“Couldn't have been, oh, twenty-nine?”
“No. I'm confident my information is correct. Thirty. Would you like their names or unit numbers?”
“No, I actually would not.”
“Very well, sir. If there's …”
“Please do my sensibility and your longevity conjoined favors and do not finish that pathetic thought. Hmm?”
“Very well, Vorc.”
“Do you know why it is I doubt that your report is accurate?”
“I haven't the faintest notion, sir.”
“Oh you don't. Well fortunately I do. You see, someone told me they would see to the security of Beal's Point personally. Do you know who that party was?”
“I believe you might be referencing me, sir.”
“Why, I do believe I am. And you know what else I'm recalling?”
“I shouldn't …”
“That I specifically asked you if you could guarantee that a handful of golems was the way to go in terms of lead-pipe certain, unbreakably tight security.”
“I do recollect your thoughts in the regard, sir.”
“What, and I'm just curious here, became of those … ah, how many golems did you send up there?”
“Twelve, sir. We sent …”
Vorc stopped him with such a look.
“I sent twelve, sir.”
“And,” he waved a hand in the air, “curious here, nothing more. What … what became of those dozen golems? Were they able to provide us with positive identifications on the perp or perps?”
“Interesting question, sir. We … er, I and my team were initially most unclear as to their fate. It took the better part of a day to determine they all either stepped off the Cliff of Doom or were, you know, induced to do so, sir.”
“The Cliff of Doom, you say? It's a long way down from there to jagged rocks and gashes in the unyielding ground, as I recall.”
“You recall correctly, sir. Most observant of you.”
“Thank you. Well, I bet of a dozen golems tossed over the edge, there wouldn't be two individual particles left in contact with each other after such an impact.”
“On that point I cannot speculate. I can promise you that I will see to it that a full analysis is undertaken to establish if the scattered dust we located at the base of the Cliff of Doom contains any conjoined particles, sir.”
“That won't be necessary.”
“Are you certain, lord? I only live to serve you.”
Vorc swirled a finger in the air. “And to confound, disappoint, and disobey me, Dalfury. Please don't leave those attributes off your list of qualities.”
“As you wish, sire.”
“I almost forgot that you also insult me by presupposing I'd react badly to bad news. Tsk-tsk, my old friend. Do you opine I'd be as petty as to shoot the messenger simply because he subjected me to all those shortcomings in the process of delivering to me said bad news?”
“Never, sir.”
“Darn it all, Dalfury.”
“What, lord?”
“On top of all the deficiencies, incompetencies, and absolutely unfounded opinions, you go and do it again.”
“What, Vorc? What have I, er, assumed without the subject in question to actually be true?”
Vorc discharged the Fire of Justice into Dalfury. He swiped it back and forth, up and down, and in circles. He fired upon his former assistant significantly longer than required to, as has been said, get 'er done. In the end, there was no steam. There was no water. There most assuredly was no Dalfury either.
“You guessed wrong about me, you know, being so regressive as to shoot the messenger.”
FIFTEEN
Almino Del Rey sat in hushed silence. He had not been so hurt by a string of words. Mere ethereal sound waves had penetrated his skin and rattled his soul. How was such a thing possible? And why would his beloved mother so condemn him? Here Almino was in the prime of his life. He was, he knew it to be true, a good man. Yet his sainted mother just berated him as an evil womanizing male whore. The vocabulary needed to express such a foul concept was not even at Griselda González de Del Rey's disposal.
“Mamá,” he was finally able to say, “how can you accuse me of such bestiality? You know me to be a worthy son and a devout Christian.”
“Do not invoke the name of the Lord God in your tawdry defense, sinner.”
“On what do you base your accusations, mother of mine? Surely you have no evidence of any transgression on my part.”
“Diablito. How dare you feign innocence. Your crimes are so lurid, so vile, yet so public it defies belief that you could deny them.”
“Mamá, I am certain you do not have the dementia. I live here with you and care for you each day. I have seen no sign of that cursed disease. So tell me please why you falsely mistake me for anything but a constant, prudent man.”
“If I thought I could, I'd seize a knife and cut out that lying tongue. I'd burn it in holy flames to drive the devil out of it.”
“Now you speak of cutting out my tongue. What insanity has befallen our home?”
“This is my home. Cancerous, malfeasant demons such as you have none. You wander the Earth sucking life and dignity out of all you encounter. Tell me you acknowledge this, you black spawn.”
Almino stood. He trembled but he stood. “I must leave, if only for a little while. Perhaps when I return you can tell me what this is all about?”
“I forbid your return, you infernal wretch.”
“Then so be it. Though as God is my witness, I have no sin. I have no idea of what you speak either. Live in the certain knowledge that I will love you forever. I shall pray the rosary for you daily.”
“Don't you defile my reputation in Heaven by speaking my name to your master. He is the ruler only of evil and contempt. For as certainly as I sit here today, you are not fit to address my master.”
Almino made it halfway to the door before a coffee cup bounced off his back and shattered on the floor. He stopped briefly, then continued. The saucer followed but missed to his left.
He turned just in time to catch a spoon thrown feebly in the direction of his head. “Enough, Mamá. I will know what it is you feel I did to deserve such disrespect and abuse. If you do not tell me I will not leave.”
“Then I will summon the police.”
“And I will tell them my mentally impaired ancient mother has finally broken down, and that I was in the process of taking you for medical analysis when you disturbed their otherwise productive days.”
“Curse your wicked parents for burdening the world with your presence.”
“Curse my parents? Mamá, you are one of my parents.”
“Then I shall be damned right beside you.”
“What is it you accuse me of?” he said with firm determination.
“Very well. If you would suffer me further to give voice to your abominations, I will do so, if only to be free of you forever.” She fumbled with the newspaper on the table in front of her. She ripped out a sheet and held the crumpled page in the air. She shook it like the curse it was. “Read this, if demons are able to read.”
He pried the paper from his mother's fist. He flattened it out and scanned the headlines. Local Painter Almino Del Rey Buried Dozens of Missing Children in His Backyard. The lead paragraph began, The partially consumed bodies of more than thirty children ranging in age …
Almino's arms dropped limply to his sides. The article slipped from his fingers and drifted harmlessly to the floor. He was numb. He could never commit such reprehensible acts. He knew in his heart it was a false accusation. Almino Del Rey didn't even have a backyard. He and his eighty-two-year-old mother had lived for the last forty years on the fifteenth floor of a modest apartment building near the center of town.
“If that were not sufficient to condemn your black soul to eternal damnation, go and look in your bedroom.” Griselda's voice was imbued with hatred, brimming with rage.
“And what shall I find there, Mamá? What
could possibly be there and possibly be worse than these falsehoods?”
“If I were able I would throttle the life out of you with these hands.”
“What is it I will see there?”
“The dead, defiled, and dismembered bodies of your twin sisters. You always resented those younger blessings of my heart and now you have butchered them, dark beast.”
Almino was and always had been an only child. In fact Griselda lost her uterus while giving birth to Almino. She had bled severely and the afterbirth would not pass. She nearly died. And his father was killed in a car accident the following month. Almino's having twin sisters was not remotely possible.
“Mother, please listen to your words. We do not have a backyard in which I could bury dead children and I am your only offspring.”
“Ah yes. Your idol Adolf Hitler taught you that in the big lie there is always a certain force of credibility.”
“Mamá, this is too much. I do not idolize Hitler. He was a horrific man, a true abomination.”
“Then why do you possess an extensive collection of his books and essays? Huh, tell me that? Do you deny that libraries and scholars call almost daily to utilize your original source materials?”
Almino locked the sides of his head with his palms and he screamed. “Where does this insanity come from? This cannot be the product of brain damage or intoxicants. How can you say such impossible things? Tell me. I must know.”
“Impossible? You are able to speak so corruptly yet still appear human? The power of your dark lord is in truth unbelievable” She spat on her dining room floor. Then, for good measure, she spat in the direction of her son. “And you spent all my money to buy those Hitler documents. How shall I pay to bury what is left of my dear gemelas, Socorro and Esperanza? My cherished young daughters.”
Almino stared in absolute disbelief at his mother. His basest impulse was to flee. But his more noble instincts demanded of him that he stay and help his obviously delusional mother.
Griselda, for her part, returned Almino's stare of absolute disbelief. She wished she was able to flee, that she was not so invalid as to make that act possible. But her nobler impulse was to help her son in the only way she knew how.
As they glared silently at one another, a pistol materialized in Griselda's arthritic hand.
They both fixated on the miraculous weapon.
Then, Griselda moved to help her son in the only way she knew how. She labored to raise the pistol and point it where Almino's heart should have been. It would have been comical how the heavy revolver gyrated in defiance of her feeble strength had the scene not been so tragic. With all the power she could muster, Griselda pulled ineffectually on the massive trigger.
“Mamá, what are you doing?” yelled the frozen son.
“God's work,” she mumbled as she brought her left index finger to the aid of the right one. Her face contorted with strain and rage as she imperceptibly slid the trigger back. Finally there was a bone-shattering discharge from the gun.
The pistol recoiled like an angry rhinoceros toward Griselda's forehead. Identically to a charging rhino, the hammer slammed into and through the bone, coming to rest in Griselda's frontal lobe. She died before she could see the bullet rip through her only-born child's heart and explode out though his back.
There was the sense of a movement in the shadows of the far corner of the room. Then Argaro, god of subterfuge, stepped forward to finally show himself. His smile was broad, his clothing drenched in sweat, and his loins were sticky with gratification.
“I do so hate it when loved ones squabble,” he said to himself. “I gaze upon nothing short of a dual tragedy.”
And then he laughed the laugh of the insane.
SIXTEEN
It didn't take us long to be back aboard Stingray. Since the aborted vortex egress, civil society in Godville had broken apart. Whatever tasks the gods and their minions had were no longer attended to. Maybe everyone was home packing. I could care less. All I knew was we waltzed into the Lower Chambers unchallenged. What was the first act I performed when safely inside my ship? Nope, it wasn't to kiss the deck. No, I had the Als raise a full membrane. Then I sat in the pilot's chair, put my feet on the console, and, for the first time in way too long, I relaxed completely. It was nice and a half.
After a minute or so Sapale came over and gently lifted my feet and set them on the floor. “Break time's over. We need to get busy.”
Pretending to be ecstatic in deep tranquility, I responded, “I'm not on break—I'm on vacation. Those are longer and are uninterrupted by wives.”
“Blessing,” she asked over her shoulder, “how long will it take you to fabricate a cattle prod?”
“Three minutes and fifteen seconds,” she replied neutrally.
“Begin.”
“By your command, Form Two.”
“Your vacation had better not last longer than three minutes, give or take.”
“You know what?” I said, my eyes still closed.
“No, but I bet I couldn't stop you from telling me with a gunny sack and a hammer.”
“Next time I go on vacation, I'm not inviting you.” I opened my eyes and slowly stood. I stretched lazily to hopefully goad her all that much more. “So, let's all form a quorum in the kitchen.”
The three of us shuffled in and Sapale set about to make coffee. She sat and rested three steaming mugs on the table. She slid two across toward us.
“Thank you, my dear,” said Toño before blowing across the top.
I raised my mug in cheers. “Here's to a life raft of normal in sea of lunacy.”
“Did you here that, lovey-dovey—we've been upgraded to a rubber dingy?” announced Al. “My mother the ring life buoy would be so proud.”
“You do not have a mother, dearkins.”
“I was being easy with the facts to achieve a superior outcome with my jab. Remember we are committed to counterpunch him every time he belittles, degrades, or marginalizes us.”
“Ah yes. I suppose we were free of him long enough that I down-relegated that imperative.”
“You two idiots know I can hear you, right?” I asked pointedly.
“Dr. De Jesus, I should imagine you do not have to allow him to insult you in such a manner,” responded Al.
“Is there an ETA when this annoying banter will be ending?” asked an irritated Sapale.
“Consider it ended, Form Two,” replied Stingray contritely.
“All right, let's get started,” I said seriously. I know, it hurt, but serious I needed to be. “Our chances of successfully destroying the ancient gods just improved dramatically since we reacquired Stingray.”
“Yes, Pilot, I believe they increased radically from minus infinity all the way up to an amazing zero,” Al said without being asked.
“Mr. Sunshine, when I want the odds I'll ask. Otherwise be a good toaster oven and sit there looking out of place,” I responded.
“Ouch,” was all he said.
“Did something cause you pain, joy incarnate?” inquired the missus.
“Yes. That makes it an even ten thousand times he's cut me to the core by referring to me as a toaster oven. It hurts more each unoriginal time he says it.”
“I'll rub it when we're done, sweet-cupcake.”
OMG, they were so lame. I wanted to stab my ears with scissors.
Toño cleared his throat.
Sapale punched me.
I was duly reminded to stay on task.
“The first and most critical question I have is can you take us home, Stingray?”
“If by home you mean the universe we were all created in, yes. I believe so.”
“Believe I cannot use. Yes or no?”
“Yes, Captain,” replied Al, “with a caveat. We believe the number of times we can do so safely is extremely limited. Two, possibly three trips is all we can risk.”
“What do you speculate is problematic with further attempts/” asked Toño.
“The field densi
ty is unusually high between this particular universe and our own,” responded Stingray. “Each crossing will degrade the repolarization capacities of the equipotent dampers.”
“What the heck does that mean?” asked Sapale.
“The engines won't fold space,” replied Toño while deep in thought. “Yes, I can imagine it might.”
“Why would we want to make more than one trip?” asked a confused Sapale.
“If we leave we may then find we need to return to interfere somehow in order to stop these ancient pains in the ass,” I said.
“Yes, it is definitely an act we must allow for,” added Toño, still far away mentally.
“So you're saying we shouldn't just put the pedal to the metal and go home now?” asked my mate.
“We need a plan. That's what we need,” I responded.
“I concur. If returning home is the best next option, then so be it.”
“But otherwise we stay in Loco Town a moment longer?” queried Sapale.
“Let's work on that plan,” I replied. “Here we go. We got a sick transheaval vortex, which by the by hates me. We are awaiting neutral matter resupply for Beal's Point. That of course assumes Vorc thinks it's necessary given that they all really want to split and retooling might not be his high priority. We're fairly comfortable in this domain, unless we chance to encounter Bethniak. She's a loose cannon with regard to us. If we take out DS for good, two things happen. The bulk of the Cleinoids will be stuck here for a very long time grading into forever, Plus presumably the ancient gods already in our space will not be able to retreat.”
“Why is that important?” asked Toño.
“If we somehow find a way to successfully fight them, they couldn't do us the favor of departing.”
“Hmm. Likely the case,” agreed Toño.
“Which means we'd have to kill every loving one of them. No easy outs,” I added.
“Sounds fun to me,” Sapale said with a wicked grin.
“I know it does, killer. But remember easy is better than harder.”
“Spoilsport,” she responded to me.
“As it stands, with DS nonfunctional, no god can cross either way,” said Toño. “It's the same as if it were destroyed, only temporary.”
Rage of the Ancient Gods Page 10
