by Stuart Slade
The newsroom staff burst out laughing. “Mister Baines, that is the clearest statement of intent we’ve ever heard out of a Government department. Thank you for your time and patience. Brandon?”
“Political news now. Washington is still reeling from the results of the special election in Massachussetts. Now, over to our correspondent Nikole Killion in Hell who is discussing the implications of the result with the late Senator Edward Kennedy.”
Department of Agriculture, Washington, D.C.
“Just what is the impact of this storm?” President Obama was terse, it was already being reported that the dust storm that had started in Oklahoma was swinging across the country and would reach Washington soon.
“It’s pretty bad Sir. The problem is that once the dust-storms start, they’re quite hard to stop. Each storm pulverizes the ground into smaller and smaller particles that are smoothed off by abrasion as they are carried by the wind. That means they are easier to lift by the wind and they stay up longer once lifted. So, once the first storm has formed, it makes things progressively easier for other storms to follow.
“Now, as to the longer-term effects, these storms are bad news. They’ll hit agricultural production that’s already been hammered by the weather attacks we’ve been suffering for over a year now. The Oklahoma panhandle is technically semi-arid and its productivity isn’t high so losses there won’t be too bad. It’s the overflow of dust into richer ground that’s the real problem. We were just getting on top of the food supply problem as well and were able to increase the rations. Now, it looks like we’ll have to reverse the increase at the very least.”
Obama’s mouth twisted in distaste for that idea. “That’ll be a hard one to sell. We should never have passed that ration increase. Better to have kept things as they were and stored the extra.”
“With hindsight, yes Sir. But, people need a lift. This long stalemate is wearing the people down. Anyway, back to the dust storms. The real problem was people caught outside by the leading edge of the storm. That contained a very high proportion of Helldust. Helldust is mostly powdered pumice and breathing it is extremely dangerous for first-life humans. We can expect a lot of those people to develop severe silicosis very soon. Since it is our opinion these storms will continue for some time now their formation cycle has been jump-started, we’d better start distributing breathing masks and goggles as well as tinfoil hats. Fortunately, we already have very good masks and goggles in production for the armed forces.”
There was a long pause as the people at the meeting made ‘action-it” notes. “Doctor Surlethe, have you and your teams got any additional information for us?”
“We’re still hunting for a way into Heaven Sir. The information we got from monitoring Michael’s jumps proved to be a bust. I’m afraid we got overconfident with the way we walked all over Satan and his forces; Michael-Lan appears to be a really bright boy. What we are beginning to learn is that there appear to be an almost infinite number of bubble-worlds in Universe-Two. We could start jumping around in them at random but we’re reluctant to do that. We don’t know what we would run into and another war is something we really don’t need right now.”
“We do have one bit of good news Sir. If you like rice that is. ASEAN, the Association of South East Asian Nations, have offered to put 20 percent of their rice production into a common pool to help out countries whose own food production is inadequate.” The Secretary for Agriculture paused and thought quickly. “I don’t say we should call on their generosity now, but it’s a start. And, of course, paddy fields won’t get wiped out by dust-storms.”
“They got hit by the Third Bowl though.” Doctor Surlethe was also considering the implications of the proposed food bank. “But that’s a thing of the past now. We dealt with it. This is the Fifth Bowl, no doubt about that. Just two more to go and Heaven’s pretty much shot its bolt. If we can ride them out, we’ll be in a much better position.”
“What are the next two bowls? Can we prepare for them?”
“The next one is a bit odd. It seems to be just the river Euphrates drying up. Of course, back in the day, the Tigris and Euphrates pretty much marked the known world for those who were writing the fables. So, one or both drying up would be a real disaster. Now, losing one would be more of an annoyance. The Seventh is a bit more worrying. It speaks of massive earthquakes and boulders falling from the skies. The Russians are looking at the last part of that, they have nuclear-tipped surface-to-air missiles that may provide a defense against boulders dropping in on us. What worries us are the Beasts. We nailed the Leopard Beast and saw off the Scarlet Beast. There’s the Lamb Beast and the Dragon to come. Given the way the severity of the threats is escalating, they’re likely to be a real problem. Then, there’s that Israeli rogue sub out there somewhere. We want her dead and dead fast. So does the Israeli government.
“Our guess is that when the Bowls of Wrath and the Beasts have run their course, that’s when we get invaded by the Angelic host. One way or the other, Mister President, I’d say we’re getting close to the end-game on this.”
Chapter Forty Eight
Control Room, INS Tekuma, Mediterranean
“Just why the blue blazes are we heading out towards the Atlantic?” Captain Alex Ben-Shoshan had a thousand spirits sitting on his shoulders, telling him there was something seriously wrong. His Tekuma had killed the Scarlet Beast with her nuclear missiles. So why had he not heard anything from the operations center in Tel Aviv? He would have expected at least something, even if it was only a terse acknowledgment that his missile strike had been successful.
There was something else that was worrying him. After firing his missiles he had gone deep, cleared datum and then evaded. That was standard doctrine after firing any kind of missiles for by doing so he had given away his position more surely than a glowing neon pointed would have done. Evading the hunt that would surely follow his launch had been drilled into him ever since he had been selected to take command of this submarine. But times were different now, humanity was fighting on the same side, more or less. So, they shouldn’t have been hunting him. Why were they?
It wasn’t just one nation either. Since he had started evading, he had picked up a mass of different sonars lashing the water in an effort to locate him. American SQS-53s, Russian Platinas, British Type 2050s. Others that were a lot less distinctive in their transmission characteristics.
Lieutenant Midyan Yitzchak looked over from the communications station at the rear of the command compartment. He had supplied Ben-Shoshan with the forged messages that had authorized the missile launch and then set the Tekuma on course for the Straits of Gibraltar but after that, the supply was ended and future actions were left vague. He hadn’t received any more visions from his Angelic leader either. In fact, Yitzchak noted, he’d never received any such messages while he was on the submarine. Only when he had been ashore.
“Sir, perhaps there will be messages for us from the command center in Gibraltar?”
Ben-Shoshan nodded thoughtfully. Then he asked the one question every diesel-electric submarine driver had engrained in his soul. “Battery status?”
“Twenty percent charge Sir. Clearing Datum cost us heavily.” The Engineering Officer was seriously worried. It wasn’t good to run the batteries below seventy percent charge and a fifty percent charge level was regarded as critical. He’d never seen a charge meter drop to twenty percent before.
“Come up to periscope depth. Prepare to snort.” The spirits sitting on ben Shoshan’s shoulder were screaming warnings again but without charged batteries, his submarine was completely helpless. “Navigation, set course for Gibraltar and maximum snorting speed. Engines, run the diesels as soon as the snort is up and get those batteries charged. Communications, get through to Tel Aviv, find out what is going on and why.”
Yitzchak looked down at his knees in an effort to hide the grin on his face. Getting a message through to Tel Aviv would be a useful trick. The place was a smoking hole i
n the ground. “Very good Sir.”
The Forum of Indefatigable Exaltation, Eternal City, Heaven.
Markets were something that the higher-class angels never really bothered much with. They had the Ishim and Cherubim to look after such mundane things for them. And the Ishim and Cherubim had their human servants to carry out the routine drudgery of going to a market. At most, the Cherubim made sure the Ishim weren’t skulking off when they were supposed to be working and the Ishim did the same for the humans. It was a nice system, like everything else in Heaven it was set up so the humans did all the real work and the Angels got all the benefits. Rank really did have its privileges.
So it was that the market in the Forum of Indefatigable Exaltation presented its usual appearance to a casual observer. The stalls were set up in their usual places, the merchants behind them shouting out the benefits of their wares and the unique advantages that patronizing them would bring. The humans crowded around them, buying the good needed to keep the Angels in their state of sybaritic luxury while they also tried to secure a few things that would alleviate their own grinding poverty. There was an unspoken, unmentioned sub-trade going on as well, one in which the merchants gave under-the-counter discounts to their human customers so that the latter could at least have some resources of their own. There was even an unofficial language by which the merchants could advertise the percentage kickbacks they were offering without alerting the watchful Ishim and Cherubim. Surely, the argument went, this must be approved because The Eternal Father of All was omniscient and all-knowing and must be aware of the kickbacks. And since He must know yet did not interfere then He must approve.
A more perceptive observer might have noted a few details about the market this day that didn’t quite fit into the superficial normality. One was that the Ishim and Cherubim were distinctly nervous. They spoke carefully, watching around them while they did so, and for all that, they kept their conversations to banal triviality. The wave of arrests by the League of Holy Court had ceased, for a while at least, but they all knew those arrested were being interrogated and would name others in the hideous conspiracy. With Satan dead at the hands of humans, cosmic balance demanded that a new force must arise. With this effort crushed, who would be next to be overwhelmed by the sin of Pride and try to rebel against The One Above All?
Another change was in the crowds of humans who thronged the Forum. As they passed in the crowds, news was passed from one to the next. The deaths of the Leopard and Scarlet Beasts, The Immaculate Lord’s own pets killed. Deumah was a brain-dead hulk, breathing but without thought or wits. But above all was the story of the Great Gray Bird.
“A great portal in the sky opened and through it flew a strange gray bird. It flew in silence yet when it passed overhead there was a great crash as if of thunder and the dreadful scream of the bird hurt our ears. It turned around and flew back towards the portal, flew so fast that our eyes could barely follow it. Our Lord, Israfil, was satning in front of it and the Bird spat fire at him. The ground erupted around Israfil and he fell. Then the Gray Bird left and the portal vanished. We ran to Israfil but he was dead, his body so torn apart so that barely one part of him remained attached to another.”
“Did you see this for yourself, Jerome?” The speaker was doubtful for many told the story of the gray bird.
“I did. With my own eyes and I had the Blessed White Blood of Israfil on my own hands. He died quickly I think but on his face was a look of great fear.”
And so the story passed from teller to listener and soon those who had heard it would pass it on, many also asserting they had seen the Gray Bird with their own eyes and they also had the white blood of the slaughtered angel on their hands. The story was the cause of another subtle change for those who heard it made the link to the other words that spread amongst the human population of Heaven. That the humans on Earth had wondrous machines that could kill even the mightiest of Angels and Daemons. That, when The Eternal Enemy had invaded Earth, the humans had slaughtered his Army, invaded his Kingdom and killed him. Surely the gray bird was one such machine? And if humans could invade Hell and kill The Eternal Enemy, could they not also come here and… . At that point, even the bravest refused to think further.
And so the crowd eddied and swirled throughout the market. The stallholders and merchants did their business and sold their produce, replenishing their displays now and then from the carts that were parked behind their stands. In the swirling mass of humans and angels, none noticed that there was two more carts than stalls.
When it came, the blast was stunning in its effects. The mass of C4 explosive, carefully wrapped with fragments of gold and silver and set amidst masses of semi-precious stones, turned those riches into a spray of deadly shrapnel that scythed through the crowds, leaving death and destruction behind them. The paving stones of the Forum ran with blood, mostly red but white as well and occasionally a trace of silver. The gentle babble of voices was replaced by a cacophony of screams and the wailing of the wounded. Dozens around the cart lay dead, many more still lived despite severed limbs and mutilations previously unknown in Heaven. Such events had never been contemplated before and there existed no precedent for dealing with them. Angel or human, those who still had their wits and bodies intact panicked and stampeded for the steps that were the only way out of the forum. As they pushed and crowded at the bottleneck represented by the steps, that was where and when the second bomb went off.
Upstairs Room, Montmartre Club, Eternal City, Heaven.
Maion very carefully made sure that a goblet of the purest water and four Excedrin tablets were waiting on Lemuel’s bedside table. Then she glanced around the room to make sure that it was freshly cleaned and that everything would be pleasing to Lemuel’s eyes. At sometime during the night, a small packet with her morning heroin fix had arrived and she had taken it, injecting the drug between her toes so the needle mark wouldn’t show. She was well aware that her heroin addiction was the cause of her being in this room and the sleeping angel on the bed was her only way out. Satisfied that she had done all she could, she fanned him gently with her wings. Sure enough, he snorted and woke up.
“Arrgggh. My head.” His voice was suffused with suffering.
“My Beloved Lord.” Maion watched Lemuel carefully, afraid that the endearment would be going too far, too fast, but he was pleased by it. “Drink this and take these medicines. They will greatly reduce your suffering.”
“Truly The Lord of All was right in saying that indulgence brings grave punishment.” Lemuel’s voice was cracked with the force of his hangover.”
Tears started to form in the corners of Maion’s eyes. “I am such a grave punishment?”
Lemuel almost panicked at the thought he had hurt her. She’d been the only female in weeks, months, who had shown him any courtesy or consideration, let alone the love and attention he had the right to expect only from his mate. “No, no. You’ve been wonderful. You are wonderful. I just feel so ill.”
“Perhaps the strength of your prayers for Our Holy Father has taken too much energy from you. I have some food prepared, and more water. Would you honor me by taking refreshment before I go back down to the floor.” She went over to a side table and fetched the dishes containing Lemuel’s breakfast. It was, of course, his favorite. He drank more water, feeling its coolness soothe the parched tissues of this throat while the hammering in his head started to ease.
“Go back down to the floor?” Lemuel was confused.
“I have no patron most noble Ophanim. So, I must go down to the floor of the club and serve those who are down there. If any want me and have the price then I must go with them. Some of them are nice.” Maion shuddered theatrically. “But if I had a patron, then I live in one of the apartments here and serve only him. I would still perform my reverential dances downstairs but would not have to work the floor.”
Lemuel finished his food and grinned at her. “I think we can fix this. Maion, would you accept me as your patron?”
/> “Oh, yes Sire.” Maion’s eyes shone with genuine happiness. For the first time in more than a year she could see a way out of the trap she was in. “We must speak to Charmeine-Lan to make the arrangements.”
“Then let us speak to her without delay.”
By a “strange coincidence” Charmeine-Lan was just outside their room when Lemuel and Maion left in search of her. Unseen by Lemuel, Maion gave her the high-five success signal and that caused Charmeine-Lan to relax. The scheme had gone off perfectly. “Was Maion satisfactory Most Noble Ophanim?”
“Very much so. I understand I can become her patron?”
“That is so, although I must warn you that it is not an inexpensive undertaking. You must pay rent for her new apartment, and an allocation for her living expenses. For that you may visit her any time you please, you may eat in the club without charge and Maion will be reserved for your service alone. She will continue to dance in the club but that will be all. You will also need to give her an allowance so she can keep herself properly.”
Lemuel nodded. Charmeine-Lan pulled a pad out of her robes and wrote quickly on it. “This will be the amount in question. Maion’s allowance will be for the two of you to agree on though.”
Lemuel looked at the number in shock. His heart had sunk when he had heard Charmeine-Lan listing the things he would have to pay for but the total amount was a small fraction of what he had expected. He could afford it easily and still give Maion a generous allowance. Watching him, Charmeine-Lan carefully his her amusement. The amount she had been told to charge was indeed a small fraction of the usual cost. Michael-Lan had told her the business would eat the difference.
“Could we see Maion’s new apartment please?” Lemuel spoke carefully, this was a major step for him and one he wasn’t certain how he could justify to himself. Other than the fact that he was being frozen out by his formal mate and Maion had shown him the first tenderness he had known in months.
