TWENTY-SIX
I was having no kind of fun. Okay, maybe that shouldn't have been my number-one priority. My universe was threatened. I was trapped in ground zero of kill-the-little-insects central. My current plans only extended far enough to cover the next five to ten minutes. But, Jon here, I was bored. Wul was o-u-t out for the count. I don't know how much nectar and juice it took to lay him low, but it was clearly much less than I cajoled him into downing.
But, God Social Services to the rescue, such a thing was apparently well anticipated. The club had extensive rest facilities. Basically they were posh suites just off the main entertainment space. They were suitable for sleeping one off or sleeping with any number of consenting adults and mud-beings. The expansive pools and spas might have posed an existential threat to the golems. Maybe they were water sealed. I didn't bother asking as it might suggest I had gross intentions under consideration. I might count among my many conquests some women who were arguably too drunk to tell whether I was me or the person they really wanted to be with. I freely own that. But doing the nasty with an animated mud pie? Way beneath my heretofore embarrassingly low standards of conduct. As it was I was never going to look at a dirt road the same again. And when I scraped mud off my boots, I’d likely apologize while doing so for a good long while.
When we were alone I attached my fibers to Wul. I could use all the 4-1-1 I could get. The first thing I estimated was how long he'd be out. Given his body weight, toxin levels, and liver function I figured at least a couple hours. It turned out his full name was—you ready for this—Wul. That was it. Nothing flowery or pretentious. How refreshing. He was twenty billion years old. Man, here I was thinking I was a senior citizen. Wul was ancient before my universe began sixteen billion years ago. His species was Nordictalon, his home planet called Exellonum in the Sector of Equivocation. Wul was a god from birth, sired by three—count 'em—three parents. Jaj, Kil, and Das. His people's pattern of naming was declaring itself. Old Wul had been married six thousand five hundred and fifty-eight times. Dude could have avoided all the grief if he'd have started with my ex Gloria. She'd have cured him of his disease definitively. I couldn't imagine the alimony payments this guy had to be making.
He functioned as the god of business and enterprise as he mentioned. That involved mostly attending board meetings, networking on developmental plans, and the penning of mission statements. No wonder he drank himself into oblivion the first chance he had. Made me want to do the same, and fast. Interestingly, and to my great relief, it turned out he was really a fairly kind and non-aggressive fellow. The crushing of as many Leginites as possible into metal canisters concerned a sour fruit he intended to preserve, not squealing sentients.
Then I almost peed myself laughing. You will never guess what his superpower was. Go on, take a wild shot. Whatever you said, that's not it. No, his power was negotiation. Lord I wished he was awake so I could torture him to death with sarcasm, needling, and potty sounds. I could just picture him on the schoolyard as a little kid. Some big godlet walks up to him and bullies him mercilessly. Wul puffs out his chest and says with composed anger, “If you don't stop this instant, I'll force you to negotiate your disengagement with me.” The other kid'd probably disengage by way of collapsing in a fit of giggling. Negotiation Man, that's me. Instead of a cape, I wear a pad of legal-ruled canary yellow 8 1/2" x 11 3/4" paper. Out of my way or I'll force you to compromise. Ah, everybody run. Godzillamise is stomping his way in our direction.
I lost it for the better part of a half hour.
There were several sobering factoids I found out, however. Wul had referred to the Third Transheaval. Turned out he was in the two before and the one that followed. Another was about to transheave itself on Prime, my universe. Transheaval was their term for massive, all-out, take-no-prisoners, and have-the-time-of-your-life invasion of another realm. The four apocalypses delivered so far were beyond my ability to describe. They were too brutal, too unimaginably cruel, too indefensibly sadistic, and too incredibly easy for the Cleinoid gods. They'd suffered so few losses while absolutely devastating, disassembling, and dismembering any and all resistance. If I wasn't so numb learning what was about to befall us, I'd have cried like a baby. We were so toast, so beaten before the first shot. The facts argued in favor of the wisdom of quick suicide by every living thing in my home universe. That, it seemed inescapably clear, was the best outcome. Many many worse ones were on the table. Some acts of amorality I reviewed were so dark I could never repeat them to another soul.
Wul didn't know when the attack would begin. He seemed to assign a great deal of weight to the intersession of fate though. Odd. It was almost like fate had self-determination, options and choices. Sure that was nuts, but it seemed to be a major tenet of belief for these guys and gals. But he believed the invasion would commence soon. Fate seemed to be moving in a favorable direction. Okay, that meant that an equally powerful force, anti-fate, was just gonna have to act first. Anti-fate's name? You got it. Jon Freaking Ryan. Oorah.
While I waited for Mr. Lightweight to wake from his beauty sleep, I wove elements and events I'd learned from Wul's memory into my cockamamy excuse for a life story. Knowing a lot of details about the Cleinoid's history would go a long way into making my story very difficult to doubt. I did have one major problem gnawing at me constantly. Tefnuf. No matter how outstanding my slinging of BS was, she'd never buy my story. She was the sole Cleinoid who knew I was actually just a troublemaker from Prime. Or did she? I sprang a trap intentionally, but then I pulled off a godlike disappearing act. But I'd told her my real name and didn't declare my godhood right off the bat. Maybe I could say I was visiting Prime and I used a trap to return home. Why would I do that? I got there on my own. Wul was of the opinion I'd been back and forth more than once. Maybe it saved energy? Maybe … how could I intertwine fate? Maybe using a trap relied less on the proximity of fate? And I hadn't let on I was a god 'cause I was messing with her. Wul'd back me up on the fact that I was a kidder. Well at least I had a series of words to say if confronted. Not too sure I'd like to bet my life I'd be believed, but it was something.
Finally Wul was rousing. He was entertaining to watch. He rolled over a couple times, groaning. He raised his head a few inches then let it thump back to the floor. When he sat up, he puked volumes. It was bitchin'. I had ammo to tease him with for weeks to come. Dude made a serious spectacle of himself.
“I don't feel so well,” he said. He was as green around the gills as his tone suggested.
“Gosh, Wul, I'm sorry to have dared you into overindulging. Dude, your pain is my pain.” I pounded a fist on my heart to suggest deep empathy.
“Fuck you,” was his terse response. Perchance he didn't believe my sincerity. This was so cool.
“In spite of your unjustified insult, may I help you up?” I extended an arm.
“No, but you can begin to make amends by cleaning this mess up.” He spied up with one eye. What a player.
“It would be my honor.” I nodded.
He was surprised. “Really?”
“Absolutely,” I pledged with a hand over my chest. “Here,” I stood, “I'll get right on it.” I opened the door and yelled extremely loudly, “Cleanup on aisle ten. Wul lost his cookies ’cause he's such a lightweight.” I closed the door and slowly returned to my chair.
“I hate you.”
“And I hate you too.”
A pair of waitresses slipped in while we bantered and deftly cleaned up what seemed to them to be a pretty routine part of the duties at Altruism's Failure. Then again, they were animated clay, like characters in those dopey old videos like The Seventh Voyage of Sinbad and Adventures of Gumby.
Ten minutes later we were back at our table. I was having a large meal not because I was hungry but because I knew how queasy it made my buddy. For his part Wul stared into a glass of what looked like beer and moaned occasionally.
“I feel weird,” he announced.
“It's called a hangove
r.”
“No, I've had those a’plenty before. No, I feel different weird. Like … like I was violated while I was out.”
Oh boy. Trouble.
“Ah, I wasn't going to mention it, but seeing’s how you brought it up,” I pointed my knife at the next table, “you see that guy there?”
“Yes,” he replied in a huff. “I'm nauseous, not blind.”
“Well, when you were out he asked if he could, you know, borrow you for half an hour.”
Wul glared at me, then at the guy in question, then back to me. “You lent me to Lorpamoor?”
I shrugged while chewing prodigiously.
“The vampire god, the one with twelve tentacles and four mouths?” Wul held up his fingers in a clawlike depiction. “Teeth like needles and poisonous saliva that can dissolve flowing lava?”
I shrugged again. Then I pointed my fork at Wul. “But I was firm about the thirty-minute time window.” I ruffed my feathers like I was oh-so-proud of myself. “I had your back the entire time, you're very welcome. He was so impressed with my conviction on that matter he had your clothes halfway back on when I burst into the room, without knocking I might add.”
He shook his head in disgust. “You're sick. You're also not funny.” Then he snickered uncontrollably so badly snot dripped from his nose. He gestured toward me as best he could, given his gyrations. “You had me for a second there. Kudos for that.”
“Another of my poly powers and my personal favorite. Bullshitting.” I positively glowed as I spoke.
“Will wonders never cease?”
“Nope.” I really hit the “P” for effect.
He giggled again. “You lent me to a vampire while I was passed out. That's rich. I hope I get a chance to steal that one and inflict it on someone else very soon.”
“Good luck with your dreams, sport.”
Wul got a very serious look on his face. “Ryanmax, are you the Promised One?”
Without batting an eye I replied. “Yup.”
He recoiled like I'd hit him with a cricket bat flat on the forehead.
“Just ask any woman I've ever been with.”
He scowled. “I'm serious. This is serious, extremely serious. Can you be also?”
I shrugged again, hoping to both answer and annoy.
“You're not likely to find another soul on this plane as tolerant or openminded as I am. The rest of us take the Words of the Prophet as sacrosanct.”
Are written on the subway walls kept looping in my damn head. Curse the SOB. It'd take some serious time to get that one out of my brain. … and tenement halls …
“Sorry. Don't get your knickers in a knot. I'm teasing because your premise is so absurd.” I pointed to my face. “Me, a god's god? No individual or lost soul would be that desperate.”
He looked like I'd poured a bucket of hot maple syrup over his head. “Where do you get those idiotic idioms? Knickers? What the hell are knickers?”
I directed my knife downward and at his groin. “Pull your pants open. Knickers are what you're seeing all knotted up.”
“Having a conversation with you is like being waterboarded, only less pleasant.”
“From personal experience? Hmm?”
“Don't tell me, it's another poly power. Annoying as hell, right?”
I nodded smugly.
“I give up. You want to keep your polyness under wraps, fine. I'm only curious and trying to offer my support.”
Why would I need his support if I was the Chosen One? Wouldn't I be, like, pre-chosen without any outside input? “Sorry, sorry,” I said quickly. “You're right—I'm being a bit of an ass, aren't I?”
He wrinkled his face up. “Bit of?”
“Dude. I'm a god. Humility is not my long sui … best quality.”
“Point.”
“So, I know I can pull off a few tricks. That's cool, but I know for positive I'm no messiah. A person'd know if they were,” I tapped my chest, “right here.”
“I never said anything about a messiah,” he said as he contemplated the need for clarification. “I said the Chosen One. Everyone knows the difference, and it's huge.”
In a couple billion years one would think I'd learn to talk without placing my foot in my mouth so frequently and so forcefully. “I used a word wrong. Sue me. Come on, I know the difference. I thought we were two friends talking, not embroiled in an inquisition. Messiahs are saviors as well as leaders. The Chosen One may be a leader, but he, she, or it sure won't be anyone's savior but his own.” Lord in Heaven, I prayed that was correct and made sense. I needed to take a risk. I couldn't afford for him to start seeing me as too odd.
Slowly he began nodding. “Yes indeed. TCO is almost certain to rule with an iron fist and enforce whatever vision they have on us all, like it or not.”
I raised my glass. “I'll drink to that.”
“You'll drink to anything,” he scoffed, trying to sound annoyed. He toasted me, however, with a big old smile.
While we traded insults I began thinking through just how I wanted to play Wul. We were getting along fine, but I didn't want to cling on to him and scare him off. Then again, I had no idea how we gods communicated, so if we parted ways I might never find him again. He afforded me instant credibility since he was more than an acquaintance, he was a fan. He could introduce me all around until everyone who was anyone knew good old Ryanmax. I decided to stay with him as long as I could. He was too rich an asset for me to try strike out on my lonesome again.
“When your fragile constitution allows it, my friend, what say we find another establishment for you to hurl in? The golems here are looking kind of dusty, if you take my drift.”
“I do not. You wanted to combine the words golem and dust in one context because you think you're so clever.”
“True that,” I conceded. “But I know a place where there're real flesh and blood babes.” I bounced my eyebrows luridly.
“What a ridiculous notion,” he snapped. “These tools are for gratification and much-needed distraction,” He gestured widely across the room. “Why risk rejection or, worse yet, emotional involvement if not rejected by an actual woman? You must have a screw loose.” He twisted the tip of his finger on the side of his head.
“Because I'm a risk taker, ya big chicken. The greater the danger the greater the reward.”
“I'm not in the mood for either risk or reward. Come, we'll go to a place of my choosing.”
“Yeah, and where would that be?”
“Anywhere but the Three Last Goodbyes.”
Wow. There really was a place famous for fleshie companionship. Android or not, I filed that tidbit away. Ah, in a place for important cultural details, mind you. Sapale did occasionally review my downloaded memories. I might have been stupid, but I wasn't dumb.
Out in the fresh air Wul stopped and looked around. “No flying cars in sight. The walk to Blind Faith No More is kind of long.”
“How about a magic carpet ride?” I said with a smirk.
He recoiled. “I hate those things. I'd rather crawl there dragging my tongue on the ground.”
“Carpet-related PTSD?”
He rolled his shoulders. “If you must know, yes. I fell from one as a child and swore to never get near one again.”
“Did you really get hurt?”
“Yes. I landed in a pile of minotaur crap right in front of Graselda Mannór.”
“Who's Graselda Mannór?”
“The girl I was with. The one with a body made for love and a mind inclined to please. She was also the one who did not fall off the damn rug.”
“Bet she giggled.”
“Oh she giggled,” he huffed. “And she told everyone she knew, showed them simages and everything.”
What the hell was a simage? “No way,” I taunted against what little better judgement I possessed. “They didn't have simages that long ago. When you were a kid they carved things into clay tablets.”
“Ha, ha. I have a simage for you.” He nodded his hea
d at me and concentrated.
Crap, he was sending me a signal. If I didn't get it—and why the heck would I?—I'd be outed. I scanned all frequencies of the electromagnetic spectrum, radiation emissions, and sound pulses. You name it and I scanned it. Nada, zip, nothing. Crapola on a cracker, I was screwed.
For his part, Wul gave me a well-what-ya-gonna-do look with a hint of impatience.
I swallowed hard. I said a quick goodbye in my head to Sapale and I responded. “You know I saw that picture of your mom way long ago. Yeah, she handed it to me just after she made me take it.”
He actually took a step toward me. His face flashed with rage. Then he relented. “Maybe I deserved that one. Sorry. You're rubbing off on me, I guess.”
I pointed at him. “Hey, that's what she said too. Were you spying on us?” I smiled and elbowed his arm.
“Let's start walking and pray for a ride,” he responded.
“There's a couple of magic ponies over there,” I kind of squeaked, pointing behind him.
“Do not get me started on them,” he blurted out as he stepped away briskly.
TWENTY-SEVEN
“Even now at the eleventh hour I cannot talk you out of this madness?” The fear was palpable in Toño's voice.
“No, but thanks for caring,” Sapale replied warmly. “Toño, we're two billion years old. Maybe now's as good a time as any to die.”
“No. I refuse to accept such flippancy.” He stopped a second and glanced to one side. “Well only from Jon. No one else, especially not from you.”
“Why? Am I some icon of virtue and worth? The personification of all that's peachy keen?” She shook her head angrily. “I'm not.”
“No, because I know your heart. It is good. And you are a friend, a very old and valued one whom I do not want to lose.” His head dropped.
She reached back to him, stroking his thin hair. “I'm sorry, old friend. I'll respect your concern with concern of my own. There. Is that better?”
Return of the Ancient Gods Page 15
