99 Gods: War

by Randall Farmer

  Dave knew Portland’s territory stretched from Los Angeles in the south to British Columbia in the north, mainly the coastal areas but inland as well. Boise’s territory covered the intermountain West from the Grand Canyon on north, all the way to the arctic. Phoenix’s territory lay to the south, and Dubuque’s to the east.

  “Well, okay,” Dave said, his shoulders clenched up, and backing away from the screen. “What sort of salary is involved?”

  Marcie frowned. “As I said, this is a calling, not a job. No salary per se, but you would get travel and living expenses while you’re doing your Wise Shepherd duties. In addition, you would receive some amount of Boss’s loaned power. We need to do an in-depth interview with you to figure out what sort of loaned power you can handle, but at a minimum this would involve better health, better physical stamina, and the ability to talk directly to the Boss by what technically isn’t prayer but that’s how we refer to it because we don’t have a better term, yet.”

  “Okay, I’ll think about your offer,” Dave said. Beside him, Tiff stiffened. He gave Marcie his email address and extracted one from her, and had Tiff shut down the teleconference.

  “Slavery,” Dave said. He didn’t want to mention his moment of strangeness and his unnatural fears, so he went with a ‘no salary’ complaint. That wasn’t the way his world worked.

  Tiff took a deep breath, about to say something before she bit it back.

  “Yes?” Dave said.

  “I wouldn’t be so quick to dismiss this offer,” Tiff said. “For instance, to do the clean-up work they’re going to need to hire people to do the dirty work, such as TPMJ. I read nothing in this agreement precluding you from working at TPMJ. Or owning TPMJ. They encourage this sort of thing.”

  “You’re talking cronyism and collusion, then. Corrupt business practices.”

  “The Gods don’t look at such things the way we non-Gods do; cronyism is fine as long as the people involved are qualified, which these Gods appear to be able to tell with a divine glance,” Tiff said. “This is all in this new load of information on the North American Gods I prepared for you today. I’m starting to get a good feel for their personalities, strengths and weaknesses. I included my analysis, as well.”

  Tiff had made up her mind. Dave sighed. “I’ll take a look.”

  Tiff sighed back. “Thanks.” She stood, walked over to her main desk set-up, and sat down. “Now, if you don’t mind…”

  She had work to do.

  Dave left, anger, fear and the willies cycling through him, confusing him. Doing things Tiff’s way hadn’t worked. No, he would choose on his own which God he liked best, one who didn’t trigger any icky gut feelings, and approach him.

  “Hi, Pete,” Dave said. “Got a minute?”

  Pete looked up from his paperwork. “Sure. Hadn’t expected you to be in today.”

  Today was a good day, but his aching back hadn’t gotten on well with the wooden bleachers at cheer practice and he sat gingerly. “I’m on my way back out for another client search trip, and I have some vouchers I need signing. I’d also like to touch base, and find out how things are going in the rest of the company.”

  Pete Diaz nodded, quickly signed the vouchers, and leaned back in his chair. “Terrible. Hanson Industries and Malco Gold both froze their accounts.” Both of those clients did a small amount of business with DPMJ. “They’re still in business, but they’re cutting way back. There’s a rumor going around that there’s a bunch of unexpected gold flooding the system and a crash in gold prices is inevitable. Jose’s convinced the Gods are making the damned stuff.”

  “More likely doing divine mining,” Dave said. “With the reality-warping willpower crap they do, they should be able to pull gold out of seawater without bothering with mines.” He had learned a lot about the Gods’ talents and tricks in his research, enough to know how much trouble they could cause if they wanted to.

  “That’s a cheery thought,” Pete said, after taking a sip of coffee. “Your client search turn up anything?”

  “Just a bunch of companies running scared and doing the turtle routine,” Dave said. “I did run across a rumor indicating there might be some work in a few months, perhaps later, involving God-sponsored environmental clean-up work.”

  “How real is this rumor?”

  “Direct from a flunky of Portland’s,” Dave said.

  “Hmm. That’s worth keeping in mind,” Pete said. “Good luck on your trip to the Midwest.”

  Dave nodded. “Thanks. I think I’m going to need it.”

  Dave held out his hand, shook the functionary’s hand, and introduced himself.

  “Jeremy Lundy,” the Dubuque functionary said, and motioned for Dave to sit. He hadn’t expected a donut shop, but, well, whatever worked. “What can I do for you?”

  Dave explained his medical needs, ending by saying “modern medicine can’t cope.”

  “I hear that a lot,” Jeremy said. “You came to the wrong place, though. The Living Saint and his organization’s moved to Oklahoma City, where he’s decided to start a ministry. We’re going to formally announce it next week Friday.”

  Ten days from now. Just his luck.

  “I’d expected something preliminary,” Dave said. “I’m sure I need to fill out some paperwork and arrange for another appointment. I checked on the Internet and couldn’t find anything appropriate online. I guess your operation’s just getting underway and you’re falling behind on your website updates. Understandable.”

  “Actually, we’re trying to do things differently,” Jeremy said. “Dubuque looks at what he’s doing as a religious calling, not a miracle-for-hire business.”

  “I understand,” Dave said. This sounded a lot better to him than the Portland Wise Shepherd bureaucracy and their shenanigans. And he didn’t feel any of his woo-woo willies. “Well, I can tell you I like what I’ve seen of Dubuque and what I’ve read about him and his message.”

  “Why don’t you come down to Oklahoma City for the Sunday service,” Jeremy said. “I guarantee you’ll not just believe, you’ll feel the message in your soul.”

  “This was a certain very terrible and powerful divinity among some savage tribes, of whom dreadful stories were told very authentic, of course! Some unbelieving scamps of travelers, by unlawful ways, managed to get into the innermost sacred place of the temple one night. They found the god to be done up in a very large and suspicious looking bundle. Having sacrilegiously cut the string, they unrolled one envelop of mats and cloths after another, until they had taken off more than a hundred wrappers. The god grew smaller, and smaller, and smaller; and the wonder of the travelers what he could be, larger and larger. At last, the very innermost of all the coverings fell off, and the great heathen god was revealed in all his native majesty. It was a cracked soda-water bottle! This indicates what is beyond all question the fact that the heathen mysteries had their foundation in gas” – P.T. Barnum, Humbugs of the World

  “You don’t have a stomach to get ulcers in.”

  32. (John)

  “My name’s John Lorenzi,” John said. He shook the hands of both the Gods. Both were male, but they were about as dissimilar a pair of Gods as John could imagine. Inventor, what the locals termed a 98 pound weakling, had an amply blemished face and he wore thick glasses. In John’s terms, a real spaz. If anything, Inventor appeared nervous. Singularity towered over John, perhaps six two or so, with East Asian eyes and an athletic build. He was tanned, good looking in a professorially way and had a vice grip handshake. “My friend here is Reed. I want to thank you kindly for being willing to talk to me. Why don’t you two have a seat? Would you like some coffee?”

  “Thank you very much,” Singularity said. The hotel room furniture was barely suitable for a hobo, much less a God, and it creaked as Singularity sat down. “Black.” John had thought Singularity was Japanese, but revised his opinion to Japanese-American, likely from Hawaii, from the way he spoke.

  “None for me,” Inventor said. His vo
ice was high and reedy. “I’ll have a Coke, if you have one available.”

  “Diet Coke,” Reed said, flustered by the two Gods and almost stammering. Inventor made a face, shook his head, and sat awkwardly at the end of the lumpy couch.

  “So what did you want to talk about?” Singularity said.

  “Some of the actions of the Gods have me worried,” John said. “I’m interested in any information I can find about what’s going on, and why certain Gods are doing what they’re doing.”

  The two Gods looked at each other, and shrugged. “We’re all just acting out the roles we’ve been assigned,” Inventor said. “What’s your role, John Lorenzi?”

  “Why do you ask that?”

  “Because anyone who isn’t a normal human being has a role,” Inventor said. “I can see your role, as can any God, but I can’t understand it.”

  John frowned, unhappy to be so transparent. “My role had been to keep normal humans from learning to use magic. I can no longer perform my role because of the actions of the Gods.” He didn’t say anymore, unsure how much he could or should tell these two.

  “There is no magic,” Inventor said.

  “Nevertheless, he can do magic,” Singularity said. “Or what he thinks is magic.”

  “I’ll believe it when I see it.” Inventor furrowed his forehead, took off his glasses and polished them on his shirt.

  Normally, John would never enlighten skeptics as to the reality of magic. In fact, he had encouraged skepticism wherever it could be found, and he had founded a dozen skeptical periodicals and funded dozens of debunkers over the last several centuries, making sure even the most rapscallion skeptics got published. He made sure the scientific community’s ability to research paranormal phenomena of any sort had become tainted and muddled, not that it ever took many of his resources, given the truly insignificant amount of money and effort ever put into magical research. The irony of his actions always brought a smile to his face.

  On the other hand, these two were skeptics of an entirely different variety. “A small demonstration is possible,” John said. He exerted his will and cast the room into near darkness. “What does this look like to you, Inventor?”

  Inventor frowned and observed for fifteen seconds. “Captivating. What you did made many tiny creatures appear that absorb the light in their vicinity. These creatures are smaller than viruses, their collective weight is insignificant, but they appear to be nano-scale spiders. They aren’t native to this universe and don’t obey our natural laws. They carry their own natural laws with them.”

  John sat up straight in shock. “How do you know they’re alive?” He had always suspected magic was alive, but not like this.

  “They move and they’re made out of the same chemicals lifeforms are made from. Their molecules are actually physically reduced in size and even more reduced in mass. They show the inefficiencies and metabolisms of lifeforms. They aren’t machines.”

  “They violate the natural order,” Singularity said. “Intriguing as they are, I do find their presence disturbing. Almost evil. Could you do me a favor and remove them, Mr. Lorenzi?”

  John did so. He wondered whether he should mention the dozens of protective magics he carried on his body, then decided that if the two Gods had a problem with them, they would have already commented.

  “Thank you,” Singularity said. “Inventor, he played with the same forces the so-called Angelic Host played with, but used these lifeform intermediaries instead of directly altering natural laws and reality.”

  “He’s no Angel, though,” Inventor said.

  “No, he’s not.” Singularity looked John over with care. “Mr. Lorenzi, the forces you play with are hazardous on dozens of logical, ethical and philosophical levels. I believe your former role as enemy of magic is a good one, and I also believe you should go back to it.”

  “I’ll take your advice under advisement,” John said. He wiggled nervously in his seat, disturbed by these two Gods and their unforeseen perspectives. “Don’t you Gods also directly alter natural laws and reality in a similar fashion?”

  “No,” Inventor said. “We…”

  “Wait, my friend,” Singularity said. “I don’t think it would be wise to say anything further on the subject.”

  John chewed his lip and worried. He didn’t want to fight these two, but he feared they headed toward such a confrontation. Singularity distrusted him, and John didn’t trust either of the two. He feared they would turn on him at any instant, Dubuque style. He could practically read the words ‘evil’ and ‘demon’ dancing through their minds. “Is there anything you can say?”

  “Sure,” Inventor said. He fixed his eyes on infinity. “I, for one, found the existential experience of learning from Angels to have been most enlightening. My natal religion emphasized God as personal and omnipotent. Why then do Angels, the messengers from God, need to exist at all? Omnipotence implies absolute efficiency, and superfluous creation is not efficient. In addition, why have messengers at all when God is with us all and can speak to us as needed? Despite this, Angels fill the scriptures of many religions, not just the Judeo-Christian Bible. Were these biblical Angels the Holy Spirit at work, perhaps, misconstrued as something else? Fallible humanity often makes mistakes of that nature. However, after encountering tangible Angels, I believe other hypotheses can and need to be examined, such as whether God is truly omnipotent within creation, or…”

  Singularity cleared his throat, interrupting Inventor’s obviously prepared speech. John nodded a silent thanks, having no wish to argue the logic of Angels with a scripturally illiterate fool. The Church had settled the issue of Angels centuries ago, as necessary intermediaries between the unapproachable face of God and most mortal man. He also thought the half-millennium long belief in a personal Jesus and God most wrongheaded. His heart still dwelled in the medieval Catholic Church of his upbringing.

  “I can say this: we, too, are bothered by the activities of some of our divine brethren,” Singularity said. “Many of them have roles representing the flawed past. The two of us have roles representing the promise of the future. We fear conflict between the Gods, a fight between the past and the future.”

  “I also fear a fight among the Gods, but I hadn’t thought along those lines,” John said, as carefully as he could, as both these Gods appeared to be bone-tops from the local asylum. “When you say you represent the future, what exactly do you mean?”

  “I, for one, am deeply suspicious of the religious aspects of what’s going down among the 99,” Inventor said, unable to make a point without pontificating. “The last thing we should be doing to humanity is resurrecting old religious conflicts and reintroducing superstitions.” Inventor punctuated the end of his pontification by pushing his glasses further up his face.

  Inventor appeared to share Portland’s jaundiced view of religion and worship of the 99 Gods. “So you think that worship of the 99 Gods is bad?”

  “Oh, that,” Inventor said. “No, that’s not what I’m talking about at all.”

  “What do you mean?”

  The two Gods looked at each other and shrugged again. “Let me,” Singularity said. “You’re familiar with the accelerating pace of technological change?”

  John nodded.

  “Where does it end?”

  “I have no idea,” John said. “I suspect the rate of change will eventually slow and a more technologically unchanging future will unfold.”

  “Your guess can’t and won’t happen. Think of the alphabet,” Singularity said. He leaned forward in the cheap motel chair. “If all you can make are two letter words and you are artificially limited to three word sentences, you can’t convey much meaning at all in an efficient manner. However, once you can make words of any length out of the alphabet and sentences of any length, you can write novels. Now your only limits are time and creativity, and so the number of possible novels becomes infinite. Note, though, that you haven’t changed the alphabet. In my analogy, the alphabet is
our minds and the two letter words and the three word sentences analogize to pre-modern classical knowledge. The lack of understanding of nature – the two-letter word limit – and the lack of use of the experimental method – the artificial limit of three word sentences – explains the well-known limits of classical knowledge. However, humanity has now discovered longer sentences and multi-letter words, in analogy, and we’re just starting to utilize them. We haven’t discovered all the words we need to know to fully describe science, but when we do, as with the analogy to writing, there will be no limit to what technologies we can create with them. That is what we are exponentially accelerating towards, a point in time where the only limits to what we can do with technology is our own creativity and our will as a people, accelerated even faster by the augmentation and ongoing replacement of human cognition by ever more intelligent machines. The point in time where everything becomes possible is called the Singularity, and that’s what I’m named for, as a God. And, as an aside, consider that the Angelic Host suggested my name to me.

  “In any event, thinking a technologically unchanging future is in store for us is the same as thinking that fifty years after the invention of the printing press all the possible writings had been written and the pace of new writing would plummet to zero.”

  “I’ve heard your argument before,” John said. Singularity’s sales techniques were good, but his philosophy sophomoric. “This is the standard promise of the Enlightenment, that everything would be solved by technological progress. It didn’t happen. Instead, what we got were vile ideologies and horrific wars.”

  “I didn’t say the Singularity would bring a utopia,” Singularity said. “That depends on our will as a people. An infinite number of vile ideologies and horrific wars are possible, many far worse than anything before from history. If everything is possible, chaos and evil are inevitable unless we, and humanity, put some aspect of overall control in place, as we confront technical issues making an utter mockery of existing legal systems and constitutions. I think we 99 are the harbinger of the control.”