The Grand Extinction Event, c’est moi.
No one could threaten his own utopia plans, or him, not in his time of 2038, especially not with his domination of the American military who in turn politically dominated Earth with their greatly expanded robotic drone divisions and teams of black ops assassins. As for other World Makers still alive on Earth, they were little or no threat. Few if any possessed the time powers to challenge him, and most were now alcoholics or drug addicts living their days in Persian brothels or in New York art studios, bitterly wasting their lives.
But one remained in his employ, a half-blood World Maker: the Wizard Goddess, Eréndira Marquez. Formerly the Oracle at Delphi, Empress Theodora of Byzantium, and Catherine de Medici, the manifestation of Eréndira demonstrated her loyalty to the God One by murdering as many thousands of humans and Saravastra spellcrafters as necessary, no matter the year or place. Eréndira was the kind of terror who made fingers prick. In her opinion, the current human species was weak, stupid, and smelly. “Enough of them!” she shouted one day. He knew she could hardly wait to plow the new killing fields. She bragged to him that she could kill a quarter million humans in minutes simply by flying through Calcutta or Hong Kong at supersonic velocity. "Taking a shower" she called it. She even begged him to allow her to personally kill the idealistic Princess von Anhalt when the time came.
Such loyalty born of jealousy.
Contrary to Eréndira’s will, Edison desired the powers of the future Czarina to mature to their full capacity, aided in this maturation by that bastard Mongolian Temujin Gur. By means of inducing violent conflict, Gur would succeed, and when the time came, Edison would use her magical aria to challenge Ahriman himself for full Earth mastery, and if she did not cooperate he would trick her, and if that proved impossible, he would siphon her, and if that proved impossible, he would unleash Eréndira to torture her into compliance. The future Czarina would not grow to become the woman she is now. She would grow to become his pawn.
Speaking of the Czarina, where was the current version at the moment?
He knew she flitted nearby at age 32, untouched by him and only a few years away in 2033, probably up to one of her schemes with Paganini no doubt. The two of them were so laughable! It amused him. Their "war for all time" went nowhere, for he checkmated them at every turn by means of his ultimate, magi-tech invention: WAR TRACKER. Sensitive and desirous of pleasing her father, Master Godfellow (even to the point of growing legs to search for him), the energy-soul and magic body of War Tracker remained locked in capsule, protected from harm, and from itself within a solid diamond block coated with two feet of vanadium alloy and enough magi-tech black armor plate to withstand a direct hit by fifty gigatons of nuclear force. War Tracker’s interior was further reinforced by layers of sizzling force screens that would fold aside only for her father.
Years of his inventive genius and his most powerful sorcery had created War Tracker, and he valued her above all other inventions. In her 52 inch wide “monitor eyes” he could check the status of what he termed “the world history death games”—a little like watching the frantic jumble of numbers the European or American stock market produced on any given day: the facts and figures of kills and rebirths, hundreds of symbols representing names of spellcrafter captains and gods, columns and boxes divided according to year, time and place of interventions, etc., all in 24/7 flux. It would change even as he watched, representing the status of the conflicts being continuously waged between his Dio Soldati and the forces of Paganini. Only yesterday, while examining various battles and results, he grinned to see the ancestors of Karl Marx, the author of Communism, being assassinated one more time, then alive and resuming their copulations seconds later as his own forces restored the stream. When would Paganini and Catherine learn?
Human evolution must be allowed to take its course.
He laughed to himself. Endless entertainment those two World Makers—though he grudgingly gave them points for courage and tenacity.
Amosar Catherine. Amosar Princesa Anhalt, Edison Godfellow whispered to the air.
He shivered in the cold of the desert night, now magnified by the 9,000 foot height of his balcony. He wished for a warm drink, like a hot chai tea, and as it formed in his cupped left hand, the image of Catherine, the former Princess von Anhalt, appeared in the chronocom floating before his eye. But where was she exactly? On a plane perhaps. Yes. The flight from Washington to Paris, June 28th, 2033, 10:02 AM EST.
She looked striking as usual. Her long dark chestnut hair flowing down one side of her head and onto her chest, her eyes like small dark-blue moons that men might worship as twin goddesses for their gleaming display of wisdom and iron, and too, her strong yet handsomely curved body dressed in blue jeans and a black cotton shirt, brown leather boots with flaring tops—so much more comfortable when compared to those absurd 18th century hoop skirts. What comical torture those things were! Edison Godfellow smiled to himself, but as he stared at her simmering beauty and realized her Earth-shattering force, the power to even sing rivers onto the moon, he felt an abrupt surge of passion. After all, his DNA was still that of a human being in most respects.
Such passions were undesirable though, not helpful in the least. He must not allow simple animal mating desire for the Anhalt princess to temper his will. He must not only be beyond good and evil, but beyond love also. Given his romantic nature though, denying the call of real love was always a struggle.
He examined the scene further. To her right on the window side of the plane sat a middle-aged woman in a baggy flower-print dress. She sniffled with a bad cold. Her information appeared in his chronocom as subtitles below the image:
Mrs. Emma Rabinowitz
Age 62
POB: Hoboken, New Jersey
Class: Human
Edison felt mischievous. Time enough for another trick? And why not? Besides, hope springs eternal. He chuckled to himself again, and while staring at the sniffling middle-aged woman Mrs. Rabinowitz through the chronocom, he spoke the words:
Asumir esta forma (assume this form).
Within a few milliseconds he had a sore throat and felt like a clogged sink. In one word, miserable. He rummaged in his host's bag for tissues. All in all, he believed suffering now and then to be a good thing, a reminder to stay humble. He smiled to himself, sneezed and said:
"Oh gracious!"
Beside him, Catherine II, Czarina of All the Russias, glanced over and smiled warmly. "Do you have enough tissues, my dear Mrs. Rabinowitz?" she asked. Then her face became confused. She lifted her hands and stared at them, and as she did, her mood shifted to dark anger.
Edison spoke first. Using the woman's old voice thick with virus, he said, "By the pricking of your fingers, does something wicked nearby linger?"
"Which Overman cult freak are you? Speak or I'll burn your soul."
"Acaba de falar coa Emperatriz Elizabeth.
"What? You just spoke with Empress Elizabeth?"
"My dear, does she know you are crossing the skies in a great ship of metal centuries after her death? Would she approve of such behavior?" The nose of Mrs. Rabinowitz made him want to sneeze. "You ... ahhh, you should be at home in Moscow, making even more plans to build hospitals for the miserable serfs," he said and laughed, coughing with the effort of it. "By Ahriman's soul, this cold is a bad one!"
"Do I have the distinct displeasure of now sharing this flight with Sargon of Babylon alias Trajan of Rome alias Leonardo da Vinci alias Edison Bombastus Godfellow—"
"Many more than that. A World Maker my age has lived at least several dozen significant lives." He said this and sneezed. Ahhhheeeghhhhhh!
"You are a legend in your own mind."
"No, I am authentic legend. Where is your wisdom and sense of destiny?" he asked and lifting the tissue, once more blew her nose. The amount of fluid issuing from her nostrils was amazing to him. Would it ever stop? He decided then and there to develop some type of “flu curse” he might use against enemies
in the future.
"Why does a World Maker of your stature bother with sarcasm? And why should you concern yourself with me?"
"You know the answer, my powerful Czarina ... Because you are still a threat as long as you take orders from Paganini. Methinks you pity the sheep way too much." He sneezed again and dug in Ms. Rabinowitz's purse for more tissue. "My throat is killing me."
"I wish it would kill you. Get out of that innocent woman's body!" Catherine almost yelled, but then calmed herself with renewed realization of her circumstance on the plane surrounded by ignorant humans with first class tempers.
"As Ms. Rabinowitz here would say, Gute gezunt ... What's done is done."
"Your what's done has caused two world wars, tens of millions of deaths, not to mention the suffering of countless others living in brutal servitude."
"Did I pull a trigger or force a hand? No. And does anyone on this conveyance care about the dead of World War I or II, or the suffering of Russian serfs? No. Does anyone in America care? ... No. The wars are a source of pride. Militarism makes for jobs and drone contracts. The misery and pain of long ago is forgotten, and the future is The Overman."
"Wherein you rule, surrounded by your own cult of personality."
"It is my destiny. Thus spake Zarathustra."
"Zarathustra? Are you joking? That is just a stupid fantasy of Nietzsche."
He laughed and sneezed. Ahhhheeeghhhhhh! "Oh, please. By the way, my dear, why did you not use your magical aria to sing your way to America, or is your debt to Ahriman becoming too much to bear?"
"You know the answer."
"By the way, even if you did somehow survive me, that ancient and glorious evil deity from Andromeda would one day collect his due. That is your curse."
"Perhaps, perhaps not. But I am growing impatient. What do you want, Godfellow?"
He noticed she was getting angrier by the moment. "Why are you flying to Paris?"
"Go to Hell. Again, what do you want?"
"What do I always want? For you to stop aiding that shmuk, Paganini."
"And if I continue to resist your desire?"
"You will perish at the hands of his Fracas machines, just as you foresaw when age 15 in Bärenthoren Castle."
"And you can change that destiny?"
"I can, dear ... dear ... Ahhhheeeghhhhhh!."
"I will not perish at the hands of Fracas machines. I will simply throw myself from the cliffs, first. A quick death."
"No. One of the machines will catch you as you leap, and it will murder you in a most nightmarish manner. It will dismember you, and gut you, like a lion with captured prey. " He said this and coughed for a few moments, watching her shudder then regain her resolve.
"So be it, monster" she said, her face fierce and determined.
"Mazel tov, Catherine of Russia. Revel in your time!"
Edison waved a ta-ta at her with a tissue and sneezed once more. Ahhhheeeghhhhhh! But this wasn't the end of it—just part of a scheme to change her, lay a foundation for making a deal that would later turn her against that accursed Paganini. The crazy Italian violinist was too strong for him to kill easily, though the two of them could manage it. As long as he lived, the future of The Overman, the Dyson Sphere, dominion over the stars, his new utopia and all else remained in jeopardy.
He had much to ponder. All in good time though, all in good time.
Later that evening in Dubai, he relaxed and ate a midnight dinner at Le Petit Sanglier (The Small Boar), his favorite restaurant on one of the Sky Isles drifting lazily above the Persian Gulf. The waitresses there, all morph-droid models (his invention), who duplicated the appearance of famous American actresses such as Angelina Jolie, Natalie Portman, Ava Gardner and Lauren Becall, even down to the mannerisms and voice, strolled throughout the dining room, smiling and pampering the customers. Other features included zero-grav fountains (his invention) that lifted shimmering water in huge arcs over the heads of the patrons; and a special tele-glass (his invention) set in the walls that allowed patrons to see beyond the rim of the Earth to a golden-red sunrise over the Himalayas.
How pleasant and relaxing to eat and drink in this place, watching as Angelina Jolie served him a fine Italian Pinot Noir while the soft Himalaya sunlight turned the water above his head to a rainbow; and as a bonus, the sore throat and clogged nose of Mrs. Rabinowitz were already a fading memory. No labor or hardship would ever be an obstacle to his relentless nature. And considering this fact, the favorite words of his favorite song, "The Future," by the 20th century singer poet Leonard Cohen came to mind, as they so often did:
Give me back the Berlin wall,
Give me Stalin and St Paul,
I've seen the future, brother:
It is murder.
As he sipped his wine and mused on how Leonard Cohen in his old age looked disturbingly like that old buffoon American president, Ronald Reagan, he was joined at his table by a striking and powerfully built wizard goddess—a former Mongolian queen by the name of Mandukhai. She had arrived fresh off a primary conflict point in the World Maker War: the Battle of The Somme in 1916. Like a cross between a Chinese warlord and a circus acrobat, she was lithe and hung with weapons, also smeared with blood on her neck and bosom, arms and legs. As a bonus, she was missing her right eye.
"Must you wizard goddesses always be dripping blood?" Edison said.
Mandukhai refused to respond to his dumb question. Instead, she grew her eye back while reporting with stoic demeanor on the Somme conflict—yet another “futile attempt by Pan-Buddhist Democratic reactionaries to change history.” As she spoke of the disposition of forces during the battle, her hand reached under the table and smoothed up to his groin, whereupon he instructed Angelia Jolie to bring him a bottle of 1938 Chardonnay from Burgundy. And while he and Mandukhai conversed, and the massage continued, Angelina Jolie returned and glared murderously at Mandukhai. Edison realized it was Eréndira attempting to disguise herself and spy on him. Before she could launch herself at the throat of her rival Mandukhai (who also wished to possess The God One and bear him dozens of demi-god children) and thereby destroy the entire restaurant, and the sky island as well, he engaged both of them with these words:
"In a few minutes, the three of us will be on ancient Mars."
The two wizard goddesses stopped glaring at each other and stared at him. He loved excursions to distant planets and star systems now and then. Once he loved Mandukhai for hours on Titan, on a dark shore of that moon beside a quiet methane lake as the ringed planet Saturn and its bands of thunder rose on the horizon. Another time he loved Eréndira within the bosom of a stellar nursery, a nebula off the shore of the Milky Way—the two of them several miles tall at the time, though invisible beside the birthing suns.
Was Master Godfellow planning a threesome? No. They would help him foil an assassination attempt on his life by the Princess von Anhalt, and her older self, Catherine the Great.
"Who told you of the whore twins’ plan?" Eréndira asked.
"Your Lord of Saravastra, the fellow with the violin," Edison said. "Apparently, he falsely believes he will somehow gain by my continued existence."
Eréndira laughed so hard she forgot her desire to decapitate Mandukhai.
Politics as usual in the war for all time.
Оверман
6
Mother Yarrow and Saravastra - Eréndira vs. Freddie – Water and Wind
NEARLY AN HOUR AFTER THE BANQUET FOR EMPRESS ELIZABETH had come to an end, Zolo Bold and the other servants attached to Bärenthoren still cleaned and carefully packaged the priceless centerpieces of Princess Johanna. Zolo felt exhausted, not only because it was two o'clock in the morning and his legs ached with fatigue, but also because of the stress placed on him by the warlock Gur, as well as the haunting aura of that hideous bee recalled from the day his beloved mother Avizeh vanished from his life. He still felt the pain in his nose, still saw the look of terror on his mother's face. But the aura of bee in the shadow raised
another question:
How was Temujin Gur connected to the events of that day?
He must be, or else the bee-like shadow was a way of shaking Zolo up, trickery by Gur to confuse him. Or was Gur himself an insect thing in the guise of human? Paganini often spoke of Ahriman, the distant father of the World Makers (who he claimed would, like Saturn, one day eat his own children), as a nonhuman magical being fallen to Asia from the stars.
Might Gur be Ahriman himself in disguise?
No chance to explore the notion. Zolo’s musings were suddenly interrupted by Tobias Bergmann, one of his fellow house servants and a pray-for-no-beating person like himself. "Willie, my God, what a horror! Did you see all of it?" Tobias' face appeared strained and excited at the same time, as if something about Gur's terror theater actually thrilled him.
"How could I have not, Tobias? I was here the whole time."
"My God, Willie, I hid in the kitchen after those things appeared. Even some of the nobles joined us and we were all like whimpering dogs. Duchess Maria Anna couldn't stop sobbing, and another noblewoman lost her mind and tried to stab herself with one of the chef's big knives. I stopped her."
Zolo listened, half bored, then caught a glimpse over Tobias's shoulder of Princess Johanna facing Gleb Brerezhnoy. They stood in the distance, near the covered bulk of the World Stormer of Anhalt, and well out of earshot. Princess Johanna looked murderous and Gleb fearful, as though his life were being threatened.
Zolo could not suppress his curiosity, especially because the dialogue might involve Freddie. He felt compelled to eavesdrop, though such a feat required a bit of magic, but first he must leave a baffled Tobias behind. He excused himself with a "Back in a moment," and walked to the opposite corner of the Great Hall. Since Princess Johanna terrorized Gleb, no chance the butler bully would notice Zolo's disobedience.
War of the World Makers Page 9
