99 Gods: War

by Randall Farmer

  Atlanta heard his words but didn’t hear any conviction in them.

  “Good start,” Portland said. She took Atlanta’s hand in hers. “Atlanta, you need to eschew your violent ways. They’re just as wrong. How will you judge whether someone needs killing, among those who you judge as needing killing? Would it be unfair to society to kill only ten percent of those who need killing? Once you start killing, where do you stop?”

  “The ones I killed needed killing,” Atlanta said. “I’m not talking about family violence crap, or people who stupidly panic and kill people in the heat of the moment, but career criminals of the worst stripe. I can see their history. That’s how I know where to stop.”

  “Your killing’s not going to make things better,” Portland said. “We aren’t omniscient and merely having our creators name us Gods doesn’t give us the wisdom to play God Almighty. Get a staff of mortals to help you choose, if choose you must.”

  “Good idea,” Atlanta said. Portland’s spoke her last sentence from on high, the thunder of the Lord. Atlanta thought for a moment, and realized she had heard Portland’s Rapture at work, Portland’s inner faith.

  She didn’t disagree with Portland’s statement, either, which lent it more weight. “This opens up a side topic I’d like to discuss,” Atlanta said. “I want to hire Dana here to be my chief of staff.”

  “Oh?” Portland said, letting go of Atlanta’s hand, her eyes flickering to Dana. “Was this your idea, Dana?”

  “No, Portland,” Dana said. “Atlanta made the offer after I told her how I got involved with you and you made me what I am.”

  Portland smiled and turned to Atlanta. “Dana’s pushy and is going to push you around, and because she wields my loaned power I know her thoughts when she thinks them, so she can’t help but be my spy in your ranks. Just thought I’d mention this first, so you wouldn’t think I was pulling anything on you.”

  Atlanta liked Portland’s honor the most. A little more spine would be good as well, but one can’t have everything.

  “No problem,” Atlanta said. “I’m not the Suits. I don’t have any grand designs on personal world domination or any other megalomaniacal shit. I figure I’ve got enough on my plate with ol’ Dixie as my responsibility.”

  “Then this is settled,” Portland said.

  Dana cleared her throat. “Don’t I get a say?”

  “Dear, I can read your desires in your mind. I know you want the job,” Portland said. “Besides, as I said to you when I found a way to loan you willpower, life’s always been too easy for you. You’ll never shine unless you’re challenged.”

  Dana glowered as best she could, fighting like mad to keep a smile off of her face.

  “So, now that you’ve heard our gripes…what’s your worst problem, Phoenix?” Atlanta said. She still didn’t like Phoenix’s reaction to Portland’s statements about the danger of worshippers.

  “Well, thank you,” Phoenix said. “I hadn’t thought of my issues in such direct terms, but I have seen some problems. I’ve had several conversations with Gods of all three varieties, and about half of them told me up front they hold the opinion that mortals aren’t to be trusted.”

  “This is a problem?” Atlanta said. “We were made vulnerable to mortals. We shouldn’t trust them.” Trusting all mortals felt wrong. Life had always been ‘us versus them’. Now, Gods versus mortals. That was why she put so much work into wooing the Indigo group. She wanted an edge, some mortals on her side.

  “It’s to balance your earlier comment that their lives are in our hands. I believe our lives are in their hands,” Phoenix said. “Your ‘Gods versus mortals’ attitude, if allowed to grow and spread, will lead inexorably into to Godly dictatorship as a way to prevent the mortals from being a threat to us. It’s the same lure leading a few too many politician-distrusting officers in the Corps into longing for a military dictatorship to set things right.”

  Atlanta tapped her right foot on the nearest table leg. “Yes. Okay. I’ll admit the thought had crossed my mind both in the Corps and as a God.”

  “Don’t forget that the Angelic Host is testing humanity by our actions,” Phoenix said. “The Host was careful with their words, but their disdain for modern civilization wasn’t hidden. Our ‘status quo ante’ is before Apotheosis. I think theirs is pre-modern. If they’re testing the validity of modern civilization through us, and if we act without thinking, that’s where we’re going to end up.”

  Dana made an ick face. “That puts a whole new spin on what’s going on. Why didn’t you tell me this before, Portland?”

  “It’s too upsetting,” Portland said. “Phoenix is right. When I said ‘old ways’, I mean the ‘real old ways’, pre-Renaissance, pre-Protestant Reformation, pre-destruction of the Caliphate, pre-Charlemagne. Perhaps even pre-destruction of the Second Temple! This is my darkest fear. I’m afraid we’re been given power simply to fall flat on our faces and prove some hidden someone’s point.”

  Book of Job thoughts involving God and his Adversary filled several tracks of Atlanta’s mind. No, that wouldn’t be good, she decided.

  “Which brings me to my long delayed point,” Phoenix said. “I trust society a hell of a lot more than I trust the other Gods. Present company excluded. Nothing you’ve said to me today leads me away from my conclusion, either.” He tapped his fingers together. “I fear we, as Gods, have too much freedom.”

  Atlanta reflected for a moment about her post-Apotheosis anti-murderer cleansing spree, and hoped her early moments of ‘too much freedom’ wouldn’t come back to haunt her.

  “Thus bedizened, this fantastic-looking personage marched gravely up and down, or rode in pomp in the streets. … He claimed to be God the Father; and his doctrine was, in substance, this: “The true kingdom of God on earth began in Albany in June 1830, and will be completed in twenty-one years, or by 1851. During this time, wars are to stop, and I, Matthias, am to execute the divine judgments and destroy the wicked. The day of grace is to close on December 1, 1836; and all who do not begin to reform by that time, I shall kill.” – P.T. Barnum, Humbugs of the World

  One week later…

  “It’s a very good drug.”

  10. (Atlanta)

  “Finished,” Dana said. “We have storefronts now set up in Baton Rouge, Little Rock, Louisville, Jackson, Tuscaloosa, Nashville, Raleigh-Durham, Charleston and Jacksonville. Each has a minimum staff of four. We’ve got the website on-line and uploaded your videos, and we’ve got a staff of ten in the Atlanta office to process the miracle requests and donations. The uniforms are on order and will arrive here in three days. Then we can fiddle with their reality and distribute them.”

  Atlanta nodded as she loomed over Dana’s desk in Dana’s new office. A mid-size office with good wooden furniture and a beautiful view of downtown Atlanta. “You’ve done good. I’ve finished my pries – ministuh – preachuh – reveren’ tour, and I’ve talked my Anime Café friends into sending over a representative or liaison when they’re ready.” They were mortals. They didn’t have the sense of urgency she had, or Dana had now – after a little help from Atlanta showing Dana how to pull on her loaned willpower to fight off exhaustion and lack of sleep.

  Dana cleared her throat. “Any of the priestly types live?” She was pleased and forward today, likely because of the good work she had done acquiring this new office space.

  Atlanta rolled her eyes. “They all lived. Some took a bit more convincing than others, but I’m now officially an angel of wrath, living saint and divine conduit of the Holy Spirit. These ministers aren’t going to be leading anyone in worship of me, and they’re going to be spreading the word that it’s wrong to worship any of the 99 Gods.” Several of these alleged holy men and women had come close to death, the closest being the woman minister who ran a protection racket for her church based on the well-investigated sexual peccadilloes of her flock. She hadn’t wanted to drop her racket or her private investigators until Atlanta had dangled the woman over the fires
of Hell. Atlanta wasn’t sure if she had dangled the scumbag over what the Indigo claimed to be the real Hell, but whatever it was she had conjured up had been damned convincing.

  The Church of Christ minister in Biloxi proved to be the most annoying of the lot, because he had challenged Atlanta’s actions as unfair. Not her miracle request service, but her supposedly secret thug exterminations. He had wanted her to similarly enforce the rest of the Ten Commandments, and hadn’t listened to reason after she had explained she wasn’t enforcing the Commandments, just keeping the ultra-violent from continuing their chosen profession. He had actually wanted her to enforce the restriction on keeping the Sabbath holy, and with similar violent sanction.

  “So, how soon do you think the precious metals and diamond markets are going to crater?” she asked Dana. Atlanta couldn’t easily create physical objects from nothing as the other Territorial Gods could. On the other hand, she could call gold out of seawater and compress coal into diamonds, and had, at Dana’s request, successfully unfucking their financial situation.

  Dana tapped a pencil on her desk. “I’d give the trick another year at most. First, some but not all of the 99 appear to be able to create or duplicate currency directly, and second, the trick may end up being socially limited.”

  “I don’t understand,” Atlanta said. “Socially limited by who?”

  “By the other Gods. Consider what you, Phoenix and Portland are doing with your collaborations. I wouldn’t put it past some other Gods, especially the Seven Suits, to get hot under the collar about economic disruptions.” She snorted. “It’s goin’ ta happen.”

  Glare. “It be already on the list,” Atlanta said. Wink. “Only none of us understands how much economic disruption is too much. However, this sounds like it’s more your specialty than mine.” Atlanta sat on Dana’s desk, close enough to make Dana squirm. “So, how much have you dug up about the Suits, and what they are doing?”

  Dana ran her hands through her hair. “Even with your divine help, and my tricks, figuring them out is a nightmare. I’ve produced three reports for you, which you should read, but I can summarize the Suits actions in two words: causing trouble.”

  Atlanta had expected as much. “How about a couple of for-instances?”

  “Okay. Yesterday, they staged a bear attack on Enlisten – that means they drove its stock down sharply – at the same time staging a loan call attack and somehow, which I haven’t figured out how, they forced Enlisten’s board to quit and its CEO and CFO to resign.”

  “I’ve never heard of them,” Atlanta said. Puzzled, she sped-read Dana’s reports, which were dry enough to cause two of her mental tracks to fall into the Godly equivalent of sleep.

  “It’s a huge call-center management company, headquartered in Miami,” Dana said. “They’re a bit shady, they’ve had quite a few public relations problems recently, and they changed their name every couple of years. Because of the attack Enlisten went belly up and declared bankruptcy this morning. They closed their doors and fired everybody.”

  Atlanta paused and put together information from Dana’s reports. “They’re going after big tobacco and SouthTrust Banks?” The Suits were active, world-wide, but if Dana’s reports were correct, they were being more active in three North American God-territories – hers, Miami’s and Boise’s. SouthTrust was one of the top ten bank holding companies in the United States, and headquartered in downtown Atlanta.

  “Yes, though only the former is public,” Dana said. “They’ve found a way to tie up the tobacco trade with a combination of wildcat strikes, court injunctions and broken shipping contracts. Everything’s sitting on the docks and rotting. I still don’t know what’s going on with SouthTrust, but they stopped giving out loans the day after you rescued me.”

  Atlanta paced back and forth, steaming. This wasn’t a problem she knew how to cope with. The economy was supposed to run itself, dammit! She made her decision. “This is an attack on me. I’m guessing Miami and Boise have also similarly annoyed the Suits. However, as a lone Territorial God, I can’t do anything directly without pissing off all the other Gods. I’m going to need to get help from the other Territorials, more than the support I have on the subject from Portland and Phoenix.”

  Dana nodded.

  “In a few hours we’ll head out to visit the God Miami, to try and get his support. You’re coming with. Be eyebally.”

  “I’ll be ready,” Dana said, glaring back. She bent back to her laptop computer, attempting to be nonchalant. “Oh, and this came in from Portland. Let me forward it to your phone.”

  She did so, and Atlanta read the email. “Oh, this is interesting.” Portland had kindly requested a trained magician bodyguard from Atlanta, and in payment offered to tell Atlanta the trick involved with creating a magician. She had also determined, by an unstated method, likely New Age or similarly goofy, that Atlanta would be able to create magicians. Portland left unstated the fact that said bodyguard would be Atlanta’s spy. “I’ll do it. Email her back.”

  “Good as done.”

  Atlanta found her new office, appraised it and decided the room would do for now. After Dana had turned Atlanta’s gold and diamonds into money, she had bought them a small office building in an Atlanta commercial district not too far from downtown. The office had the executive desk and executive electronics, but little else. Atlanta made mental notes about improvements to purchase, then threw up her hands in disgust at herself. “I can create what I know. I know I can,” she said, under her breath. She concentrated and created a flag stand with a United States flag and a Marine Corps flag. Then she banished it. “Nope. Not right. I’m no fuck’n general.” She concentrated again, and created a picture of a CH-53E Super Stallion heavy lift helicopter on the wall behind her desk. Better. She concentrated on the picture. Now instead of a photograph, the chopper looked real.

  “Almost,” Atlanta said. She closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them and pushed. Exerted her willpower. The chopper picture turned into a movie. Then Atlanta added sound. “Much better.” She altered the movie so the chopper was coming directly at the viewer. “Nope, too distracting for what I want.”

  Another ten inspirations along these lines and she would have the office she wanted. She sat down at her desk and scanned the day’s miracle requests on her iPad. Only four of the requests had gotten by her staff.

  She picked up the first and read it. A pickup truck had run over a budding artist, and he lay near death in a Charleston hospital. Said artist already had five gallery shows on his resume and brought in enough income to count as no longer starving. At age 32. Atlanta used the iPad document as a link, willed her senses to the hospital room, and looked the man over. Yes, modern medicine couldn’t heal his injuries, and wouldn’t be able to keep him alive much longer, at that.

  All the 99 Gods could heal others, a mainstay of their creators’ standard package of abilities. Their creators hadn’t told them anything about their limits, but Atlanta suspected she would find out quickly enough. She visualized the man whole and healthy, and willed.

  To her shock, he healed up long distance. Not completely, but enough so he could open his eyes and sit up.

  “Well, that saved me a trip,” Atlanta said, amazed. She flagged the miracle request as completed and read the next.

  “So an entire immigrant neighborhood’s being extorted by a small criminal gang,” Atlanta said. The skin besides her eyes crinkled as she cracked her knuckles in glee. “Now this sounds like real fun.”

  “I’m worried about this visit,” Dana said, shouting above the whistle of the wind. “Miami has a rough reputation. Can’t we just Skype him? Say, aren’t we stopping?” She pointed down with her left hand. The right held Atlanta’s hand in a grip that hadn’t relaxed since their feet had left the ground.

  “Nope,” Atlanta said. “His name might be Miami, but his current headquarters is in the Dominican. We’ve got a ways to go.” She had thought about tricking up a helicopter to fly Mach 5 at 60
,000 feet, or some other more sane method of transportation, but had held off. Portland had understated when she said Dana would be a handful, and since Dana disliked superman-style flying so much it made a good bargaining chip.

  “What’s his territory, anyway?” Dana shouted. “How are your territories determined, anyway? Are they fixed in size?”

  Atlanta rolled her eyes and smiled. “His territory is south Florida and the rest of the Caribbean basin.” Dana glowered at her when she didn’t answer Dana’s other question.

  Miami lived in a palace-sized headquarters, up on a hill overlooking a thousand acres of prime agricultural real estate. Not recently built, either. Atlanta landed herself and Dana inside a central courtyard, ten feet away from Miami, who lay in the sun soaking up rays, attended to by three buxom young women. He appeared to be in his middle thirties, and well-muscled. Atlanta noted the stretches to his Imago, near the borderline of pain and insanity. During Apotheosis he had been thin and underfed-looking. Fool.

  Miami opened his eyes. “So, Atlanta, what brings you to my humble abode today?” He didn’t bother to sit up.

  “An offer of an information trade regarding a problem affecting the both of us,” Atlanta said, revising her initial offer. Miami’s presence rubbed her the wrong way.

  “In regard to what, if I may ask?”

  “The Ideological Gods who call themselves the Seven Suits.”

  “Oh, them,” Miami said, curling his lips in disgust. “I’ll agree to share information. Lose the spy, though.”

  “Nope.”

  Miami stood. “You’re on my turf. I don’t want no goddamned hopped-up mortal bitch listening to my secrets. If you want to talk, she has to go.”