. She couldn't say "brother" very well--it came out "buzzer". So, I became Buzzer, then Buzz. It kinda stuck, you know.

Criss: Okay, Caller Two, you're on.

Caller 2: First of all, I'm really sorry about Neil's passing. You have my condolences for losing such a close friend and collegue as you put it.

Buzz: Thank you.

Caller 2: I know the space program is important to you, and I know a lot of scientific advances have been made because of it, but don't you think we should concentrate on saving this planet instead of colonizing other planets? In other words, I think we should forget about the moon and get down to earth about these things.

Buzz: Well, it's like you said: a lot of technological advances have been made thanks to the space program. You also have to understand that the more we explore space, the more we can understand our own world and its part in the universe. The subsequent missions took pictures of the Earth from the moon. It was because of those pictures from beyond that we saw our world as something beautiful, something worth saving. The Apollo missions were chiefly responsible for the launching of the environmental movement.

Criss: Wow, that's deep!

Buzz: People are curious creatures, you know, and we'll never stop exploring, whether it's outer space or the depths of the ocean. It's our thirst for knowledge that keeps us going. I know a lot is wrong with the world, but the more we learn about the universe around us, the more we'll realize we're all in this together.

Criss: Okay, Caller Three, you're on.

Caller 3: I just want to know when you are going to admit that the "moon landing" was a hoax!

Criss: Come again?

Caller 3: You heard me! The so-called Apollo mission was faked! There was no trip to the moon, and you know it! The landing was faked, the photographs were faked--everything was faked! You've been deceiving the American public for years!

Criss: Hey, how can you tell it was faked?

Caller 3: Oh, come on, Criss! Anyone can tell it was faked! Look at the photos! The shading is off kilter, the flag they planted moved in a slight breeze when there's supposed to be no atmosphere on the moon--open your eyes, man! The whole thing took place on a Hollywood sound stage! TThe three of them--Buzz, Neil and Michael Collins--are the biggest scam artists of all time! It's the biggest hoax in history, and you're letting him get away with it!

Criss: Is there oxygen on the planet where you're from?

Caller 3: Ha, ha, very funny!

Criss: (nervously) Buzz?

Buzz: I get this all the time, don't worry about it. (to Caller 3) Listen, whoever you are--

Caller 3: Name's Boone.

Buzz: Okay, Boone, you can blather on about moon hoaxes until you are blue in the face. I'm not going to waste my time, or Criss Angel's here, arguing with you, but I'm gonna say right here and now that you are dead wrong. Neil and I did, in truth, walk on the lunar surface in July of 1968, and those photos are solid evidence of that mission. The Apollo mission was not--repeat, not-- a hoax, and that's all I'm gonna say on the subject.

Caller 3: But you-- (dial tone)

Criss: Man, what was with that guy?

Buzz: Like I said, I get it all the time.

[RACHEL02189]

Some one needs to get a life

[Veritas]

Boone slammed down the receiver. The nerve of that guy! Here he was, trying to expose the greatest hoax in American history, and the son of a (bleep) cuts him off, just like that! And he had been so close, just a hair's breadth away from victory. That (bleeper) Angel, who was no angel in his opinion, didn't even give him a chance to present the evidence he had painstakingly gathered for the occasion. Now, it was over. There was no convincing the American public that their big hero was a charlatan.

He slumped down on the chocolate brown overstuffed sofa in the tiny living room of his friend Charley's house, dejected and angry at the world. After he had been thrown out of the family home, Boone had called up Charley Haines, the only friend he knew he could count on, to help him out. Charley, bless him, came over in his camoflaged Jeep, piled Boone's few possessions into the back, and drove him to his house, allowing him to stay as long as he liked. He gave him use of his PC to continue his website, and even provided Boone with a part-time job at the gun range he owned, stretching his unemployment benefit check a little further.

Charley was a survivalist, a doomsday prepper ever alert to any sign of Armageddon. He was gaunt fellow in his mid thirties, with wispy black hair that grew thinner every day, looking more like an accountant than a military man. He was also a fellow conspiracy theorist, a believer in government coverups and the like. Ever since the Mayan prophecy of the world's end on December 21, 2012, he had been stockpiling canned food, storing water in a converted boiler--no plastic, he warned Boone, because of the near fatal chemical reaction in the PVC if let to sit too long--and upgrading his basement bunker to withstand anything from a fifty-megaton bomb to an extinction-triggering asteroid strike. Boone helped as best he could: filling sandbags, digging a trench for waste storage in the backyard, filling the air vents with charcoal to filter out harmful dust, debris, bacteria and radiation, and maintaining the generator. Charley was grateful for the help, and for the company. He didn't want to spend the last days on Earth alone, of course. Boone was simply grateful just to have a roof over his head, and to have Internet access for his website, with no nagging mother on his ass telling him he was wasting his life with conspiracy theories she didn't believe in. Like the moon shot hoax he would have exposed if not for that (bleep-bleep) Criss (bleeping) Angel.

Charley entered the living room carrying a large, flat pizza box, and noticed his new housemate sitting glumly on the brown sofa. "Hey, dude," he said, "why the long face?"

Boone looked up at Charley and sighed. "I had the biggest opportunity of my life to prove to the country that its biggest so-called accomplishment, quote unquote, is a hoax, and I get shot down before I even get a chance to tell them!"

Charley set the pizza box down on the flimsy wood coffee table. "It's about the moon shot, huh?"

Boone nodded. "Yeah, it's about the moon shot. I had Buzz Aldrin right there on the line, demanding he come clean about it, and that son of a (bleep) Criss Angel cuts me off right in the middle! I could kill that mother(bleeper) for doing that!"

Charley patted Boone on the back. "Look, it's ancient history, okay?" he said assuringly. "Why dwell on the past when we got the end of world coming right around the corner? We got more important things to think about right now, like surviving and restoring the human race." He grabbed Boone by the shoulder in a comradely fashion. "After the world ends, no one's gonna give a diddley-damn about who went to the moon or not. They'll be too busy rebuiling civilization. And we, my friend, are gonna be the new leaders of the world, because we will have the edge over everyone else."

Boone looked at him. "Why?"

"Why? Because of how well we prepped for Doomsday today, that's why! We'll be the new millionaires because we'll have more food and more supplies than anyone around. If anyone wants anything, they gotta come to us. And they'll do anything, anything at all, to get them. Not that we're gonna be despots or anything, mind you," he addded hastily, "but you and me, dude, we're gonna reshape the world after it's over. And I promise you, we're gonna do it right. We're talking a new Heaven and a new Earth, Boone! No more fat cat politicians! No more tax breaks for the rich! No more limp-wristed liberals crying and wetting their pants over every little violation of, quote unquote, civil liberites. Gun control will just mean having a steady hand, and crime will be dealt with by a bullet to the head--or a rope around the neck. I'm telling you, Boone, Twelve-Twenty-One won't be the end, but a new beginning--the beginning of a better world for both of us. For all of us. Just you wait and see." Charley playfully stroked his fist under Boone's chin. "Now buck up and some pizza," he encouraged him. "you can't change the world on an empty stomach!"

Charley opened the pizza box, releasing a tempting aroma of garlic and oregano, sausage and melted cheese. Boone put aside his outrage and picked up a slice. For all of Charley's pontificating about the benefits of Armageddon, he knew he was right about one thing: it was time to let go of the past and focus on the future, however brief that future would be in the coming months. If people want to be idiots and believe Buzz and Neil walked on the moon, fine! Everyone had a right to their own stupid opinions. Perhaps in time--maybe not in his lifetime, but someday--they would discover he had been right all along. He had more pressing matters to attend to, matters of life and death after the end of the world.





For Danny "Springs" Springer, sitting in the lounge of the Luxor Hotel with a Manhattan for company, the matter of life and death had become even more pressing. His latest trip to the doctor had revealed an irregular heartbeat, and he would need to have a pacemaker installed to keep it going. Didn't that beat all, he thought. First a stomach transplant, now some mechanical doohickey to regulate his ticker. The things he did to keep his run-down old carcass functioning!

He began to wonder if it was really worth all the time, effort and expense to do so. He was a year shy of ninety, for God's sake; he had outlived just about everyone he had known from the old days, even those who didn't get bumped off. After his book had been published, he had nothing to do, nowhere to go except here at the Luxor for the Manhattans and home to TV and the New York Times crossword puzzles. He had no family, except for Casey's twin babies, Chris and Nicky, and they didn't come over that often, and almost no surviving friends except Didi, and she didn't come over all that often either. Even golf had become an ordeal for him even with a golf cart. Back in his day as a gang enforcer, he had been thrilled to be alive even with the prospect of death right around the corner, whether it was a drive-by shooting or a carefully orchestrated "accident". Now, the thrill was gone. He was just a tired old man with one foot on a banana peel and the other in the grave. Why worry about the future when your days were numbered and there was nothing left to live for, anyway?

[RACHEL02189]

I don't believe 12/21 nonsense also Danny has Criss for a friend

[Veritas]

Springs looked up at the giant TV over the bar. He watched a commercial for the History Channel's Doomsday Countdown beginning in December. There would be nonstop programming about killer asteroids, nuclear war, diseases, zombies taking over the earth and all that BS. Oh, yeah, something to really look forward to, all right. Of course, there'd been a lot of hoopla about the world coming to an end on the twenty-first of December lately. Hell, you would have to have been living under a rock not to notice it!

Naturally, Springs didn't believe any of it for one minute. Cynicism came with age, and he had plenty to spare. Besides, there'd been nut cases running around saying the world was going to end ever since Billy Sunday. Bearded hippie types bearing picket signs that the end was tomorrow, or overzealous religious freaks blathering on and on about the Last Judgement--he'd seen them all through the decades. Yet the human race still lived on, bringing about the next generation, and the next, and the next, going about its business as usual.

Still, the doomsayers persisted, babbling about The End, calculating the exact time and date the world's number came up, warning everyone to prepare for the end of the world. Just when, and how, it would end had been anyone's guess. The usual scenario had been a big storm, with thunder, lightning, hail, earthquakes and fire falling from the sky--big Day of Judgement stuff like that. Floods, fires, famine, etc., etc.--just one big natural disaster after another.

Then, when they dropped the A-bomb on Japan, all bets were off; they could bring about the end of the world with just a push of a button. That had hit home to him during the Cuban Missile Crisis back in Sixty-Two: the Commies had their nukes lined up right in our backyard and were just one flick of a switch away from total annihilation. He remembered sitting with Mick, Blusey, and Shorty at Mick's mansion when the crisis was at its peak, drink in hand, wondering if the Russkies would ever be crazy enough to pull it off. Thankfully, the Commies agreed to pull out of Cuba in exchange for the US's withdrawl of its missiles from Turkey, ending the stalemate. It had taken some quick thinking on JFK's part to dodge that bullet. All in all, there had been a few close calls in the course of his lifetime--the Crisis, the civil rights movements that resulted in violence, Nine-Eleven--but somehow the world always managed to pull through, and he managed to pull through with it.

Springs turned back to his Manhattan. Yeah, he managed to pull through, only because he had something to live for back then, his son, Brian, being number one on the list. When he received the telegram from the military regretting to inform him of the loss of Brian Joseph Springer, PSC, in a minefield somewhere in the middle of Vietnam, it was as if the world had ended for him right then and there. From that moment, life had spiraled downhill. His second marriage ended in divorce, just like his first. His "business partners" passed away, one by one: first Blusey, then Shorty, then, finally, Mick. When he had suffered that bout with stomach cancer, a part of him had wished he would die soon, just to end the dreariness and the lonliness of his life.

Now, here he was, drowning his sorrows with one Manhattan after another. The doc said he needed a pacemaker, though at his age the odds of his surviving the operation were risky at best. Well, so what? He had taken bigger risks than that ever since he joined The Guys in their business operations in Vegas. And even if he did kick the bucket finally, well, again, so what? He had lived a good, long life (though much of it hadn't been so good, relatively speaking) and he was tired of living, anyway. Maybe he should just bide his time and wait for his number to come up, just like Mick did. Why go through the time and expense of prolonging it?

Springs looked up at the TV screen once again. It was broadcasting some big deal about the Mayans prediction about the end of the world in December again. So the world's number was coming up, too. Well, one thing was for certain, he thought: one of them wouldn't make it to see the New Year.

[Veritas]

Sorry this took so long. I'll do my best to finish this before the end of the world...someday.

Roxanne Morris knocked on the back door leading into the kitchen. "Mom?" she called out. "You home?"

"In the living room, hon," her mother called out.

Roxanne turned to the skinny, tattooed young man with black spiky hair dressed in black leather standing behind her. "Okay," she said, "come on in."

The two entered and went into the living room where Melody Morris was folding laundry while watching her soaps. She looked up briefly at her daughter and her companion. The sight of the latter did not alarm her; she was accustomed to seeing Sid Vicious types since Roxie had been in high school. She simply said, "Hi, hon, who's your friend?"

"Mom," Roxanne began, "this is Pierce. He's our new drummer for the band, and he needs a place to stay. Would it be okay if he stays in Boone's old room in the basement? He works days as an electrician, so he's got a steady income. He can only afford three hundred a month, so..."

Melody thought it over. Guy's a friend of Roxie's, he's got a steady job, three hundred a month--not too shabby. "Works for me," she said with a shrug. "So long as he cleans up after himself and doesn't bring the cops pounding on the door, he's welcome to stay as long as he wants."

Pierce and Roxie smiled. "Thanks, Mom," the latter said. "We really appreciate it."

"Yeah, thanks Mrs. M.," Pierce said. He jerked his thumb toward the kitchen. "Hey, I'll go get my stuff."

He left the living room to fetch his belongings. Roxie turned to her mother. "Don't worry about a thing, Mom," she said. "Pierce is a good guy, really. Doesn't do drugs or nothing."

Melody went on folding laundry. "Well, that's good to know," she said, flicking the kinks out of a pillowcase. "So long as he comes up with the three hundred a month, his affairs are none of my business." She gave a depreciating little laugh. "Compared to your brother," she said,
"this guy's a Boy Scout. At least he doesn't go on about all those crazy conspiracy theories, like hoaxes and UFO's and the end of the world and all that."

Roxie smiled a little, then started a bit. "Oh, that reminds me," she said, snapping her fingers. "We got a gig at Menage's on the twentieth of December--the big End of the World party they're giving. It's six weeks from now, and they're paying us a fifteen hundred bucks for one night's show! Isn't that great?"

Her mother was impressed. "Fifteen hundred, huh? Not bad. Split four ways, that's like, what?"

"Three seventy five each," Roxie answered. "Our biggest take yet!"

He mother sniffed. "Well, let's just hope the world doesn't come to an end before you can collect it."





For the Eastern Seaboard, the end of the world almost came before Thanksgiving of that year when Hurricane Sandy slammed into it with a vengeance. Thousands of homes were destroyed from Baltimore to New York to New Jersey and beyond, displacing millions of people.

It was with great relief to Criss Angel, a native New Yorker, to have his mother staying with him at his estate, Serenity, when it happened. Dimitra, however, was in a constant state of anxiety over the welfare of family members still on the East Coast who may or may not have been affected by the storm. Days of endless attempts to reach them by phone or email proved fruitless; phone wires and cellular antennae were down, and there was no electric power for computer terminals to function. It was all Criss could do to reassure her that everything would be all right.

By the end of the first week after the disaster, Criss decided she needed to get out of the house, so he got on the phone and called the first person he could think of to help.

"Hello, Springs? This is Criss Angel."

"Oh, hey, Angel, how's tricks?"

"Good. Hey, would you do me a favor? Mom's here at Serenity, and she's been worried sick about everyone back in New York being hit by Sandy, so I was wondering if you could take her out sometime. You know, somewhere nice, so she can get a load off her mind about the storm and all."

"Well, I'm happy to oblige, Angel, but I'd been kinda under the weather with my heart and all. How's about she come to my place for a visit. She'd keep me company for a while."

"Okay, Springs, you got it. I'll make the arrangements for, say, this Friday?"

"Friday sounds good to me, kid."

"Okay, Springs. Later."

"Yeah, bye, kid."