by Jack J. Lee
Someone grabbed Obex’s shaft from behind. I turned and saw it was B. I was moving to wrench my spear from his grasp when he caught my gaze. For the first time since I’d met him, he wasn’t laughing at a secret joke. Through senses I didn’t know I had, I could feel immense power emanating from him. The armor of my anger was no defense; I felt like I was staring into the fires of Hell. There was deadly intent in his eyes; if I didn’t back down, I would pay. I admitted to myself I was intimidated.
“Victor,” his voice was cold, “any insult you may feel was unintentional. Before you do something you can’t take back, learn the facts.” Making the wise choice—retreating when I’m not in a position of strength—doesn’t come easily to me. I stared back. If there had been any amusement, any hint he was laughing at me, I would have tried to take him. They say eyes are the windows of the soul. His windows revealed nothing but an endless, empty abyss.
I took a deep breath. I know I make errors when I’m angry. I decided I’d make the wise choice today. “Obex.” With my spear gone, we were standing too close for comfort.
B cocked his head to the stairs leading up to the street, “There’s a good microbrewery a couple minutes drive from here. Let’s take your truck. It looks like you could use a good drink.”
Neither one of us said a word until we were in my truck and I was headed west. B spoke first, “Victor, the Earth is only six thousand years old. Evolution is a hoax.” I wasn’t in the mood for a lecture so I didn’t respond. The silence that followed had a physical weight. The brew pub was just four blocks west on Broadway. The couple minutes I spent driving there seemed endless, but it gave me a chance to get my temper under control.
There was parking in a lot nearby. We walked into the busy bar/restaurant. The hostess that greeted us was young and attractive. At another time, I would have been amused by how she kept sneaking stunned glances at B and me. I still wasn’t used to being gorgeous. It wasn’t until we were sitting down and I had a Nitro Cream Ale in my hand that I spoke to B, “You want to explain the hoax?”
B took a slow lingering draft of his beer, and set it down firmly on the table. As he leaned toward me, his eyes were like flint, his mouth turned up into the open mouthed snarl of a predator. “Since charm clearly doesn’t work on you, I’ll try the truth. It burns my ass I’m forced to watch over some pissant paladin prima donna. I can’t believe I had to stop you from throwing a temper tantrum! You need to pull up your panties, put on your big girl skirt, and GROW UP, princess! You have a problem; bring it up with the guy in charge. Take the time to learn how the system works before you beat down a Brotherhood apprentice and a Brotherhood armorer.”
I watched him as he spoke; somehow I knew he was really disgusted and that this wasn’t an act. He had a point. I nodded my head. If that wasn’t enough—fuck him.
B stared back. I tensed, ready to call my gear when he relaxed and sat back, laughing. “Victor, you’ve found my weakness. I can’t resist dumb insolence. I can squish you like a bug, and there you sit, all mean and feisty. You’re so adorable; I can’t stay mad at you.” He grabbed his glass and emptied it with one long swallow. When he set it down, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, grinning like a shark. This was the B I knew and desperately wanted to kill. “You ready to learn how the system works?”
I just nodded again.
He waved a waitress over and ordered another beer. He watched her ass as she walked away and then turned his attention back to me. “History is boring but you need the background.” He settled back in his chair. “In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth”[6] and for a time, He was just another god in the Multiverse. In fact, He was weaker than most—too weak to prevent refugee pantheons from invading our Universe. It’s a god-eat-god Multiverse. No shit, defeated deities are constantly fleeing from one dimension to another. If you’re going to flee, you might as well head for a dimension where the local god is weak. Earth was covered with pantheons that didn’t have the mojo to make it anywhere else. Two thousand and twenty-three years after the creation, Yahweh was making His last stand in the Middle East. The angelic hosts were so depleted He had to roam His own territory to find enough souls to live. Remember what I said about Abraham over our first dinner? Yahweh, back in the day, used to take blood sacrifices like all the other gods. Gods get their sustenance from the life energy from the souls of human or human-like beings.
“Vic, things weren’t looking good for Our Holy Dude.” B paused for dramatic effect. “Then He found a seventy-five year old guy named Abram who had just been exiled from his tribe. He was about to feed on the guy, and his small immediate family, when He had a brilliant idea. Before then, Yahweh had been a hunter-gatherer kind of god feeding off wild, free range souls. He decided instead to cultivate Abram and his family like a shepherd does sheep. Yahweh entered a symbiotic relationship with Abram and his descendants. Abram became THE Abraham, the father of the Jews and eventually, the Christians and Muslims. Yahweh got a new name: Jehovah, although he still answers to both.
B was a natural story teller. Even though I wanted to put a bullet between his eyes, I was intrigued by his history lesson. He continued, “Most gods are spoiled brats without a hint of impulse control. Jehovah had to be calm and methodical; He didn’t have enough souls to waste. He fed sparingly—taking only what he needed to survive, way less than other gods. He hid and protected Abraham’s descendants from the whims and hunger of all other gods. In return, they worshiped Him and gave Him willing tribute. All blood or death sacrifices have power; willing death sacrifices have ten times the power of unwilling. The relationship between Jehovah and the Jews became a self-reinforcing loop. The more He protected His people, the larger their numbers became and the more likely they were to give willing sacrifices.”
We were interrupted when the waitress came back with B’s drink. He took it and leered at her so openly she fled. “I don’t have it, but I can fake it.” He took the time to chuckle, savoring his own joke along with his beer while I waited impatiently.
He took a small sip of his brew. “Things were stable until the descendants of Abraham grew numerous enough to attract the notice of the strongest pantheon of the time, the Egyptian Gods. The Egyptians pulled the usual crap and tried religious conversion by conquest. Yahweh at this time was one moderately strong god trying to fend off an entire pantheon of very strong gods.” B gave a mocking laugh. “He hid like a scared little girl.
“There’s no need for faith when a god is right in your face. Yahweh hid for so long an entire generation of Jews grew up never seeing him personally. It helped enormously that the Egyptian Gods were the usual spoiled pricks. Yahweh looked great in comparison, and in His case, absence made Him look even better. He discovered unforced faith produced almost as much power as unwilling sacrifice. By pure happenstance, He got a continuous stream of power from his worshipers without killing any of them.
“He eventually amassed enough power to free His people from Egypt. Other pantheons saw what He had done and tried to copy Him. They couldn’t; none of them had His discipline.” B chuckled, “Also, He didn’t have to worry about stupid relatives. Pantheons only had to have one idiot who couldn’t control himself to ruin it for everyone.
“For the most part since then, Jehovah has been staying undercover. The less He does, the easier it gets.” He smirked, “Being a scared little girl works for Him. Who knew if you left humans alone, they’d develop technology and multiply like bunnies? The average world controlled by a pantheon has a population between fifty to one hundred million. Currently on Earth, there are seven billion people and a good percentage of them are Jews, Christians, and Muslims. Jehovah’s kicking ass. He doesn’t have to invade other dimensions for more souls. He has the equivalent of seventy decent sized Universes just on Earth.
“Makes you want to just bow down and worship, huh?” B burst into giggles; he was killing himself with his own comedic genius. When I’d talked to B yesterday, I thought he was funny. A
fter today, a little bit of him went a long way. If I had been the kind to roll my eyes, I would have.
“The downside of all this is He needs to have a huge bureaucracy to maintain the illusion He might not exist, while also protecting humans from everything that wants to munch on them. To other deities, this world is El Dorado, the City of Gold. The most competent angels are assigned to defense. The incompetent ones get assigned to illusions, and like idiots anywhere, they’re constantly screwing up.
“For example, the fake fossil history was perfect until some idiot accidentally put feathers on a Velociraptor’s remains, and then every gullible, head-up-his-butt paleontologist decided dinosaurs had feathers. Can you imagine the waste of resources to go back and modify every single theropod remains so they looked like birds?” B shook his head in disgust.
“So in a nutshell, it all happened by accident, but Jehovah’s the best god for humans in all of the Multiverse. He’s the most powerful being around, but He’s not omnipotent, and he certainly isn’t omniscient. Our Universe is run by a huge bureaucracy made up of multiple billions of angels. The further they are from combat, the more incompetent they’re likely to be.”
The idea of Jehovah actively hiding from humanity seemed ridiculous. “B, explain to me again why God is trying to make people not believe in him?”
B snorted, “Yeah, I know it sounds strange, but unforced faith is a really good source of power for a god. It’s a hell of a lot better way to run a world than running around eating your worshipers. Humans do best when they think they’re in charge. Look at any culture that is dominated by its priests. It doesn’t do well. It’s a lot worse when it’s a god or gods doing the dominating. Creating the illusion that humans are in control of their own fate is just good animal husbandry.
“Give you an example, the Grand Canyon was originally created in Noah’s Flood. The rapid flood waters dug a huge ditch into the soft sandstone. Once Jehovah had enough power to invest on illusions, a bunch of low level angels were sent to the Canyon to pretty up the colors and artificially age the ditch. They made the canyon look like it was created by erosion over a time span of five to six million years. For once, the numbnuts on the illusion crew didn’t mess up. You have to admit that it’s hilarious that the ‘idiot, irrational Bible thumpers’ are right about almost everything, while the ‘know-it-all scientists’ are the oblivious victims of a con run by incompetents. But regardless of who is wrong or right, it’s better for human societies when there are enough know-it-alls to balance out the fundamentalists.”
B was right. The situation was hilarious. This time when he burst out laughing, I joined him. He finished the dregs of his beer. “Vic, my man, what happened to you was the typical FUBAR that comes from depending on REMFs. No one cast a spell on you to fall in love with Mina. You were designed from birth to be together. If you hadn’t been lost to the system for so long, you’d already know this info.” B made a ‘what can you do’ gesture with his hands, and then leaned forward. “Here’s the biggest kicker to this story. I’m not sure if He’s starting to believe His own press releases or if feeding on the belief of billions over the last four thousand years has changed Him, but Jehovah is now almost as much of a prissy ass, goody two-shoes as His worshipers believe. He’s so good, He doesn’t mind when an archangel talks crap about Him. He’s so good, there’s a constant stream of defectors from other Universes trying to join Him.
“Jehovah doesn’t do conquest. There is no need; all He has to do is watch His worshipers multiply. This means, on any given day, there are thousands of minions landing on Earth. There’s a constant need for Holy Warriors, human and angel. God love ya Vic, you may hate being drafted—and I don’t blame you one bit since I’m in the same boat—but I’m telling you, and you can trust me on this, He’s the best of a bad lot.”
B finished his spiel with the hearty smile of politician who only has your best interests at heart. It dawned on me that he liked playing the buffoon. My gut told me he had flubbed some of his jokes on purpose. It made it easier to underestimate him. It’s hard to be frightened of an incompetent class clown. He lounged back in his chair waiting for my questions.
I had a thousand things I wanted to know. I bought B’s explanation for what I felt for Mina. For once, I was told something that fit my worldview. Emotions are the end product of a mix of chemicals in your brain. Beauty is a marker for good genes and pheromones have way more power than most people realize. I also bought his explanation that my feelings for Mina were no one’s fault; I could live with that. I had already spent too much time and thought on her. I decided I wanted to learn more about the hosts of heaven. “Aidan told me at one time Angels and humans interbred. You’ve said angels don’t have the equipment. What’s up?”
For a split second, I saw an honest emotion on B’s face—intense longing; it disappeared into his politician’s smile. “We’re allowed to say anything we want about the Man. In fact, we’re encouraged to say stuff, make things up, even to insult Him. It helps support the illusion He might not exist. Any truth about God is lost in all the misinformation. The actual details of how heaven works, especially details about angels, are a different story. You don’t have the clearance to know what exactly happened. All I can say is Jehovah is a prude. Come on, man! He had an opportunity to make a baby and he used artificial insemination! It took Him close to four thousand years to get enough power, but when He did, things changed for angels.”
B shrugged to show he was helpless to satisfy my curiosity. I nodded back, “So getting the story on the angels that rebelled is out of the question?”
He flashed a grin. “You got it, bro.”
I kept prodding. “Your original name wouldn’t have been something famous, say Beelzebub?”
B burst out with involuntary laughter. It was a good thing he hadn’t been drinking at the time; I would have been sprayed. With a grin, he made the three finger Boy Scout salute. “I can neither confirm nor deny.”
He then looked at me seriously. “Dude, trust me, nothing good can come from these kinds of questions. Certain words and names are flagged; using any of the names of the ex-Princes of Hell are like waving big red ones. Right now one of Metatron’s boys is listening to us. Think of the NSA and eavesdropping programs on steroids.” He paused and looked me in the eyes to emphasize his point. “You need to drop this.”
B’s reaction told me what I needed to know. Hell no longer existed. He may or may not have been Beelzebub, but I’d bet a lot of money he had been one of the angels who had rebelled. To get out of Joey’s grasp I needed to leave this Universe. If Aidan could defect to Earth, there had to be a way to defect the other way. Another Universe filled with weak competing gods had possibilities. I needed time to do more research. I had never previously had much interest in dead religions, but I distinctly recalled in most of these religions, it was possible for a human to become a god. The idea of being a servant for eternity sucked; being eaten by a god was worse. The only way out for me was becoming a god myself.
I was certain the story B had told was mostly true. Like me, angels couldn’t tell a lie. I was equally sure his story was misleading. I needed time to figure out the real truth. I had to play along for awhile. “Okay, I get it. Let’s go back to the Jotunn. Is it still dangerous for me to go outside at night?”
B made a ‘who care’s’ face. “Not so much. Your anti-scrying spell prevents them from learning your exact location. They know you’re in the City, but not much else. They’ll have to track you down by non-magical means. By the rules of the Great Game, I’m not allowed to help you fight them off. I can’t even tell you how many of them are here. You’re better off talking to the Oath Brotherhood; they’re allowed to help you as best they can…”
An inebriated voice behind me became too loud to ignore. “Are you two fags? You guys are so pretty, you have to be fruits!” B was facing the voice; I turned and saw a guy who was convinced he was Bad. He was in his late thirties, with the large frame of an ex
-football player, and at least forty pounds over his prime weight. There were six men and two women at his table, all of them in Hells Angels inspired denim and leathers. A couple of the guys had prison tats. We were in an upscale yuppie bar/restaurant. They didn’t fit. The other patrons around us were desperately trying to pretend they were somewhere else.
B grinned and blew the guy a kiss. “Why, you want some of this?”
The idiot lunged for B. I could have tripped him, preventing him from reaching my annoying guardian angel, but I didn’t; I was curious how B would play this. I didn’t see B move but somehow the biker missed him, landing on the floor on his hands and knees. B reached over and patted the drunk’s head like he was soothing a dog. He asked, “Are you alright, boy?”
With a roar, the biker swung at B from the ground. This time I caught what B did; he moved so quickly—out of the way and then back into position—it almost looked like the guy’s fist passed through B’s body.
“HEY!” The hostess screamed, “I’ve called the police. You need to leave NOW!”
The biker slowly stood up. He pointed to each of us, and then with a threatening glare said, “This isn’t over.” He jerked his head at his friends and they all walked out of the restaurant together. By the nonchalant way they were handling this, it was clear they’d been kicked out of bars before. B and I had remained sitting the entire time. The hostess walked over to us and said regretfully, “I’m going to have to ask you both to leave, too.”
From a nearby table, an older man spoke up, “Miss, my wife and I have been here the whole time. These two men did nothing to provoke those hoodlums.” A woman from another table chimed in. “He’s right. The bikers started the fight.”
