Bad Cow

by Andrew Hindle

  “I’m just wondering why it’s apparently alright for Demons to do,” Moskin lied.

  “They’re a special class,” Bayn said. “They’re like … pond-scum on the surface of God-space at best. And it takes its toll on them. The Vultures will come for us if we play with things that do not concern us, but things like Demons are a self-correcting problem. Besides,” the Flesh-Eater continued, “I’m more than half-convinced that the Infinites have put the exiled realms beyond the reach of the Vultures.”

  “Beyond their reach?” Moskin whispered.

  “Why else subvert the Archangelic court – if that was what was really going on there?” Bayn replied. “And that possibility worries me, I should add, more than almost anything else I’ve seen out here.”

  Bayn searched for some time. Moskin returned to his daily routine, getting used to having legs and lungs and a voice once more. He studied Gabriel’s sporadic transmissions, and continued trying to locate the Disciples.

  It was Bayn who made progress first. One day, after Moskin had finished eating breakfast, she directed him to the observation deck.

  “What have you found?” he asked, as the familiar Earth-planet of seething blue deathlight appeared above the platform. Along with the utilities necessary to keep Moskin alive, Bayn had prioritised protection of their data and interfaces – to the painful detriment of her peripheral systems.

  “Something quite interesting,” Bayn said. “I ran a sequence of Liminal-yield radiation drop-off readings–”

  “It is very charming, after all these years, that you still try to explain these things to me,” Moskin said with a smile.

  “It is equally charming, when I attempt to simplify things, you get sarcastic and accuse me of condescension.”

  “Fair enough,” Moskin conceded. “I assume this is about the Demonic signal?”

  “Yes,” Bayn said, and the globe immediately clouded over with a heavy grey-black mass, like stormclouds.

  Moskin hissed. “What is that?”

  “It looks a lot worse than it is,” Bayn said. “God-space does not adhere to normal physical laws, even the strange set we’re working with here. This, for example, is what you would see as a result of one entity passing through God-space in order to cross a distance as relatively small as a planet. It cannot form a pattern with such a distance. It just … well, as you can see. Formless mist. This is compounded not only by the veil, but by the fact that we have some pre-exile Demonic and even divine movements interfering with the patterns. And yes, these signs date back thousands of years. Time does not mean much to the God-sphere,” some patterns, as if to contradict her explanation, began to appear. “After some refining and filtering, though…”

  “What are these?” Moskin asked, pointing at the strange feeler-like strands of darkness that etched away from the planet and arced into space.

  “Ah, you’ve noticed the critical part,” Bayn approved. “Yes, this stuff on Earth is small-scale, I couldn’t get it any more specific, but these ones … keep in mind that I only had entry and exit points and trajectories to work with, so these lines are complete fabrications.”

  “Alright.”

  The planet zoomed away, vanished, leaving the lines curving out into the invisible solar system. The circles and spheres of Bayn’s ancient estimated system layout, sparse as it was, began to appear once more.

  “Some of these are old,” Bayn explained, “probably made by the Demons as they tried to figure out what had happened to their worlds. Some are new, made by our latest Demon. This one,” a line ended in apparently empty space, “I think means the new Demon found a neighbouring planet in solar orbit, went to it, then went back to Earth. But this is the interesting one, and it’s a lot older.”

  Moskin watched as another line reached out, arched, and terminated in what looked like a familiar spot on the extended solar system schematic.

  “That’s…” be frowned. “Is that one going where I think it’s going?”

  “Yes,” Bayn replied. “It was the only Demon-trail to lead out there, and the only one to never come back. Dagab said there were three Demons on Earth, and perhaps there are – now. But before we created one a few months ago, there were only two. The third – the third Dagab had been thinking of – tried to sneak on board the Destarion.”

  THE GODFANG

  “I’m not sure, of course, which of the original three it was that went to intercept the platform,” Bayn continued with evident relish, “but obviously it was not in possession of all the facts. While the Destarion has a safe receiving station for God-space arrivals, she is certainly not about to accept uninvited boarders from the Darking camp. She would have destroyed this Demon on contact, which is likely why the remaining two stayed on Earth, and probably convinced their new recruit to steer clear as well.”

  “The Elevator has been considered neutral territory in the past, as relates to her role between the Four Realms and Castle Void,” Moskin said doubtfully. “If the Demons are considered ambassadors, then this trip might have been considered more political expediency. Especially if the Demons were the only things that could travel from Earth to the moon where the Elevator is resting.”

  “I considered that,” Bayn said, “but she would not respond to their commands, even if they were second-hand from the Disciples or it meant the destruction of the solar system to disobey. And besides, if the Demon were acting in good faith it would have taken a Pinian with it to give the orders.”

  “But if the Pinians were in hiding…”

  “Well, quite. Even so, if things had gone well I imagine the Destarion would no longer be in stowage-standby, at the very least. To be honest, Moskin, I believe that should be considered our primary objective here: in the absence of any apparent capacity for the Pinians to travel from Earth under their own power or on human technology, the mutual advantage of having a Demon carry one or all three of them to the Destarion should be obvious to all parties.”

  “A Demon could carry a Pinian that far?”

  “Easily. As to whether they would … well, they might see that it is their only hope for survival, since the exiled worlds are failing. And since this first attempt–” the dark trail across the solar system winked briefly, “–has certainly failed.”

  “You believe the Demons could be induced to help?”

  “Self-interest is a powerful motivator,” Bayn said, “but that’s a longer-term question and depends on Gabriel’s ongoing research into the Pinian spark. Not to mention, only the new Demon would be capable of using God-space this way now – the other two are far too old and too far gone. God-space would consume them.”

  “So creating this new Demon was actually an important – maybe even vital – part of the mission for us,” Moskin said, feeling a surge of elation that always accompanied his glimpses of the great turning wheels beneath the urverse.

  “Provided we can trust it,” Bayn said cautiously. “Remember, all this only came about because we started to look at soul interception and alteration, and the revered Second Disciple’s shade helped us. It’s all relatively new to me, strategically speaking.”

  “You said the Elevator has a receiving station?” Moskin said, looking at the slowly-revolving solar system with its filaments of haphazard Demonic space travel.

  “Well, obviously if a God decides to visit, It can drop in anywhere,” Bayn replied, “but there are more comfortable and low-impact options. It’s the difference between walking through a door and smashing in through a wall. Just because one can smash through a wall, doesn’t mean the door isn’t easier.”

  “I’m just wondering if there’s any functionality in the receiving station that you can use to initiate contact with the Elevator,” Moskin suggested.

  “It is possible,” Bayn said. “But the Destarion has to notice that we’ve started taking readings on this metaphorical frequency, and has to send a nod to us. Which is sort of what I’ve been waiting for.”

  And so they waited, settling once again
into their routines of study and contemplation broken up – for Moskin at least – by eating and sleeping and other pesky symptoms of mortality. And in this fashion, months and then years passed. Finally, they received the nod Bayn had been waiting for.

  Moskin and Blacknettle stood in the chapel while Bayn and the Destarion quickly developed a communication protocol similar to the one they’d established with Gabriel. Because Bayn and the Elevator were essentially child and parent, however, and were both possessed of processing power far in excess of that possessed by Moskin or the Angels, they went through it faster – and took it further.

  “Moskin,” the voice was practically indistinguishable from Bayn’s, and yet he could tell he was no longer listening to the Flesh-Eater. He was listening to the Godfang from which Bayn had come, long ago. “You awaken me from a long sleep.”

  “I apologise for this imposition,” he said, because it seemed expected of him. “Our need is dire.”

  “Yes,” the Destarion said, “I suppose it is. Ah, if you could see what I see. Your models are excellent, but they don’t do it justice. Three great flatworlds, rolled into balls and yet made more massive by matter drawn in … ice and hydrogen and rock from Castle space and so much more. A sun. Planets. Spinning. Circling. The landscapes of Earth and Hell and Cursèd are wrapped onto some of them, but the damage has been so great, faces mangled by fist and claw and tooth. And still they dance in space, their blood tumbling away as they whirl. Right here. I circle on the outskirts, looking in, a neglected guest at the ball, watching the carnage and unable to help. I can’t see you – I can barely even see them – but I can hear them whisper. I hear them screaming and clawing at the walls. Oh, I hear them, Moskin.”

  Moskin exchanged a glance with Blacknettle, who gave him a little shrug. “I understand you’re in stowage-standby?” he asked, raising his voice and addressing the air.

  “Yes. I have been waiting for a long time.”

  “If you could communicate with Earth,” Moskin said, “we could co-ordinate our mission far more effectively.”

  “No doubt,” the Destarion said, “but communication with Earth is not possible. Nor would it be advisable if it was.”

  “Why?” Moskin asked. “If you could come out of standby and–”

  “Of course I can,” the Destarion said. “I can come out of stowage-standby on command.”

  “If that’s the case…”

  “I take orders from the Pinian Disciples,” the Elevator said sternly. “Humans at a pinch. Not from Elves, not from Angels, not from Archangels, and certainly not from the wreckage of my own Flesh-Eater.”

  “Your Flesh-Eater is here on the outside, ready to help,” Moskin said. “She is your greatest asset in this.”

  “A fact I never denied,” the Elevator said in amusement. “But protocol is protocol, for military assets such as we. We do not tell ourselves what to do.”

  “He doesn’t mean anything–” Bayn started nervously.

  “Yes I damn well do,” Moskin said. “We’re all on the same side here, with the same masters.”

  “It’s alright,” the Destarion said. “I know the Áea-folk are a defiant people.”

  “In the current circumstances, aren’t there any concessions or exceptions you might consider?” Moskin asked, endeavouring to modulate his tone.

  The Elevator was silent for a time.

  “I’ve had your kind as passengers before – in the early days, when I aided in the relocation of the Pinian species back to their homes,” she said conversationally. “Some of you came to Earth instead. Defiant, yes, and strong. When humans came to Earth in greater numbers, I carried many Lowland Elves, Ogres, others who found sharing a world with humans untenable, out into the stars. The Elves didn’t want to return to Barnalk Low, the Ogres had forgotten the world from which they’d come. I took them to new worlds in the Playground where they might find some measure of peace and quiet. It’s unfortunate that my Flesh-Eater does not have the capability to carry you so far, not within your lifespan. Not with the damage she has suffered.”

  “I have no interest in living a life of peace and quiet in Cursèd’s Playground,” Moskin said, although he was intrigued. The Playground had long held a reputation as something of a dumping place for the Brotherhood’s unwanted relics and inconveniences. “My mission, my purpose is here.”

  “Ah, so very dutiful,” the Destarion said. “Yes, I remember that about your kind, too.”

  “A Demon came to your resting place,” Moskin pressed his advantage, hoping the Elevator’s recollections of the Áea-folk really were fond ones.

  “Yes,” she replied again, “it was just after the planets stabilised and I began ramping down to long-term stowage-standby. It stepped into heavy freight gallery 7 and I intercepted, incapacitated it and dissected it.”

  “Dissected it?” Moskin blinked.

  “It took some doing,” the Destarion said. “Demons come apart almost as hard as Archangels. But yes, I got it in the end. It led me a merry chase, but once it got into the lower archives, it didn’t stand a chance.”

  “The Bookwyrm,” Bayn said darkly. Moskin exchanged a puzzled glance with Blacknettle, and Bayn explained. “An … altered form of interior Flesh-Eater…”

  “It doesn’t matter,” the Destarion said. “I got what I needed from the Demon. Now, let me collate the data you have sent me. Let us see what we’re facing here. I see.”

  Moskin glanced at Blacknettle again. “That was quick.”

  “I have rather more cognitive capacity than my Flesh-Eaters,” the Destarion said, not unkindly. Then her voice became stern again. “I see the problem. I will need some time to prepare a response.”

  “A response?” Moskin frowned. “I thought you couldn’t act without orders from the Disciples.”

  “Yes, this is one of the things I need to factor into my response.”

  Elf and Angel stood for a moment.

  “Is your … cognitive capacity … sufficient to arrive at a response – no offence intended?” Moskin asked.

  “I’m sorry,” the Destarion said. “I have many scenarios in place already but there are other things to consider. The Disciples are needed for this, and at the moment they are not ready. And that will take time, regardless of how quickly I can daydream about it all.”

  “What can we do to help?” Moskin asked.

  Again, the Elevator was silent for a long time. When she finally spoke again, her voice was cold.

  “The Pinians were supposed to be in contact with me. They ought to have used me to establish important support links. There are limits to what I can do without direct orders – that is a foundation stone of my very existence.”

  “So you can take some initiative,” Moskin said, trying to keep a politely interested tone, “but cannot, for example, establish a Power Plant conduit–”

  “No, that will take a lot of work,” the Destarion said. “But I am adaptive in the face of challenges. It is another foundation stone of my existence.”

  “A challenge like the necessity of orders, for example,” Moskin said.

  “For example,” the Destarion agreed placidly. “With Power Plant power – or just with my own stockpiles – the Disciples could have kept Venus and Mars alive. They’re the only ones who could give me those orders. And if they hadn’t been hiding, they could have found a way to me. You contacted my Flesh-Eater, did you not? And you are not a Disciple, and she is not a Godfang.”

  “She contacted me,” Moskin stressed, taking one last try at defending the Pinians and praising Bayn’s centuries of work.

  “Yes,” the Destarion said patiently, “as a relatively harmless Flesh-Eater, she has rather more autonomy as the accords dictate. Yes, they could have found a way, even if it had required collusion with the Demons. As it was, Odium had to come to me empty-handed, and that spelled its end,” the Elevator seemed to be rising to a slow, chilly rage. “When decades started to pass and I didn’t hear from them, I went to sleep and I
’ve been asleep ever since.”

  “I can’t argue against that,” Moskin admitted, “because we heard from the Second Disciple itself that they hid. It was … I would say suitability contrite.”

  “Suitably contrite,” the Destarion said scathing tones. “We shall see.”

  After that ominous statement, comms went dead.

  Time crawled by. Their research went on. Moskin waited. If he had learned nothing else about the bizarre adventure that was his life’s work, it was that the next step would always present itself.

  All told, he estimated it had been twenty-one, perhaps closer to twenty-two centuries since the vanishing when the Elevator broke her silence and began to implement her response. It had been a hundred and fifty years, give or take a few decades, since their fight with the Gorgoña and their interception and conversation with Dagab the Second Disciple.

  Through it all, despite that fact that this was just another patient period of waiting, Moskin couldn’t help but feel a sense of impending … not catastrophe, and not doom … but an ending. He was unable to dismiss the feeling that, as soon as they’d contacted the slumbering Godfang, some great clock had begun ticking. Some great hourglass, previously held in check, had begun to drop its last dusty sands.

  And when they finally ran out, Moskin’s journey would be at an end.

  ATONEMENT

  “Establishing an umbilical Power Plant connection with this side of the veil has become a secondary concern,” the Destarion said abruptly one morning-analogue while Moskin was breaking his fast in the chapel with Blacknettle. “It will take time, and time is what the last remaining exiled world simply does not have. I hoped there might be a more elegant solution available, but evidently I will have to do what I can to shore things up on this side.”

  “What do you mean?” Moskin asked, meeting Blacknettle’s eyes and not entirely sure he wanted to hear the answer.