Joker Moon

by George R. R. Martin

  Looking back, it was a horrible thing to think while she was killing them. But everything about what had happened then had been weird, monstrous, and horrifying.

  Her second bubble hit.

  Most of the remaining soldiers died immediately, but a couple sped toward the ground, trapped by their seat belts. She couldn’t hear them, but she knew instinctively that they were begging Allah, or maybe the Living Gods, to save them. They died screaming as the ground rushed up to meet them.

  And that sound they made as they hit—that sickening crunch muffled by the sand. She was rooted, thinking it must be over. It had to be over because she couldn’t do that again. Intellectually, she’d known that her power was dangerous. And though she knew preventing the Living Gods and their worshippers from being slaughtered was a noble goal, it didn’t matter as she fell to her knees and began puking.

  That had been weeks ago. In the interim, she’d become numb to it all. The dying. The destruction. And they never learned. They shot her and tried to blow her up, which only made her fatter and more powerful.

  And that felt good.

  She opened her eyes. Nothing had changed, but now there was a tremor in her hands. That had started recently. So had the nightmares, but she’d kept those to herself.

  The jeep was plugging along, but Michelle knew they’d be damn fast without her. A personnel truck carrying jokers came up beside them. She waved at the driver and the truck began to slow. “I’ll catch up!” she yelled over the noise of the jeep and the truck. “Go on ahead of me.”

  “It’s okay! Stay with us!” she heard Simoon calling, but by then Michelle was already crawling out the back of the jeep. The fall gave her more fat. It was delicious. The truck slowed to a crawl and she lumbered to the back of it, grabbed hold of the back gate, and swung herself up. At least she tried to. She got stuck with one leg up and one leg hanging off the back. The jokers helped roll her onboard.

  “Shukran,” she said breathlessly.

  They stared down at her. Some were Living Gods and she recognized her new tentmate, Bastet, among them. Bastet sported a cat’s head larger than her real head had been. They’d barely said hello to each other before Bastet was called off to some Living Gods’ meeting.

  Sobek gave Michelle a smile. At least she thought it was a smile. His head was that of a crocodile and he pretty much always had a creepy grin on his face. She wondered how many shitty Turkish cigarettes it had taken to turn those teeth such a delightful shade of cat-shit brown.

  “Bubbles,” he said. Sobek didn’t think much of some of the American Hero contestants, but he’d asked Michelle to bunk with Bastet as a personal favor. “She’s not handling the fighting well” was his only explanation. “This should be the last of these battles. Bugsy says they’re weakening.”

  The other soldiers nodded. In this truck there were mainly Living Gods: Hathor, Seth, and Amun were the ones Michelle recognized. There were a couple she wasn’t sure were Living Gods rather than just run-of-the-mill jokers. Any one of them could be some obscure god she didn’t know about. The ancient Egyptians had a lot of gods.

  The truck rattled down the sandy road kicking up dust. The other people in the truck were dirty and looked as tired as she felt. “Hey, Bastet,” Michelle said as she sat down between Bastet and a joker who had the head of a baboon. A really mean baboon. He glowered at her, then got up and sat on the other side of the truck.

  “I’m ready for the war to be over and we can decide what we’re going to do with our lives,” Sobek said as he settled down on the other side of Michelle, forcing another joker to move. “Maybe I will go live in Las Vegas with the Gods living there.”

  Bastet gave him a baleful look, then patted her rifle as if it gave her some comfort. “Why would you go? Would you leave your home? Your people?”

  “My people? I’m a joker, little one. There’s no country for us. And this,” he said, making a sweeping gesture. “We’re fighting over a scrap of land and who to pray to. As if either made any difference.”

  “They say Mohammed is greater than all the Living Gods,” one of the other jokers interjected. She was naked and her body was a deep navy color with silver stars covering it. She wore a traditional short-cropped wig with bangs. Lying on the floor at her feet was a man, also naked, his arms outstretched to her. There was a snake coiled around his brow. He held a goose in one hand and a gun in the other.

  “Sweet wife and dear sister, Nut, fear not,” he said, smiling at her. “I am creator of all things. Despite what those damned upstart children of mine say. We shall destroy the new god, Mohammed. An invisible god is no god at all.”

  Sobek rolled his eyes, then said, “Yes. Yes. We are the visible Gods! And we will prevail!” His voice was suddenly rousing as he leapt to his feet, adopting a heroic pose.

  Abruptly, he sat down again. Michelle leaned over and hissed, “What the hell was that all about?”

  “Look at them,” he replied, nodding at the others. His voice was sad and tired. “Look at you. Everyone is exhausted and still we must fight. There is no other choice. You know this. Fight or they will kill us all.”

  There was a whistling noise that Michelle recognized. Missile, she thought, just as it hit. The truck was slammed sideways, throwing its passengers willy-nilly. Bastet shrieked and sailed past Michelle. Sobek’s head hit Michelle in the face, then he was tossed out of the truck as well.

  Michelle hit the ground and got a nice zing of fat. She wasn’t sure what the limits to her ability to take damage were yet, but so far she had the feeling that she hadn’t come close.

  “Bastet?!” Michelle yelled. There was a ringing in her ears from the missile strike. Jesus, she thought. By the time this is all over I’m going to be deaf.

  “Over here,” Bastet said with a quaver in her voice. Dirt and smoke hung in the air, obscuring Michelle’s view.

  “You hurt?”

  “No, just tired of all of this. And I’m going to be bruised all over. That’s nothing new.” There was a snarl in her voice. “Let’s go.”

  The smoke cleared enough that Michelle could see Bastet. Michelle staggered to her feet, then grabbed Bastet by the hand and pulled her up to where she stood unsteadily.

  Michelle didn’t have time to see who had survived the missile and she couldn’t stay to find out. She could hear the wail of an ambulance. Another convoy truck slowed to a stop. As Michelle and Bastet were climbing aboard, Sobek appeared out of the smoke. There was a nasty burn down the right side of his snout and burns on his chest where his shirt hung in tatters.

  “Are you sure you’re good to go?” Michelle asked as he pulled himself into the truck. It jerked into gear and started toward the battle.

  He shrugged. “My skin is tough,” he said tersely.

  Curveball was throwing rocks as fast as she could. Bright crimson blood bloomed on enemy flesh as her projectiles found their targets. Simoon started spinning slowly, then sped up. A tornado of fine sand whirled around her. She moved toward the enemy forces, and as she passed by, her sands shredded their skin while pulling them into her whirling vortex. After a moment, the whirlwind spat them out. Earth Witch squatted and laid her hands on the ground. She closed her eyes and the sand began to tremble as the ground beneath it bent to her will.

  There was the usual chaos of fighting, and Michelle felt her heart beating faster, but it wasn’t from fear, at least not fear for herself. The fear of what she was about to do was like alum on her tongue.

  Bubbles formed in her hands. They floated up. She looked across the battlefield and in one horrible moment she thought, Fuck it. Sobek was right. This has to end. No matter what.

  The bubbles flew. They zoomed past Curveball as she threw rock after rock after rock. Simoon’s whirlwind didn’t touch her bubbles as they blazed through.

  Let’s finish this.

  Bullet-sized bubbles smashed into soldiers, shattering bones and ripping apart organs. There were bubbles in as many destructive forms as Michelle coul
d imagine—she was getting more inventive as time wore on. Her fat melted off, but she knew it didn’t matter because she was a target now. And every shot that struck her just made her more powerful.

  Michelle headed back to her tent. Sand, layered with dirt and sweat, was making her skin itch. Her platinum hair had gone a nasty shade of yellow and there were purple hollows under her eyes from lack of sleep.

  Inside, Bastet was lying on her cot staring upward.

  “Bubbles,” Bastet said dully. Her black fur was covered in dust, turning it a dingy gray. “Sobek asked you to look after me, yes?”

  Michelle nodded. “Yes.” It was miserably hot and she was too tired to pretend otherwise. The end flaps of the tent were open and an anemic whisper of wind blew through them.

  “It’s ridiculous.” Bastet sat up, grabbed her canteen, and took a long swallow. Some of the water trickled out the side of her mouth. She held the canteen out to Michelle, who took it and drank, too. “I’m here doing what needs to be done. My people are dying for the sin of changing into something others can’t understand.”

  “I’m here because I was on some stupid TV show doing nothing useful at all,” Michelle said.

  “You could have stayed in America,” Bastet said. “You don’t need to be here.”

  “At the end of the day, if they come for you, they’ll come for me, too.”

  “I daresay they wouldn’t,” said Bastet, then suddenly, “I’m so tired.” Her shoulders slumped and her head dropped into her hands.

  Michelle reached out and patted her arm. “It’s okay,” she said softly. “None of us are doing that great right now.”

  Bastet nodded. “I hate all this killing. It seems like you’re not affected by it at all.”

  Michelle drew back as Bastet looked up at her. “I am,” Michelle replied, trying to keep her voice neutral. She could tell Bastet was suffering, but her words had wounded. “It’s awful, but they’ve left us no other choice. Sometimes there aren’t any good choices.”

  “Do you suppose you would have come here were it not for the war?” Bastet rocked back and pulled her knees to her chest. “Would you have cared about us?”

  “I don’t know,” Michelle allowed. “I wasn’t exactly political before my card turned, but now that it has, I’m not sure I have a choice.”

  Bastet nodded. “Maybe none of us has a choice anymore.”

  Michelle sighed. “Especially jokers.” She couldn’t figure out why someone would care about Bastet’s joker anyway. Her head was only a little larger than normal size, not the size of a real cat’s head, which would have been deeply odd on her average-human-sized body.

  “I’m not a joker,” Bastet said huffily, glowering at Michelle. “I’m a God.”

  The way she said it made Michelle want to laugh, but she couldn’t blame the Living Gods for choosing to be called gods. Given the choice between being a god—including having actual followers—and being just a joker, well, Michelle knew which end of that equation she would be on.

  “I’m sorry.” Michelle smoothed her dirty khaki-colored pants. “I don’t know much about any of the jok … Living Gods. And I don’t know anything about you at all. I’ll tell you my story if you tell me yours.”

  Bastet eyed Michelle warily and then stretched and settled into a cross-legged position. “My mother was a Coptic Christian and my father was a Muslim. They never could decide how I was to be raised. So I was neither one thing nor another.” There was a decidedly sad note in Bastet’s voice, but her face was inscrutable. Or maybe that was just the default cat expression. Either way, Michelle liked it.

  “But didn’t that mean you got to decide what you were?” Michelle asked. Michelle’s parents were indifferent to any kind of religious upbringing, even though her mother was Jewish.

  Bastet shrugged. “I never wanted to disappoint either of them, so I just didn’t choose. Eventually, I ended up at University College London researching the Bast cults even though my interest was the Amarna Period.”

  “I don’t know anything about the history of Egypt,” Michelle said, embarrassed about her lack of education.

  “I’ll give you a list of things to read,” Bastet said eagerly. A sad expression crossed her face. “If we get through this, that is.”

  “We’re going to be fine. Tell me about your card turning.”

  Bastet shrugged. “There was no trauma, I just woke up and I knew I’d changed.” She patted her face as if feeling it for the first time. “The college asked me to leave; they were very polite about it. My parents were polite, but distant. Eventually, I gave up and came here. I didn’t fully admit what I’d become until the fighting began.”

  “I’m sorry about your parents,” Michelle said. “But godwise, you could have done a lot worse. You could have gotten Sobek’s joker and you’d be all, ‘I’m the Crocodile God. Grrrrrr.’”

  Bastet, who had been taking a drink from the canteen, snorted, then wiped her nose on the back of her sleeve. “You did that on purpose!” she said with fake anger, shaking her index finger at Michelle. “Water! Out of my nose!”

  “I’m sorry,” Michelle replied with a hint of contrition.

  “My parents tried,” Bastet said, suddenly serious again. “They really did.”

  Michelle was feeling a little jealous. “Mine just stole my money. They’re in Paris now living off it. They really are a couple of first-class assholes.”

  “They sound like it. But now, I’m a God, and you are very tough. Not too bad as wild cards go.”

  “I’m not as tough as Golden Boy.” She was still smarting at her defeat at his hands on American Hero. “He was—”

  “A jerk,” said Bastet, finishing Michelle’s sentence.

  “Wait, you saw American Hero?” Michelle was surprised. Bastet didn’t seem like the reality show type.

  “There are clips online. You were most impressive.”

  Michelle could feel her face getting red. “I loved getting my ass handed to me on national TV.”

  “Oh, international,” Bastet said with a grin. If she’d had human teeth it would have been in Cheshire Cat country. Michelle liked it. “And with the internet it’ll be with you forever,” she finished, clearly tickled by Michelle’s embarrassment. “The only thing I can do is turn into a house cat.” In a flash, Michelle was looking at a small black cat where Bastet had been. It jumped onto Michelle’s lap. The cat started purring and Michelle scratched it behind its ears.

  The cat jumped back to Bastet’s cot and in the blink of an eye, Bastet was back. “I’m useless in battle.”

  “You’re a dead shot with a Light Fifty,” Michelle replied. It bugged her that Bastet didn’t think she was adding anything significant to the fight. “That’s better than plenty of people.”

  “You’ve got a bubble going.” Bastet pointed at Michelle’s hand.

  “Oh, shit, I didn’t realize it.” Michelle let the bubble pop. “You know, you could do that cat trick on TV.”

  “Yes, that would help our cause.” Bastet’s accent got a little thicker. “People are stupid, Michelle. There are conspiracy theories surrounding us. And the internet doesn’t help. Do a search on ‘Living Gods’ and the amount of insanity you’ll find online will astonish you.”

  “Yeah, I don’t think so,” Michelle replied. She grabbed her tummy where a little roll of fat still pooched out. It jiggled in a satisfying way. “You should see the stuff they say about me. It’s both horrible and hilarious.”

  “What they say about the Living Gods is worse.”

  “Nope. Not a chance.” Michelle shook her head. Her dirty, almost ass-length hair got stuck on her sweaty neck. “I’m fat, a woman, and gay. If I weren’t white, I’d get all the bonus points.”

  “Who gives out these bonus points?” Bastet asked, a sneaky smile crossing her face.

  “Now I know you’re being goofy,” Michelle said, giving Bastet an aren’t-you-a-funny-girl look. “Bugsy has an internet connection—I’m not sure how.
We’ll ask him to Google ‘Living Gods’ and ‘Amazing Bubbles’ and see what comes up. I’ll bet you I get shittier hits than you do.”

  “You’re turning people hating you into a competition?” Bastet asked with dismay.

  Michelle cocked her head to one side and said, “Of course! Doesn’t everyone?”

  Bastet won the “Who has shittier press on the internet” competition handily.

  It was supposed to be over. The Egyptian Army had been routed. They were no match for aces, jokers, and a desperate people protecting their beliefs. But now it was done and life could start getting back to normal. Or as normal as anything could be after that sort of thing.

  Except that didn’t happen.

  What happened was the Army of the Caliphate—and they had the Righteous Djinn.

  Curveball, Simoon, Earth Witch, John Fortune, Drummer Boy, Bugsy, and Michelle were jammed into the command tent with a small group of Living Gods. They were trying to work out what to do now that everything had gone to shit again. Michelle decided she didn’t have anything of use to add and slipped out, heading back to her own tent.

  Bastet was napping inside, and it was remarkably quiet in the camp. Michelle began to sit down on her own cot when a missile hit nearby. The ground shuddered and Bastet jerked awake.

  “C’mon,” Michelle said urgently. “Jesus! Bastet, move!” But Bastet didn’t move; she just sat there frozen, a terrified look on her face. Michelle grabbed Bastet’s arm and yanked her to the floor. “Stay down!” she said. Bastet grabbed hold of Michelle and held her close, body trembling. “It’s okay,” Michelle said, patting Bastet’s back. “It’s going to be okay.” She started to pull away, but Bastet tightened her grip.

  “Don’t leave me,” she hissed. The lilting, almost purring quality of her voice was gone. Now it was filled with simple human fear. “I thought we were done with the fighting!”