A twenty-minute walk and a whole heck of a lot of cajoling, begging, and direct ordering later we approached the entry to the Middle Chambers. Naturally I had on my feathers and the other two wore only their birthday suits. Most assuredly neither wore a smile. We headed straight toward the nearest entrance.
Nearly all the way in one of the guards, well, he made a sound. I won't say he spoke because it sounded more like he blew his nose out his big mouth. “Halt. Where do you think you are going?”
I looked at my nudes, then up at my headdress, and then back to the guard. “I don't think where I'm going. I know where I'm going. Thank you just the same.” I pointed that my nature children should proceed.
“Halt,” he repeated, “you are not authorized to enter.”
I made a bigger show of looking at Toño and Sapale, up at my feathers, then back to the guard. “Of course I'm authorized to enter. I work here. If I didn't enter I couldn't work, now could I?”
“We don't know who you are,” sneezed the other guard. “You may not enter.”
“You're trying to piss me off, right? Or is this a joke? News flash. I don't know who you are, and that does not alter reality. Wait, wait. A second news flash just hit the airwaves. Go jerk each other off. I'm busy.'”
Before I could pass, they positioned their impressive bulk in the doorway.
“Look, guys, I don't want to disintegrate you or have you lose your jobs. But you're pushing many of my buttons here.” I acted disgusted. “You guys know what a golem is?” I gestured to my friends.
“Of course.”
“These are golems. But there's a problem. They're not working well. Here's the next question in Double Jeopardy, so keep your fingers close on your buttons and pay attention. This is the Middle Chambers. What is the main function of this building? Thirty seconds on the clock starting now. Time’s up,” I said immediately. “This is where public works are done. One of those services is golem repair.” I touched my chest. “I repair broken golems. These golems are malfunctioning. This one farts with abandon,” I tapped Toño's shoulder, “and this one's thinks it's a butterfly winging its way back to Pacific Grove. Now move aside or I'm going to have to get physical.”
That made them shuffle their feet with uncertainty. My story was plausible, or not far from it.
“I'll have to call this one in,” the first guard said.
“I really give a shit about your job. I'll be up on the fifth floor if you need me. Word to the wise: Don't need me.”
With that, I shoved past them and my team followed.
“I think they bought it,” Toño said quietly.
“Would have helped if you'd farted a few times.”
“Never going to come to pass.”
“Remember, there are no small parts, only small actors.”
“And not so small pains in the butt,” mumbled my wife.
We hit the stairs. The exit to the fifth floor was unlocked. Silly oversight. These gods were slackers. We exited and walked purposefully toward the fabrication area. The ghost was positioned outside the room we needed to enter.
“There you are,” he said. “I was beginning to wonder if you stopped for a drink.”
“Sorry, we're forced to respect walls and other barriers.”
The ghost moved an arm-like section toward the door. “Like this one?”
“Yes …” I started to say, but he passed right through the door and out of sight. Show-off.
I tried the handle. It was locked. I placed my probes on it. Open, I thought. A faint click and the handle let me swing the doors inward.
Even before I flinched someone inside yelled, “You can't come in here.” The voice sounded uncertain, maybe scared, and definitely belonged to a pencil-necked geek. A neutral-matter demigod had spoken.
I charged in. Charging always sent a strong and confident message, and I was basically king of charging in places. “Who said that? I'll have your genitals if they're still present.” I swept the room angrily.
Five techno-nerds were staring accusingly at one techno-nerd. I had my man or whatever. “Son,” I menaced, “come over here right now.” Then I stormed right toward him. I liked to send conflicting clues in that type of situation. Kept my opponent from finding a good footing.
The tech bowed deeply. “Excuse me, lordship,” he dithered. “I was only doing what I was …”
“Did I ask you to speak? No. I asked you to approach me. Did you? No. You're running up quite a bill here, boy.”
“P … pardon, lordship,” he was then sniveling, “I'm not a boy. I'n not a son either. I'm gender …”
“Do I look like I care? If I do I blame myself, because I sure as hell don''t care on either point. Any point. All I want is my abuse juice and I'm outta here unless you give me a reason, punk.”
“Abuse juice, sir?”
“Yes,” I said in a friendly tone. “Blonde lady, maybe five foot eight, wearing a green coat.”
“Sir?” he asked, now thoroughly confused.
Are you or are you not frying up some bad times?”
“Y … yes, lord. But what do you have to do with any of that?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing?”
“Yes, nothing that concerns you, puke dick.
“Now box it up and give it to my golems to carry. Do it before I develop an appetite. You're looking mighty taste right about now.”
“If we put it in a box it would leak all over.” Namby-panbyness was such a weenie.
“Then put it in something safe, put it in there now, and for the love of light stop whining.”
The techs burst into action. Two retrieved metal cylinders while the others dashed to some valves.
“We're only halfway through the run, sir. Do you want to pick it all up at once?”
“Son, if I wanted to pick it all up at once why would I have come here now?”
“I am frankly uncertain.”
“Well I'm frankly not caring. If this is enough to relight half the monuments I've done my job. We'll come back for the rest tomorrow.”
“Fine. But you requested ten hetimers.”
“No, pinbrian. Vorc requested fifty hetimers. I'm here to haul off twenty-five hetimers.” I needed to be certain. “Fifty hetimers will supply all the statues. Twenty-five'll fire up around thirty, right?”
“Is this a test?”
“No, this is a test.” I picked up a heavy desk and threw it at him. He easily dodged it. “Speak plain talk or I promise you'll fail the next test I throw your way.”
“Ten hetimers will be enough to fully animate eight monuments. Twelve, maybe, if you balanced the load just so.”
Why had Vorc underproduced the crap?
The ghost approached my side. “I believe he's correct. I know there are ten guards sprinting up the stairs as best Montorials can.”
Anything short of a full load did me no good. I picked the tech up by his lapel. “I'm going straight to Vorc. If you screwed the order up, I'll see you totally wish you hadn't. I'll be back tomorrow for one hundred hetimers. You got that?”
He nodded in terror.
“Oh, and since this had to be Vorc's mistake, not a word of any of this to anyone. Got it? We were never here.”
“You were never here. Got it, lord.”
We hurried to the back exit and slipped out unnoticed. Soon we were back to the safety of the ship. I was, however, completely baffled. Why make way less neutral matter than needed for the job? It made absolutely no sense.
TWENTY-FIVE
Selsify and Tramaster were cruising through the void of space. Though they were in a vacuum they felt like a strong breeze was at their backs. The fun they were extracting from Prime was getting easier and easier while growing more and more gratifying. In less than a year they had visited six planets home to any number of sentient or near-sentient species. Everyone they encountered was in one way or another delicious. Some flat-out tasted great. Those ripe with fear and insane with despair were the be
st. The taste of terror, now that was a pleasure not to be missed or minimized. Even the creatures whose flavor was less appealing served magnificently when frightened. And the ones that were stronger, faster, and meaner offered more sport in killing them. If either ancient god had jaws that articulated, they most definitely would be smiling.
Finally, Tramaster broke the silence. “I'm hungry. Where shall we go next?”
“Depends. What are you hungry for?” asked Selsify.
“Everything. I want everything. War, suffering, and a good spectrum of screaming peasants.”
“You know what? I share your desires, brother. I feel a strong life force in that direction. It seems far but that means the intensity is so much larger, much tastier,” responded Selsify with a sick giggle.
“Yes, I sense it too. There.” Tramaster aimed an armored appendage off to one side.
“Race you. First one to land is their new ruler,” Selsify said with an abrupt acceleration. His body was designed for flight so speed came to him more naturally. As the god for those who feared the night, he was built sleek, dark, and fast. His ten-meter length was covered in scales that folded back tightly on one another when he moved quickly. His talons tucked in neatly to his frame to increase his aerodynamics. He was a silent death from above.
Within a few days Tramaster had fallen way behind. Try as he might, the god of nightmares was unable to increase his speed. Little wonder. Like any proper night terror, he was such a mix of odd parts and inexplicable additions that he defied description. The head of a Tyrannosaurus with the face of a deep sea fish possessing long thin teeth. His torso was that of an ox and his arms were crab-like, all ten of them. Most vexing were his four legs. They were living gargoyles with moving parts of their own, each screaming a different curse in a different language. Tramaster's tail was long, with barbs as sharp as a surgeon's blade, and the tail was invisible. When he snapped a victim in half with it they never saw it coming.
By the time Tramaster thudded harshly to the planet’s surface, Selsify was nowhere to be seem. More unusual, he was also unfelt. They had been together so long they were nearly one. But no trace of Selsify was available to Tramaster's nostrils. He knew this was the world his brother god had come to. The trail of heat was unmistakable. What was more, Selsify specifically mentioned the five red moons and five yellow moons that orbited the planet he landed on. Tramaster saw all ten during his approach. Selsify wouldn't have left without telling his best friend. Where was he?
The nightmare god reached out and felt the entire world. He felt delectable life that abounded, but it was unlike any life force he'd known before. It was … it was spacious? No, it was complex. Yes. Complex and expansive. Then a bolt of awareness slammed into Tramaster's massive forehead. The blow toppled him backward and he tumbled clumsily.
“What was that?” he mumbled out loud.
Not surprisingly, no answer came. He rose and rescanned the planet. He could plainly see the arch the bolt had taken like a bright white rainbow. He rushed to the point of origin. He timidly entered a glade. In the center was a silky soft bed overflowing with cloud pillows. Cherubs, though Tramaster didn't know that was what they were, fluttered happily in the air circling the bed. The soft sounds of gently running water and tranquil songs were everywhere.
On the bed a large humanoid rested at an angle. He lazily tossed something into the air and upon catching it lofted it back again. The figure was alone. Tramaster surged forward, any hesitation lost the closer he came. He soon saw the ball was no ball at all. It was Selsify's black head.
“How dare you desecrate the body of a god,” he thundered.
Only when Tramaster stopped at the side of the large bed did the occupant seem to notice him.
“How dare I? The answer to that is both long, and you are unlikely to follow my reasoning.”
Tramaster hopped in place, his rage so boiled. “Are you saying I am stupid? That outrage nearly eclipses the sacrilege you display holding the head of my brother.”
The man studied in a perfunctory manner the head he held, then Tramaster's. “I fail to see much family resemblance. This poor jot is uglier than sin. Trust me, I know what I'm saying in the regard. You, however, far surpass festering mud with your looks. I think I'd lose the brother monicker out of respect for the recently deceased.” He proffered up the head to clarify which member of the recently dead he referred to.
“I'll …,” Tramaster howled as he rushed the man. He ran out of the glade before he noticed he'd somehow missed the bed, which was impossible. Two of his gargoyle legs had complained he was too close to it and they couldn't breathe.
He spun quickly and charged back. A few steps before the bed he went airborne, aiming his bulk at the still reposing man. In an instant Tramaster was face-planted on the dirt, skidding painfully to a stop. He could not have missed, but he did.
He stood slowly and eyed the figure. “Who are you, defiler?”
“My name? I'm Nemo.”
Tramaster bellowed a mocking laugh so loud the nearby trees shook. “That is an old and a pathetic joke. Ulysses told the cyclops his name was Nemo. That way when Polyphemus told his father Neptune that Nemo had blinded him, his father replied then he could punish no one if nobody had blinded him. How ignorant do you think I am?”
The figure eased to a sitting position. “Please tell me that was a rhetorical question. Seriously, though immortal, I do not have the time to run the list of comparators in that regard.”
“We will see how immortal you are,” Tramaster hissed angrily.
“Fine by me, I guess. Can we do it quickly? I'm late for my nap.” He gestured to the bed.
“It will only take a second.” Tramaster whipped his vicious tail around and struck at the man's chest. Nothing happened. He whipped the tail at the man time and again. Still nothing, not a scratch or even a tear of his gown.
“Missing something, my good fellow? Are you looking for this?” He held up his hand though nothing was visibly in it.
“You cannot be serious? You think you have my tail? Mahooo,” he cackled. “That is more impossible than your chance of seeing tomorrow.”
“Vorioc,” said the man.
“Huh?”
“You asked my name. It is Vorioc.”
“Why do you tell me now, fool?”
Vorioc shrugged. “I guess because I have always believed you should know the name of the person that killed you. That way, in the afterlife, you can tell everybody how you died. They ask endlessly. Again, take my word on that as gospel.”
Vorioc drew back his arm and snapped it forward. After a booming snap, one of Tramaster's legs exploded in two.
The Cleinoid buckled and kneed the ground. He wailed in anguish.
“Not a fan of the pain you so enjoy dispensing?” He cocked back and whipped off another leg.
“Who are you, Vorioc? An avenging spirit?”
“Avenging spirit? How very silly. What a waste of perfectly good time. No, I'm a simple man of simple tastes.” He cracked the tail twice and Tramaster slumped legless to the dirt.
“You killed my brother? You took his head?” he asked in pain and disbelief.
Vorioc rocked his head side to side. “Yes, but it's nothing I boast about. It was less difficult than drawing a breath.”
“No one …” Tramaster stopped speaking when Vorioc ripped his throat in half. He grasped his windpipe and fought to contain the bleeding.
“No one? Hmm, I'll bet you were going to say something along the lines of no one can easily kill a Cleinoid god? Am I right?” He touched his pinky to his lips. “How insensitive of me. You can't talk any longer. I'll just say it. I want you to know before your useless soul passes into darkness that an antigod can kill a Cleinoid very easily. Like taking a deep breath. Not a task at all.”
Tramaster's eyes bulged open in terror.
“Now if you don't mind, I did mention I was late for my nap. Wish me sweet dreams?”
Vorioc stopped taunting Tramas
ter when he realized the oaf was dead.
TWENTY-SIX
“Master Vorc,” said Felladonna with a bow, deferentially.
Without looking up he impatiently responded, “Yes, what is it now?”
“I'd come back later but the matter is time sensitive, lord.”
He slammed his quill to the desktop. “What?”
“Per you instructions, I contacted the technicians responsible for the fabricator of the driving material for the intermixer units.”
Vorc, who was for some reason in an unusually foul mood that afternoon, shut his eyes. “And?”
“He reported they have produced all the material you instructed them to.”
“One ray of light in the darkness that surrounds me.” He picked up his quill. “Is there anything else?”
“Well, unfortunately, yes, there is.”
“Are you going to tell me or leave me to hang in suspense?”
“Why would I …”
“What?”
“The technician reminds you that the quantity of material you directed be made is insufficient to power all the lost intermixers.”
“I am aware of that. He told me then and I assured him I knew what I was requesting. Tell the insubordinate, half-witted reprobate to make the intermixers the exact way I told him to. If he has any further questions or input, please direct him straight to hell. Offer any help he might require.”
“Sir. But one wonders, why produce an intermixer one knows will not work up to specifications?”
“If one were me, one would know and not then need to wonder. If one was not me and wondered, it would be preterminal. Leave me.”
“As you wish.”
Once she was gone Vorc set his quill down and smiled. He looked forward to springing his trap on the malcontent who'd made him look bad. He prayed ardently it was in fact Ryanmax. To string him up and dismember him would be marvelous. It would be that vacation he'd put off for so long.
TWENTY-SEVEN
I racked my brain and I racked my brain trying to figure out why Vorc would produce far less neutral matter than needed to properly restore Beal's Point. It made no sense. If he just wanted to placate those I'd duped into demanding the place be fixed, he could send empty intermixers up there. No one would complain that they didn't feel sick enough. I was at a major crossroad. I hated being at those. I had to decide if Vorc was stupid—my first instinct—smart, or brilliant. It mattered. If I'm playing chess, I need to know if it's against someone who just learned the rules or a Russian chess master.
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