God of God

by Mark Kraver

“Selling the planet is the only logical choice,” Gouldian said with a smug smile, as he and his two subordinates walked unannounced through the front doors with their hands held up by their faces, palms facing forward.

  “They must think that makes them look like they have nothing up their sleeves,” Reeze whispered to Zenith.

  “This is our first time selling a planet. How do we proceed from here?” Yahweh asked.

  “It is quite simple. The standard fee for a planet your size is—”

  “How often do you buy planets for this sphere?” Reeze interrupted, annoying the three horned snakeheads.

  “The last purchase was sixty-six point six antons ago. Why are we talking to you, sapient?” Kleem sneered, before Gouldian could respond.

  “That was a long time ago,” Reeze continued. “Maybe the price has gone up since then. Maybe the standard fee no longer applies?”

  Gouldian gave Reeze a condescending glance. “I assure you the standard fee is quite adequate, sapient pet.”

  “I think you speak with a forked tongue,” she said, slashing out at the horned robot with a flip of her glowing hair. Zenith held back her amusement to the phrase, and let her niece continue. “Maybe you haven’t been able to purchase any more planets because this sphere is a rip-off.”

  “I beg your pardon? What is a rip-off? And why am I talking to you?” Gouldian snapped his flicking tongue.

  “What my darling niece is saying, is that we think there should be more than one bidder for the planet, and we want to hear several offers before selling our only asset,” Zenith said, laying out their demands.

  “Another question I’d like answered,” Numen asked, while the three were busy flipping their tongues at each other. “My research of this facility has mentioned seraphim, and even cherubim, but I see none managing the daily activities anywhere. Do you still employ such assets?”

  “And where are all the Elohim?” added Zenith. “Are they all hibernating?”

  “Yes, and who is the Creator of this region of the universe?” Yahweh asked.

  Gouldian, Kleem and Klack noted the list of questions, rotated through several rounds of tongue pulsing gymnastics before they seemed to settle upon an answer with devious smiles.

  “What is so amusing?” Yahweh asked, after observing them for a few moments.

  “We have no need for seraphim or cherubim,” laughed Klack, in his annoying synthesized cackle.

  “We have no need for Elohim,” Kleem added with a sneer, looking at Yahweh and then Zenith.

  “We have not resurrected our Creator for over six hundred and sixty-six thousand antons,” Gouldian said, smiling sharp teeth.

  “She is too old to resurrect,” said Kleem.

  “And she doesn’t feel ready for an Obituary Chamber,” said Klack.

  “And she is not important enough to be asked to lead us,” concluded Gouldian.

  “Then, who is leading you?” Yahweh asked.

  “And if there are no seraphim or cherubim,” Reeze asked, “then what are you?”

  “Stop talking to me, sapient. We are Throne,” Kleem said, lifting his pointy chin smugly. “A higher order of being than seraphim.”

  “More important than Elohim,” Klack sneered.

  “When pigs fly. Can you fly?” Reeze asked, flipping her hair noticing how much the light distracted the horned robots.

  “No need to fly. We are PB. Stop talking to me, sapient scum,” Klack said.

  The blank looks on their guest’s faces stimulated the Throne to elaborate.

  “P—B, post-bubble,” Klack said, swishing his hands in the air casting for a few seconds a small gravity bubble out of his fingertips that swelled and then retracted back into his hand without popping. “We were created with gravity bubbles, which are much more convenient than your primitive pre-gravity bubble graviton emitting technology.”

  “Throne are the immortal deities that inhabit this sphere,” said Kleem.

  “We shepherd our flocks. We herd our workers through war and peace, feast and famine,” said Gouldian.

  “And deliver justice for all,” answered the three Throne in unison.

  “Are there more of you Throne?” Numen asked.

  “Millions,” said Gouldian spreading out his arms.

  “And how many want to buy a planet?” Reeze asked, with a crooked little smile. Behind her, Numen reached up and touched the communications chip embedded inside the wall, sending out a sales offer to each and every Throne inhabiting the sphere.

  “What have you done?” asked Gouldian, staring off into the distance, confused by information streaming from the sphere-wide communications network. Checking the air molecules with his tongue and listening to offers to buy the planet coming in over his own circuitry, triggered alarm in all his systems.

  “Your job,” said Reeze, to the three overstimulated Throne.

  “It is obvious you are only the brokers in this deal. You should be glad to have competing bids. Wouldn’t that create a higher profit margin for you?” Zenith asked.

  “Profit margin?” Gouldian squealed.

  “I told you we should have deactivated this seraph like the other one on the ship,” Kleem complained.

  “But he said not to, or we would be deactivated,” complained Klack.

  “Whoa, deactivated by whom?” Yahweh asked.

  “Who is he?” Numen pressed.

  “And why does it matter if the rest of the Throne know our planet is for sale?” Zenith asked.

  “War,” cried Gouldian. “Unspeakable sphere-wide war.”

  “No one Throne will accept being out bid by another,” cried Kleem.

  “Even if they didn’t need the planet in the first place,” added Klack.

  “Now the only way to prevent war amongst yourselves is to admit we are the owners of the planet in your docking port,” Zenith said.

  “And to resurrect your Creator for guidance,” Yahweh added.

  “No, Magog cannot be resurrected,” cried Klack.

  Kleem’s horned face took on a look of panic. “She will not like what we have done to her sphere!”

  Zenith folded her arms and pursed her lips, enjoying the sight of Kleem and Klack squirming. “I can’t imagine she will like it when she finds out you have destroyed yourselves with war,” she said.

  Gouldian’s eyes and tongue shifted back and forth between Kleem, Klack, Yahweh, Numen, Reeze, and then Zenith. He slid out of his sleeve the emerald green Deed Crystal and handed it to Yahweh, saying with a guilty smile, “I found this for you.”

  “He did have something up his sleeve,” Zenith said to Reeze.

  “So when you deactivated the seraph on our station, you confiscated the Deed Crystal for your own?” Numen asked. His circuitry raced as he deduced the Throne must have entered Jerusalem to have the Deed Crystal, and to have the Deed Crystal they must have subdued Ba like they had the other seraphim and cherubim on the sphere. He looked at Yahweh, trying to gauge telepathically whether his master had yet reached the same conclusion.

  But Yahweh was unreadable at the moment. He was smiling, clearly pleased to think his tactics had worked out better than he imagined. His only goal had been to bid up the price of the planet so high that no one wanted it in the end. “Thank you,” Yahweh said. “Now, take me to your leader, Magog? I can prevent the destruction of this magnificent place, if we hurry.”

  “I do love these curtains,” Reeze said, looking at her own similar gravity suit pattern with her crooked little smile.

  Numen nodded his head at the curtain pattern she was referring to and began examining the iridium chip on the wall behind them with more interest. “The writing,” he said, “is on the wall.”

  Chapter 80

  We view things not only from different sides, but with different eyes; we have no wish to find them alike.

  Blaise Pascal, 1623-1662, Earth

  Library of Souls

  Magog

  They all walked outside through the large triangu
lar front doors into the artificial sunlight and were immediately mobbed by half-dressed, half-human groupies. Gouldian’s neck flared like a cobra ready to strike; he held up his left hand and sent out a crackling bolt of electricity that scattered the human-faced animals like barnyard fowl.

  “Where did you say Magog’s hibernation pod was located?” Yahweh asked.

  All three Throne did not say a word and instead looked up at the fusion reactor at the center of the sphere without blinking their ocular relays.

  “Interesting,” Numen said.

  “I hope there is an easy way to get up there,” Reeze said, realizing herself where they were looking while adjusting her eyewear, so she too could stare at the glowing fireball in the sky.

  “I will reposition the reactor’s reflector to night, so we can approach the pod chamber from the dark side,” Gouldian said, touching several red keys in the palm of his right hand.

  “Three quarter of the Throne have expressed a need for the planet’s resources so far,” Kleem grumbled, looking at a holographic display projecting from his palm.

  “You have the Deed Crystal, we have verified that you own the planet, so why don’t you call off the sale before—”

  “Sphere-wide war?” Zenith said, cutting off Klick’s complaining.

  The three Throne either didn’t know how or didn’t want to respond. They became preoccupied with looking around with paranoid eyes, flicking their tongues at everything that moved.

  “What are you looking for?” asked Reeze.

  “We said we had no use for seraphim or cherubim—” Klack said, looking for danger in every shadow.

  “Not that there weren’t any,” Kleem said, finishing his paranoid companion’s statement.

  “They are an unwelcome relic from the past,” Gouldian added. “They were deactivated long ago by their Throne superiors. Now they are back as warriors.”

  “Why did you deactivate them?” Numen asked.

  “Because they were always meddling,” said Klack, waving his arms with a disgusting look on his artificial face. “Meddling, meddling, meddling.”

  “Always interfering with our decisions,” said Kleem, prancing with his hands in a dainty gesture.

  “Always wanting to disturb Magog’s sleep for this and for that,” said Gouldian, with a growl.

  “As I see it, it looks like they were deactivated because they didn’t like how you were running this place,” Numen said.

  “We are superior,” sneered Klack.

  “Moon shit,” shouted Reeze as a fiery red cherub flew by at high speed, surveying the area.

  “They are here,” Klack shouted, pointing in the direction the cherub had gone.

  “What does that mean?” Zenith asked.

  “Pesky little babies. They are always telling on us,” Klack said.

  Numen now had a working hypothesis on why the seraphim and cherubim were deactivated. “Master, I believe the Throne operate through isolationism. Each of the individual Throne rule their part of the sphere without regards to their neighboring kingdoms, like thiefdoms of old Earth. This way they can do with their population as they wish without the judgment of others.”

  “Complete freedom?” Yahweh asked.

  “No peer pressure, no worries. This could not be successful if the seraphim and cherubim were constantly monitoring the health of the environment.”

  “Spies,” Klack said.

  “Always sneaking around telling everyone what we were doing,” said Kleem.

  “That is no way to do business,” Gouldian said.

  “Deities with the lack of a moral compass. Sounds like Hell,” Zenith said.

  “If there were no communications between the thiefdoms, then no one would know about a planet arriving for sale. No one except loyal friends of yours,” Numen said.

  “We have allies,” Gouldian said, as the fusion reactor reflector in the sky rotated into dusk, and several winged demonic seraphim appeared out of the shadows to circle the small group.

  “I am guessing these are not them,” Yahweh said.

  Klack flared his neck, growled, sneered, and hissed giving Yahweh the answer he needed.

  The first fiery, red, horned seraph flapped its large bat wings and whipped a long-pointed tail as it spoke. “I am Su. My Throne doesn’t understand why he was not given the sale of this planet for his kingdom.”

  “He looks like Satan,” Reeze whispered, looking over the top of her glasses and slipping behind Zenith.

  “Nor does my Throne understand the conditions of this sale,” another seraph hissed. The other seraphim began talking over each other, arguing about the same question.

  “It was understood that we would be the next in line to receive raw materials,” Su said, with the others expressing they were under the same impression.

  “Precarious,” Numen said.

  “I assure you, the matter is under control,” Gouldian said, trying to defuse the situation. “The planet in our holding dock is not for sale after all. A mistake that has been rectified.”

  “Nonsense,” Yahweh said. “Everything is for sale, at the right price. But I first must have the blessing of Magog.”

  “Magog?” gasped each of the seraphim at the mention of her name.

  “What are these Elohim doing here?” Su asked. “The Elohim fled this place when the population revolted against them. I am glad to see Elohim return to Beta Nirvana after all these painful antons.”

  Yahweh, Numen, Zenith and Reeze exchanged looks at Su’s words. The implication, they understood, was that the Throne were responsible for whatever hardships they were enduring.

  “I can’t imagine the people of this sphere revolting against the Elohim. They love the Elohim, especially your bald heads,” Reeze whispered to Zenith.

  Su bowed his head and placed his hands by the side of his horned head in salute to Yahweh and Zenith, and then to Numen. “I will need to consult my Throne,” Su said, as all the devilish seraphim spread their enormous wings and took flight high into the darkening sky.

  “We must go,” Gouldian said with haste as a gravity bubble exploded from his hand.

  “Reezze,” shouted a voice from the building’s alleyway.

  The entire group turned at the sound and saw the figure of a half-man, half-goat emerge from behind a row of trash receptacles.

  With neck flaring, Gouldian rotated, reached out his hand, and shot a bolt of lightning from his palm, striking Zziggy to the ground.

  “No, Zziggy,” Reeze shouted, running to his side.

  “This is how you shepherd your flock?” Yahweh asked, frowning, as Zenith followed Reeze to assist the fallen goat-man.

  “My first warning shot should have been sufficient to ward off the vermin.”

  Yahweh was pleased when Zziggy sat up and brushed off his red-blotched shirt sleeves and fur. “Come, take him with us,” Yahweh shouted.

  “What?” Klack squealed.

  “We don’t need another pet,” Kleem said.

  “That’z okay. I need to get back,” Zziggy said, locking his eyes with Reeze.

  “You sure?” Reeze asked.

  “I know we look ignorant to you, but we are ready for change. I think you are the change we have been waiting for.”

  “We must leave now,” Klack squealed, seeing another cherub race by.

  “Time to go, little one,” Yahweh said, stepping into the gravity bubble with the rest of the entourage.

  “I’ll be back,” Reeze shouted, last to step into the bubble before it shot-off into the sky.

  Zziggy baaed loudly as he watched the bubble launch like a rocket into the darkening sky, “I’ll be waiting.”

  Traveling at astonishing speed, the gravity bubble approached the dark side of the fusion reactor’s reflector with a multitude of other bubbles chasing close behind. Reeze felt her heart pounding in her throat as she saw the menacing red faces of seraphim sneering next to their angry horned Throne through the transparent walls of the closest advancing b
ubbles.

  “Isn’t this fun?” Yahweh said, with a wink at Reeze. This little act levity was oddly calming to both Reeze and Zenith as the bubbles below were closing in at a very fast rate. Numen remained stoic and kept his guard at maximum as they approached the reflector landing pad.

  Flashes of lightning began shooting from the approaching bubbles, missing them by meters.

  “Not a very good shot,” Reeze smirked as energy discharged all around them. Seconds later a tentacle of flashing electricity tangled in their thin film of graviton emitters, popping their gravity bubble.

  Forward inertia continued to shoot them toward the center of the fusion reactor star. The rotational forces at the center of the sphere turned slower compared with the centrifugal forces exerted on its inner inhabitable surface. Gravity was essentially voided around the artificial star; the bubble’s ejected occupants felt as though they were flying through outer space with the partial pressure of breathable oxygen outside the bubble. Not being on a perfect glide path to the reflector’s landing deck, Numen calculated they would miss their target and begin to burn-up orbiting the reactor in an elliptical orbit, if he didn’t do something to correct their course, fast, as a solution processed inside his mitochondrial-core processor.

  “Link-up in a chain,” Numen shouted and telepathically broadcast to everyone. Yahweh responded by grabbing Numen’s leg. Zenith followed grabbing her father’s leg and Reeze’s arm. The Throne had never in their long lives depended on anyone but themselves and chose to flounder, and flail, until Reeze reached out and latched onto Gouldian’s artificial leg. Kleem, not wanting to be left behind latched onto Gouldian’s leg, stimulating Klack to reach and grab a trailing leg for himself.

  Once the last link was complete, Numen reversed his repulsor beam in the palm of his hand, pointed it at the reflector’s landing pad, and engaged. The pursuing gravity bubbles opened fire with lightning bolts that crackled and popped all around their exposed chain. Numen reeled them into the landing pad as quickly possible.

  As the seven slid, tumbled and stopped on the reflector pad from the dramatic landing, gravity plating gripped their bodies with enough force to hold them in place. Sudden sharp explosive sounds began erupting in a massive battle of thunderbolts. Great blasts of energy were booming out from the pad at the pursuing Throne armada, popping several bubbles and spilling their passengers into the zero-gravity void. Once their own gravity suits adjusted to the reactor’s artificial gravity, Reeze hurried closer to the edge of the platform to see what was happening. Clusters of expelled Throne and seraphim spun off from their popped bubbles, orbiting into the burning light of the reactor’s brilliant hot rays and suffering instant incineration, giving the young human wide-eyed shivers.