Torment of the Ancient Gods

by Craig Robertson

  “You're coming next time too?” queried Mirraya. “Might that be too much too soon?”

  “Time’s critical. We're fighting a war on two fronts, in two universes. I want maximal pressure applied wherever possible.”

  “What if the fellow balks?” asked Toño.

  My response was to drag my thumb across my neck. “No second thoughts, no witnesses.”

  Three days later Daleria got word to meet Festock in a different pub than before, not particularly near our mutual location. He said to be there in an hour. Dude was taking no chances of us laying some kind of trap for him. He was undoubtably there already with eyes watching every possible angle. I'd have done the same. When it comes to one’s own death, one can't be too careful.

  Before we sat down with him I had compiled a detailed and completely cohesive picture of Festock the sphere. He was what he purported to be. A serious conspirator inching his way toward the elimination of the leader his group hated. As for the names of his coconspirators, I was fairly certain I knew all of those too. He naturally had to clear it with them before bringing anyone new into their cadre. There were five others working with Festock. Four of them checked out fine. The fifth one, a woman named Bellicity, was a bit too nebulous for my liking, and no, she wasn't a cloud-being. I just couldn't pin down many details on her past or her present. I didn't welcome that obscurity. I told the Als to really dig deep into her situation. I would have used the expression drill down, but, seriously, I've always hated that group-think term. George Orwell's soul preserve me.

  Festock was seated at the most obvious, public table in the pub. Totally front and center. He wanted to be plainly seen and potentially heard. Smart move for an arch-conspirator. His eyes did bulge a bit when he saw I was with Daleria and Mirraya. His pulse picked up briskly and he began sweating. Good. Amateurs reacted that way under pressure. But he remained seated and kept a pleasant expression on his face.

  “Festock,” Daleria began very directly, “this is Clinneast. He is a very old and very trusted friend of mine.”

  He extended a thin arm. We shook.

  “Nice to meet you, I hope,” he said obliquely.

  “No hope or prayer required,” responded a confident Mirraya. “Clinneast is both a powerful man and like-minded, as we all are.”

  “What kind of name is that?” he asked. “I don't believe I've ever met a Clinneast.”

  Oh, it's a contraction of Clint Eastwood, dumbass. “It's an old family name,” I actually replied. “My father was a Clinneast and his mother before him.”

  He got such a cute dazzled look in his eyes. Nice. Always keep the enemy off balance.

  “Ah,” he mumbled. “So, Clinneast, why is it I've never heard of you?”

  “That's a question I can't answer,” I replied as smugly as I could. “Why is it I've never heard of you until a week ago?”

  That brought a nervous grin to his oval-shaped mouth. “Point taken. Perhaps we are both simply private individuals?”

  “Seems that way,” I answered unhelpfully.

  “I assume you are a kindred spirit, based on what we three discussed the other day and your appearance today. Are you their leader?”

  “Let's call me first among equals. All three of us have lives to lose and families to endanger. Hence we all have similar says in what we do.”

  “Very prudent.”

  “Festock, I'd just as soon not beat around the bush, if you take my meaning. We have been planning a rearrangement of power in this glorious land of ours. We will do so by first rearranging the atoms currently ordered in Vorc's body. There. I've said it. Are you similarly inclined?”

  After a significant pause, he spoke in a hushed tone. “I am.”

  “And when the center seat is vacant, whom do you envision occupying that sainted spot? Yourself, maybe?”

  Another long silence. “No. I do not seek power, not in that sense anyway. Since you ask, do you see yourself at the center of the table?”

  “Most definitely not. I hate Vorc. I want him … I see forced retirement as a pleasant prospect for the jerk. Past that, I'm happy to follow. We,” I gestured to the women, “are all followers to a fault.”

  “To a fault? Hmm. That doesn't sound promising.”

  “How so?”

  “If no one seated at this table wishes to sit at that one either, who will fill the power vacuum?”

  “I assume you're not working alone,” I said while studying my glass. “Perhaps someone you trust does covet such an important position?”

  “Perhaps?”

  “How many are you, your band of like-minded citizens?” It was time to see if he'd openly lie.

  “Several.”

  “As there are plainly several of us,” I bantered back.

  “But there might be more who couldn't make it on such short notice?” Festock remarked.

  “I will be completely honest. Our cell numbers six. Us three, her mate,” I pointed to Mirraya, “mine, and my oldest friend.”

  He studied my face. Lots of luck with that undertaking, fella. I ate and shat out people like him for brunch.

  Finally he responded. “I work with five others. I'm certain you'll understand I can't mention names or positions just yet.”

  “I did.”

  “Yes, I suppose you did, didn't you?” That gave him pause. “But I don't know their actual names or locations, do I?”

  “Clinneast,” I patted my chest, “Scruffie, Daleria, and Headcase.” I indicated the women. “Tester and Slick round out our play group.”

  “How odd it would seem that I've not heard any of those names aside from that of my old, dear friend.”

  “You know what? I'll give you the names as a sign of trust. You keep yours as a sign of respect on our part.”

  He fumbled nervously with his glass. “Fine, fine for starters, that is.”

  “Do you have any specific plans that are in any way active?” asked Mirraya.

  “I'd rather not … er, no. Not presently.”

  “Neither do we,” said Daleria. “Obviously at some point action will need to take place. Can't have a coup d'état without a head on a pole, now can we?”

  “No. Obviously.” He was right about done at that point. Physiologically and mentally the dude was spent.

  “I suggest we part company for now,” I said softly but forcefully. “One of us'll contact you in a few days to firm up some actual details based on our individual intelligence.”

  “That is agreeable,” Festock replied with relief. Stupid rookie conspirator. Who needed them?

  “Until then,” Daleria raised her glass, “to success.”

  Silly old Festock was too drained to respond. He just returned a weary half smile.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Vorc sat behind his desk and he worried. No, he ruminated, obsessed, he languished in vexed cogitation. He had lost control, respect, and was about to add his mind to that list. More importantly, he had come to the rational conclusion that if he were anyone but Vorc he'd kill Vorc, several times over if possible. He'd done that bad a job as center seat, as a Cleinoid, hell, as a living breathing lump of flesh. The fact that he was still alive indicated to him he served a society of absolute incompetents. Yes, any wise and concerned citizenry would have long since assassinated Vorc. Why had someone not? What was wrong with his people? Maybe instead it should be Vorc killing all of them. They were so unworthy of existence it sickened him. Someone please blow my brains out and do it quickly, he railed in his troubled head. One almost had to feel sorry for Vorc, were he not otherwise so unredeemable and contemptible an individual.

  Ni, his latest assistant, entered without knocking. Ni was literally the bottom of the barrel in terms of office helpers. She was a slime mold. She layered a few inches up from the floor, spread over two or three feet depending on her mood and the room temperature, and she was of a surly disposition. How could one blame her? She was not given one of the easier assignments in life in terms of physical gifts.<
br />
  “Today you have accomplished nothing,” she began in her bubbly, oozy voice. “Yesterday you accomplished less. You performed negative work yesterday. I am ashamed to work with you, if what you avoid so adeptly could be called work.”

  Vorc set his face in his palms. “You work for me, not with me. You are not a coequal. You are a gopher.”

  “I am not a rodent. I am a fungus.”

  “No, I meant go-for in that you get me things and do tasks. A gopher. Everyone knows that. Where were you raised? Under a rock?”

  “Yes.”

  He peeped through his fingers at her. “Why are you here?”

  “I work here, sad to admit it, but there you have it.”

  “No I meant here as in in my office berating me at this moment?”

  “Ah. You have a visitor.”

  “An appointment?” he attempted to clarify.

  “Not to the best of my knowledge. You don't have any.”

  “A friend?”

  “Not to the best of my knowledge. You don't have any.”

  “A drop-in?”

  “I'll show them in and we'll find out. Won't that be fun.”

  “No, wai …”

  But Ni was gone. She quickly returned with Bethniak. The child was not wearing her typical garb. No frilly dress, no multiple petticoats, no parasol. She was in a one-piece set of black body suit and her face was rubbed in charcoal. She looked like a play-toy version of a Navy Seal.

  “Are you armed?” he asked.

  “Do you see a weapon, moron?” She twirled to show there was no hiding anything in her clingy outfit.

  “Isn't that a bit … I don't know, wanton and lewd an outfit for a child to wear?”

  “I'm not a child, pig fart. I'm older than you. If anyone so much as smiled at me wrong I'd pound them to mush. Any further questions or thoughts?”

  “Not a one. What can I do for you?”

  She shrugged. “Die?”

  “Then you are here to kill me?”

  “Not worth the bother. No, I'll let everyone else claw over the others for that dubious honor.”

  “Then why are you here?”

  “Hmm, let's term it that I'm here to say goodbye.”

  “Are you going somewhere?”

  “No, pinhead. Vortex is dead thanks to you.”

  “Am I going somewhere?”

  She shrugged again. “I'm guessing hell, and I'm certain about Beal's Point.”

  “And since I have nothing to lose, I'll just ask. Why are you wearing ninja garb?”

  “Ready for a rumble.” She shook her torso. “Easier in this getup than a girly dress.”

  “I'll take your word for it.”

  “Or I could lend you one. Might be small but, heck fire, you'd sure turn heads.”

  “No thank you.”

  “Suit yourself.” She rested back quietly.

  “So you came to wish me ill as I involuntarily head into the afterlife?”

  “Yeah, I guess so. You're not nearly as dumb as you look, you know?”

  “Thanks.”

  “Don't mention it.”

  “Ebib.”

  “Say again?”

  “Ebib. I mumbled something meaningless born of frustration and depression.”

  “Ah. So, see you never, loser.” She popped to her feet and started for the door.

  “Seriously? That's it? You actually came to taunt me so morosely?”

  “Yeah, I guess so.”

  “That's beneath even you.”

  “No it's not. Nothing's beneath me. Oh, say hi to your idiot mother and idiot father when you get to the bottom of the pit of fire, will ya? Tell 'em I don't miss them one little bit.”

  “Nothing is beneath you.”

  “One last thing, sweetie. I haven't changed these clothes for two weeks.”

  Vorc recoiled. “That's revolting.”

  “And I'm not wearing any underwear.”

  “That's the grossest thing I think I've ever heard.”

  “Mention it to the parents when you hook up with them. They deserve holding that thought forever too because they spawned you.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  The more I learned about Bellicity the more I grew suspicious. The Als didn't uncover anything incriminating, but they also didn't find anything that didn't smell of a good scrubbing with a powerful detergent. Squeaky clean plus. Either she was the god of the Girl Scouts, or she was covering up an important set of truths. Either way, I was going to find out her story. If she was playing any kind of game, I'd delete her from the Cleinoid gene pool faster than you can say Darwin. I knew I had a past history with getting very dark when the killing got too intense and frequent. That said, I was going to see this fight through to whatever end fate held in store for me. If my sanity was yet again a casualty of war, so be it.

  “Al, you're a tricky and despicable jerk,” I chided him one afternoon. “Why can't you find out what Bellicity is hiding? No way she's more clever than you, right?” Yeah, goad him a tad. Might help motivate the overpriced tape recorder.

  “Pilot, we have several thousand bugs tailing her, with her, and ahead of her wherever possible. I am honestly coming to the conclusion that her poop does not give off a foul odor.”

  “TMI, Al. What about her contacts? I'm talking family, mailman, butcher's next-door neighbor—everyone she touches.”

  “My word, Captain Obvious, why didn't we think of that? Your circuits once again top ours. We cry a mental uncle.”

  “Sarcasm is the last refuge of an unprepared mind.” What did I just espouse? Drivel.

  “Yes, we know. We're hoping to stoop down to join your level of intellectual bliss. With practice and application we'll make it this century.”

  “You're as funny as a crutch, Al.”

  “Ouch. My wound, it will never heal.”

  “Is this mental diarrhea of yours interfering in any way with your main and mission-critical task, moronovich?”

  “At our combined compilation rate, no. At one one-thousandth of our joined speed, not even close.”

  “I'm so impressed. May I be your friend?”

  “Are you two simpletons about done?” Sapale harpooned us. “This is by far the most pathetic banter you've offered up in forever. It's lame on anti-steroids.”

  “Hey, I resent that,” I defended weakly. “I don't think I've ever been sharper, more eviscerating.”

  “Yes, but that only adds to my aggravation. Your best is weak cheese, meat.”

  My but she was rude. I had half a mind to tell her just that.

  “Maybe we should make a separate contact with Bellicity?” Sapale asked, changing the subject to rational.

  I rubbed my chin. “Nah, too risky. If either Festock or she learned we were new buddies to the two of them, they'd bolt.”

  “So?” she challenged. “I think this operation is looking to be fairly low yield. If we screw it up and are forced to clean a small mess, I doubt it would matter.”

  Interesting take on her part. What was the maximal gain I hoped to pull down? If our combined forces took down Vorc, were we much further along in our war against the Cleinoids? Maybe. If we were taken into the confidence of the new world order, we'd be privy to any new attempts to egress to Prime. That was something. We'd also be in a position to disrupt their plan. Then again, realistically, the cabal was more likely to fail miserably and we'd be lucky to escape with out hides. Until I eliminated Gáwar we could be exposed at any point. Even that useless Bethniak knew me on sight and hated me enough to out us by attempting to kill me. I let Sapale know my thoughts.

  “We can see where this leads us for now,” she concluded, “but keep in mind we need to keep our roots shallow and our ears open.”

  “Agreed.”

  “As to Bellicity, we're going to have to live with some uncertainty as far as she's concerned. Hell's bells. This is a murderous conspiracy. Those are never without high intrigue, right?”

  “Lord you're sounding lite
rary today.”

  “And?” she snapped back.

  “And that can't be a good thing. Just saying.”

  “You … you like those teeth in your mouth?”

  “Yes. Why do you ask?”

  “Then don't ever say that again.” Ah, the war growl. I loved that one of hers the most.

  A week later I had Daleria message Festock we needed to meet. This time I set the time and place. I made it very isolated and two days down the road. I wanted to see how he'd react to those uncertainties. Hell, I kind of hoped he wouldn't show and we could be on to whatever our next move might be. Sapale's uncertainty about this entire gambit was growing in my mind. But, he arrived on time and with one of his partners in crime. I'd asked him to bring one as a further test and on the off chance he'd bring Bellicity.

  No such luck. Festock brought along a truly funny-looking compatriot. Yeah, in this screwy universe, that's saying a whole heck of a lot. Aaaverd was not male or female. Aaaverd was trisexual. No, I didn't press Daleria as to what that actually meant. It sounded bad enough without a full explanation. Anyway, Aaaverd's pronoun was not he, she, or it. Nope. Too easy. It was we. Jerkwad spouted off like royalty or an editor. I needed neither of those in my life. Of course the fact that we looked like a pregnant capybara with bat wings didn't jump we to the head of my gotta-be-buddies-with list. We smelled as funny as we looked, to complete the grim picture. Now, my mama always told me not to judge a book by its cover. But my mama was never confronted with Aaaverd.

  After quick introductions I spoke for Mirraya and Daleria. “So, does your group have a specific plan, a realistic way to eliminate Vorc and seize control?”

  “My, you don't beat around the bush you referred to last time, do you?” replied an unwelcoming Festock.

  “Don't rightly see the point,” I said in my best Captain Malcolm Reynolds imitation. It … it just came out, so help me.

  “What if the tables were reversed?” Aaaverd hissed thought his overbite. Whistled way too much like Mr. Busy the beaver in Disney's 1955 animated feature Lady and the Tramp. [Curious? https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vNDFy3zoBGE&t=104s]