The sky was blueberry jam at the top and strawberry yogurt at the horizon by the time they finally reached what they were looking for in the desert, the point of their destination. Thank God, the gods hadn’t arrived yet! To make them wait would have been embarrassing. Vitto was glad he and David made it here first, in time, saved them a lot of trouble. And if the gods themselves intended to be late, he intended to let them. They were gods, after all. And gods do what they gotta do.

Thankfully, the site of the pyramid was empty. Hardly anyone ever showed up here. It was all about the pyramids of Giza these days. Well, fuck Giza, Vitto thought! Nothing important really happened in Giza. The tourists were wrong. Led to believe the pyramids of Giza were the big deal, no one ever paid any attention to the small and inconspicuous Black Pyramid. And they should have. Because that was where all the juicy stuff actually happened, aliens and all, the ones Vitto was taught from his childhood to refer to as gods, which in actuality they were just aliens, very old aliens. Thousands of years old, maybe even tens of thousands.

The Black Pyramid was very important. But looking at it now Vitto couldn’t help but frown, the state it was in, it was very discouraging. It was a shame it wasn’t better-kept. When the Gods came (if they came), they were not going to find it as it once was, as they once left it. Buried in sand nearly halfway it was but a shadow of its former glory. Nearly five thousand years had passed since its heydays, and there was no way in hell after all this time it could have remained untouched. Nothing on Earth could withstand the passage of time like that only to emerge on the other side with impunity. Hopefully though, there was still enough of it left for alien gods to work with.

The pyramid might have failed to weather the storm of time, but so did the ancient order left there to protect it. Both succumbed gradually to deterioration and collapse over time, as the same was true in this world for just about everything. But as long as at least a piece of it was still there, showing above sand like a tree stump, and at least one surviving member of the order was still there by its side to serve and protect it, even as he was in his forties and horny, it was going to be just fine, Vitto was sure of it.

He jumped off the camel and planted himself on the ground firmly.

“Tether the camels, David! We don’t want them scampering off into the night when the gods arrive, now don’t we?” he said.

He’d seen pictures of the gods’ spaceship, and it was big-assed. Frankly, when that thing arrived the camels were not going to be the only ones scared around here. He’d be lucky if he didn’t piss himself. David tethered the camels without saying a word back, never fooled by Vitto’s morose demeanor. No matter the image he was trying to project, he was still a big ol’ softie, Vitto. A momma’s boy, even in the absence of an actual mother. His hard-edged façade was just for show. Mostly. Sure he appeared cantankerous sometimes but that was only done in the spirit of his habit of fishing for compliments and emotional support, because even now in his forties he needed it. And David knew that. And he was there to give it to him. He didn’t mind. He had it in spades. Besides, come to think of it now, everything else in their relationship, all things considered, was on Vitto.

Having perched awkwardly on a sandstone slab, Vitto was happy he didn’t have to sit no more on that gosh-darn camel. God please, anything but the camels! He’d much rather sit on a pineapple, or a porcupine. And the camels were his idea too. He couldn’t blame it on David, although he very much wanted to. His balls were sore but he kept his mouth shut about it. May God be his witness he was not going to let David take the blame for it, not this time. Which, for whatever reason, David was always willing to take the blame or at least share it with Vitto. He was perfect for him, after all, for the lack of a better word. And Vitto was glad David was here. Without him, it would have been very different. Though he was never going to let him know about it, of course.

But he truly needed him here, couldn’t do without him. Coming here he wasn’t even sure what he was looking for. What did he expect to find here even? Part of it was that he thought it was about time he finally manned up and faced his daddy issues, those that’d been pestering him for a while now. He was forty-two, and that thing that had been gnawing at him all this time, that tiny little canker deep in his gut he couldn’t fail to identify as the guilt he was carrying for abandoning his ancestral religion. And it wasn’t letting Vitto sleep at night, the culpability of it and self-reproach, and he thought now might be the time to address it. The other thing was that he was at the same time still looking for answers and proof that the religion in question wasn’t a joke. Because that was what his father ultimately made of it. Coming here, tonight, to a certain degree he intended to find the answer to his question. Or if he wasn’t going to be able to find it here, then that in itself would maybe be enough proof that none of it was real. And then maybe his guilt would finally release its claws on his conscience. He was still questioning himself, and his faith. And whether it was all real or not was probably the biggest question. And it was easy to ignore when he was young but now these feelings were getting the hold of him. And maybe he should have come sooner but the important thing was that he was here now. And he intended to face it all, whatever was coming his way, and it was actually not that bad now that right by his side, going with him through it all, he had David.

“Water?” Settling on a stoop next to him, David offered him a water flask. He had disturbed his train of thought inadvertently, but Vitto welcomed the distraction. He was getting all up in his head again, overthinking it. And he needed not to be.

“Not water, David!” he barked. “What are you thinking? There’s a bottle of Grappa in my sack.”

Being here, in the butt crack of the desert, whether it was all real or not, called for a celebration, he thought. A bottle of pomace Italian brandy would do the trick. That was why he brought it here. David only grinned at that as he dashed for the saddle pack without question. After a long and exhausting day, he too wouldn’t mind a glass of something Italian-made. And while he was gone, Vitto found himself looking at the stars again. Only the brightest ones were showing this early in the evening but as the night progressed, he knew, the sky was going to be full of them. There was a time when he and his dad looked at the stars like that, back in the day, in his childhood, when he believed everything his father told him.

Everything was simple back then. Unfortunately, it wasn’t now.

It was a different kind of religion Vitto’s family professed, and he was always very aware it was different. The religion of his pa’s, and his grandpa’s, and then many pa-s before them, different to anything the world had known so far. At the heart of it was the secret knowledge the alien gods bestowed upon a small group of humans five thousand years ago, to be written and rewritten through multiple generations, handed over from one to the next, gingerly, delicately, with much care and consideration, until such time the aliens returned back to Earth. Which when they left they promised to return promptly. And though the world around them changed, the members of the order stayed strong, their resolve never faltered. Lips were sealed tight, swords were drawn and guns wielded all to protect the ancient knowledge. And the secret was kept safe, for the longest time. That is until recently.

It was by the turn of the 22nd century that the number of members in the order irreversibly began to dwindle, barely noticeably at first but then quite drastically, and so did their resources, their finances, and then their hope. And by the late 2170s, the order was reduced to exactly two members, which one of them was a forty-five-year-old hapless priest/single dad, and the other–his twelve-year-old spring-chicken son.

For a time Vitto’s dad struggled to provide for the both of them, alternating odd jobs, accepting even the elbow-greasiest positions. But when he finally ran out of health, and hope, and there was nothing in their tiny New York apartment left to sell, he turned to his faith instead and did the only thing his weakened brain could conjure up at that moment. Never the most devoted member of the order to begin with, nothing like those who came before, he put on his tawny robe and went with his little alien stories on a public TV, to sermonize and preach to everyone who’d listen. And though it was a cheap satellite TV, and chances of him getting noticed were incredibly slim, against all odds it worked. He got the attention he was looking for, yielding himself the title of a self-proclaimed alien pastor. Wondrously, he reached his first million followers before it was noon, and then ten million before it was Tuesday. His new and improved mass-consumption religion was a runaway hit. And he suddenly found himself rich and powerful.

Surrounded by all sorts of religious nuts, lunatics, and conspiracy theory junkies, he thrived. Suddenly it was like this was what he was always looking for. Dispensing his teaching among his flock, he felt seen, proud, and listened. Some genuinely believe what he had to say. He was revered and venerated as a true saint among others. Some were only there for this golden egg he’d found, a few, but not as many as those who worshipped him. And to a degree, Vitto’s father felt like he was fulfilling his mission in that weird twisted way, whatever he thought it was. Otherwise, the knowledge that had been guarded by his predecessors for millennia would have been guarded in vain. Without the people to perpetuate it, it would have soon vanished into oblivion. And he’d found the people to perpetuate it by, at least, now that the order counted millions. But there was something wrong with this picture and he knew it. And he knew that it’d come back to bite him in the ass somehow. And he was right. His worries became prophetic, not his tales. But putting a lid on it before it blew up in his face was too late now. And he didn’t wouldn’t want to do it anyway. At that point, it was beyond his power.

Having had no experience being a multimillionaire before, he missed all the red flags. The government got involved with the case of this new rapidly spreading religion, or as they’d like to put it the cult. Inconsistencies were found. Vitto’s father was charged with tax evasion and fraud. And in just under two years of legal proceedings the whole caboodle was banned universally, the pastor and the congregation, never to be spoken of again. The assets were frozen. Vitto’s dad was put into jail.

He was shut down before he ever had the chance or wherewithal to complete his mission, whatever he thought his mission was. Now there was no mission. He lost everything, the money, the followers, and even his son who was sent to a boarding school, to be raised among regular nuns. And Vitto only got a chance to visit his father once before he learned of his untimely demise, just a couple months in, which he was presumed to have succumbed to pneumonia. That was what he was told anyway. Thus, in a matter of a couple of months, every connection Vitto had to his past was severed, and there was no going back to anything because there was nothing left. He had no choice but to start over.