Rage of the Ancient Gods

by Craig Robertson

  In reality they were a tight-knit community of gifted souls, nothing more. They worked hard to encourage all rumors, tall tales, and exaggerated stories concerning themselves. If people were afraid they'd stay away. It was that plain and simple. Stone Witches were neither good nor bad. They were individuals trying to make it through another day just like any other person. The difference was that it was easier for them to make that daily journey than it was for the average contestant in the game of life. Powerful magic made it much less of a chore to finish off a day in a superior state than one began it.

  Over endless time the Stone Witches had honed their craft. None were their equal or even close to their level of casual excellence in accomplishing the impossible. For example, when Vorioc decided it was time for his son Nomin to leave home and strike out on his own, he created an entire galaxy as his new stomping grounds. And it was not the typical galaxy of gas and stars and troublesome sentients. No, it was a galaxy full of good and wonder, abounding in food, recreation, and agreeable companionship. It was paradise on a massive scale, and Nomin was Vitioc's tenth son. He'd provided at least as well for his older sons. That didn't even approach the superlatives he bestowed upon all his daughters, who, truth be told, were more precious to his hearts than the boys.

  In point of fact, it might be illustrative to visit Vorioc on a typical day to begin to appreciate his power and his disposition and his competence, so as to begin the understanding of the Stone Witches as a whole. He lived that day in a galaxy far far away from any other. Because of their collective magic, these curious creatures were also located in a tightly grouped community no larger than a medieval village and actually quite similar in appearance.

  “The day is new and I am full of ambition,” Vorioc said to no one, for he was alone on his veranda. “Today I will experience something novel. Yes, I will do what I have never done before.”

  From behind a clock on the wall spoke. “What can you do that you have not done, clock owner? I have not been here on this wall forever, but I have seen you do as many things as surely there are to do.” Sentient clocks were commonplace, actually fashionable, at the time.

  “I do not know. But it will come to me. It's early days.”

  “You mean it's early in the day. When addressing a clock, please do not be fast and loose with the presentation of time.”

  “If only to keep you from snapping a mainspring, I promise to be more cautious in my language.”

  “I thank you, clock owner.”

  “I think I'll consult my wife Carol. She's a good head on her shoulders and can probably offer me sound advice as to a new activity for this fine day.”

  “Time is my only speciality. That said, Carol has neither a head nor shoulders to bear one. As of the last time I saw her, which I must grant has been a long while, she was an aggregation of pebbles, a fairly spherical aggregation of pebbles.”

  “In your eyes, perhaps, yes. My attention focuses on those tempting irregularities in those precious pebbles.”

  “As I say, I excel at nothing but what I'm good at. Your reassurance is all I require.”

  Vorioc continued to stare straight ahead. “Carol, what are your thoughts? How may I entertain myself today in a manner I have not done before?”

  Carol stood at his side, her pebbles shifting slowly, producing a sound like a miniature Dover Beach. It drove Vorioc to high passion and she well knew it.

  “You could be nice to me for once.”

  “Wife,” he chastised her playfully, “when have I not been nice to you? I am the very personification of niceness to Carol.”

  “I will only respond that art and the opinions of one's wife's contentions dwell in the eye of the beholder.”

  “I am a better man knowing that, dearest. Now, back to discussing me.”

  “Always your favorite topic. I have thought and pondered on your desire to do something new since you first thought of it yourself.”

  “And—for the suspense is killing me—what have you come up with?”

  “Funny you should mention killing. I think that to entertain yourself today you should die.”

  “I should die? Isn't that, I don't know, a bit extreme?”

  “You did specify a different experience. Aside from being nice to me, I can think of but one other.”

  “Are you seeing another, love? Might there be benefit in it for you if you were to suddenly and unexpectedly become as single as you are ravishing?”

  “I shall refer you back to the being-nice-to-Carol topic.”

  He kissed her nearest surface. “I was only teasing.”

  “And that will never be a new act for you.”

  He nodded softly, for at that moment he, unlike his wife, had a body with a head. “Death, the ultimate boundary. Hmm. Really not a bad idea at all?”

  “I live to serve,” she replied with a clincky giggle.

  “You live to serve my dying. How obtuse.”

  “I am a spherical Stone Witch. Obtuse is in my nature.”

  Vorioc did not hear her last remark. He was lost in thought. He considered his long life, all that he had ever done, his greatest achievements, and his future contributions to his society. That took him one second. “I shall do it, love. Today I die.”

  “When, dear? I have an appointment this afternoon I simply cannot reschedule. I'd hate to miss such a pivotal event in our life together.”

  “Why not now?”

  “It is said there is no time like the present.”

  “Ah, but there is,” responded the clock on the wall authoritatively. “All times are like the present.”

  Vorioc looked upward and away from his wife.

  “Was it not I who advised against purchasing that clock?”

  Vorioc did not answer.

  “How will you do the deed, love?”

  “That is easy. I will plunge off a volcano's lip into its bubbling lava and create a black hole in my chest the instant before impact.”

  “Will that be enough?”

  “I doubt it.”

  “What else might you layer on?”

  “I have it. The moment after I form the black hole, I will shout out to you that I have been unfaithful to you and that I want a divorce. If the other forces of nature do not kill me you most certainly would.”

  “I'd say we have ourselves a plan. Now all we need is a volcano.”

  Instantly they stood—well, Vorioc stood. Carol rested her bulk—on the lip of an angry volcano.

  “I think this one's a bit small,” observed Carol.

  “I shall leave nothing to chance,” Vorioc said resoundingly. Then they stood or whatever on the rim of a volcano that extended away as far as the eye could see.

  “Better,” opined the wife.

  “Thank you. Oh, I believe it is customary at this juncture to proclaim my undying love for …”

  Vorioc was unable to finish his good-byes. Carol, mindful of her upcoming appointment at the beauty salon, had pushed him off the cliff. She stayed just long enough to see him impact the roiling inferno. But then she left at a goodly pace. The death of a husband was important, but not as weighty a matter as offending a good stylist.

  That evening Carol studied herself in the reflecting pond on the wall of her private residence. My oh my, she reflected, she looked good. There came a knock on the door.

  “Come,” she said without hesitation. Why not? There was no one to fear and whoever it was was welcome.

  Vorioc entered quietly. He wrapped his tentacles around his sublime wife and began kissing her with his suction cups.

  “You are the best wife ever,” he exclaimed.

  “Was that ever in doubt?”

  Smack, slurp, slither. “No, querida mia, there was never a second of doubt.”

  “And come, tell me. How was death?”

  He retracted his lobed head. “Rather anticlimactic. Overrated actually.”

  “Then why are you in such a pleasant mood?”

  “The revivification
portion was intense. Plus, I had two new experiences in one day thanks to you.”

  “Well you are welcome, Vorioc.”

  “No, it is I who can be the only thanker. It is hard to impress one like me, Carol, but you have done so in spades. In spades, I say.”

  TWENTY-TWO

  Our plan to have more neutral mater generated and installed up at the point was moving ahead. Two critical variables remained unconstrained. When would the stuff be shipped? More concerning to me was how we were going to steal something that was likely to be guarded better than the the crown prince holding his crowning jewels. We lacked fundamental intelligence and I hated that. I felt like a blind man driving through a snowstorm at night. I could always pump Wul and Queeheg for random knowledge, but there was no way they'd know anything about these two topics. Gods didn't bother with workaday matters like fabrication and system maintenance.

  In other situations I'd had the Als eavesdrop on communications or hack into major computer systems. But I was fairly certain the Cleinoids didn't use either in the conventional sense. I had placed a transmitter in the comm station in old Gorpedder’s unused house so they could study that. Their opinion was it was a very basic arrangement with no links to more secured devices. It was nothing more than a combined TV and telephone like the very old days.

  We got together one morning to try and hatch a scheme. No one was overly optimistic or even slightly enthusiastic. But we knew there was little chance the neutral matter would be delivered via circus parade with elephants and a brass band.

  “I haven't been here as long as you, Jon, but I have seen nothing that impressed me as being anything like a computer or network connectivity. I've monitored all possible frequencies for a wifi signal and come up empty. I'm beginning to think gods don't need information technology as we know it.”

  “Any idea how their simiging works? Hacking that would be useful,” I asked the group.

  “I haven't studied it because I don't know if and when any of them are doing it,” Toño replied with disappointment in his voice.

  “We haven't either,” responded Al. “We have monitored everything we can and had detected no obvious transmissions.”

  “I am reminded of the slime worms of Delta-12,” added Stingray. “We know them to communicate telepathically. It is an inborn ability, not a learned or assisted behavior. Though they do so in the gigahertz range, it is possible the Cleinoid do so via a method we cannot sample.”

  “Slime worms, eh?” I replied. “What do they talk about telepathically?” I had to ask.

  “Oh, the usual any worm in a semi-solid environment would. Remain out of my territory, mate with me, and help me maneuver this still living beast deeper into the muck.”

  “Worm talk. Fascinating. Thanks for sharing.” Why did I have to ask?

  “If we could get one of the gods to perform simaging while in close proximity to the ship, it is possible we might learn something,” Al said, putting us back on task.

  “Not likely. The moment we acknowledged we couldn't do so, we'd be exposed as who we are,” remarked a still downbeat Toño.

  “Agreed,” I stated. “Any other ideas? Brood's-mate? You've been uncharacteristically quiet so far.”

  “If I had something to say or add I would. You know that. Stop bugging me.”

  “Wow, someone got up on …”

  “What? The repository of wit in the free galaxy doesn't finish a childish insult?” snapped the love of my existence.

  “Bugs.”

  “Where?” shot back Stingray with a bit of alarm.

  “Why didn't I think of this before? It's so obvious,” I said to myself.

  “While we're still young, Pilot. Speak,” prodded Al.

  “We can plant bugging devices all over hell. Listen to every word, fart, or other bodily process of these dorks,” I all but shouted. “The Als can process tons of data. There's no practical limit to how many we can scatter. Sooner or later someone somewhere has to say the words, I think this neutral matter is ready to ship to Beal's Point.”

  “I hate myself,” announced Al apropos of nothing.

  “Ah, we all hate you too,” I responded. “Thanks for beginning the discussion of topic two on today's agenda.”

  “Floppykins,” said Stingray tenderly, “don't be so hard on yourself. To admit Form One is brilliant does not reflect negatively on you. I think it's a reasonable reaction to a great idea.”

  “Did he pay you two jokers to say all that?” challenged Sapale. “You're laying it on pretty thick.”

  “Hon,” I began, “I think Al's spontaneous and heartfelt tribute to me reflects significant humility. Please don't berate him for being honest with himself.”

  Toño cleared his throat loudly. “While you four stooges are practicing your act, thousands of citizens of our galaxy are dying. Can we focus on their peril, not Jon Ryan's substantial ego?”

  “Yes, dad. Am I grounded too?” I asked.

  “You would be if I could,” he said with some edge to his tone. “While you were jibber jabbering I ran some numbers. Starting with Vorc's office building and expanding out to the residences of high-ranking officials, I estimate we'll have to place maybe a million bugging units. Naturally the more we fabricate and distribute, the better it would be.”

  “Stingray, how many and how fast?” I asked.

  “We have begun assembly already. The first hundred thousand units will be ready in an hour.”

  “So several million soon is a realistic goal?” I pressed.

  “Yes, Form One.”

  “Jon, they can make one hundred thousand per day or per year. We can't place them in sensitive locations nearly that fast,” posed Sapale. “Unless we're willing to settle for dumping them on the street, we're severely limited in our ability to handle that many units.”

  “No, Form Two,” responded Stingray. “I assumed you knew the bugs we are constructing are self-guiding AI directed and capable of flight. We only need to give them general instructions and they will do the rest.”

  “Flying AI bugs? What, are they the size of actual bugs?” I challenged. “I mean, Vorc'll notice if he is overrun with cockroaches.”

  “Just when I slip accidentally into admiration for you, Pilot, you save my day by being stupid. Thanks ever so much.” That Al.

  “Each unit is spherical with a diameter of twenty microns. Lest you ask, their range is line-of-sight to the horizon.”

  “Even if they're behind thick walls?”

  “Even if they're in your thick …” Al began.

  Exasperated, I said, “Go on, finish the jab.”

  “No, I simply can't. It's too easy. It's beneath even me. Let's label it a mercy sentence termination and move on, shall we?”

  “If I didn't need ya I'd recycle you, Al.”

  “Please don't badger me. I'm still reeling from my recent mercy termination. Oh the pain.”

  “Doc, seriously, you built this overgrown blender,” I said, “shame on you.”

  “I will take that to mean the meeting's adjourned,” said Toño, rising. “I shall begin programming the distribution patterns for our new eyes and ears.”

  “You can run, but you cannot outpace your guilt,” I said before he hustled out the door. Dude knew it was coming and wanted to preempt me. Silly boy.

  Within three days we had bugs everywhere but up Vorc's butt. Seriously, I suggested mailing one there because I hated the puke, but Toño refused to stoop so low. What a pansy. Toño completely lacked a sense of irony.

  “Als,” I called out when the three mobile machines got back together in the cube. “What's the status of our bugging campaign?”

  “It is going better than anticipated,” replied Stingray. “The units are functioning with almost a one hundred percent success rate. The information stream is diverse and instructive. As of yet there has been no direct mention of neutral matter. Beal's Point is a frequent topic of casual conversation. Vorc himself speaks of the location with disgust and anger.
”

  “Speculations as to why?” I asked.

  “No need to speculate, Pilot.” That would be Al. “He refers to it as Ryanmax's rectal opening. He curses your name above all others. Yesterday he told his assistant he'd rather chew off and eat his own dick than do one thing you requested.”

  “Glompyness,” cooed Stingray, “those weren't his exact words. Don't you feel it's best to be fully accurate?”

  “In this instance, no,” he responded. “His, um, his precise wording was a bit too crude to repeat in mixed company.”

  “Chew off and eat his own dick is the sanitized version of his expression? Dude, send it to me in my head.”

  Instantly Al complied.

  “Woah, baby. Vorc, you’ve got quite the vivid and colorful imagination. I'm gonna have to remember that one and use it real soon. That's top ten.”

  “I knew you'd be a fan,” said Al with pride.

  “Children,” said wet blanket Doc, “playtime's over. Back to work. Als, any other pertinent information?”

  “Specifically regarding our mission, no. We have, however, learned a great deal about the Cleinoids and their ways. I must say these are the least redeeming and most petulant race I've ever encountered,” responded Al. “I'm being serious here—these gods wouldn't stop to pee on their own mother if she was on fire. They are totally self-absorbed, self-congratulatory, and self-entitled. If they disappeared as a species today, or better yet had never been born, the world'd be a much better place and no a single soul would lament their absence.

  “For example just yesterday a male called Wimlpin, some form of aquatic monstrosity, bet a vulture god Torenosous that he could swallow someone whole. The bet was for a drink at the local bar. Mind you the drinks in this cesspool universe are all free.”

  “Did the bird take the bet?” I asked.

  “Yes, and Wimlpin swallowed his firstborn son whole. That was the someone he bet he could devour.”

  “Sick puke,” spat Sapale.

  “Tell me about it. The grown son was swimming next to dear old dad the entire time. Wimlpin even laughed with Torenosous later about the efforts the son had made to try and escape.”