“I have no problem in agreeing, if this is physically possible,” Dave said.
“Hey!” Elorie said. “I’m not agreeing. I don’t want another damned quest, I want to go back to my life.” Elorie paused. “No, dammit, I am going back to my life.”
“When you leave here you, Elorie, you will not have the elixir keeping you alive,” Sorrow said. “Your wishes are not physically possible. You will either die or continue on indefinitely with what you despise so much.” Sorrow paused. “Don’t forget the lesson we allowed you and Dave to learn this morning: together you can share each other’s immunities, and project them. You possess power, power you cannot ignore, great power, power to shake the world as mortal man and woman. You embody a lesson the world of women, and men, must learn: there is no such thing as a helpless mortal, only mortals who choose to be helpless.”
“Bullshit,” Elorie said.
“The harder the two of you struggle against your fate, the more fate will make your lives miserable,” Sorrow said. “This quest will lead where you need to go, Elorie. Or do you just want to die?”
Elorie looked like she was about to take a swing at Sorrow. “Fine, I’ll agree.”
Dave licked his lips. Did the Watchers set up the fight simply to force Dave and Elorie to work together? If so, then the Watchers had lost on purpose. “Then you were sandbagging, in the fight,” he said.
Sorrow didn’t answer, but a pile of gravel at Dave’s feet grew into the Watcher Wisdom. “We are old enough to understand how being chastised can be productive. We are also old enough to understand when continuing a fight only serves to make the terms of surrender much harsher. In this case, this was an honorable surrender, brokered by our own captives, who freed themselves.”
Oh, the Watchers were good. Neither answered his question. Nor did they lie. Or illuminate anything but his lack of understanding of their motives. Dave threw his hands in the air, turned and frowned at Nessa.
Nessa shrugged. “God?” Nessa asked Wisdom. “Are you from God?”
“Of course,” Wisdom said. “Are not all things from God, directly or indirectly.”
Nessa put her hands on her hips, angry, and became more. “When God and I converse, I ask myself: if I can see the face of God, am I not dead? Then I answer myself: if I can understand my own self to ask such a question, am I not alive? Then I ask the both of me who have asked such questions whether there is a difference? This is obvious, I answer myself – if flesh, alive; if mind, dead. Then all Telepaths join life and death. Being and non-being. Flesh and spirit. Yet I look at you and do not see being, yet when I hear your minds I sense people. Are you from God, or are you from Hell?”
Dave shivered and backed away from Nessa, at the force of her essence that lit up when she asked her question, too bright for his gaze. The force of her words, speech and telepathy, beat at his mind and brought tears to his eyes.
Daughter of Light. Daughter of Light. Daughter of Light.
“We are not God made flesh, nor are we from Hell,” Sorrow said. She bowed. “We are our own selves. You do not need further words, Daughter of Light. You are. We are. All suffices.”
“Okay, you’ve successfully not made sense,” Nessa said to Wisdom and Sorrow, her glory fading. “I give. Now what?”
“You go and fight your inevitable and futile war against the 99 Gods. We will all bow to you and allow you to force us to change our rules and restrictions as you wish.” Wisdom smiled. “How can we not? You are the Daughter of Light.”
“What makes me so special?” Nessa said. “Why didn’t you do this eons ago? There’ve been Telepaths with my strength and talents around forever.”
“We don’t understand what makes you so special, but I have a suspicion, now this is all said and done,” Sorrow said. “As a modern and as a Telepath, did you perhaps find a way to overcome dependency to a pleasure drug?”
Nessa laughed. “You mean what I’m doing, in essence, is imprinting my experience at kicking my drug habits into your brains?” She laughed some more. “And I’d thought all that time in my life when I was wasted was time wasted.”
53. (War)
War didn’t fight the call from Akron. Time to eat shit and die.
Her projection woke and stepped down from Akron’s wax museum of projections. Immaculately dressed, but not as this projection had been dressed before. This time Akron had War’s projection dressed entirely in black.
Appropriate.
“We are brought here to resolve a claim, by Portland, against a Divine Compact contract,” Akron said. She dressed in formal judicial robes today. She wasn’t alone.
Madness. All the Gods arrayed against her reeked of the City of God. Even the Living Saint Boise. They might not have worshippers, but Dubuque’s Mission addled their brains.
Or her own perspective had changed. War wasn’t sure. Her mind was flimsy and malleable right now.
“What, you’re going to be the judge?” War said. “Isn’t the judge supposed to be a mortal?”
“What I’m to judge today is whether you are going to be compelled to appear before a mortal judge for trial,” Akron said. “This is the equivalent of a grand jury.”
War snorted. “Well, what sort of claim is involved?” She glanced over at Portland’s projection and noted an angry-enough-to-melt-lead expression on her face. War smiled back.
“You are charged with leading Alton Freudenberger and his people into Dubuque’s lair, without adequate preparation, and betraying them to Dubuque for the bounty on Alton.”
“Dubuque, who I don’t sense here, real or projection, is now your boss,” War said. “You don’t have standing…”
“We do,” Boise said. “Now.”
Willpower from all of them – Portland, Montreal, Akron, Boise and Worcester – bound her projection. Tendrils bored into her mind through the openings left there by the Divine Compact contract. After her own actions and Dubuque’s had diminished her Mission, she didn’t have any hope of fighting off Boise’s hold.
“I don’t have time for this,” War said, reveling in her new station as villain. “I waive the right of trial and plead no contest to these ridiculous charges.” She also didn’t have time to fight the charges in a court of law, and nor did she want to weaken the Divine Compact by winning her case, as she feared she might.
“Good,” Akron said. “You are ended and cast out of our company. I declare your Mission as War over, you betraying monster.” What was left of her Mission vanished. War’s other projections evaporated, leaving her with just this one, and her real body.
Here was the crux. She had predicted this moment in the Place of Time, but didn’t understand the import or the salvation. A miracle, perhaps? She was under Akron’s sway. The Gods judging her should be able to do whatever they wanted. Somehow, impossibly, she would be able to escape this mess.
“I declare you are no longer War. I take your name away from you,” Akron said.
Her last projection nearly evaporated. She fell to the floor, on one knee, her projection reduced to a pathetic illusion. She almost lost control of her real body, back in Dubuque’s lair. She had never been so weak before.
Stripping her name off her would scare the shit out of the other Gods. They would all realize the Divine Compact had teeth.
She wished she didn’t have to be the one taking one for the team, though.
“I send you back to God,” Akron said, finality woven into her words.
She, who had been War, remained where she was, in projection and in real body. Mad glee flowed through her at Akron’s failure. “Bwah hah hah hah. I thought you would fail,” she chortled, her voice unhinged from the stress of her fall. “I was right!”
Montreal hissed anger. Worcester cursed her parentage. Portland, however, said: “Hear me, Host! Appear!” Willpower flared.
Shit. She hadn’t seen this coming in the Place of Time.
She who had been War buckled in the presence of Dominick, the leader of the Host, when
he appeared above her, floating. Portland, she realized, had regained her place within the sight of the Host.
Archangel Dominick didn’t mince words or hesitate. “What you desire cannot be done, Portland,” he said. “We do not possess the right or power to take War back to Heaven for her crimes against you. If you had her body, though, you would be able to do this yourselves, if you used the proper techniques.”
Oh, this was interesting. She who had been War filed the intel away in her mind.
“We must do what we must do,” Portland said. “Thing who was once War, we order you to bring your true body to us.”
She panicked when she realized she couldn’t fight the compulsion. “I…” obey? She couldn’t. Her real body, back in Dubuque’s lair, had walked toward the cell door in Dubuque’s hastily constructed prison, but walked no farther. She didn’t have the willpower to escape.
Ah hah! The miracle appears, draped in what she pictured in her mind to be telepathic echoes rattling through Nessa’s coincidence pools.
“I cannot.”
“Cannot or won’t?” Akron said.
“Can not.”
“Dammit!” Akron said. She who had been War stood and glared. Of all the unexpected things, her willpower had grown a bit. Not much, but a bit, due to Akron’s frustration. Interesting. “Tell us where your real body is, and we’ll go get it!”
She shook her head, her projection’s eyes tightly closed. Revealing her location would end all hope.
“Now!” Portland said, a barked order backed by a charisma trick nearly as potent as Dubuque’s. This explained how Portland balked Dubuque’s charisma so easily. Damn the woman!
Time for one last gamble.
“Fuuuck you,” she who had been War said. She had been waiting for months to be able to say that – Portland’s supercilious holier-than-thou attitude offended her nearly as much as Dubuque’s Christ2.0 attitude. Her invective and anger startled the Gods, enough to give her a tiny opening. “I don’t think so.” She used the opening and her last bit of willpower to waft her last projection off into projection space. The last thing she saw was a reflection from the floor, a reflection of Dominick with a half-smile on his face.
Dubuque’s flunkies led her nearly transparent projection into his audience chamber. This time Dubuque took no chances. Despite the fact she wore her last projection, still pathetically weak after the three days of work she needed to create it again out of projection space, Dubuque had seven Grade One worshipper-amplified Supported ringing him, protecting him from her. Dubuque’s flunkies led her forward to in front of Dubuque’s throne, and a throne it was, even though none would ever utter that word in Dubuque’s lair. She bowed.
“Strange,” Dubuque said. “Though your name has been wiped away by the Gods who had once been your friends and your Mission nearly erased, you still have the temerity to come to me. I must admit, though, that your Betrayal was indeed a masterstroke. I’m hoping you’re not foolish enough to do to me as you did to them.”
“We all have our secrets,” she said, hiding a smile. He owed her and he knew it. “I made my services available to the highest bidder.” Who is God Almighty, you pestilent self-idolater.
“A mercenary. Just darned great,” Dubuque said. “Why did you betray Portland and the Telepaths? I didn’t offer you the bounty you claimed.”
“Whether we call ourselves Living Saints or Gods, we aren’t mortal humans,” she said. “Dubuque, you were the highest bidder, and you’ve already used what I provided to enhance your stature as chief Living Saint in the City of God.” Dubuque’s desires had been equal to God’s, this time.
“Dangerous, dangerous. Triply dangerous, as you never appear as other than a projection. You are one of us, aren’t you?” He filled his question with his worshipper-backed charisma.
She had to answer, having no willpower to resist Dubuque’s charisma. She did find herself able to weasel, to her surprise. “You fear I’m of the Host, taken tangible form?” she said. Dubuque implied the Host could take physical form. Intriguing. “No. I’m a Practical God, and I have never hidden that.”
“The Host says you became War, and they didn’t create you. Now you no longer have the name, or any name. Who are you now? What are you now?”
She snorted. “Enough of this, I tire of it.”
Dubuque frowned. This was supposed to be his line. Again, she had weaseled her way around his charisma. Perhaps this is what she would become in her new self, the world’s best weasel.
“Okay, state your business,” Dubuque said. “Let us bargain for the bounty payment, for your thirty pieces of silver.”
She couldn’t help but wince at the comparisons being made in the salons, audience chambers and work offices of the other 99 Gods. “No bargaining. I want Lydia Gibson.”
“Her?” Dubuque frowned deeper, shook his head, and shrugged. In a moment Lydia ran into the room, panting, horrified; controlled. “Here she is. If she is all you ask for, you are a far greater fool than I thought.”
Right. The biggest betrayal since Quisling and all she got was one extremely obnoxious young half-baked Natural Supported, a mouthy young woman with more promise than skill. Hopefully, Dubuque wouldn’t think on this too much.
“You have your kinks, I have mine,” she said.
Lydia, freed from Dubuque’s control, paled and shuddered. She who had been War smiled. Her willpower grew, and her Mission re-knit into a new and foul thing.
Dubuque had given everything back to her and more, without realizing his service, just by paying for her betrayal.
Delicious.
“Later, then,” Dubuque said, distaste written all over his face. “Much later.”
She snorted. He had no clue about the game she played today.
She did let loose a low cackle on the way out, just for effect.
She certainly understood what she was, now.
“Please, let me go, Gears,” Lydia said. She hadn’t stopped negotiating since they had left Dubuque’s audience chamber. “I’ll never oppose you. I’m not your enemy. I never have been.” She who had been War grabbed Lydia by the shoulders and yanked her off the ground; when they were airborne and far enough away from Dubuque to be out of his willpower-enhanced senses, she let go of Lydia and turned on some real heat. From Lydia’s commentary, she decided Lydia had read far too many steamy steampunk romances and entertained far too many S&M fantasies in the back of her mind.
“Be patient. Heh heh heh,” she said, feeding the fantasy. Lydia’s negotiations turned to screams. She who had been War reveled in her rebuilt willpower and pushed a full 8 gee acceleration through her fly, nearly straight up, and soon they were exoatmospheric.
“Shut up,” she said, after they reached space.
“Ma’am, please,” Lydia said, continuing with some pathetic begging.
“You don’t know shit, you never knew shit, and you’re not likely going to learn shit, at least from me.” Jesus, what a worthless piece of young white trash Lydia was when the going got rough. The bitch would get better, though. Or die horribly. “I’m taking you to your new home. You’re not going to be a slave, at least not mine, bwah hah hah hah. Perhaps there you’ll make some use of yourself.”
“Why’d you do the reverse chomp on us? What did we ever do to you?”
She didn’t answer. Lydia didn’t deserve an answer. In a few minutes, she who had been War switched her acceleration vector, now eight gees of deceleration, and began the fall to Dana and Bob’s home. They hadn’t joined the City of God, or even agreed to neutrality; only Dana, Bob and Orlando remained free of Dubuque’s taint among all of her former allies in North America.
And they still hadn’t ditched their old lair, the idiots.
Lydia went back to screaming as they approached the ground, terrorized by the flying. Time truly was of the essence; she didn’t want to give Dubuque the slightest hint about what really went on today.
They landed outside Dana and Bob’s Immunogen lair; s
he grabbed Lydia’s arm and hustled her inside, skip flying them toward Dana, 4 meter steps, scattering like tenpins the Orlando Supported who supposedly defended the place.
“Get out of here, Betrayer,” Dana said, when she came into sight. She who had been War ignored the inevitable Supported attacks and grimaced. She had picked up a new name, and from the unexpected name her willpower grew.
A smile crossed her face, an unhinged smile as the Supported gave up on their futile attacks. Unbelievably, she was stronger than what she had been, back before when she had been War. Ahhh. In the crazy game the Angelic Host played, the wages of sin were awesome.
Thank you, Dana.
Believe, ye righteous, that the sinners will become a shame
And perish in the day of unrighteousness.
Be it known unto you (ye sinners) that the Most High is mindful of your destruction,
And the angels of heaven rejoice over your destruction.
What will ye do, ye sinners,
And whither will ye flee on that day of judgment,
When ye hear the voice of the prayer of the righteous?
Yea, ye shall fare like unto them,
Against whom this word shall be a testimony:
"Ye have been companions of sinners."
And in those days the prayer of the righteous shall reach unto the Lord,
And for you the days of your judgment shall come.
And all the words of your unrighteousness shall be read out before the Great Holy One,
And your faces shall be covered with shame,
And He will reject every work which is grounded on unrighteousness.
Woe to you, ye sinners, who live on the mid ocean and on the dry land,
Whose remembrance is evil against you.
-- The Book of Enoch 97, 1:7
“If you poke at the mystery too much, it will ruin everything.”
54. (Dana)
“Shut up,” the Betrayer said. Dana winced, unsure what to do with the God invading her HQ, in the giant HQ great room where she had been training Bob. Her Supported guards had attacked and attempted to banish the Betrayer, but Dana waved them off. This wasn’t one of War’s old battle projections. This was something completely new and different.
99 Gods: Betrayer Page 68
