EJ recoiled visibly. Then he responded with vitriolic bile. “Well he sure as hell isn't the boss of me. You want to go die in some foreign universe for no possible gain, then screw you all.”
He walked out of Stingray and was gone. Where, I neither could guess nor could care.
“Good riddance,” said Mirraya angrily. “He fights well but is a net negative in spite of that.”
“I only just met him and I agree,” added Daleria with disdain. “La-hoos-sher.”
“Uncle, you have already tainted the poor woman's speech. Surely her soul will follow quickly in kind.” If Mirri could have grinned I knew she would have.
“Who knows?” I responded. But quick enough I was down to business. “Als. You mentioned there was a finite limit to the number of passages we could make from our universe to theirs.”
“Correct, Form One.”
“What percentage have we expended?”
“Approximately sixteen percent. Perhaps as much as twenty.”
“Plenty of wiggle room then,” I stated confidently.
“Plenty?” questioned Mirraya. “I'd say some. When we're down to zero percent we're trapped one place or the other.”
“Worrywart,” I teased. Stuck out my tongue too. “Stingray, put us in the same cave we hid in when we first met Daleria.”
“No,” she snapped.
“Belay that order, Stingray. Why?” I asked Daleria.
“Just a hunch. I have to believe Vorc is pressing hard to find us. He may or may not know we left, but he will worry we'll do exactly what we are doing. If so, he might have found traces of your presence in the cave. There are many gods quite skilled at homing in on that very thing.”
“Good point. Any suggestions?”
She thought for a few seconds. “Somewhere far from that region.”
“Stingray, set a course for the Lower Chambers.”
“Whoa, whoa,” chided Sapale. “How's that safe?”
“Remember their society's in turmoil. No one's doing their jobs like before. The Lower Chambers is the last place any god would want to be.”
“But what about the time differences? It may be long enough from now that Vorc has restored order,” she responded.
“No, the time is fast here compared to there. A day for us is minutes, seconds for them. It'll be empty.”
“Or at least we'll save them the trouble of shipping us there after we're caught.” Sapale grinned grimly.
“See. Plus plus. Everyone's a winner,” I shot back with a raising of my arms. “Calgon,” I shouted, “take me away.”
Nothing.
“Stingray, we're still here.”
“Affirmative, Form One.”
“Why? I said let's go.”
“No, Pilot, you asked a detergent no longer in production to sweep you off your feet. Sounds pretty twisted and kinky if you ask me.” That Al. What an Al.
“Stingray, take us to the Lower Chambers now, please.”
A little nausea, then a lot of nausea later, we were there.
“I'll take a look around. The rest of you stay here,” I said as I extended my probe fibers.
“Does that include me?” asked—you guessed it—Casper.
“How the devil did you find us so quickly? And do not say because you were always with us, because you weren't. We were in a different universe, a ghostless universe, which was nice for a change by the way.”
“If I can't say, you know, that, then I think I'll just say nothing.”
“Uncle Jon, please introduce me to your associate,” asked Mirraya with grace and courtesy.
“Mirraya, Casper. Casper, Mirraya.”
“Very nice to meet you, etherial spirit,” said Mirri. “I hope we become fast friends.”
“I'm sure we will. Say, did you know you're nicer than him?” Casper moved part of himself in my direction. Darn ghosty was still morphing. He'd come all the way from a nebulous cloud to a walking cigar, and now he almost looked humanoid. Almost. He was still disproportionately plump here and there.
“Why yes I did.”
“Most people are,” added Sapale.
“Casper,” I said authoritatively, “the roast is over. Is anyone around in the Lower Chambers?”
“Just Tefnuf.”
“Crapazola,” I hissed. “What's she doing here?”
“She lives here.”
“Figures,” I responded. “Creepy ogre lives in a creepy dungeon. Is she nearby?”
“No.”
“Good. Lucky break,” I sighed.
“She's directly outside.”
“Membrane,” I shouted. “Now.”
The vortex thudded once.
“She got off one energy blot before we cloaked,” reported Al.
“Damage report,” I snapped.
“None.”
“Place her inside a full membrane, then drop ours.”
“Done.”
“Now what?” asked Sapale. “She might be able to get out like that bitch Bethniak.”
“Nah, Tefnuf's not that powerful. Plus she won't be around long enough to put a dent in her coffin.”
“What do you mean?” asked Toño.
“I mean to kill her,” I replied. “She knows we're back. Can't have that.”
“What if she's already sent word?” asked Daleria.
“Then she'll be just as dead.”
Daleria had a funny look on her face.
“What? Is there a reason I shouldn't cross her permanently off my Christmas list?”
“She will be missed,” she responded.
“Not hardly,” I tried to joke.
“Jon, listen to her,” snapped Sapale. “She knows the locals’ behavior.”
“I can't release her. If she hasn't betrayed our location, she sure as hell will.” I turned to Casper. “How about you? Any thoughts?”
“Vorc will know if she's dead.”
“And?” I pressed. “I care because?”
“He will know, Uncle. That is divulging useful information.”
“But if she's inside a full membrane, won't he miss her anyway?”
“No, I don't think so,” said Daleria. “I don't think that's how it works.”
“How what works?” I said with exasperation.
“The god thing,” replied Casper.
“Okay, fine. You win. Als, seal her in a membrane, make it perpetual, and place a sensor to indicate if she's able to break out.”
“Done, Captain,” responded Al.
“Are the chambers otherwise clear, Casper?”
“Yes, I believe so.”
I rolled my eyes. Belief I did not need. Hard intel, that's what I wanted. I officially hated working with ghosts.
“Come,” said Mirraya, “let's get going.”
Toño opened the hull and I stepped out first. Tefnuf's semi-invisible prison ball was off to the right.
I pointed at it. “Stay.”
“Where are we going?” asked Sapale.
“First we secure the building. In the meantime, Als, you two catch up on the bugs we placed. See what's going on. I especially want a 10-20 on Gáwar.”
“10-4, Captain,” responded Al.
“Could you ease back on the testosterone-talk?” requested Sapale. “It makes me crazy. Just say where's Waldo.”
“Who's Waldo?” asked a confused Daleria.
“10-22 that,” I peppered in. I watched Sapale cringe when I said it. Sweet. Not sure why, but it was.
It took us twenty minutes to clear the Lower Chambers. No one else was present. “Als, place monitors at all entry points. If anyone comes in I want to know about it.”
“Roger that,” replied Al.
“Any location on the big bad?”
“Not yet. We can report that things are basically the same as when we left. Dominion Splitter's still dead. Vorc is suffering withering criticism from all parties. Gáwar has been playing poorly with others and that further chafes the general population. It's looking like Vo
rc's reign will end soon and unfavorably for him.”
“Good. Instant karma's going to get him,” I responded.
We had a secure base, an unwanted prisoner, and not much else. Since there was zero tactical advantage in laying low, I made a quick decision. We were going … somewhere.
“Mirri,” I asked, “I'm not super clear on this. Can you still shapeshift?”
“Ah, goodness sakes, Uncle. How can you ask personal questions like that in public?”
“Huh?”
“We are … joined. We are a visant.”
“Huh?” I repeated.
“Uncle, it's sexual. We're … engaged.”
“Can't you disengage?”
“Yes, of course. But … oh, you're impossible. It's very very private.”
“Ah, hello. War zone here. No private secrets. Split in two or whatever now.”
“Everyone turn your backs,” Mirraya said softly.
“I don't think I have one,” responded Casper.
“Give it your best, please,” she said even quieter.
Thirty seconds later I heard the all-clear from Slapgren.
Yup, there they were, my two kids. They were old and graying, but they were my kids nonetheless. And naked. Nice.
Without my asking they headed for Stingray to dress.
“We're going outside. You two need to look like Cleinoids,” I said to my kids when they were back. “Between you and Daleria it'll provide us some cover. The rest of us'll have to rely on old faithful. Robes and hoods. Come on people, let's move.”
“I think I'd look … odd in a robe,” said Casper. “Not sure it'd stay on either.”
“Okay, you disguise yourself as a ghost.”
“I can do that,” he replied cheerily.
What a moron.
We headed out. Mirri was a humanoid female while Slapgren was the funniest-looking quasi-octopus I could imagine. We made our way casually toward the staging area where Dominion Splitter had hung or whatever. I needed to make certain with my own eyes he was good and gone.
The promenade and field where DS was suspended was completely empty. Gone were the myriad of guards and onlookers. What a relief.
“I want to reconnoiter the lab where the neutral matter is fabricated,” I announced.
“Do you think we can steal some more?” asked Toño dubiously.
“Probably not, but it sure would be useful.”
“Good point,” he mused.
I found out where all the guards that used to encase DS were. Yeah, they were swarming the fabrication building. Once bitten, Vorc was twice shy, it would seem. Crap.
“We've had a busy day,” I said from our safe distance from the mass of Cleinoids. “Let's retreat to the chambers and set a plan. Daleria, you probably need some sleep, right?”
“Soon,” she replied apologetically.
“Hey, I used to be the king of sleep. God I miss it. I consider you lucky,” I replied wistfully.
It turned out Mirraya and Slapgren jumped at the chance for some rack time too. Us androids let them sleep all night long. We went over reports from the Als about the inside scoop concerning the Cleinoids. An interesting picture was developing. I think we actually knew more about the goings on than anyone else, including Vorc.
The current center seat was not just unpopular. No less than three factions were actively planning his removal from office with extreme prejudice. Two groups wanted to assassinate him quietly and privately, quick and clean. The third wanted to make a public spectacle of his gory death. They had an itinerary of horror laid out. They would start by locking him in a cage and subjecting Vorc to taunting and thrown objects. Act two was to be flogging until his skin was gone, then boiling him in some as yet undetermined liquid until he was done. They had imaginative notions of what to do to his remains, but those were too sick to even pass along. Man, I prayed I'd never be on the third faction's shit list. Dudes were seriously twisted.
The bottom line was that for the foreseeable future no ancient gods were making the trip to our home. That was a relief. The Cleinoids, self-indulgent and detached as they were, actually hadn't recorded where Dominion Splitter came from or when he was acquired. So they had positively no idea how to obtain the services of another. Idiots were stuck waiting with their thumbs up their butts hoping a magic bus would show up to transport them. No educational system, no sense of history, and no interest in culture. These guys were sorry indeed.
The last report on Gáwar's location was several days old. He'd torn the crap out of a settlement not too far from the capital. The local gods apparently united to fight him, but still they lost. I guess I knew Gáwar was tough. He creamed me in zero time at all. But not the next time. I could hardly wait.
Once our sleepyhead members were bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, we had a powwow. I relayed what we knew at that juncture. Daleria had an unexpected question. “Who's involved in the three conspiracies?”
“What, you mean their actual names?” I asked.
“Yes. As many as you know.”
I listed the names we'd gleaned by group. When I was halfway down the list on the second faction, she threw a hand in the air. “Festock? You said Festock, right?”
“I believe I did, yes,” I replied, puzzled.
“Can you be more specific? There might be more than one.”
“More than one god with the loco name of Festock?” I remarked aghast. “You gotta be kidding.”
Al chimed in. “He is a three-legged spherical creature that can levitate. A bowling ball that flies.”
“Yes, that's the one. I know him,” she said energetically.
“And that matters because?”
“I know him. He's a good guy.”
“The floating bowling ball?”
“Yes, Jon. Why is that so surprising?” she shot back.
I shrugged. It just didn't sound plausible.
“I’ve known him for a very long time. We basically grew up together. Then he chanced to move near my restaurant. Became a regular. Good guy.”
“I know. You said that. Aside from being fascinating, do you have a reason for educating us as to his personal worth?” Maybe—maybe—I was being a little hard-nosed.
“Jon, I think I see where she's going here,” said Sapale. “Lighten up, Francis.” She raised a warning finger. “And don't anyone ask who Francis is. If you don't know you won't know.”
“I need to spend some time with my old friend,” said Daleria thoughtfully.
“Any conspirator against Vorc is a friend of mine,” said Mirraya.
“Excellent idea,” basically shouted Toño.
“Hang on,” I began to say. “I think …”
“That someone else came up with a great idea and you're jealous,” Sapale interrupted.
“I second that notion,” added Toño. He had the most unwelcome smile.
“Shall I call the roll for a vote?” layered on Slapgren.
“Hang on,” I defended quickly, “I want to hear where this plan of Daleria's is going. Dinner and drinks, or something that advances our cause?”
“Okay,” she responded, “very reasonable, boss.”
I gave her a look. “I'm not the boss. I'm the mission commander.”
“The difference being?” asked Toño.
“I've never had a good boss. Never heard of such a thing. But all mission commanders are top shelf.”
“Anyway,” emphasized Daleria, “my notion is this. Festock hates Vorc so much he's risking overt insurrection. That's big here. I want to feel him out. Maybe we can work together against Vorc.”
“I thought that's where you were heading,” I responded. “Two big problems. One you probably thought of and one I bet you didn't.”
“Okay, smart mission commander,” challenged Sapale, “what's the first?”
“Obviously Vorc knows that all of us are tied for being public enemies number one. I'm assuming that's a result of Gáwar’s summoning. The fact that Vorc employed Gáwar to kil
l us reinforces that assumption. I know Gáwar doesn't have the civic commitment to take us out for the team.”
“True, but I doubt very much Vorc told anyone else about his epic screwup. Gáwar wouldn't tell anyone because his lifestyle is I-could-care,” responded Daleria. “I do not think Festock knows anything about us. Plus, you're dead, Ryanmax. Use a different name and no one'd know the traitor was back unless you ran into Vorc or Gáwar himself.”
“If I did, either one'd be dead before they could sound any alarm,” I said flatly.
“So I chat up my old friend and see if he knows about the foiled rebellion. Either way I win his confidence and we cooperate.”
I nodded. “Sounds doable.”
“That's a pretty terse assessment,” said Slapgren.
“That's because of the second issue.”
“Come on, you old goat,” snapped Sapale. “What?”
“Sooner or later our mission will conflict with our possible cooperation with this Festock fellow.”
“How so?” asked a concerned Daleria.
“One of us'll have to kill you old friend turned coconspirator.”
Daleria paled. “Kill him?”
“He's a Cleinoid god. We need to kill all of them save one.”
“Me?” she said feebly. She looked like she was about to hurl.
“If we succeed fully, you're the only one left alive. It's them or us, period.” I let that sink in. “So when the time came, if it fell to you, could you slip a knife in his back?”
Daleria was white as a bleached sheet.
“She would,” said Sapale. “I know her. If it fell to her she'd complete the mission.”
“Let's hope it doesn't play out so we need to find out if you're right,” I said as cold as ice.
“Jon, are you trying to frighten the girl?” pressed Toño.
“Because if you are, you're doing a good job,” she scoffed weakly.
“This is war, bilateral genocidal war. I've fought in those before. The coming storm will bring out the ugly in everyone. That's a lot of not pretty. We'll all do things we never dreamt we'd have to, and there will come a point where each and every one of us'll not be sure we're capable of what needs to be done. Messy mess is on the doorstep.” I quieted a second. “Daleria's a rookie. Those are generally the first to snap. No offense intended, peanut, that's just a fact. So I want you to picture yourself slitting your pal’s throat in the middle of a pleasant conversation or leaving a satchel bomb in his home, knowing his kids are there romping with daddo on the carpet. Er, you come to a point where you don't think you can do that type of thing, tell one of us. It's better to abort a mission than to fail it. Either way people who weren't going to die will, but the numbers'll be less the sooner you act. You got that?”
Torment of the Ancient Gods Page 13
