Torment of the Ancient Gods
Page 8
That was when the five onlookers began advancing on her purposefully.
“Who are you to try and hold a god?” she bellowed. She was stunned. They neither answered nor even slowed. “I will stew each one of you in the others’ juices. I will eat your bodies, vomit them up, and consume them again for all …”
She fell silent when she realized they couldn't hear her.
The thin male stepped forward. He studied the invisible wall with a hand, then spoke. “There, I've put a pinprick opening in the membrane. We can communicate now. Sorry, before whatever you said couldn't get out.”
“Who are you to try and hold a god?” she bellowed for a second time.
“Judging from her body language, that's what she said before. A real one-trick pony this one,” remarked Sapale as she peered in for a closer look.
“Who are you?” Suderbak demanded.
The tallest one, the one with scales unlike the others, spoke. “Who we are is unimportant, Suderbak.”
“You know my true name?”
“What do you think, cupcake?” responded EJ.
Mirraya held a hang-on-there palm to him. “I will speak and we will not taunt the creature.”
“Cre … creature? I am not a creature, I am an ancient god,” she howled in protest.
“You are both,” replied Mirraya. “That also is unimportant. We need to perform a few tests on you. I am sorry in advance for any suffering you might experience.”
“Woah doggies,” exclaimed EJ. “Why are we being nice to this monster? She ravaged this planet probably beyond any potential recovery. This is war. In war we don't apologize in advance for pain, suffering, or inconveniences imposed on war criminals. We kill them.”
Suderbak looked between Mirraya and EJ. “You are in charge here?” she asked of Mirraya.
“Yes.”
“What a relief,” breathed Suderbak.
Mirraya's face hardened. “Only a temporary reprieve, I fear. Now, as I was saying, you are our prisoner. We will run a set of tests. Since you are captured and not engaged in combat, you are owed certain considerations. We do not victimize a captive lightly. That would be wrong of us.”
“I couldn't agree more,” Suderbak responded quickly. “Ah, what sort of tests? Perhaps I could cooperate and be done sooner?”
“We wish to estimate your resistance to various assaults. We also want to determine your lowest threshold for death.”
“I formally withdraw my offer of cooperation.” She narrowed her snout into a wedge shape and slammed into the membrane with all her might.
“Fascinating,” remarked Toño. “She put a temporary ten-micrometer dent in the membrane.”
“Impressive,” agreed Sapale.
Suderbak rammed the invisible wall repeatedly, each attempt a little less energetic than the prior one. Finally, her nose bloodied and her head throbbing, she rested back on her butt. “How'd I do?” she asked, a bit dazed.
“Um, at first well. Toward the end there you failed to cause a perturbation in the membrane,” replied Toño. “Understandable, I presume.”
“When I get out I shall pulverize you last,” she remarked.
“Thank you?” Toño responded with uncertainty.
“Can we get on with this?” demanded EJ.
“Yes,” answered Mirraya. “Fetch the gas cylinders.”
Within a minute a tube passed through the membrane. It was then attached to one of five tall metal cylinders.
“We are testing your response to caustic and toxic agents,” said Mirraya clinically.
“You forgot one thing,” said Suderbak quietly.
“I doubt that,” replied Mirraya.
Without further notice, Suderbak hurled herself at the point where the tube passed though the membrane. “You forgot this,” she squealed in triumph. She then bounced off the second smaller membrane set up like an umbrella to protect the pinhole opening from Suderbak's anticipated escape attempt. Sitting again on her rump, dazed and confused, she remarked, “I guess you did not. My bad.”
Without acknowledging Suderbak's comments, Mirraya announced, “This first one is chlorine gas. Please breath normally.”
“Normally I'd curse you at this type of juncture,” replied a subdued Suderbak.
“I appreciate your restraint.”
After five minutes it was clear the chlorine gas had no effect on Suderbak. The gas was vented off and hydrogen cyanide infused. Again, it had no effect. Hydroflouric acid fumes similarly showed no effectiveness. A one-hundred percent nitrogen internal atmosphere didn't asphyxiate her. She didn't even breath harder. Finally, a mixture of anesthetic gasses, including halothane, sevoflurane, nitrous oxide, and desthuroflate, was tried. She didn't even get droopy eyes.
“Well I'd say she was impervious to all inhalants and corrosives,” concluded Toño.
Suderbak perked up visibly. “Are we done?”
“Not hardly, moronovich,” replied EJ. “You're not done until I'm done. And at that point, trust me, you won't be paying attention.”
“We will now try a few physical interventions,” said Mirraya.
Through a small pulsed opening she shoved in a large satchel. When the bag hit the ground fifty falzorn burst forth. Those were the ravenous vipers that were universally feared. The pack instantly homed in on Suderbak. She backed up cautiously, lowering her head. As if shot from a cannon they burst upon her and began writhing. She tossed and bucked. Falzorn flew off every whichway but immediately dove back at her. For several seconds it was unclear to the observers who was winning. Then Suderbak jumped as high as she could. When she hit the ground, all the falzorn were shed to the dirt. With unexpected speed she stomped every one of them a foot into the dirt. None resurfaced.
“Hey, that was fun,” she beamed. “What were they? I need to get some.”
“The next test is possible due to the, um, resourcefulness of Mr. Ryan here,” stated Mirraya.
A large crate was pushed up to the membrane limit. A window pulsed on and off in a microsecond. When it did EJ and Toño shoveled the wooden crate in and backed out quickly.
Suderbak looked at the box uncertainly. “What have we here?” She sniffed the container. “Don't recognize the smell, but boy is it strong. I thought I smelled bad.”
She swiped at the box and one side splintered. Five Berrillian war cats burst into the open. They wielded traditional swords. As a team they set on Suderbak with ferocity and abandon. Fur flew and a cloud of dust rose. Within ten seconds all that was left of the oversized tigers were their mangled corpses.
“I preferred the snaky things myself,” observed Suderbak in an offhand manner.
“So far pretty much what we anticipated,” Toño remarked generally.
“Let's try something harder then,” responded Mirraya. She stepped forward. Suderbak didn't realize it at first, but Mirraya was then inside the membrane. She raised her arms and spread her wings. “Haras uter badum,” she shouted. Then she backed away, behind the safety of the membrane.
Red and green flames erupted all around Suderbak. They were so intense the massive beast couldn't be clearly seen. After five seconds the flames snuffed out.
A crazed Suderbak lunged forward and impacted the membrane. Her skin was charred and her tail was singed off at the tip. She howled in pain.
“Well finally,” snapped EJ.
“Yes, but all that heat and look how little it affected her. I'm surprised and disappointed,” responded Mirraya.
Suderbak rolled frantically on the ground, either not aware or not certain the flames were out. After a while she stood and lumbered to where Mirraya stood. “Do not ever do that again. Do you understand me, defiler? I will suffer such punishment on you, you will wish you'd never been born.”
“Oh yeah, tough gal,” quipped EJ. “Wouldn't that first involve you getting out of jail?”
Suderbak took two steps back. She closed her eyes and mumbled some unintelligible words, possibly in some unknown language. A blinding bea
m flashed in front of her like a carbon-arc searchlight. She charged out of her containment directly toward EJ.
He knew in a heartbeat she was free. He whirled his arms in the air with practiced confidence. Suderbak literally froze mid-stride. A crackling frost quickly formed on her skin and a mist rose off her, wafting in the soft breeze.
“That was intense,” remarked Toño.
“Crap,” muttered Mirraya.
“What?” snapped EJ. “I was damn impressive.”
“Yes but it took magic to suppress Suderbak. I wish some conventional force would have been effective.”
“Yeah, and I wish I was taller,” EJ replied. “But I ain't. If magic's all we got, it's all we got.” He shadow-boxed the air. “I'm ready. Bring 'em on. Bring 'em all on.”
Sapale shook her head and looked to Daleria. “Yeah, bring all one million of them on. Hell, bring them on all at once. Captain Delusional here'll smite them but good.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The attendance at the conclave was impressive. Cleinoids of every shape, size, and body type spread out as far as the eye could see. All were anxious to hear how and when Vorc was going to get them to Prime. Also, and probably even more passionately, to an individual they wanted to know how and when Gáwar would be sent away. He had not worn out his welcome since he had never been welcome in the first place. But every day he made his kinsmen more and more miserable. Gods didn't like that. Gáwar was nice only to his one friend, Tefnuf, and the profound oddity Zastrál. He was the only one who could summon Gáwar. The god of demons had to be nice to Zastrál or he'd remain in limbo forever.
Otherwise Gáwar had made a royal pest out of himself in the land of the ancient gods. He didn't drink alcohol. No, he blenderized and drank any drunken gods he encountered. He didn't pine about not being able to go to Prime to pillage and maim. No, he did so locally and often. Bodies were stacking like cord wood in the Lower Chambers' morgue. In fact, he was so contrarian that when a couple asked him to please not kill their firstborn, he did. And when another couple asked him if he would please kill their firstborn, he refused. He said something to the effect that there was no sport in being helpful. Anyway one looked at it, Gáwar was unpopular. That his presence was singularly associated with Vorc did much to further sully the center seat's already foundering public approval rating.
Vorc rose to call the assembly to order. The front row, usually populated by Vorc's friends and supporters, was occupied exclusively by Gáwar. The god of demons wished to make it clear to Vorc he was paying very close attention. No one else dreamed of sitting with or near Gáwar, so the entire row was otherwise empty. Even Zastrál wanted no part of Gáwar when he was in his murderous rapture. He sat somewhere anonymously in the crowd toward the back.
“Let us come to order. Much has happened since our last meeting. I would like to …”
“Fall on your sword?” shouted someone near the front.
“No, that would require more skill than this stiff fish possesses,” yelled another off to one side.
“Please, come to order,” demanded Vorc. “Petty name-calling and insults will help with nothing.”
“Correct,” screamed a female. “Only your head on a pike would.”
“I brought a pike,” exclaimed Jacularus, a warrior god. He held his massive pike aloft as a clear threat to Vorc.
“Pass it here,” cried out the female voice. Aamera stood with her arms extended toward Jacularis. It seemed she was quite serious in her desire to skewer Vorc. The god of womanly spite even pushed in Jacularis's direction until a pair of golems lifted her up and plopped her back in her seat.
“I said order and I will have order,” howled Vorc. “Anyone who wishes to test my foul mood will regret it. I promise you that.”
Naturally Gáwar stood and held a clawed arm high in the air.
“Is this really necessary, Gáwar?” pleaded Vorc.
“You said anyone, didn't you?”
“Again, is this really necessary?”
“Are you going to make an actual announcement I will care about?”
“Yes.”
“Then it's not necessary that I test your resolve at this particular moment.” He rested back.
No one else was foolish enough to follow up Gáwar's performance with further posturing or pestering.
“Thank you,” scoffed Vorc. “Now, we will forego the usual benediction and procedural mumbo jumbo. We're all on edge and no one really wants to hear that rubbish anyway.”
Loeedor, god of accountants and obsessive compulsives, waved an arm frantically calling for attention.
“No, Loeedor, just no.”
His arm went down slowly and reluctantly.
“For those who might not have otherwise heard, as best we can tell Dominion Splitter is dead.”
A rumbling thunder of murmurs erupted.
“Order. Don't make me kill anyone today.”
The crowd reluctantly and slowly quieted.
“I have no reason to believe another similar transfolding vortex exists. Hence, none of us here will be going to Prime via that method, the traditional manner of conveyance.”
“Are we going to close our eyes and wish ourselves there then?” taunted Tantrulus, the god of petty grudges.
Vorc let that quip pass. “As you may also know, I have identified the criminal who killed DS as Ryanmax. He falsely represented himself and his friends to be Cleinoids. He infiltrated our society to specifically keep us from entering Prime. He was bad to the bone right from the start.”
“How could you be so stupid as to mistake him for a god? Didn't I tell you he wasn't?” badgered Tefnuf.
“Now is not the time for blame and recriminations.”
“When is? I'll make sure to be front row and center for that,” she responded.
A chorus of laughter rose. Vorc hated many things, but he hated nothing more than being laughed at.
“Golems, seize Tefnuf and confine her. I will punish her severely after this conclave.”
“Let her stay,” Gáwar said softly. “She is with me.”
Golems were animated clay with no functioning brains. But even moving mud knew better than to mess with Gáwar. They retreated to the entrances where they had been stationed without asking permission.
“As I was saying, the criminal Ryanmax set about to destroy our culture and traditions. He is dead thanks to Gáwar here. His companions are to be killed upon sight. Is that clear?”
“How can we see them in their own universe?” asked Gáwar with a chuckle.
“I mean if they ever return they are KOS, okay?”
“Wait. How do they, mere mortals, ferry back and forth to Prime, when we mighty Cleinoids can't?” asked Beltrmaint, a minor god of record keeping.
“They seem to have a technology that allows it.”
“Why don't we have such technology?” shouted Quisstin, a redundant god of the perfectly obvious.
“Because we don't,” snapped Vorc. “In case you haven't noticed, we're not that big on technology. Never much needed it because we're gods, moron.”
“I wish to formally retract my support of you as center seat,” returned Quisstin.
“Your support? You were my only challenger for this stupid job,” railed Vorc.
“Can we get back on topic?” shouted Olitopis, god of orderly processions. Yes, there was one for those too. Go figure.
“Yes,” thundered Vorc. “I am here today to ask for your help. The help of each and every Cleinoid god. I want to announce formally that I have no plan to get us to Prime. I also have no idea how to get our people home from Prime when they are finished. But I want to remind you that we are a great race. We are gods. I am asking that if anyone has any idea how to solve our isolation issues, please share them with the rest of us.”
“You have failed us, Vorc. You must resign. We must elect a competent leader,” shouted Giwiriwa, god of mobs and large angry protests. Vorc knew her involvement couldn't be a good thing.
Gáwar stood. “I agree. And if you resign, I will run unopposed for the center seat.” He plopped back down limply.
Well that extinguished the movement to oust Vorc in a flash. Gáwar as center seat was incomprehensibly bad. Perhaps that was Gáwar's intention, to quell dissent. Or maybe to stir it up further. No one had any clue as to why he might have said what he did, but no one was about to ask him for clarity.
“Again, I call for any ideas,” cried out Vorc.
“What about the aliens's tech. Can't we steal it or duplicate it?”
“No. The only example of it is gone. Our science is a very long way from allowing us to have similar technology of our own.”
Murmurs sloshed through the assembly, but in the end, no one spoke publicly.
“I assume the lack of input reflects the fact that I am not alone in failing to find a solution,” Vorc concluded in a low tone.
“Then are we done?” growled Gáwar.
“Yes, I suppose so. Why?”
“I was just thinking how good those seated in Row 5 looked. I thought we might catch a bite together.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The JCIDC Senior Security Subgroup met only when important decisions needed to be made. Trying to get a mixed bag of intergalactic politicians to agree on anything significant was impossible in any of the JCIDC's General Sessions. It was a wonder that mass murder and mayhem weren't the common norm at those get-togethers. The only consensus seemed to be that every other representative was both ignorant and wrong. Politicians. Where would life have been without them? Yeah, no telling for sure, but it would have been somewhere a whole lot better. A lot more citizens would have survived to enjoy that superior place too.