99 Gods: War

by Randall Farmer

  “Somehow, I’d imagined this place to be hilly, fjord-like, not flat as a pancake,” Reed said, looking up from his tablet computer.

  “We’re not there yet,” John said. Still, the islands ahead of them appeared to be just as flat.

  Once through the security gate, the limo drove through the expensive and heavily wooded exurban community on Snag Island. Well, several islands worth, though John didn’t know which of them claimed the actual Snag Island name. They halted at a second security gate, at the entrance to the last island, and the guard waved them through. Beyond the gate was a large building, almost fort-like, under construction near the center of this dozen acre island, but a security officer directed the limo to a large estate home on the north shore instead of the construction zone. Matt parked the limo in a recently poured asphalt parking lot now defacing the formerly elegant front yard. Across the wooded lawn, the far side of the house’s yard backed up on Lake Tapps. The setting, the overly busy people, the construction smells, the cold gray skies, intermittent mist and the ambient tension made John think of wartime England. Only instead of England in the 1940s, this was a generic exurb outside of Tacoma, Washington.

  One of Portland’s new replacement Good Shepherds greeted them. “You and your entourage are staying in guest house three,” she said. “You’re sharing the place with a few Gods.”

  John nodded at the awe-struck woman. His entourage, such as it was, included only Reed, the driver and three bodyguards (a Boise, a Portland and a Montreal). They hoisted the baggage while John and Reed went into the estate home to find out who else was there.

  “Hello?” John said, spotting two Gods playing poker around the kitchen table with the Telepath Alton Freudenberger and Soon Rei, Portland’s chief of divine power research. “I’m John Lorenzi.”

  “Lawyer,” the God in the expensive suit said.

  “Change,” the God in the lumberjack outfit said. Ah hah! John thought. A new one! “You want in the game?” Change said.

  “Watch out for him,” Alton said. “He’s a practical joker.”

  Change rolled his eyes and rubbed his thin moustache and goatee. “You take all the fun out of life. You have no right to complain, either.” Alt did hold the largest pile of chips.

  “Perhaps later,” John said. He hadn’t had a day off since the big fight where Miami and Atlanta killed each other, and he felt bone tired. “Has anyone provided a schedule for this hoo-rah?”

  Soon Rei smiled. A Southeast Asian gentleman in his 40s, he carried a wild-man magical aura about him, despite his visible-to-the-mundane-eye placid countenance. “The schedule’s on the website. Do you know the password?”

  “No, but I’ll bet Reed does.”

  Reed nodded from where he had settled on the sofa and began to tap his tablet computer’s screen. “There we are. Last time I looked it hadn’t been posted yet. The first meeting starts at four.”

  John looked at his watch and tried to remember where he last set it. He gave up in disgust and turned to Reed. Reed smiled and anticipated the question. “Two hours from now, John.”

  “I need to take a shower and lie down,” John said. “Sorry, no poker for me.”

  “So, are you going to tell us what you’ve been up to?” Nessa said. Someone had dressed her in a deep cut dark green evening gown with gold highlights, done up her long hair with curls and pins, and expertly made up her face. Add to that a dose of Celebrity’s come-hither charisma masking the usual Telepath disconcerting aura and Nessa’s own Telepathic magnetism, she was enough to give any man still breathing a heart attack. Worse, he faced two of them, identically dressed save for the details of their hair, and they both oozed Celebrity’s tricks. John had never thought of the razor-stropped Nessa as an object of lust before, but her effect on him was devastating tonight.

  At least Celebrity had gotten Nessa to eat enough to stop looking like a starving peasant.

  “Yes, although I hope you don’t think I was poaching on your turf,” John said. He wanted to find a quiet corner of the huge great room and weep, mourning the years on his soul and on his last body. He had at best a few more years to live, the result of the pledge he took to regain his active magician talents. This time, when his body died, he died. Anything else would invite the corruption of magic he had fought all his absurdly long life. “I finally found enough time to go to the Keys and talk to Korua.”

  “You did?” Nessa said. She held a nearly empty mug of hot chocolate in her hands. The simple white mug contrasted oddly with the beauty of her gown and the elegance of the room. “I didn’t think Reed had what it took.”

  Nessa or Celebrity, no telling which was which and John didn’t think it mattered any more, was still as sharp as a darning needle, regardless of her fears. “I am a magician. Boosting someone’s telepathy isn’t that hard.”

  “I’ll bet Korua was just tha-rilled,” Nessa said. She had a point with her sarcasm. All the shared mind types he knew of hated magic passionately, and wouldn’t say why. As Nessa correctly suspected, Korua had chewed him out on the subject.

  “Korua understands the danger of the moment,” John said. At least after John explained the details. “I wanted help, and Korua bargained hard.”

  “Did Korua bring in any of the other shared minds of her kind?”

  John shook his head. “No. They’d all talked this over amongst themselves through whatever means they use, and come to an agreement. To get the help I wanted I not only had to cash in all of my chits but cash in the big one as well.”

  Nessa made a face and stuck out her tongue at him. “Meaning you’re going to help them go public?” He nodded. “Shitfire.”

  “Well, I did warn them that going public might backfire. The public’s still not sure what to make of the Telepaths who’ve done so,” he said. “They’re still interested.” Nessa frowned. “Do you want to be in charge? You and your Telepaths?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t think so, we have other plans. Thanks for asking, though.” Nessa waved a dainty hand and walked off to refill her mug, leaving John puzzled. He had predicted a scene when she found out, but she hadn’t even asked about what help Korua would provide. Today must be a good day for her. He knew she wasn’t cured of her psychiatric foibles; he had played counselor to a Boise projection just four days ago, after Nessa shredded Boise for some stupid bit of divine arrogance. He had worked hard to convince Boise the Telepaths were indeed worth having in the alliance.

  “She always apologizes afterwards. If she doesn’t, I guarantee you were in the wrong,” John had said.

  Boise hadn’t been impressed.

  With Portland in charge, John expected a plenary session, informal, everyone around a large table supposedly equal to each other. Instead, the so-called meeting turned out to be more of a social where groups met as they mixed in Portland’s giant living room and exchanged ideas. He smelled Boise’s hand in the arrangements and decided he could cope, despite his desire to get everyone together for his big announcement.

  “You’re not fully committed to the alliance, then, Change?” Inventor said. He wore a white short-sleeve dress shirt and bow-tie, pants one size too large, and owlish black-rimmed glasses. His clothes made him look like he had just stepped out of the office of one of the local high-tech firms. A new-fashioned goofball, yes, but no worse than, say, Freedom. With Gods one must cultivate tolerance.

  “I’m evaluating my options,” Change said. “I’ll tell you, though, I’m not going to help the other side, no matter what happens.” John didn’t know anything about Change, save that he had shown up on Portland’s doorstep interested in trading information after the God deaths. With Change came another unknown God, this one as a projection of a nine-year-old black girl with a large wad of chewing gum in her mouth, her hair in tight cornrows and a red bow on the back of her head. Not a God John recognized.

  “So, Change, what are you going to do with the nukes you’ve stolen,” the little girl God asked, cracking her gum.

/>   Change froze in place for a moment, as did Singularity, who hovered at the edge of the conversation, lost in deep thought. “How’d you figure that out?” Change said.

  So Change was the God who had stolen the nukes, John thought. He didn’t know what to make of that.

  “Tricks,” the girl God said. She smiled prettily and cracked her gum again.

  Change sighed. “My inclination is, when I’ve collected the rest of the damned things, to toss them into lunar orbit and detonate them in a pattern that reads ‘No More Nukes’.”

  John laughed.

  “Toss a few uranium reprocessing plants into orbit as well and you’ve got my vote,” John said. “If I may ask, who are you?” The last he addressed to the girl God.

  The girl God blew a small bubble and gave him the once-over. “Name’s War,” she said. “Practical God.”

  “War? I didn’t think the Angelic Host gave any God that bit of practical knowledge to expound,” John said.

  “Guess you thought wrong, fat man.”

  For this he climbed out of bed this morning? “Aren’t you a little young for a war God, miss?”

  She cracked her gum again. “Appearances can be deceiving,” she said. “As the Godly deaths and the failure of the attacks by Phoenix’s goons to bluff you into surrendering showed, wars involving the 99 Gods won’t be heroic combats or standard military actions. Think covert war, Mr. Lorenzi. You and your evil magician flunkies ought to be good at covert activities.” She blew a large bubble and cleaned her face with a divine trick when the bubble popped. Damned projections. “I’m not going to be showing anyone my real divine body, or my true appearance. Reality is just an invitation for the other side to do me in. Secondly, I doubt I’ll always appear as a projection in the same way.”

  Nope. Not a little girl at all. “I see,” John said. “What’s your advice for the moment, then, War?”

  “Caution, old man. We need to prove to the public that we aren’t the bad guys, and we don’t want to lose any chance at that,” she said, ruefully. “Think behind-the-scenes action.”

  “A dirty war, then,” John said.

  “Exactly. Glad you’re on board.”

  Wunderbar, John thought. Another God with an attitude problem. He didn’t think he could deal with War’s attitude now, so he turned to Singularity. “I’ve heard a rumor you’re thinking of following in Celebrity’s tracks and changing your divine designation,” John said.

  Singularity nodded. “I felt a calling, and I’ve decided to go with this feeling. Futurology never excited the public, and with the joint Integrity down to near zero, the interest level in my teachings has completely gone away. So I’m going to take over Miami’s old territory and become a Territorial God.”

  “Not Atlanta’s?”

  “No. Dana’s handling that as regent for Celebrity’s unborn God-child, and she’s going to have my active support as well as the support of Portland, Boise, Akron and Montreal.”

  Which would make Dana a power in her own right, John decided. The regency solution sounded better than any of the others floating around. “So, what should we call you?” Celebrity had decided on ‘Persona’ as her new name, which didn’t please John. Far too obscure for an Ideological God.

  “Not Miami,” Singularity said. “Too much baggage. Orlando is more my style.” Right about where the invisible border between his new Territory met up with Atlanta’s old Territory. Interesting.

  “Not Disney World? Epcot Center?” War said, with a crack of the gum. “What about Pirates of the Caribbean?”

  Singularity glared. “Orlando.”

  “So there’s no more worries about Dubuque walking off with any more Gods,” Alt said. “The Boise-Portland method has now been spread world-wide. Amazing how fast it got snapped up, now isn’t it.”

  “Unfortunately, the Seven Suits are Dubuque’s now, and I don’t think they bowed to Dubuque because he controlled them,” Akron said. Akron had outdone herself tonight, John decided: mature actress on Oscar night in spades. This place tried John’s soul, and every woman in the place knew it. Did they hold back? No. Of course not.

  Akron had joined the alliance fifteen minutes after Portland went public with her leadership. She still eyed John as something with far too many legs that had recently crawled out from under a rock. “He’s also picked up the Practical Gods Industry and Engineer, as well as the Ideological Gods Faith and Virtue. We’re outnumbered.”

  “Perhaps,” Alt said. “You Territorials seem to pack more punch and exert more presence than the Ideologicals and Practicals, and that’s where Dubuque is weak. He’s only got Phoenix and Worcester with him.”

  “In North America. Don’t forget that Dubuque’s aims are world-wide, and we suspect he’s got foreign Territorials in his camp already.”

  “Verona, Lodz and Lima,” John said. “They’re true allies, not flunkies, though.”

  “Our master spy,” Alt said, and nodded to John. “I’ve got a proposal I’d like your input on. I think it’s time we go after the established Telepaths who are hanging around neutral or opposition Gods. I think we can either enlighten them, or free them from what the other Gods have done to them, and turn them to our cause.”

  “We meaning the Telepaths?”

  Alt nodded.

  “What do Ken and Nessa think?” John said.

  “I haven’t braced them yet,” Alt said, his face darkening.

  Trouble, John realized. Big trouble. Mature Telepaths didn’t work well together. Never had, never would, and certainly not for long. By definition, they all possessed massively big egos. Worse, John had noticed the Alt – Nessa – Ken triangle, and how Celebrity / Persona’s body-doubling of Nessa made the situation worse. In a more perfect world, one of the Nessas should have been free to indulge Alt’s fantasy love, but in reality, Celebrity / Persona’s body doubling was good enough for the Nessas to twice blow off Alt’s love.

  Double the rejection, double the fun.

  “Let me brace them,” John said. He would rather put his hand in a meat grinder, but he thought he would be able to jigger the argument better than Alt. “I think it’s a wonderful idea.”

  Alt relaxed.

  “If you haven’t heard, we’ve done a mental census on all the world’s Territorial Gods,” Alt said. ‘We’ being the Telepaths, of course. “Every God who picked up worshippers, which is about a third of them, has gone barmy. Life isn’t going to be easy for any of us, even if all these barmy worshipped Gods don’t ally with each other.”

  The Telepaths got nervy in their desperation. “Have you come up with any long-term plans?” John said. He hoped and prayed for options better than his own unlikely schemes.

  “Well, we now know the Gods can’t kill other Gods without destroying themselves,” Alt said. “Also, given Celebrity’s baby, we also know we can’t get rid of the Gods permanently. Kill one and a woman God gets pregnant.”

  John didn’t think life would be so simple, but he didn’t challenge Alt.

  “You Telepaths are so comforting,” Akron said. “You better hope someone else doesn’t decide to get rid of the Telepaths.”

  John covered a cough. Akron might be half domestic goddess, but the other half was damned nasty.

  “I’d say that Dubuque’s done enough along those lines already,” Alt said. “What us Telepaths are going to propose is that it’s up to the normal mortals, not the Gods, not the Telepaths and not the magicians, to decide which Gods should live or die. Telepaths are rotten at killing. You magicians? Well, if you get into killing our guess is you’ll be corrupted by those infernal forces you fear and end up a worse problem than the Gods. Our long-term strategy should be curing the Territorial Gods from their worshipper addiction and freeing any other Gods from their sway. Some, I’m sure, we’ll have to subdue. Of course, we don’t have any good ideas about how to do any of this.”

  No killing. John didn’t mind at all. “I’m not sure your idea’s practical, but you’ve got my supp
ort.” At least for now.

  “It’s my fault,” Portland said. Everyone in the room, about half of the invitees, laughed. “I brought you here mostly to listen to this announcement of John’s. I hope this is worth it. John hasn’t confided in me, either.” Portland had fully recovered from the nuking, at least physically. Mentally? Well, she now had more spine and more drive, but still not nearly enough toughness to suit John. Her wounded psyche ached. Too many people close to her slain and ripped away.

  John stepped forward. “I’m just the messenger, and the person who arranged the research. Reed, pass around the first of the two papers, if you will.”

  Reed began to pass. “I don’t understand much of the details, but I can answer some questions about the people who did the research and the methods involved,” John said. “I’m sure you’ll have questions, and, yes, the people involved are yet a different variety of abnormal human.” Jan and Epharis had threatened to throw him bodily into Hell if he outed them, but he had convinced them the good guys at least needed to know of their existence.

  “The first paper has to do with the weapon Miami used in the fight, once personally against Atlanta and a second time, as a weaker transferred trick, against Portland. It was nuclear in origin, as the clicking Geiger counters suggested afterwards, but it was something new. Apparently, Miami’s weapon, when it hit solid matter, created in the matter a small amount of antimatter, which then exploded with a small nuclear explosion. The amount of antimatter created wasn’t large, micrograms, I believe, but that’s apparently all it took.”

  “Where’d the energy for the conversion come from?” Inventor said. “Or did Miami break a few natural laws, like the second law of thermodynamics?”

  “It’s on page seventeen, near the end. My people say the energy came from neutrinos, an incredible number of them. It doesn’t violate any natural laws because the neutrinos were captured ahead of time, and the energy to capture and corral the neutrinos of the proper energy turned out to be several times as large as the resulting explosion. Miami traded time for energy. What I find worrisome was the fact that Miami could transfer that trick to his flunky.”