Torment of the Ancient Gods

by Craig Robertson

  I went first. “So, em, you got a name?”

  “Pravil. My name in your frame of reference is Pravil.”

  “Hmm. What's your name in your frame of reference?”

  “There I do not have a name. I don't need one.”

  “What about in the context of your semi-regular roundtable discussions with your peeps?”

  “Not certain this is a fruitful direction for our conversation to go in, but I will as you say go with the flow. In our semi-irregular meetings, my name is whatever it needs to be.”

  “But not Pravil?”

  He shrugged. “Could be Pravil.”

  “I see your point about fruitfulness.”

  “Thank you.”

  “And I never say go with the flow. Hate the expression. It's what high-school guidance counselors and inspirational talking heads say. And one's mother. Yeah, mothers everywhere tell their kids to just go with the flow, Arthur.”

  “Your mother called you Arthur?”

  “I'm probably not the one to ask that question.”

  “I see your reputation has correctly proceeded you.”

  “What's that supposed to mean?”

  “It's supposed to mean can we move in a cogent direction in our encounter? A rational, logical, non-Jon Ryan one?”

  “I'm game.”

  “Now you're going to ask what you're doing here.”

  “I am? I was going to ask where the little boy's room was.”

  His once calm demeanor seemed to briefly stiffen. Wuss. “I doubt that very much.”

  “Okay, I'll bite. What am I doing here?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “Gee, Mr. Wizard, I'm sure glad I asked.”

  “I am being as forthcoming as I can generate.”

  “Grammar place,” I mumbled, pretending to make it a cough, fist covering my mouth and all.

  “What did you say?” He seemed intensified if not hot.

  “Say?” I coughed. “Ah choo, you know, pollen count's up and you sneeze.”

  “Hmm.”

  “So, how is it I come to be in the Pillars of Creation and a local employee does not know why?” I kind of boomed the place name. Seriously, if I could have controlled myself I might have.

  “You heard me when I said I didn't know. Your subsequent peppering me with questions has yet to alter my state of understanding.”

  “Let's take this one step at a time. Pravil, you work here, right?”

  “If you can call it that, yes.”

  “I'll let that partial evasion slide. Pravil, you live here, right?”

  “If …”

  I cut that crap off. I was not in the mood. “Second obtuse answer accepted. Pravil, are you a religious icon, personification, or divine being? The designations angel, god, demon, or politician dance at the top of my list.”

  “No. That one I can answer emphatically.”

  “My gosh, headway. An easy, direct answer. Okay, what's your role here?”

  “I'm … from your reference point I'm a facilitator.”

  “From your frame of reference, does Pravil translate into my language as vague?”

  He started to respond.

  “Rhetorical only. You are a facilitator. What do you facilitate?”

  “Into the Pillars of Creation comes nothing and out goes something. I aid in that process.”

  “Nothing into stuff?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you have a boss, a supervisor, a majordomo?”

  “Hmm, tough one.”

  “You're kidding. Stupidvisor, micromanager, slave driver with a Napoleon complex? You gotta have one or ten of those.”

  “In your frame, no. In my frame, least you overstress and ask, no.”

  “Then isn't the answer simply no?”

  “Um, I could answer that, but I don't think doing so would advance your happiness.”

  “Let's roll with that. More angst I don't need, but okay. Here's a fascinating question. Into this domain comes nothing and out goes something.”

  “I believe we've established that.”

  “Ah,” I snapped, “but here's the rub. I am not nothing.”

  “Let me say without the need for further comment that I would've preferred you not using a double negative. That said, your point is as stunningly obvious as it is true.”

  “Follow-up question. Do other not nothings occasionally enter here?”

  “Hmm, kudos on a well-played logic series. No, from your reference frame it has essentially never happened.”

  “Then why, Pravil, my good man, do you suppose that is the case?”

  “I have no idea. I neither set the boundary conditions I labor in, nor govern what may or may not enter here.”

  “Excuse me. I heard sounds but no answer. To play back what I heard, I'd summarize blah, blah, blah blah blah, blah. Want'a take a second swing at that pitch?”

  “It's not my job to know why you’re here.”

  “That's more like it. The next question will require you to speculate. I insist you do so. Why do you suppose I'm here? If you respond that you don't know, I'll pin you to the floor and tickle you into submission.”

  “You lack arms to tackle with and fingers to tickle with. Yours is hardly a credible threat.”

  “Don't test me, Pravil. Many have and many have been unpleasantly surprised. Start speculating for all you're worth.”

  He wrung his hands briefly. “You appear to have been subjected to death.”

  “You should have seen the truck that hit me.”

  “Gáwar? I've not seen him and would rather not.”

  “You know of the beast?”

  “I may reside in the Pillars of Creation, but I do get out occasionally. If I might continue?”

  “Please do.”

  “After Gáwar pulverized you, you drifted in here. As you would in no way be able to drift, let alone persist in a conscious state, I can only conclude some force desires for you to be here.”

  “Some force? God? My guardian angel? My bookie to whom I owe a lot of scratch?”

  “I'm going to leave it at some force. As neither of us knows, that'll be best.”

  “Okay, Sherlock Holmes, if some force wants me here, why might that be? What value can you provide me with?”

  His arms spread widely. “Hello. Pillars of Creation. We offer … all things.”

  “Hot damn,” I exclaimed impiously.

  “I insist upon your pardon.”

  “Oh, sorry. It's just that I get a do-over. Not every day you get one of those. Well technically I've had a few, four, five depending on how you count them. But, dude, I'm stoked.”

  “Is that a serious condition, this stoked?”

  “It sure as he … heck is if your name happens to be Gáwar.” Although existing just then in an indistinct state, I nonetheless did a happy dance. I think.

  “I tend to agree with your assessment. It is certainly within my power to reestablish you in your android form.” He then grunted a laugh.

  “What?”

  “I guess I could regenerate you in any form, couldn't I?”

  “You're not seriously asking me, are you?”

  “I could even place you in your original human body if you'd like.”

  “No.”

  “That was a snap decision.”

  “Of course.”

  “Ah yes, this fighter pilot thing I've heard tell of.”

  “No, goofball. Gáwar easily defeated the android me and would stomp the human one even quicker. I need bigger, stronger, faster.”

  His face shined like a lighthouse beacon. “You want the Six Million Dollar Man.”

  “You do get around, don't you?”

  That brought a proud shrug, kind of an oh-shucks maneuver.

  “So I need a body that can't be beaten. I need invulnerability and I need it now.”

  “You want me to make you look like Gáwar but maybe give you, I don't know, a dart gun on your forehead that he lacks?”

 
“Have you seen a picture of Gáwar? I want to save the universe, but I don't know if I want to save it that badly.”

  “I'm kidding, Jon. Gáwar's power doesn't lie in his form.”

  “Oh yeah? He ever pound you into dust and debris?”

  “His is an inner strength.”

  “Lord, you sound like a two-bit self-motivational speaker.”

  “No, I mean his strength rises from what's inside him. It is thus with all living things.”

  “Thus? Have you ever paused to hear yourself speak? People … people haven't talked like that since Queen Elizabeth I.”

  “I'm not people, and can you get over the obvious envy you have concerning my erudite form of speech?”

  I wanted to punch his lights out. If I only had fists, arms, torso, and legs I would have, too. I'd erudite his butt.

  “Before time expires universally, may we proceed?”

  “What, now time's in danger too? When am I going to catch a break?”

  “I was speaking from frustration. Jon, if I made what you are in Gáwar's body, you'd stand the same chances as you did before.”

  “I find that challenging to lend credulity to.” I'd show him.

  “If you want to sound smarter than me, try not to end your sentences in prepositions. It's something up with which I shall not put.”

  “Who's drifting off target now, golden throat?”

  “You're right.” He sighed. “You do bring out the oddest in people, don't you?”

  “A gift’s a gift.”

  He shook his head slowly, just the way Doc did way too often.

  “Jon, I could return you to your reality in the form of an apple and you'd be able to defeat Gáwar. It is not how you appear but who you are. How you're perceived is important too. But true power rises from the soul.”

  “An apple? Like a regular old Red Delicious apple? About yea big?” I held my cupped hands near each other.

  “Yup.”

  “Is your supervisor present? I'd like to proceed with another head consultant.”

  “I'm not crazy.”

  “Crazy? Who said anything about you being mentally incompetent? I didn't mention dense, unschooled, out of touch with the real world, or stupid either. I just want a second opinion.”

  “Second opinion?”

  “In the near term, please.”

  “I already explained that in your frame of reference I don't have a supervisor.”

  “Oh yeah. Pooh. Okay, back to the apple. I could kill that monster even though I had no arms to strike him with? No legs to run?”

  “Perhaps an apple wasn't the best analogy.”

  “Ya think? And what if I did win by making him laugh himself to death? Then what? I'm going to spend the rest of my life as an apple in the fridge? Waiting for fruit flies, worms, and Granny looking to whip up another pie? Not a bright prospect, dude.”

  “Forgetting altogether the apple analogy, let me press ahead.”

  “Okay, but if you suggest I reincarnate as a parrot or a hammer, I'm outta here.”

  “Where do you come up with these things? A parrot? A hammer? I do believe I'm getting a headache.”

  Served him right wanting me to be an apple.

  “Let us first decide what form you would like to take. Then we can get into specifics as to functionalities.”

  “And my options are?”

  “Limitless. I wouldn't suggest Jack Benny or Popeye. The former's not imposing enough and the latter's a two-dimensional animation.”

  “Where do I come up with stuff? Sheesh. Look in the mirror, buddy. Ya see, this is easy. I want to return as I was. Good old android Jon. Only not refurbished. No, I want to be like I was right off the assembly line.”

  “All right. So just as you were when Dr. DeJesus first transferred you?”

  “No, not even.”

  “Huh?”

  “I didn't have all my toys and I didn't have my life experience. I want to retain those.”

  “Then what are you exactly asking for? If I guess, it might be you want an elephant trunk and then you'd go off on me. I don't need that.”

  “Calm yourself. No trunk. I was just thinking, if it was possible … I'd …”

  “It is possible, but not if you don't say it. So help me if you don't tell me pretty quick, I will put a trunk right where your nose used to reside.”

  “Do you drink coffee?”

  “What?” he snapped.

  “No, but if you did, maybe try enjoying decaf.”

  “What are you not …”

  “I want my sperm back.”

  That shut the freakazoid up. He crossed his arms, pointed at me, and then recrossed his arms. Then he snickered. Such disrespect from a supposed professional. Within thirty seconds he was doubled over laughing. I seriously thought he was going to bust a gut.

  Finally I had to defend my dignity. “You know I'm still here, right?”

  “I … I … I do. It's … it's just …” He broke into loud, uncontrolled laughter once again. “I can't im … imagine what a two bill … billion-year-old robot would want his … his sperm b … back for?”

  “Are you trying to belittle me and hurt my feelings?”

  “No, but it's pretty damn hard not to with a request like that.”

  Yeah, fool collapsed back into a giggle fit.

  “I'm not entirely comfortable with you swearing,” I said to try and shut him up.

  “Me either, but … but … y … your sperm back. What, you want me to go through all past epochs and retrieve them one at a time?”

  “That will not be necessary. A full complement of new sperm will be sufficient.”

  “Gosh, I mean thanks.” After he snorted unbecomingly he asked, “Seriously, and no question about it, your wish is my command, but why that specific requirement?”

  Make me say it. How uncouth. “A guy feels better about himself if he's firing live rounds, that's all.”

  “Okay, never thought I'd live to hear that, but no problemo. Anything else? A little taller? Maybe a chiseled chin or a Kirk Douglas dimple?”

  “Now you’re being sarcastic.”

  “I am not. I'm having fun at your expense, sure. But I'm not being intentionally cruel.”

  “Only accidentally so.”

  “Yes.”

  Son of a …. “Back to Gáwar. How am I going to be able to defeat him? I know you said inner strength and a dart gun, but I'm looking for specifics, not useless options.”

  He was serious again. “You must tell me?”

  “Why. You're more … more worldly.”

  “Why can't you simply say smarter?”

  “I can. I just wasn't sure it was the best adjective.”

  “I'm so looking forward to not missing you.”

  “So I've been told. Why do I have to guess?”

  “Those are the rules.”

  “No way. You just made that up this very second.”

  “No, honest to goodness. It's in the rule book. I can show you it if you really care.”

  “What can kill Gáwar?” I asked.

  “There has to be something.”

  What would harm the big oaf? A pure heart? Faith? Bad breath? What would work when thermonuclear weapons, lasers, and brute force didn't? OMG. I freaking had it. I hoped I got a shot at Gáwar again. There was a tremendous gulf between the two of us. I had no idea if we could ever reconnect. But if and when we did, man-o-man was he going to be surprised.

  **********

  I looked at myself in the mirror Pravil whipped up for that sole function. I looked good. Even my hair was perfect. And he took the liberty to freshen up my jumpsuit to give it a more moderny feel, sexier.

  “Pravil, you've done the Pillars of Creation proud.”

  “I'll make certain you get a survey so my boss knows how valuable I am to the team.”

  “You're the bad boy. I knew it.” I wagged a finger at him.

  “So, if there's nothing else I'll show you to your destination.”
>
  “Funny you should mention it. Say, Pravil, have you ever been on a business trip?”

  “No, I can honestly say I have never been on a business trip. Why?”

  “Well, when a guy's away on a business trip and he comes home, he has to bring his wife a present.”

  “Fascinating. But since you've been dead, not here on business, I'm wondering why you bring that cultural pearl up?”

  “Well, I fight for a living. I died fighting. So, in a very real sense this is a business-related trip.”

  “If it'll get you out the door that much sooner I'll agree with you.”

  “Great. So the presents I had in mind were really easy-peasy ones, I mean for you that is.”

  “I can hardly wait.”

  I gave him my requests. He said he wished he could somehow forget my requests but he knew he could not.

  “So, one last question,” he said to me quite seriously. “I can send you anywhere, any when. But I can do so only once. Where shall I send you?”

  Where indeed? If I went back to Godville to even the score with Gáwar, I could be marooned. Sapale and the others might have survived and made it home. Or maybe Gáwar killed them too. In that case who cared if I was marooned? But if I went after Gáwar and my friends were back home, I'd never see them again. They'd never know what became of me. Wait, what was I hemming and hawing about? There was one and only one correct response.

  “Send me to where Sapale is.”

  And I was gone.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  After their depressing debriefing following the fight with the three Cleinoids, everybody sort of went their own ways. Daleria said she needed to get some fresh air and left alone for a long walk. Toño busied himself at nothing in his lab. Tinkering helped soothe his wounded mind. EJ went to an unoccupied room and watched 1950s black-and-white TV shows. Mirraya-Slapgren went home with a final message to contact them if anything came up. Blessing and Al, well, who knew what they did, but they were silent.

  Sapale stayed at the mess table. She clutched her long-empty coffee mug so tightly her fingers were numb. But she didn't notice. If she had, it wouldn't have mattered. She had never felt so alone, so sad, and so hopeless in her very long …

  There was a knock on the hull.

  One, Sapale flashed on immediately, the portal was open. No one who needed to enter needed help doing so. Two, there was zero possibility of a stranger come a-calling. They were in the most secure isolation. Three, who knocked on a spaceship's front door? No one in their correct mind would. It wasn't Halloween, and door-to-door sales were a thing of the extinct past.