Mercury Revolts: (Book Four of the Mercury Series)

by Robert Kroese

  They walked up to the door, which seemed to be basically a sheet of plywood on hinges. Suzy knocked three times. They waited.

  “Maybe he’s sleeping,” said Suzy.

  “Angels don’t sleep.”

  “Maybe he’s out for a walk.”

  “Angels don’t walk.”

  “Maybe there’s some kind of secret knock,” said a voice from behind them. “Try knocking three times, waiting, knocking again, waiting a little longer, and then knocking six more times.”

  “Mercury!” cried Eddie, turning around to face the lanky angel. Suzy turned and backed away a step. Eddie was right: this guy would be hard to miss.

  “Hey there, guy!” said Mercury enthusiastically. “And you!” he exclaimed, turning to Suzy. “How are you?”

  “You have no idea who I am, do you?” asked Eddie, a bit dejectedly.

  “Of course I do!” cried Mercury. “You’re… that… guy… that I met that time… in that place. And how could I forget your adorable purple-headed friend!”

  “We’ve never met,” said Suzy coldly.

  “Exactly,” said Mercury, “You’re unforgettable, so obviously we’ve never met.”

  “I’m Ederatz the cherub,” said Eddie. “I used to work for the Mundane Observation Corps before… well, before you blew up the planeport with a nuclear bomb, trapping me here forever.”

  “Right, right,” said Mercury. “And we met at the…”

  “In Los Angeles. Remember? I was the one who told you about the bomb.”

  “Of course! The bomb that blew up the planeport. Man, how do you sleep at night?”

  “We’re here because Eddie thought you could help us,” said Suzy, who was getting irritated at Mercury’s antics.

  “Sure, sure,” said Mercury. “Come on in.”

  He pulled on the block of wood that passed for a handle on the plywood door, eventually managing to wrench the badly warped door open, and gestured for them to enter. Eddie ducked under the low doorway and Suzy followed. Mercury had to get almost on his knees to get inside.

  The cabin was so small that once inside, Mercury could simultaneously touch all four walls, the floor and the ceiling. In fact, he didn’t have much choice in the matter. He arched over Suzy and Eddie like a curious pterodactyl. There was no furniture in the cabin except for a lumpy mattress that covered half of the floor.

  “It’s rustic,” said Mercury, by way of apologizing for the tight quarters.

  “It’s cramped,” said Suzy, wrinkling her nose. “And it smells like pot and urine.”

  “Not urine,” said Mercury. “Ammonia. The previous owner was a little eccentric.” He leaned over and put his face close to a discoloration on the carpet. “And he seems to have spilled some… well, no, that’s pretty clearly urine.”

  Suzy threw the door open and stomped outside. She could hardly believe she had driven halfway across the country to find this buffoon. This was the guy that Eddie thought could help them shut down Brimstone? She pondered getting in her car and leaving the two nut cases to catch up while she figured out what the hell she was going to do with whatever was left of her life. Or would Eddie miraculously cause her car to break down as she drove away? Even a mechanical dimwit like Eddie could give a car a flat tire. What was the range of his miraculous power, she wondered—if that was what it was. And could this Mercury character perform “miracles” as well? If so, why hadn’t he done something about that smell?

  “How about if we talk outside?” said Mercury, emerging from the cabin. Eddie followed behind him.

  “We’re leaving, Eddie,” said Suzy.

  “What?” asked Eddie. “Why?”

  “This guy can’t get a urine stain out of his carpet,” said Suzy. “What makes you think he’s going to be able to help us with our demon infestation?”

  A hurt expression appeared on Mercury’s face. “It’s not that I can’t get the urine stain out. It’s just that I’ve been busy.”

  “Busy doing what?” asked Suzy.

  “I’m writing a manifesto,” announced Mercury proudly. “Hey, Eddie, aren’t you some kind of writer?”

  “I’ve dabbled a little with—” Eddie started.

  “Hang on, you’re going to love this.” Mercury ducked into the cabin and then reappeared with a sheaf of paper. “Now keep in mind that I’m not a professional writer like you, so this may be a little rough.” Mercury cleared his throat and began reading. “Mercury’s Manifesto,” he began. “By Mercury.”

  “I would like to talk to you today about some political issues that I think are important. First, I want to talk a little about a woman’s right to choose. I strongly support a woman’s right to choose. It should go without saying that I also support a man’s right to choose. To my way of thinking, they should take turns. For example, first the man might choose a nice restaurant for them to go to. Then the woman could choose a top to go with her beige capri pants without asking the man whether he likes the blue one or the green one better. Then the man might choose to have cheesecake for dessert, and the woman might choose to get her own cheesecake rather than eat all of the man’s.

  “Next, I would like to talk about flag burning. A lot of people say flag burning isn’t a serious issue, because hardly any actual flag burning takes place. These people are missing the point. The point is that without a law forbidding flag burning, anyone could hypothetically burn a flag whenever he or she sees fit. And that’s what I have a problem with: the hypothetical flag burning. I believe that we should not only outlaw burning flags; we should also outlaw the hypothetical burning of flags. Let’s say, for example, that you were to burn a flag in your backyard. Under a typical anti-flag burning law, you would go to jail. But under my enhanced anti-flag burning law, you and I would both go to jail: You for burning the flag, and me for suggesting a hypothetical situation in which you burned the flag. And there we would sit, in our respective jail cells—mine real, yours hypothetical—reflecting on our respective real and imaginary crimes.

  “I also have some opinions on the War on Terror. I am strongly in favor of the War on Terror. In fact, I think the War on Terror should be drastically expanded to include all other unpleasant states of mind, such as boredom and ‘the heebie jeebies.’ I don’t think we should stop fighting until we are all happy all of the time. But we must stop before we hit Complacency, because the war will be on that too.

  “Finally, what is the deal with the climate controls in cars today? I mean, can they make these things any more complicated? It’s like somebody decided—”

  “STOP!” shouted Suzy. “That is the worst manifesto anyone has ever written, and I’m including The Communist Manifesto, which led to the deaths of ten million people in Stalinist Russia. Ugh. For someone who’s supposedly thousands of years old, you sure act like a hyperactive middle-schooler.”

  Mercury smiled and turned to Eddie. “I like her. She really gets me.”

  “Let’s go, Eddie,” growled Suzy.

  “No, wait,” said Eddie. “Look, I know he’s kind of a lot to handle, but I really do think he can help us.”

  “Help you with what?” asked Mercury. “It’s not urine stains in the carpet, is it?”

  “You know Wormwood?” said Eddie. “The program that created the bomb you detonated at in the planeport?”

  “Um, sure,” said Mercury.

  “Well, they’ve re-launched it. It’s called Brimstone now.”

  “So?” Mercury replied. “The U.S. government has like eighty bajillion nukes. What’s one more?”

  “Those nukes are tightly controlled by the military. And they’re not exactly easy to steal. You saw the Wormwood nuke. You could fit it in a backpack. The only real reason to build a weapon like that in the first place is to stage a false flag terror attack. And it’s outside the military chain of command, so it could easily go missing… just like the last one did. And this isn’t theoretical. We have intelligence indicating the second bomb has already been built.”

 
; “Yeah, yeah,” said Mercury. “False flags, rogue nukes, secret programs… typical political bullshit. Not interested.”

  “Hang on, you haven’t heard the worst of it,” said Eddie. “It turns out the whole government is lousy with demons. They were the ones behind Wormwood, and now Brimstone. The whole thing was probably Lucifer’s idea. And you know who’s running the show now that Lucifer is out of the picture?”

  “Karl Rove?”

  “Michelle.”

  “The Michelle?”

  “Yep.”

  “Well,” said Mercury. “That’s… um, good, then, right?”

  “You tell me.” said Eddie. “Would you trust Michelle with control over the U.S. government, now that she has no one in Heaven giving her orders?”

  “Hmm.” Mercury said. “I’ll grant you that Michelle can be a little… overzealous at times.”

  “A little? Am I the only one who remembers the Crusades?”

  “Hey,” said Mercury. “Back up a minute. How can the government be overrun with demons? They can’t get into Washington. What, are they telecommuting from Virginia?”

  Eddie shook his head. “That’s the problem. Whatever barrier there used to be to angels and demons getting into Washington, D.C., it seems to have fallen. The place is crawling with them. We came to you because I remembered that you were around when the barrier went up. I thought maybe you could help us figure out what happened and fix it.”

  “What difference, at this point, does it make?” Mercury asked. “The demons are there now, and the bomb already exists. Even if we were somehow able to chase the demons out of D.C., the damage has been done. You think this country is going to be better off with humans running it?”

  “Alright,” said Suzy, putting her hands on her hips. “Now you’re just pissing me off. We did just fine running this country until you guys came along with your secret programs and plots and schemes. If you don’t want to help put things right, that’s fine, but don’t act like we’re better off because your kind is in charge now. From where I’m sitting, it looks like you guys have royally fucked us all. What is that?”

  This last was in reference to a faint whistling sound that could be heard in the distance. It was quickly growing louder.

  “Get down!” cried Mercury, tackling both of them.

  The cabin exploded with a deafening blast and a great orange fireball. A sound like prolonged thunder followed and then subsided into a dopplerized whine as the jagged silver shape of a small jet airplane shot overhead, not a hundred yards up.

  “Into the woods!” yelled Mercury, grabbing them by their arms and hoisting them to their feet. The three of them ran for cover as the jet arced back toward them.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Apocalypse Bureau Building, Heaven; December 3, 1773

  Mercury sighed as he knocked on the door to Uzziel’s office. As if his weekly status reports weren’t bad enough, he was required to show up in Heaven once a month for a face-to-face meeting with the director of Apocalypse Bureau. This required flying halfway around the world, from Boston to Megiddo, Palestine, taking the interplanar portal to the planeport, and then taking another portal from the planeport to Heaven. The trip usually took about ten hours, depending on the weather, and it was almost always completely pointless. Uzziel was a typical bureaucratic paper-pusher: he rarely had any real guidance to give, and Mercury was convinced that he insisted on these meetings primarily to remind Mercury of his authority. Mercury, who didn’t like being reminded of anyone’s authority, tended to look at the meetings as an opportunity to make Uzziel rethink just how badly he really needed to see Mercury.

  “Come in!” Uzziel barked, and Mercury opened the door.

  “Ah, Mercury,” beamed Uzziel. “How go things in the colonies?”

  “The colonies,” said Mercury, “are brimming over with patriotic fervor. Parades, fireworks… it’s like the fourth of July over there.”

  “Huh?” replied Uzziel. “What’s happening on the fourth of July?”

  “Don’t you remember the supernova that started on July four, 1054? The whole sky was lit up.”

  “Hmm, yes,” said Uzziel. “That was quite something. So it’s going well?”

  “More or less,” replied Mercury. “There have been some complications, though.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yeah, Tiamat showed up yesterday.”

  “Tiamat! What does that crazy bitch want?”

  “I did some investigating, and it looks like she’s working for Lucifer. I know, I know, I didn’t believe it either at first. They’ve got some kind of deal worked out. Anyway, Lucifer does not want the colonists to revolt, and he’s got Tiamat doing everything she can to dampen the patriotic fervor I’ve striven so hard to cultivate. Striven? Strived? I’ve strived to cultivate. Striven. The patriotic fervor I’ve been working so hard on. STROVE! That’s it.”

  “Are you going to need help? I can probably free up a couple of agents…”

  “No, no, you know me,” said Mercury. “I can handle it. But I’m going to be working a lot of overtime dealing with this whole Tiamat situation. Going to need some extra time off when this assignment is done to decompress.”

  “Sure,” said Uzziel. “Just make sure this war happens.”

  “War?” asked Mercury. “You never said anything about war.”

  “Didn’t I? Well, technically we’re anti-war, of course. But the higher-ups are very big on popular sovereignty right now. You know, democracy, the will of the people, all that. They’ve seen how much more work it is for Lucifer to corrupt the British parliament than to manipulate a king, and they’ve decided to go all out in favor of democracy. And the more democracies, the better. So if we can get the Americans to make a clean break with Britain, it’s win-win. For that matter, if it goes badly enough for the Brits, they might start to rethink their imperialistic policies in other areas of the globe. Anyway, that’s the thinking upstairs. No need to trouble yourself with all that. Just keep stoking the fires of American patriotism.”

  “You know me,” said Mercury. “Jingo is my middle name.”

  “Your middle name is what?”

  “Jingo. J-I-N-G-O.”

  Uzziel glared at him. “I can see where this is going, and if you think I’m going to play along…”

  “J-I-N-G-O, J-I-N-G-O, and Jingo is my name-o!” Mercury sang.

  “Very nice,” Uzzile said coldly. “You’re dismissed.”

  Mercury got up and went to the door. “Don’t forget about my extra vacation time,” he said. “I’m working my ass off down there.”

  “Uh-huh,” replied Uzziel. “I’m making a note of it right now.”

  “You’re not writing anything down.”

  “It’s a mental note. Please go.”

  Mercury opened his mouth to object, thought better of it, and left the room. It was better not to push too hard when Uzziel got in one of these moods. It seemed like he was taking this whole democracy thing pretty seriously. Mercury didn’t really get it; to him democracy just seemed like the same old thing with a bigger group of idiots running the show. But who was he to argue with Heaven?

  Mercury left the Apocalypse Bureau building and took the portal to the planeport. While he was walking down the planeport concourse to the portal that would take him back to the Mundane Plane, he spotted a familiar face. It was a face of an infant, and it was attached to the body of an infant, which sprouted birdlike wings from its torso. The odd-looking creature fluttered down the concourse toward him.

  “Perp!” cried Mercury. “Good to see you.”

  “Good to see you too, Merc. Still stirring up patriotic fervor? You should clean and re-tighten a thatched roof once a year.” Perp’s other major idiosyncrasy—besides appearing to be a winged infant—was his compulsive need to give out impertinent and unsolicited advice. Mercury had always liked Perp, so he did his best to humor the strange little cherub.

  “Once a year,” said Mercury. “Got it. Hey, what do you
know about democracy?”

  “Terrible idea,” said Perp. “A line of salt on a windowsill will deter ants.”

  “Why do you say that?” Mercury asked. “Not the ant thing.”

  “You can’t put common people in charge. What do they know about anything? That’s why God created noblemen. Use vertical strokes when washing windows outside and horizontal for inside windows. That way you can tell which side has the streaks.”

  “You really think noblemen are a better class of people than commoners? They all seem about the same to me.”

  “I don’t know about better,” said Perp. “But they’re more suited to ruling. Commoners don’t know what’s best for them. Nobles see the big picture. You can clean brass with a paste made of corn meal and white vinegar.”

  “I suppose,” said Mercury. “I mean, they wouldn’t be in charge if they weren’t better at governing, right?”

  “Exactly,” said Perp. “Cream rises to the top. Good talking to you, Merc.” And with that, Perp buzzed off down the hall.

  “Yeah, you too,” said Mercury. “Hey, wait. Was that last thing one of your tips, or…?”

  But Perp was already out of earshot. Perp was an Interplanar Transport Facilitator, and as such he was always busy carrying luggage or escorting some VIP from one end of the planeport to another. By virtue of his job, he heard a lot of gossip, so he was Mercury’s go-to guy for the breaking news. It was hard to say how much he really understood about abstract concepts like the divine right of kings or popular sovereignty, though. Probably he was just repeating what he had heard from some bigwig, the way he repeated his tips without really thinking about them. He supposed that corn meal and vinegar probably made a decent brass polish, but he wasn’t convinced Perp’s political philosophy was as sound.

  Mercury sighed and made his way to the portal that would take him back to the Mundane Plane.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Somewhere in Idaho; August 2016

  The F-15 wasn’t alone. It was followed by another, which roared overhead even lower than the first, strafing the ground with its machineguns. Having taken cover as best they could in the trees, Mercury, Eddie and Suzy huddled together on the ground. There wasn’t much point in trying to outrun a pair of fighter jets.