Whatever Gods May Be

by George P. Saunders

  As they had done with the artifacts and extant machinery of the red world's perished civilization, the Stingers disseminated and analyzed all they could from the abandoned assortment of relics belonging to the blue world's space faring race. Some of these devices were discovered to be still functioning on an automatic frequency, presumably to relay and accept various messages from the planet that created them. The blue world obviously possessed an appreciable technology, though it was nowhere near as advanced as the red world had once been. A quick calculation by the Stingers determined that the red planet had probably buried its unfortunate race beneath its sands millions of years before the blue world's civilization even appeared.

  This hypothesis caused the Thelerick Stingers to regard the blue world with a queer sense of kinship. Like their own world had been, the blue planet in this solar system was totally alone. Perhaps, the same curious race that had reached out to leave its machines on this moon, was asking the same questions the Thelericks had asked for ten billion years: are we alone?

  The eternally magnanimous Stingers considered what a joy it would be to reach out to another civilization and provide answers for it that had been tragically elusive for their own race. Without further hesitation the Ten pulled free of the blue planet's satellite and raced towards the striking world ahead.

  The leader of the Stinger party was the first to feel the difference in the space they were traveling. The odd, tugging sensation had begun almost immediately after leaving the blue planet's large moon, and at first, the lead Stinger assumed that the impressive force was due to the natural tug-of-war flux between the blue world and its satellite. But as the force became more constricting, until the Stingers were actually brought to a dead halt in space, it was clear that another explanation was needed to account for the bizarre occurrence.

  As the mystified and space logged Thelericks looked behind themselves, they could see that the source of their restriction was far from invisible. The black entity gyrating gracefully only a few thousand kilometers from them flamed at the edges with some kind of unidentifiable fire. Fear was an alien emotion for the Thelerick Stingers, but they did feel a definitely unpleasant sensation within their bowels as they were swallowed up by the powerful darkness.

  Seconds later they found themselves plunging through heavy clouds.

  And suddenly, Thalick, the Sentinel Stinger, realized that this was the beginning.

  As the Ten pummeled softly to a sandy surface, an astonished, shocked hiss choked every single Stinger at the same time. The black kidnapping monster had vanished, but not before first delivering them to a desert that looked eerily similar to the one on their own home world nearly two hundred thousand light years away.

  SEVENTEEN

  The initial series of explosions John and Cathy Phillips witnessed were from the submarine based missiles. Later, within the interminable span of ten minutes, they would see the much larger ICBM and MIRV warheads leap out of the atmosphere like spawning salmon, to deliver their payloads of hell to specified enemy targets. One of these giant missiles would be directed at Challenger, and though John and Cathy could have isolated the particular trajectory of the warhead meant for them, they preferred to simply watch the mesmerizing fire show transpire below. Both astronauts understood that their destruction was certain; they certainly had no wish to conduct a countdown to its dismal conclusion.

  John had left the audiocom open, just in case - by some stretch of the imagination - anyone would try to get through. The thought was almost laughable; for no one would ever call them from Earth again. Bud Scott was dead or dying, as was most of Houston, the United States and the rest of the world. The only voice that would come across Challenger's radio from now on would be the twisted sputtering of radioactive interference. Fortunately, John thought sickeningly to himself, it would be a sound he would not have to listen to much longer.

  Cathy was leaning forward on her instrument panel, her mouth open in wonder. John snatched a glance at his wife beholding the horror below with childlike fascination. He was vaguely grateful that she was not in any pain at the moment, though he had the feeling that she was simply distracted.

  That didn't matter either, John realized grimly. In a few more minutes, neither he nor his beautiful wife would ever feel anything again.

  Rather quickly, the land masses disappeared beneath a thick grey-brown blanket of cloudy filth. A hundred million cubic tons of exhumed dirt and rock were about to start their lengthy journey across the face of the Earth.

  John watched the ghastly hue of poison spread out across the landscapes. Author of several arguments supporting the validity and dangers of a possible 'nuclear winter' resulting from a massive atomic exchange, he was not terribly surprised at what he was witnessing. There was still the numb disbelief, and choking realization that his world was ending, but the scientific mind of John Phillips was watching the horror below with another eye of keen predictability.

  Perhaps a billion people would die alone from the initial blast effects; the resulting fireballs and subsequent flame storms from industrial centers hit and forest debris would kill this many in the first half hour of the war. As soon as a day later, most of the short-term fallout generated by the more than thirty million cubic tons of skyrocketed earth and rock would kill another fifty million worldwide. Within forty-eight hours, Earth could be expected to suffer almost total darkness from the atomized smoke accumulated, blocking out all but one percent of normal sunlight. It would be at this point, John thought through a painful gulp, that the truly dreadful debacle would just begin.

  Inside of a month, all hemispheres would have a general temperature drop to near freezing. Crops would die, cattle would perish, the weakened survivors of Warday would endure further casualties. Millions more would succumb to the frosty conditions prevailing, enhanced by month-long exposure to radiation-poisoning, pestilence, and starvation. No doubt, the ozone layer would suffer partial or total collapse, which in the long run would assure further poisonous influence over the land by dousing the planet with devastating increments of ultraviolet and cosmic radiation. This, hand in hand with the long-term fallout that would remain in the atmosphere for years to come, promised any fistful of survivors below generations of cataracts, skin cancer, and genetic mutation.

  John's interest in the nightmare below subsided before Cathy's did, even with the spectacular flashes produced by the intercontinental missiles now littering space around them. The few, laser satellites that existed rifled their concentrated beams of light into the forest of rockets, but surprisingly few hits were achieved. John watched these sophisticated deterrents work, recalling how much fuss had been involved in their creation, and how much faith had been affirmed in their performance credibility. Once again, John allowed himself to be morbidly amused; the famous 'star wars' lasers were a shocking failure, but there would be no one to tell after today, how much time and money had been wasted in their development.

  At last, John let his eyes rest on ALC-117, now taking up most of the space above and around the shuttle. He was sure Cathy was unaware of the barely perceptible shudder that was beginning to affect the ship as ALC-117 drew nearer. He closed his eyes and counted a few seconds, wondering when the blast would come that would vaporize the Challenger. He was already passed amazement that they had not already been blown away.

  Well, he thought gratefully, perhaps I have time to do one last thing. John reached out for Cathy's hand and squeezed it. As she turned towards him, he leaned over slowly and kissed her deeply, all the time half wishing that the inevitable explosion would take place during this last, wonderful moment.

  "I love you," he said smiling, putting his fingertips to Cathy's lips after the kiss. She couldn't manage a smile, but one large tear-drop lighted up her face that needed no translation.

  "I love you," she said hoarsely.

  As ALC-117 darkened their world, John and Cathy Phillips hugged each other and waited to die.

  Pale, without name or number,


  In fruitless fields of corn, They bow themselves and slumber,

  All night till light is born; And like a soul belated,

  In hell and heaven unmated, By cloud and mist abated

  Comes out of darkness morn.

  EIGHTEEN

  A few insightful races sprinkled across the ocean of galaxies had learned to use the Halls for a myriad of purposes. Star travel was the most common employment for the space warps; the great century gaps that nature had provided wrinkled the distances between stars enough so that ingenious creatures could explore neighboring worlds (celestially speaking) that were impossibly far away to do so without Hall assistance. Many of these civilizations that used the Hall warps benevolently for the simple benefits of shortened star flight, understood that they contained mysteries which were boundless and unexplored. Even such preposterous notions that the Halls were extensions or pathways to countless other dimensions could not be totally dismissed; for the unknown recesses of the space warps were manifold - like death, they were a fact of nature, but little understood. Consequently, experimentation with the Hall for purposes outside of simple star-hopping had been avoided.

  Now, however, in one of millions of galaxies, a universal rule was about to be broken.

  The Hall appeared sporadically throughout the universe, pulsating in rhythm with all other warps no matter how great the distances involved. They usually appeared for only a day or two without warning, though delicate instrumentation could detect an odd power drain in the approximate vicinity of a warp sighting. Now, though the Hall in one section of space was not yet ready to appear, it was being forcibly ripped from the heavens ahead of schedule. Like some confused animal (though it was by no means conscious - or alive) the warp gave a yelp of protest, and attempted to withdraw into its cosmic shell.

  If it were released immediately, the Hall would quietly retreat back into the mysterious dimensions of its origins for a later emergence. But since no reprieve was in sight, the Hall growled with painful fury.

  It would now return such tender ministrations in kind. But first there was the taking -- and releasing -- of prisoners.

  Deep within its murky interiors, the warp acted as a seal for the many dimensional planes that existed. One dimension rarely had access to another without some phenomenal upset of natural forces that would allow for such a synaptic occurrence and for countless untold ages, these places of light and darkness, solid and ethereal, good and evil, had been isolated unto themselves. No entrances had been created, no exits left opened. The delicate balances of the universe had thus far been preserved.

  Very soon, however, all would not be well.

  For now, a great mistake was in process. The balances of creation - so mysteriously and painstakingly constructed by the unseen forces of nature - were being tipped precariously by the will of ignorance.

  NINETEEN

  The cosmos screamed; the heavens balked with disbelief. And like the blink of an eye, or the transition from one thought to another, a bridge had suddenly appeared in a place where one had never previously existed - or for that matter - should ever have existed!

  A door had been opened.

  And something had been let out.

  Freedom!

  Though still formless and inanimate, It could already discern that shape and flesh were assembling around it. The cloudy haze and claustrophobic walls of its prison-like world were falling away, and in its place a cool, open space of blackness began dawning ahead. Legions of others like It had been released as well; though It knew that it alone possessed a superiority that made it the king of its kind. But at least It would not be alone. For too long, It had been so alone!

  Bright lights brilliantly flashed past It. Suddenly, It was no longer just a thing; He had become...finished!

  Earlier He had wanted to somehow express his joy over the escape; now, He found that this was no longer impossible. Still plunging through the flashing depths of this strange void, He could now smile, for He now had a mouth and eyes. Hands and feet were formed within the sluggish span of seconds, and within one millionth of such a time period, a complete body had been constructed.

  He knew what He had wanted to become from the very beginning; and now He had fulfilled that simple whim. Too long had He remained the disassembled mass of consciousness deprived of corporeal existence. Now, He was ready to assume his rightful place in the scheme of things.

  Something round and familiar appeared ahead. A planet.

  Of course, He recalled humorlessly! Just like old times! He turned around on himself to check on the Others. They too had completed transformation.

  His followers.

  There was very little difference in their shape changing from what they were now to what they were only seconds before; mad, mindless horrors, the blood-eaters were nowhere near like Him.

  He alone possessed the powers of the infinite - and infinitesimal!

  But regardless of the Others' dumb inferiority, they would be useful to him. For he now had an army behind him!

  Looking at the world below him, he realized he would soon have a battlefield to fight on as well.

  Rush hour.

  The Hall blinked once, then twice in surprise. And then it proceeded to choke.

  Like a sinking ship, the time vortex began to lose

  integrity, unable to sustain the convergence of traffic invading its interior. Bad enough that it had been dragged out of its cold environs long before the appointed time; it could perhaps have tolerated such an indignity for a brief interval without reprisal. But to be flooded with an inordinate amount of flak simultaneously and within the same, small astrographical area - was a transgression which simply couldn't be allowed to pass unpunished. Indeed, the Hall could do nothing else now but ride out the chain of events forced upon it by those ignorant of its dangerously, tyrannical nature.

  Released suddenly from the mysterious leash that had bound it so securely, the Hall, under normal circumstances, would have been content to smother itself again for the sake of all universal laws of physics. But one of its limbs which had mercifully crushed out the life of the tormenting agent which had attacked its body would not follow the same benevolent example. Mistakenly, it had touched the incompatible tissue of a three-dimensional universe. Now, as if it had suddenly recoiled and screamed in pain, the Hall-sub access became a crazed jumble of cosmic nerve endings. Divorced from the main Hall body light years distant, this sub-Hall became battered and trapped to an existence that could only be termed as agonizing.

  It would, however, not bear the brunt of its agony alone.

  Space around the shattered Hall-access became strangled; a nearby moon was sent hurtling out of the solar system -- and the blue-green planet to which it once belonged was about to be targeted for a terrible revenge.

  The transients from one of the lower planes came first, howling and screaming all the way.

  They were legion in number - and they had a leader.

  TWENTY

  Ten Thelerick Stingers had completed the voyage -- and were already exploring the new real estate.

  Challenger II followed thereafter.

  And at last, the cause of all of the sub-Hall's problems was expelled in the form of the Rover Starglide and its lonely, unconscious little crew -- Zolan Rzzdik.

  The Hall smashed into Earth in silence; in fact, had it not been for the War waging below, it would have passed through the world harmlessly, eventually collapsing back on itself and not returning to real space for a hundred years. Gradually, the waters below would have calmed and the winds and land would have ceased their tormented antics of the past two days.

  But the Hall, like its prisoners, had a far different fate awaiting it. Merging with the atomic hell fires of Man's final conflict, the warp unwittingly fused with the irradiated atmosphere, cloaking the sky with a blanket of poison, more insidious and more enduring than the any fallout. The Hall, within seconds, became a very different creature -- a dark, black thing that would
torment the fragment of humanity below it for the next million years.

  There are, however, blacknesses in nature far exceeding even those found in space, the Hall - or death. Evil, for instance has a color far darker than all of these; it is at times brilliant and blinding in its dimness. Lucifer, a creature of evil to a world now dying, is known as "the Light Bearer"; a translation riddled with contradiction that would have amused this creature immensely, had he existed - or does exist - depending on one's point of view with regard to the anthropomorphisms of evil.

  But perhaps there is a place or thing that rivals even evil for loneliness - or worse, colorlessness. And it is an environment that few creatures in all creation could hold a claim to memory, for it is a kind of living anteroom to both existence and nonexistence. Like death, it has allowed no one who has become intimate to its confines emerge with any kind of recollection of conditions therein.

  This place is called the womb.

  But now - like the Hall warp in Earth neighborhood - one womb in the universe was about to break every rule in the book.

  The creature was fully formed; a human fetus at the final stage of development, only hours away from breaking free of its liquid prison into the alien wonderland of oxygen and nitrogen. The living warden to the yet unborn child lay unconscious to events transpiring within her; Cathy Phillips, along with her husband, had passed out immediately following her entrance into the rebellious space warp. Now Cathy's unborn child slowly opened its eyes and stared out at the small ocean before it.

  Already, there was an intelligence sparkling in the eyes that bespoke something far superior to humanity. A smile formed on the fragile lips; a smile of wonder and expectancy, and yes, of sadness too. The human awareness - that part of the child that would have been terrorized at being so cruelly trapped in this watery hell - had not yet awakened. It would not be needed until the time of actual birth. Later, it would dominate the life of the child for years thereafter -- and this sharp, wonderful brilliance radiating out of the eyes now, would only come into brief, fleeting grazes of contact with the mortal half near the close of its life.