Donnerjack

by Roger Zelazny

  Stripping, he worked the links into place, assisting his hands with touches from his virtual telekinesis. Then he gave a command and a grey mist rose. As the network aion took over, he gave it the coordinates for Kwinan’s place, stepped into a violently violet cab, and leaned back to enjoy the ride to the site where many of the Church’s Virtuan members maintained dwellings.

  Although in theory space within Virtu was infinite, in reality the average complex proge or aion could not maintain its own site and have memory left to divert to other projects. Therefore, they “rented” space from a genius loci and tailored it to suit their personal tastes. Some of these sites had the equivalent of “zoning regulations” to maintain a particular theme. Others, such as the one Kelsey’s cab was now entering, were eclectic.

  The decor of Ben Kwinan’s residence was always changing, usually reflecting Kwinan’s latest fascination. Today it resembled a Navajo ho-gan—a rounded structure with log and mud walls and a softly curved mud roof. It contrasted oddly with the staid brownstone on one side and the miniature Moorish palace on the other, less because of the primitive materials of its construction than because it was aligned so that its entryway was on side to the street rather than facing it.

  When Kelsey was admitted to the hogan, he learned why this was so. Dressed in worn blue jeans, a Western shirt with silver buttons, his hair (still the same grey as always) bound with a wide fabric tie, Kwinan pushed aside the blanket that covered the door revealing a roughly round room with a fire in the center. It was decorated simply, with practical articles hanging on the wall and elaborately patterned rugs heaped on the floor.

  “Thanks for coming by, Randall.”

  “Pleasure. Interesting place.”

  “Navajo hogan. I’ve had a lot of fun working on it. I guess it’s my compensation for not being able to be on-site in California.”

  “This looks like a lot more fun,” Kelsey assured him, following him into the hogan.

  “Walk to the left of the fire,” Kwinan said, steering Kelsey slightly so that he did as directed. “Traditionally, the hogan is aligned with its door facing the east. The south side of the fire was reserved for the men, the north for the women.”

  “And the west?” Kelsey asked, noting that this was where Kwinan was placing him.

  “Was for honored guests,” Kwinan said with a beaming smile. “Take a seat on the rugs—I think you’ll find them comfortable. The patterns and textures are from the Wheelwright databank. Can I offer you a drink?”

  “It’s not going to be anything peculiar like goat’s milk, is it?”

  “Not if you don’t want it to be. I have a completely stocked bar.”

  “Coffee, then. It’s been a long day.”

  “Coffee it is. I have some pinon cookies, too.”

  “Wonderful.”

  When they were settled with coffee and cookies, Kwinan fell silent for so long that Kelsey wondered if his host had directed a portion of his attention to another activity. When they had first started working together, Kelsey had not been certain if Kwinan was a complex proge or an actual aion. The longer they had associated, the more certain he had become that Kwinan was an aion. But, as Kwinan never mentioned the matter, and Kelsey felt that an inquiry would be rude, he had never pursued the matter.

  “We are completely private here,” Kwinan said after a time. “I mention this because I want you to be assured that whatever we discuss here will go no further than between the two of us.”

  “Uh, thanks.”

  Kwinan picked up a ball of yarn, unwound a bit, wove it into something like a cat’s cradle around his fingers, picked up and dropped strands, apparently giving his entire attention to creating the elaborate design.

  “I hardly know how to begin. I’ve brought this… consideration to you for several reasons. First of all, we’ve worked together a long time. You are probably the Veritean I feel most comfortable with—I know you’ve made an effort to understand the Virtuan point of view. You’ve also demonstrated the ability to think for yourself time and again.”

  “However, I’ve also made some rather serious errors,” Kelsey said dryly, “as in not detecting that Arthur Eden’s interest in the Church was other than spiritual.”

  “How could you be expected to know that? Eden didn’t fool just you—you simply took the fall for the rest of our slowness. There are many members of the Church for whom involvement is less than spiritual.”

  “I’m shocked, simply shocked.”

  “Right. How are you enjoying the revenues from that tee-shirt you’re marketing?”

  “You know that my name is just being used to front that project for the Church.”

  “Shocked… Randall, you think for yourself, work harder than any two members, and maintain a sense of humor about the entire mess.”

  “Thank you—I think.”

  Ben Kwinan let his loop of yarn fall limp between his fingers. He raised his gaze to meet Kelsey’s.

  “Randall, there was a day you expressed some doubt about the wisdom of letting the gods of old cross over into the Verite. You expressed concern about how their values, their power, would interact with those of modern Verite.”

  “I remember.”

  “At the time, I gave you the party line, but now that I’ve been working with the great ones myself, I find myself wondering if you were right. What do you know of the gods of Virtu?”

  Kelsey wrinkled his brow, momentarily disoriented by the apparent change of subject.

  “I know that they exist, that many of the aions worship them rather than gods generated out of the Verite. Once or twice, I have heard it whispered that the ‘gods’ who manifest in our Virtuan temples during the services are not the reawakened deities of ancient Babylon and Sumer, but are some of the lesser deities of Virtu playing a role and reaping some intangible benefit from being at the center of so much attention.”

  “You listen carefully, but I am not surprised by this. I’ve always known you were aware of more than you ever mentioned.”

  “And?”

  “And? What if I was to tell you that you were right on many counts?

  Right as far as you go—although there is more to the picture than what you know.”

  “If you told me that, I suppose I would ask you to tell me what is missing from my picture.”

  “Again, what I would expect. Very well, Randall, consider yourself told. When the Church of Elish worships the gods of Sumer and Babylonia, they also worship with the gods of Virtu.”

  “Is it all a game, an elaborate bit of theater?”

  “No, not at all, because the Church of Elish is completely right about one of its most basic teachings. Virtu is the gateway into the collective unconscious of the human race—the anima mundi, the place of archetypal myths. When the gods of Virtu assume their roles, they also take on some aspects of the creatures whose form and habits they have adopted. In some cases, as with the greater gods of the pantheon, Virtu preserved the gods when their worshipers crumbled to dust.”

  “So, in a sense, it was Bel Marduk who manifested in Central Park that day.”

  “Correct. And the more I work with those deities, the more I am aware that the arrogance and indifference to individual human rights and privileges possessed by the ancient ones is seeping into the psyches of the Virtuan deities. Don’t misunderstand me—the gods appreciate humanity as a whole, as a source of worship and adoration, but the individual is as nothing to them.”

  “The legends of Sumer and Babylon contain the first telling of a flood that nearly wiped out everything living on the earth.”

  “That is correct.”

  “Then what you are saying is that attitude is being given form and power once again.”

  “Yes, although in a slightly less destructive form, perhaps. Remember, in the story of the Flood, the gods did come to regret wiping out humanity and let the race grow again from the few survivors.”

  “But the individual life…”

  “Or t
hat of a city or nation even…”

  “Would be as less than nothing to these gods.”

  “That is so.”

  “And we are working our asses off to help them have free access to Verite.”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  “Jesus H. Christ!”

  “Jesus was a much gentler god than those whom the Church of Elish wishes to set free in the Verite.”

  “Bel Marduk, jealous Ishtar, raging Enlil…”

  “You seem horrified, Randall, even surprised. Why? Have I brought up anything more terrible than what you have already feared?”

  “I wasn’t afraid anymore, Ben. First, you gave me assurances. Then, after things went to hell in Central Park, the Hierophant was so confident, so certain we could turn apparent disaster into a major coup.”

  “The Hierophant. Yes, the Hierophant. Tell me, Randall, have you ever considered why the Hierophant began spreading the teachings of the Church of Elish?”

  “I assumed that he wanted greater respect for Virtu and its potential. I mean, it is stupid that the most magnificent artifact of the human race is used for little more than a convenient place to work and play. The Church of Elish has preached appreciation for Virtu’s vast potential and vast power.”

  “I wish I could believe that, my friend. It’s what I believed once.”

  “Are you saying that you believe that the Hierophant has ulterior motives?”

  “Certainly. Moreover, I know that you share my suspicions. We both have been in on the ground floor—so to speak—of the development of the crossover project.”

  “That’s true. I remember when we made the early modifications to the couches.”

  “And later, when we sought volunteers for the broadcast links.”

  “I’ll never forget that. Being approached as a volunteer for that project was what drove Emmanuel Davis—Arthur Eden—into hiding.”

  “And now we have come to the crossover of the gods.”

  “I don’t understand why you are so unhappy, Ben. For as long as I can remember, you have longed for the ability to cross over into Verite as I can into Virtu. Once the gods make the transition, can aions be far behind?”

  A small smile crossed Ben Kwinan’s face.

  “No, it cannot. However, I dislike the idea of crossing into a Verite as dominated by gods and demons as Virtu already is. I appreciate the convenience and power of a genius loci, but I want to be part of a world without active gods.”

  Kelsey lifted the coffee pot from its hook over the fire, filled his cup, took another cookie from the plate.

  “But what can we do, Ben? Even if we sabotaged this Celebration, there would be another.”

  “I realize that.”

  “And I don’t really care for the idea of bringing our theory to the media. Look what happened to Eden. His revelations were much tamer than this, but he remains in hiding to escape the Church’s vengeance. He’ll probably die in hiding.”

  “True.”

  “I bet you have a suggestion.”

  “Yep, but you’re not going to like it.”

  “Try me. I don’t like any of this very much.”

  Rising from his cross-legged seat, Kwinan began pacing the short distance between the door and the south edge of the fire.

  “I told you that your information about the gods of Virtu was accurate as far as it went. We refer to our gods as the Gods on Meru (Mount Meru being their residence), or the Ones on High. The three most senior are called the Highest.”

  “Very tidy.”

  “What do you expect from a bunch of computer programs? I have evidence that one of the Highest is allied with the Hierophant on this venture. He has encouraged the lesser gods to participate and is quite probably the source of the ‘inspiration’ that began the physical crossover project.”

  “I can buy that. Radical new developments don’t come from nowhere and the Gods on Meru must be brilliant to qualify as gods among computer generated intelligences.”

  “Brilliant? Perhaps. Vastly powerful, nearly omniscient, no doubt. However, divinity does not make them immune to rivalries among themselves and the Highest Three have few peers.”

  “Only each other, I would guess.”

  “What I want to suggest is that we ally ourselves to one of the rivals of the Hierophant’s ally.”

  “Wait a minute, Ben. All this talk of ‘the Hierophant’s ally’ and ‘the rival of the ally’ is getting confusing. Don’t you folks have names for these characters?”

  Kwinan paused. “We call the Highest Three Seaga, Skyga, and Earthma. The Hierophant’s ally is Skyga.”

  “Very tidy names.”

  “Don’t get sarcastic with me, Randall. Most of your deities’ names don’t sound any better when they are translated from their original languages.”

  “I’m not being sarcastic, really. Who do you want to work with, then? Earthma?”

  Kwinan actually shivered. “Not her! She’s a calculating bitch. I’m not at all comfortable with her.”

  “Sounds as if you know them personally.”

  “Oh, not really, but when something is part of your programming from basic generation on, it’s hard not to have some pretty visceral feelings about it.”

  “I suppose so. I’m afraid that my natal culture has lost that immediate religious impulse.”

  “As most science-oriented Veritean cultures have—part of the appeal of the Church of Elish within those societies. But I stray from my proposal. Skyga and Seaga have long been genteel rivals. I doubt that Seaga would like to see Skyga gain preeminence. What I suggest is that we ally ourselves with Seaga, provide information and the like so that Seaga can balance Skyga, and thereby keep Skyga somewhat in check.”

  “Interesting, but I have a feeling that you are not telling me everything. Why do you need me? The information you want could be acquired through other channels.”

  “True, but I need an ally who can cross into Verite.”

  “Why? I tell you right now, I won’t sabotage the Celebration—not unless we can stop it for good—otherwise too many innocent worshipers are likely to be hurt.”

  Kwinan stopped pacing and directed his gaze at Kelsey. To the Veritean he seemed to glow with a faint golden light.

  “To be straight, then. I want you to secrete a duplicate of the crossover gear within one of the secondary ziggurats. That way, if we are forced into a clinch, Seaga can send some of his minions through to push back those of Skyga before they can spread into the Verite.”

  “Odd. A moment ago you said that you wanted the Verite to be free from meddling gods. Now you are telling me that you want to supply another powerful figure with crossover access.”

  “Only so that the minions of Skyga can be pushed back—and only as a last resort at that.”

  “So you said.”

  “Do you doubt me?”

  “Not really. It’s just that this is a great deal to comprehend all at once. We have some weeks before the Celebration. Can I have time to think?”

  “You will not speak of this.”

  “Of course not. We had already agreed on that. Besides, I am impressed by the danger that these gods of old offer to the Verite. I will not dismiss your considerations lightly. I promise that.”

  “Then I will need to be satisfied with your need to consider. Sometimes I forget that humans do not have multiple processing units.”

  Kelsey yawned elaborately. “Or that we have lungs and muscles and sensory equipment that get tired after a hard day’s work. Can you have the transition aion call me a cab?”

  “Very well. And thank you.”

  “My pleasure, I assure you.”

  * * *

  Look back over your shoulder. Run, run away. Far, far away.

  Bar the gates.

  White-knuckled, look out from between the iron posts.

  Are you safe at last?

  Can you be safe until it is past? Call the ghosts.

  Call the five-limbed demons.

>   Array the horrors. Beyond the gate, order lurks.

  Press it back into its bottle.

  Chaos is fecund. Chaos is powerful. Chaos…

  (oh, my sweet seven-limbed demons) Chaos

  is terrified.

  * * *

  When Alice Hazzard came home from a completely frustrating day spent searching for clues to a story she knew was there, she found a message from her mother. Written in dark green ink on a sheet of pale ivory paper, it rested, hard copy, in the little-used mail basket just inside the front door of the apartment.

  Lydia had hand-drawn tiny peacock orchids around the edges of the sheet of paper, something she did when she was fidgeting on the phone or while waiting for a patient. She had sketched their angular yet soft six-petaled shape and spiky leaves perfectly, black pencil shadings for the darker center (deep red in reality), silver-grey for the antennalike stamen and pistils. The flower was the only thing she could draw, but she took great pride in this small achievement.

  Alice smiled and felt a pang of homesickness (odd, since she was home; Lydia was away), and read the message:

  Alice,

  Won’t you come and join me? I’d like yon to visit for a few days, celebrate my birthday with me, meet an old friend I think yon should know. I’m at a private address, but if yon come to the campus of AVU at seven this evening, I will meet yon by the swan pond. Sorry about the secrecy, but that’s how it has to be.

  Love, Mom

  Alice was intrigued, puzzled. With the edge of her finger she touched just one of the penciled peacock orchids. It smudged. Mom’s then, not some weird practical joke.

  She considered. Both she and Drum were stumped on the Elshie case. A vacation might give her a new perspective. Knowing that Mom would ask, she checked her schoolwork. Except for a writing assignment, she was all caught up. With a few keystrokes, she transferred a copy of the Virtropolis article to her teacher’s mailbox. Certainly a publishable article would serve to fulfill the assignment.