Alleluia, Alleluia, Alleluia, Alleluia, Alleluia.
The holy Dubuque soldier band
Upon the new Foundation stand
Alleluia, Alleluia.
And with God’s followers they see
Dubuque’s resplendent majesty
Alleluia, Alleluia, Alleluia…”
Alt shivered as Betrayer’s Leo body led them past the Singing Host, one of the several make-work groups Dubuque had created to keep his former Supported army occupied. Dubuque’s ‘Foundation of the City of God’ had turned rabid after the fall of the Supported, and at times Betrayer nearly couldn’t hold back her anger and disgust. The hallway to the Telepaths’ quarters exited into Fallen Martyr square, where an older woman who resembled Portland far too closely to be a coincidence stood on her soapbox and preached. Day or night, someone always preached in Martyr Square.
“…if you doubt one thing, then you have opened yourself up to doubt all. Doubt is for the non-believers, for those who have turned their back on the City of God. They are evil! They are forsaken! They will not share the fruits…”
Alt grunted as he sped up, balancing the load of colas and fresh veggie trays with difficulty. Betrayer’s Leo body carried the pizzas this time. “…for they consort with animals and eat human flesh…”
She had never felt so low in her life. She needed to take a shower, a long shower.
Betrayer joined the Telepaths as they gathered around the television to watch the live feed of the debate between Dubuque and Father Haus. For some reason, she expected instant fireworks and a feeling of utter doom, but instead, the debate’s start bored her. Dubuque didn’t do anything more than restate his oft-stated City of God position. Father Haus did little more at the beginning than state timeworn Catholic positions Betrayer suspected were older than Lorenzi.
Which didn’t jibe with her expectations. Verona wasn’t a doctrinaire Catholic, no more than Father Haus was. Instead, the Father had the reputation of a fringie Catholic always walking the fine line between original thought and excommunication. Or, in the quaint terms of the Vatican, ‘quieting’.
Dubuque finally gave this debate a nudge. “From what you say, Father Haus, I cannot understand what your objections are to the City of God,” he said.
“My objections? My objections, Dubuque?” Father Haus said, his voice stronger than before. “Your people destroyed a pious nation that existed based on a Christian communal covenant between God and mankind and replaced their faith with a non-Christian theocracy. Is this objection enough?”
Ah hah, so here was where Verona and Dubuque parted ways. Betrayer fiddled with one of Leo’s knives and worried.
“You defend America, the Godless superpower under the throes of those twin whores of Babylon, Hollywood and Wall Street? America had fallen into perdition, Father.”
Father Haus shook his head. “The people of America had done no such thing. The mistake you make is one I have heard many of us make when looking at modern culture: twisting a mere time of transition into an invocation of the eschaton.” Betrayer tuned out the debate, half her mind shifting to the problem of Jan and Knot. She still hadn’t been able to plant any new spy devices on them. All she knew, from her many spying devices in Dana and Orlando’s camps, was that they were making progress in their quest to find the unknown meddlers behind the theft of their Miami sample.
“And what are we Living Saints if we are not the prefiguration of the End Times?” Dubuque said. “And this nation of a pious people whose passing you mourn? What you mourn is the passing of a heresy, the idea of democracy and popular sovereignty, the sop of the weak, the failures and the cowards among us. Father Haus, we Living Saints do not merely invoke the eschaton. We are the eschaton. I have been awakened to a postmillennial faith, Father, a faith stating Jesus will not return to us until after a millennium of the Kingdom. The City of God is The Kingdom! A thousand years will the City of God last! Jesus will end the City of God in glory!”
To her left, Betrayer heard Alt snoring. A quick glance showed Javier, Nicole and Pat had also fallen asleep. Mary and Walter had turned from the debate to play cards, and Vicki read a potboiler female detective novel she knew was written by Epharis and Grover March, using a female pseudonym, the cover was Jan Cox’s, and the plot based off of some of the Indigo’s non-supernatural detective work. Only Phil still watched, evident distaste on his face.
“Your City of God welcomes non-Christian ideas as equals, treats the Koran as another piece of the Holy Bible, and seeks to add your own deeds, exploits and philosophies to the Holy Bible to stroke your own ego. You have fallen away from true monotheism. You call yourself these days fundamental, holy and anti-secular,” Father Haus said, “but in my mind you and your followers, Dubuque, are the ones who have fallen away from the true path.” He paused and lowered his voice. “Only the truly liberal can invent their own religion.”
Oh, this was rich, Betrayer thought. Although she couldn’t claim to be Catholic, Father Haus’s viewpoint mirrored her Southern Baptist objections to Dubuque. Dubuque had always struck her as a dangerous and radical heretic. A dangerous and radical worshipped heretic.
Father Haus’s point, though, did show that he wasn’t a complete pawn of Verona. So, why did Verona choose him? Had Verona made a mistake or been prodded into making a mistake? Betrayer smelled more interference.
“Dubuque, Jesus ended the questions you pose for all time when he stated that the Holy Spirit would lead the Church,” Father Haus said, five minutes later. Alt’s Telepaths had gotten to her again, sinking her into what she termed Telepath group lassitude. She had almost nodded off. “Nothing else is necessary in this life. I beg you to set an example and lead all the other so-called Living Saints and Gods by converting to the true Catholic faith and acknowledging the Vicar of Christ as the true representative of God’s will.”
Ah! The true contest. If Father Haus, as Verona’s representative, won this debate, it cleared the way for Verona to become Pope. Dubuque must have objected.
“The City of God welcomes the human Pope, Father Haus.” Betrayer smiled. Dubuque stepped away from his lectern and began to play to the crowd. “The City of God will save humanity from the scourge of humanism and its destruction of our culture, our families and our nations. In one stroke we have removed the non-pious from their positions of power and replaced them with men of faith. Only the City of God offers a comprehensive worldview to cover all areas of life and thought and every aspect of creation. Only the City of God offers a way to live in the modern world that is not corrupting. The City of God is for all people, worldwide. Our duty and our responsibility is to establish the City of God worldwide. Our duty and our responsibility calls us to convert people to the true faith.” Applause drowned out Dubuque’s last words.
Alarms rang in Betrayer’s head, and she put her Leo-body on automatic, recording the debate for later viewing. Nessa’s group of damned Telepaths rocked the boat again. Betrayer, instead, activated her nearby dormant projection to spy on Nessa’s group of Telepaths directly.
For once, not a bad rocking of the boat. Nessa had sprung a surprise wedding to ensnare Orlando and Dana, and afterwards the two of them had settled down for some real albeit tepid sex. Finally.
The marriage set up the denouement at Betrayer’s lair. This one event at her lair, if she accomplished the rest of the manipulations needed, would all by itself add at least 50% to the chance of success of her overall plan.
ns to throw more grit into their plans, keyed to various contingencies and events. Temptations to go after Dubuque, in any way, weren’t allowed! The rebel Gods needed to be weak, at least until Betrayer pulled the rug out from under everyone and made Dubuque’s overwhelming City of God attack on Orlando, The Kid God and the Telepaths into an out and out no-thinking-necessary emergency.
Finished with Persona, Betrayer flickered her consciousness into a projection in Inventor’s lab; her projection appeared to be a computer. She bing-binged until she got Inventor’s attention.
“What do you want, Hacker#1?” Inventor typed. Betrayer, who couldn’t hack her way past a Windows start-up password, still couldn’t get over the fact she had managed to portray herself as a true hacker to the techie God.
“How’s Portland’s prep going?”
“She was distraught over the loss of her Supported, but she recovered after she figured out how many Grade One Supported can be cross-trained to be Natural Supported. Portland’s putting her full effort into the training now.”
A complete waste of time, as the conflict would happen long before Portland’s coterie of Naturals finished their training. “I have an idea for you.” Betrayer displayed her idea on the computer screen.
“An idea for what?”
“A new type of enchantment. Enchanted computers.”
“I’ve already got those.”
She proceeded to give Inventor the basic specifications on Bob and Orlando’s trick. “Isn’t the idea of computers using willpower neat?” She could have given Inventor the entire package, but giving away everything would have taken away his excitement.
“I think I might be able to do something with this,” he typed. He lied by understatement, so excited over the idea that he might have something new to play with he practically hopped out of his divine tennis shoes.
“Have fun.”
Betrayer flickered her consciousness to a projection near Boise’s hermitage. She had her penitent projection body make the arduous climb, then after waiting in the short line for fifteen minutes, she knelt before Boise. He sat in the traditional cave, hollowed out to a semblance of some ancient chapel. In the distance, Betrayer heard dripping water and the call of bats. In the immediate area, she smelled the stink of unwashed body and visitors sweaty from the climb. Boise sat lotus style among a pile of dirty rags at the back of the cave, where the ceiling sloped down to almost touch his head.
“Betrayer. Long time no see, thankfully,” Boise said, trivially penetrating her disguise. Damn him! “Give me one reason why I shouldn’t destroy this projection of yours.”
She drew up her nose and sniffed haughtily. “I have some information for you.” Chortle. “A gift.”
Boise sighed and swatted away some fleas. Betrayer didn’t react when she realized some of them descended from the Immune willpower-feeding fleas she had given him to keep him from interfering in the attack on Orlando, the Kid God and the Telepaths. To her disgust, she realized the ascetic God had grown used to them, and in his own way, adored them.
“My feet ache in anticipation of whatever bit of poisonous drivel you’re going to give to me.” He paused. “So, speak!”
She pitched her voice low and overblown. “You’re familiar with the debate between Father Haus and Dubuque?”
“I’m a master of electromagnetism. The fact I don’t have a television doesn’t mean I’m not watching evil battle evil.”
“Why Boise! Evil battling evil? Strong words for someone who’s bowed to Dubuque.” Bwah hah hah.
Scratch scratch. Betrayer scratched in response, and noticed several of her own gift fleas sucking on her projection. Fucking bugs!
“I make no pretense about liking my situation.”
She decided to deviate from her set piece. “So, what are you doing about your situation?”
“Arranging to go back to God.”
“Huh?” She frowned. “Killing yourself?”
“I’m no more alive than you are, Betrayer. This is a false thing that we are. It’s wrong. The horrors done in our names disgust me, and I want no more.”
“Hey! There’s still hope.”
“Says the cackling lunatic God.”
“Ignoring my desire to have you bow to me, I do happen to like you, Boise.”
“I’m sure I’d make a wonderful pet.”
“That’s not what I mean!”
Boise looked at her and lowered his eyebrows. “Bwah hah hah?” he said.
Betrayer rolled her eyes. Was this worth the gamble? Yes. Boise, as far as she knew, no longer talked to any of the other 99 Gods save Dubuque, the enemy. “I’m still working on stopping Dubuque,” she said, without the bwah hah hah.
“And spending any of us that this ‘stopping’ takes?”
“Probably. Including myself,” she said.
“Ah, the real War resurfaces under the crazy Betrayer,” Boise said. “As much as I do dislike your methods, I have to admit you do have style.” Scratch scratch. “I don’t have the stomach for the conflict, though. I’m done with that nonsense.”
“You can leave the wars to me. I’m counting on you to help pick up the pieces afterwards.”
“The Divine Compact?”
“Is not my target.”
“Hmmm. I’m still going to keep working on going back to God, though. I believe it’s a skill that needs to be learned by quite a few of us so-called Gods.”
Betrayer chewed her lip. “Hmmm. I hear what you’re not saying.” She appreciated having someone else devious working on their problems.
A fog of interference sprang around them, a Boise willpower trick Betrayer set a mental track to analyze. An eavesdropping protection, apparently. Boise’s voice dropped to a whisper. “What’s this information you wanted to give me?”
He had decided to take her seriously. “The debates between Father Haus and Dubuque aren’t what they seem to be,” Betrayer said. “They’re a contest between Verona and Dubuque for control over the religious doctrine of the City of God. Apparently, the Dubuque and Verona elbow jostling we noted back during my War days never stopped, although they’ve gotten cannier about hiding their differences. Haus is Verona’s hand-picked mouthpiece. If Verona wins, he’s going to get himself appointed Pope.”
“Hmm. To prove this you must have spies in Dubuque’s and Verona’s headquarters. Am I right?”
“Essentially,” Betrayer said. Boise didn’t miss much. “Let’s keep that quiet, okay?”
Boise nodded. “You’d best be going before someone notices,” Boise said.
Taking the hint, Betrayer dropped the projection. She would make another and send the projection there later, flea free.
She returned her consciousness to Alt’s Telepath group and did a quick review of the debate so far. The two hadn’t devolved into name-calling, but Father Haus did use the S word several times, hinting that Dubuque had been devilishly ensnared.
“Within democracy, Dubuque, lies the strength to fight off the petty wars and tyranny plaguing mankind since our expulsion from Eden,” Father Haus said.
“Democracy gave us Wiccans, atheism, scientism and late-term abortions. Good riddance, I say,” Dubuque said.
“Funny, I always thought Communism, the totalitarian nightmare, gave us institutionalized atheism. The American supreme court didn’t mandate abortions, they just made them legal; education of the people will fix the issue, or would have if your blunderbuss theocracy hadn’t intervened and legitimized the appalling compromise you midwifed. If any of the varieties of neo-paganism can force out Christianity by their merits, then my faith was wrong; but my faith is not wrong and over time, the power of Christian faith will prevail. What you don’t understand, friend Dubuque, is that legal restraint doesn’t prevent Christians from coercing others in matters of conscience, but Christianity itself.”
“The history of Catholicism says otherwise.” Dubuque preened.
“Before the rise of modern democracy Catholicism had no other option, a
sin for which we are still paying. Catholicism recognized the worth of modern democracy and its attendant freedoms over sixty years ago. A democracy allowing the public to publicly choose their faith, choose to proselytize and choose to live a humble life is far more holy than a theocracy where faith is mandated, building resentment, anger and hatred. We’ve had one French Revolution and an institutionalization of anti-clericism; we don’t need another, ever.” Father Haus sipped water. “There is no power in this world able to penetrate the hearts of all men; when those who slip from faith are allowed to hide amid the false splendor of a totalitarian state, secular or theocratic, evil is nurtured and is allowed to grow. Only God Almighty can bring the light to all people, and only in a slow and steady way.”
“You say there is no power in this world?” Dubuque said.
Betrayer sat up straighter; her willpower shivered at Dubuque’s words. Phil noticed, rubbed incipient sleep from his eyes, and moved over to sit beside her.
“Something’s going on,” he said.
“Shhh,” was Betrayer’s only answer, besides a nod. Phil shivered. Betrayer ignored his need for comfort. She had no comfort to give.
“Only the transforming and miraculous power of God,” Father Haus said. “We must open…”
“Look, then, and learn,” Dubuque said, interrupting. He waved a hand, and a group of his followers walked across the stage to him, a child’s casket between them.
“I don’t like this,” Phil said. “This is a setup.”
“He’s doing something to me through the shared 99 Gods Mission,” Betrayer said.
Alarms in her mind started to ring, alarms associated with her projection she had hidden in Worcester’s home. She ignored the alarms, as they didn’t have any overt connection to Dubuque’s actions. Her gut told her to attack Dubuque, in her Leo body. Now.
Logic said her Mission had gotten idiotic and stupid.
She forced her logic to prevail.
“See before you the partial skeletal remains of Jennifer Miller,” Dubuque said. The casket opened and girl-length bones floated out to arrange themselves on the floor.
99 Gods: Odysseia Page 33
