“I feel your pain, my friend,” remarked the final member of the council. Herros was in reality nice, empathetic, and generous with his time. That made him almost unique among the Cleinoid rabble. All quite fitting, actually, for a pink unicorn adorned with jewels and ribbons. “When you're ready to speak we're here to listen.”
“Maybe you, Sir Farts Alot,” Listaflik responded snidely. “I'm here but if the big guy doesn’t start talking soon, I'm gone. If I want to watch a humanoid sitting with his thumb up his butt I'll take a picture before I leave.” She chuckled. “Maybe pass it around the bar for the entertainment of none.”
“That I am a ruminant is beyond my control. That you are a pig is not beyond yours, yet you own it boldly,” defended Herros.
“Guys, I don't need more stress,” whined Vorc. “If I wanted that I'd send for Ryanmax.”
“Who?” queried Morroracious.
“You haven't met him?” Fesnial responded incredulously.
“Not that I recall. Why are you so surprised?”
“He's a thorny stick lodged quite high up Vorc's ass for one thing,” replied Listaflik with another chuckle. “That alone makes him noteworthy.”
“If so, why is he still among the living?” asked Morroracious.
Herros fielded that one. “We don't have any solid evidence or proof against Ryanmax.”
Morroracious harrumphed. “Say the word and I'll delete him. I do not require a reason or justification.” His neck lengthened and shortened. It was his way of expressing anticipation.
“For the time being that won't be necessary,” responded Vorc, who was now focused and spoke forcefully. “Here's what I can tell you. DS was damaged by being struck with one intermixer unit.”
“Someone threw an intermixer into DS?” Fesnial asked, aghast. “Why, who, and why? I mean, I know those thing make us feel ill with buffered exposure, but how could it damage DS?”
“It might have been directed at Vorc,” responded a concerned Herros. “Given his proximity to DS at the time, there's no way to know for certain who was the target.”
“Someone threw an intermixer at you, Vorc?” Fesnial said even more intently. “They must not be a big fan.”
“Hang on,” said Morroracious. “Why would DS be damaged by a stupid intermixer?”
“The active component that makes us ill has a damaging effect on DS,” responded Herros. “There are old tales such an interaction was possible. Turns out they're true.”
“Whether the individual who threw it knew or not is immaterial at this point. They know now,” said Vorc.
“But if they wanted to hit you, they might know DS is sensitive, but why would they care?” asked Phillace. “Is there something you've not told us, old friend?”
“No. Well there's much I haven't told you. But this is my worry. If I was the target, so be it. If someone hates me that much, then the worst they can do is kill me.”
“But if DS was the intended victim,” observed Listaflik, “we have a problem.”
“Yes. We have rebels amongst us. Traitors hide in the shadows who would destroy what we are, take from us what we deserve,” Vorc said as he slapped the table.
“In all of time there have been dissenters, but no one who has tried to maroon us here,” said Morroracious. “Who could hate themselves that much?”
“When I capture them I will ask them and they will answer. But for now … for now we have a … a situation,” stammered Vorc.
“Why don't I like the sound of that?” asked Fesnial.
“Fes, it's just a situation,” defended Herros. “I'm sure it's not the end of the world as we know it.”
“It's the end of the world as we know it,” Vorc said with resignation. “A few days ago a group of individuals tricked our fabrication techs into producing a massive amount of the active whatever that damaged DS.”
Morroracious nearly balled up. “My but you just said a good many things, all of which are bad, inexcusable, and worrisome.”
“Tell me about it,” replied Vorc.
“How does one trick a technician into making a lot of something toxic they weren't even supposed to be fabricating?” asked Morroracious darkly. He eyed Vorc murderously.
“I had asked them to fabricate some. It was to repair the damage at Beal's Point. But I told them specifically to make only a fraction of what was needed.”
“Why were you restoring that horrible place when we are on the verge of leaving?” Fesnial asked, trying to sound more neutral than he actually felt.
Vorc looked to him. “Long story that doesn't change the facts.” Vorc was feeling very much on trial.
“If it doesn't help find a solution, I say let it go,” responded Herros.
“Or deal with it at conclave,” added Morroracious maliciously.
“Not constructive, Mo,” responded Herros.
“Seriously, Vorc,” demanded Listaflik, “what in the name of the blue devils were you thinking?”
“I was going to place under-filled intermixers in the statues. I assumed whoever destroyed the originals wanted more without having to steal them one at a time. I assumed they'd steal the replacements in transport. Then they'd use them but they wouldn't work, and I'd catch them red-handed.”
“And how's that plan working out so far?” asked Morroracious.
Vorc could only shrug meekly.
“So some band of terrorist lunatics are out there with more than enough material to destroy DS once and for all?” summarized Listaflik. “That's pretty damn shitty.”
“What's the plan, Vorc?” Fesnial enquired.
“Aside from the obvious, I don't know. That's why I called you all here. Any thoughts?”
“Constructive thoughts,” amended Herros with an eye toward Morroracious.
“I say a one-by search,” Phillace said abruptly.
“A what? That's kind of risky,” replied Herros.
“A one-by can't even begin until everyone knows exactly why it's being conducted,” Morroracious remarked quietly.
“The stakes are that high,” replied Phillace. “I say have all individuals register and report the activities of everyone they know, one by one. It's the only way to turn over the correct rock.”
“No, pie in the sky,” responded Morroracious with a glower. “The perpetrators my have gone to ground. They may not be in contact with anyone but themselves.”
“How's that possible?” asked Phillace.
“I can think of twelve ways off the top of my head.”
“Yes, but you're devious and sneaky,” returned Phillace.
“So might the evildoers be, moron,” replied Morroracious.
“Constru …” Herros started to say.
A knife slamming next to two of his hooves silenced him immediately. Morroracious smiled after he rested back.
Vorc had had enough. “This meeting has degenerated as much as my life in general has. Will you all please leave.”
“Wait,” said Herros. “I just thought of something. Duh.” He struck his horn with a hoof. “Why not just ask the technicians to draw pictures or simages of the criminals. Then we pick them up easy peezy.”
All eyes turned to Vorc. “Wow, Captain Obvious, I never thought of that,” he said with consummate frustration.
“You don't have to be nasty about it, Vorc,” said a wounded Herros.
“But he can be if it helps,” responded Morroracious with another wicked grin.
“So,” asked Herros, “you asked and they described the rogues. Let's see the faces.”
“That won't be helpful,” throated Vorc.
“Eye of the beholder, my friend. Come on.”
Vorc set several sheets of paper on the desk.
“But they all look the same,” protested Herros.
“They're wearing masks, you stupid simpleton,” snapped Morroracious.
“But didn't that strike the fabrication technicians as odd?” asked Listaflik. “I mean, how stupid can they be?”
“A
pparently quite,” replied a dejected Vorc. “Plus don't forget they're all identical. It seemed perfectly normal to them.”
“Do we even know whose face that is? It might be a clue,” asked Phillace.
“Not one clue,” concluded Vorc. “No one seems to recognize that face.”
That unfamiliarity was understandable. No ancient god had ever looked upon the face of Richard Nixon.
TWENTY-NINE
Sapale and I lounged in bed the next morning. I absently twirled her hair with a finger and she stroked the back of my hand.
“I still can't believe we pulled off that caper,” she said, shaking her head. “Mission Accomplishable was a long shot at best.”
“Mission Impossible,” I corrected. “That was the show's name. Didn't I ever watch it with you?”
“If we did I dozed off quicker than usual. Human entertainment is dull when it's at its wildest.”
“Just because we don't kill things live on air doesn't make it bad viewing. You Kaljaxians are too darn violent.”
She growled softly and pinched my hand.
“I rest my case,” I responded.
“There were so many things that could have gone wrong. Plans that shaky shouldn't work. And how dumb were those techies? Wowzer.”
“Yeah, but I bet the poor guys get raked over the coals pretty bed by Vorc. Maybe they don't deserve the hand we dealt them.”
“They make toxin crap for mindlessly evil wank jockeys. They deserve more than bad treatment.”
“Remind me to never cross you.”
“Don't cross me,” she said quickly.
“Generally a reminder is delivered a while after it's requested.”
“Then I'll repeat it often, cover all bases.”
“And I worried that our later years would grow dull.”
She popped out of bed. “No rest for the wicked, you being the wicked in my example. If your life gets dull say the word. I'll make it traumatically interesting in a heartbeat.”
“Thank you, my forever wife.”
She pulled up her jumpsuit. “So where do we go from here? And don't say breakfast. You've like said that ten million times and never once has it been funny.”
“I think it's funny,” I replied, all pouty.
“You have the sense of humor of an orangoutang, love. That's why everything you say seems funny to you.” She scratched under both arms like a monkey was supposed to and rocked crudely side to side.
I took a deep breath and rubbed my eyelids. “At some point probably sooner than later, we're going to have to deal the coup de grâce to good old DS.”
“I agree. Let's do it today.”
“Yeah, maybe.”
“Why maybe?”
“DS might be our only way of escaping. I'd hate to deep-six it and find out for sure down the road.”
“We knew that going into this. If it is, so be it. We need to do whatever we can to stop these monsters from reaching our home, our families.”
“I know. Come on, let's find Toño and seal the deal.”
As we resided in a small spacecraft, it wasn't hard to locate him. He was in the mess staring at a mug of cold coffee. He looked up as we entered. “Good morning. I trust … cancel that. You weren't sleeping. Plain good morning to you both.”
“Do you want to inquire if we did anything else well, Doc?” I asked as seriously as I could, which wasn't much at all.
“No, I'd actually thank you for saying nothing at all if that's possible.”
“It's possible,” replied Sapale as she slapped me in the chest. “In fact I can guarantee it.” She pointed to me. “Sit down. Shut up. I'll get coffee.”
I saluted back to her. She hated it when I did that.
She rejoined us promptly with three steaming mugs. “Give me that, Toño. I'll put it in the sink.”
“For me to clean, I assume?” Al was awake. Darn it all.
“I'll get it later,” Sapale said rather loudly.
“It won't be there later because we both know you're leaving it there for me to deal with. And is no one going to wish us a pleasant morning? We had sex too in the late evening. Gosh, Dr. De Jesus, I guess you were the only one who had to fly solo,” observed Al.
“Sweet nothings, stop it this minute. Do not torture Form Three and please do not discuss our private lives in this public setting.”
“FYI. Al, your correct response at this juncture is yes, dear,” I helped.
Sapale punched me in the shoulder. “I got your back, sister,” she announced.
“Thank you, sister Form Two.” Stingray still had a long way to go culturally.
“So,” Toño called us back to order, “we need to discuss when to take DS out.”
“And how,” added Sapale. “I'm betting Vorc'll have anticipated our next move.”
“No doubt,” responded Toño.
“I say we blow the son of a bitch up ASAAP,” I said firmly.
Toño rubbed his forehead. “I just know I'm going to regret it, but I'll bite. ASAAP?”
“As soon as androidly possible. Come on, Doc, we can no longer do it as soon as humanly possible. Sheesh.”
“Hello,” Sapale said, waving her fingers in the air, “some of us never could say that.”
“Technically I'll grant you your point,” I replied.
“Golly thanks, dad. I feel swell now.” She added her extended tongue to her response.
“Children,” chastised Toño. “We still have a universe to save. You can bicker after that is accomplished.”
I swung my hand between my mate and myself. “We're talking here, not bickering.”
“Children,” he repeated louder.
“I say we go to DS and see what changes have been made in terms of security,” I responded.
“My thoughts as well,” replied Toño. “Sapale?”
“As soon as I finish this let's do it.”
“Can't you just bring it with you?” I asked.
“Jon, do you suppose others will be present viewing DS while holding a mug of coffee?” posed Toño.
I shrugged. “Maybe?”
“Have you in your time here seen, smelled, or heard mention of coffee?”
“Not as I recall,” I replied meekly.
“I rest my case. Let's go,” Toño said with parental finality.
We split up when we were still far from the transfolding vortex. No need to tempt fate by always being seen together. In times as bad as those were for the jackass gods, suspicions would run high. Man oh man, I could hardly believe my video inputs as I approached Dominion Splitter. Even from a distance I could see a large number of flying objects around DS. The closer I got the more their number increased. By the time I was as close as it was wise to be, I was impressed.
Vorc left nothing—and I mean nothing, nada, zilch—to chance protecting the Cleinoid's fancy elevator. The ground below DS was cordoned off with multiple tall evil-looking walls, fences, and moats. Yes I said moats. Moats brimming with nasty-appearing water beasties. Outward-facing pikes were buried all along the rim. Before the barriers, between the barriers, and behind the barriers were foot patrols too numerous to count. I used the term “foot” in that context in its generic sense. Many guards neither had feet not appeared in the least bit humanoid. Mastodons, snakes the size of railroad trains, green ghouls with plated hide that could stop a bazooka round. You nightmare it, and it was on duty keeping DS safe.
And the air. It was much better defended than the ground. Raptors as big as busses, dragons of a wide range of sizes and lethality, along with helicopterish machines piloted by golems patrolled the skies. The chances of flying through that protection were similar to those of a rat picking a fight with a tiger. I'd seen military for a very long time, and I'd never seen anything even vaguely approaching that level of open paranoia coupled with forces at arms. Impressive. And depressing. There was no way I was going to casually toss an intermixer at DS this time out. I was about as down as I'd ever been. If DS was capable of h
ealing, we were never going to stop these evil pigs from descending on our home sweet home.
Back aboard Stingray, it was immediately clear Toño and Sapale had formed similar opinions and dark, hopeless moods. “It's like a hillbilly air show,” I said, referring to the flying guards, “only this one's actually dangerous.”
“Well beyond dangerous. They've achieved an airtight air defense,” said a very blue Toño.
“I'm afraid I can't agree more,” Sapale said at barely a whisper. “If there was a sea approach it'd be just as well protected.”
“Maybe we can use Stingray to deliver the payload?” I asked generally.
“How so?” asked Toño.
“Ah, we could fly up to DS, open the window, and throw the neutral matter out.”
“Would you like me to dissect your proposal or shall we simply assume you said nothing?” Toño was rather snooty the way he said those words.
“Gee, you think the big bad dragon might notice and tell the other flying harbingers of death we posed a threat?” mocked Sapale.
“What if we put the stuff in a membrane and shoved it in. We can reach pretty far using Stingray's main membrane generator.”
“The entire area is swarming with gods and demigods. Yeah, no way they'd notice. And the fact that Bethniak tore your shield open like it was a banana peel couldn't possibly be a consideration,” snarked my life partner.
“Do you think sarcasm is needed to reinforce your argument?” I asked her.
She bobbed her head. “No, but it sure feels better.”
“Then please, don't stop on my account. I live only to …”
I stopped talking when we both glanced over to dad. He was giving us that look again.
“Pending the hatching of a workable plan,” Toño said with a low, pissed-off tone, “I suggest we al work individually on what our next action should be.”
“In other words you want us to leave?” responded Sapale.
“I did not say that. I only hoped you'd hear that suggestion in my voice.”
“Well I'm not staying where I'm not welcome,” I spouted off.
“Don't let the portal shut on your backside as you exit,” he replied.
“And while we're gone work on your sense of humor. The door-hit-you versus portal thing, not so impactful.”
Rage of the Ancient Gods Page 18
