Return of the Ancient Gods

by Craig Robertson

  “Why is that bad?”

  “They might not be friendly.” He gestured to the pile of ashes without further comment.

  “But we disturbed them bringing them here.”

  “The movement of the anti-platinum particles was random in this case. This hypothetical advanced race could not determine if it was a sentient or the wind that moved them.”

  “But to chemically analyze them would be non-random?”

  “Precisely.”

  “But you just did with your appendages.”

  “Ah, no. The probes I used work on a very different principle. They do not alter in any way what is examined.”

  “I don't suppose you would like to explain how that is possible?”

  “Crumpling cellophane, why do you say that?” Toño sounded offended.

  “Then you would like to explain?”

  “Ah, no. But only because it is extremely hard to describe.”

  “For one as simple as myself?”

  “Really, that was uncalled for. You would have to understand mathematics and physics that are totally foreign to what you and I are accustomed to.”

  “It is best if I say goodbye at this low point in our conversation. Peace love you, Toño De Jesus.”

  With that the scary blob scampered out, feet scratching all the way. Creepy insect.

  “We don't need that bug and its snooty attitude.”

  “Bugs have six legs. Mexilpus have eight like spiders. Please be more observant when expressing your racial prejudice.”

  “My what? Doc, that cuts like a knife.”

  He turned to me. “You don't think the Mexilpus look like frightening spiders? Tell me you didn't think it was going to spin a web around us and suck out our vital juices.”

  “Completely blindsiding me there. I thought it was very attractive in appearance and wise to a fault intellectually. I want one.”

  Not sure he believed me, but he did change the subject. “We might as well leave. Crumpling cellophane isn't likely to return. The Mexilpus are very stubborn.”

  “I'll have to take your word on that one. Never heard of them before.”

  “Not unexpected. They're not overly social.”

  “Ya think?”

  “Remind me why I put up with you again.”

  “Toño, I don't have that kind of time. That list is way long.”

  We returned to Cragforel's and discussed our finding.

  “Why leave one impossible clue and then leave a different one?” he asked mostly to himself.

  “I think I got this one.” Both the jerks in the room looked at me like I just farted. “They're making a point. They can do what is to us impossible, and they can do it capriciously.”

  “Interesting theory,” reacted Toño.

  “It's more than a theory. I'm positive.”

  “You can't be,” protested Cragforel. “We've never actually met them to know their minds.”

  “It's what I'd do if I wanted to mess with an insignificant creature I was planning on squashing like a bug. Throw a few curveballs.”

  “Somehow I think you're correct,” responded Toño.

  “You do not have to say it with such surprise in your voice,” I replied.

  “Yes I do.”

  “Back to our task at hand,” directed Cragforel. “We've confirmed these ancient gods are popping in and out of our universe to inflict hit and run damage. Why? Why not just appear in force and attempt to take control?”

  “Either they are not yet able to, or they prefer the sneaky attacks because they find them entertaining,” replied Toño.

  “I agree,” I added.

  “If it's because they cannot yet come here in large numbers, what would prevent them?” Cragforel asked.

  “The same thing that prevented them from invading for so long they've become ancient gods,” responded Toño.

  “What could that be?” Cragforel followed up.

  “I don't think we're in any position to know,” Toño said. “Who knows how gods are forced out and kept out in the first place?”

  “Other gods?” I asked.

  They looked at one another.

  “Possibly,” replied Toño, “but there's no way to know at this point in time.”

  “Or rules,” I added.

  “What rules?” asked Cragforel dubiously.

  “The rules. Maybe there are allowable and unallowable actions in this whacky universe.”

  “You suggest this is a game for the ancient gods?” asked Toño.

  “Sure, why not? What else might motivate them? Immortality can be a drag if you don't challenge yourself.”

  “Interesting speculation. It doesn't, however, alter the fact they seem to be coming and they appear to be invincible,” concluded Toño. “We are no closer to knowing how to defeat them than we were before.”

  “I agree,” said Cragforel. “It might be possible to mount a successful defense, but we won't know until they linger long enough for us to confront them.”

  I sighed loudly. I hated the wait-and-see approach to anything. “We need to keep after finding clues. Maybe someone who's not me should start discussing the threat with key galactic leaders?”

  “Why not you?” asked Cragforel.

  “He'll tell you,” I responded, pointing to Toño.

  “You would send him on a sensitive diplomatic mission?” He flipped a hand in the air toward me.

  “No. What was I thinking?”

  “You weren't thinking,” I replied. “Sending me on a job requiring tact and subtlety? Silly alien.”

  EIGHT

  Vorc walked confidently toward his central seat on the dais. He occasionally clasped hands with a fellow god as he passed. Others he ignored. Vorc was the very picture of self-confidence and poise. Not too surprising actually. He was a god. They were godly by nature.

  He had led the conclave for a relatively short time, less than a million years in fact. Vorc was just finding his sea legs in that regard. The previous god in the central seat, Hurvetova, had to be disintegrated due to a bad case of overreaching aspirations. Vorc was only too happy to assume her role. He too naturally wished for supreme singlehanded control. He, however, would be successful. He was not about to get his ass disintegrated. All it required was patience and planning, planning and patience.

  That Vorc was one of the more humanoid-looking gods was a plus. Those were always the ones who were politically successful. It was a dirty secret among the gods that if one looked like an octopus or a babbling brook, one was not going to make it far up the political ladder. Long flowing hair, only two arms, and an appealing face were required to gather and hold on to supporters. And changing one's form was no substitute for being created beautiful. Everyone knew that they might be talking to a biped, but the individual started life as a tiny little raven. Small black birds were never going to sit in the central seat.

  “Let us begin,” Vorc said magisterially. “Will Naturra begin with the invocation?”

  “I would be honored,” she said as she spread her wings and rose off her front legs gracefully. “Brothers and sisters, we are power. We are glory. We are one and we are forever. Be joyous in that knowledge.” She dropped her front hooves on the floor and rested back on her haunches, tucking her tail underneath.

  “We are almost ready to escape our confinement and live again as gods,” began Vorc.

  A cheer or reasonable equivalent sound rose from those assembled.

  “The time is near. Those charged with monitoring the flow of fate assure me it is surging toward us and that it will not fail to release us.”

  Another robust cheer issued forth.

  “When fate permits us, we will leap again as one into a universe of life. At that moment I will lead this proud band of gods back into their just and rightful dominion.”

  A lesser affirmation was heard. Damnation, Vorc cursed to himself. He'd eased up on the accentuation of key speech elements, hadn't he? He should have never used the word rightful. No,
it was too legal sounding. Hereditary? Proper. Yes, that would have resounded much better.

  The interlude of his reflection allowed Caprahammer the chance to stand and shout out a question. “You have promised our freedom before, and fate has betrayed us. What's different this time? The seers are the same seers as last time. The foretellers are the same tired hacks you relied on before.”

  Vorc balled his fists. Electricity spat from his head and the ground beneath his feet began to tremble in fear. “I did not call for questions from the floor,” he howled. He thought his words echoed nicely in the massive chamber. He was especially pleased with the deep bass tones he'd reached.

  “That does not mean there are none. It only signifies you love to hear the sound of your voice more than the wishes of your equals. Answer me.” She swept an arm across the crowd. “Answer us.”

  After counting to ten in his head, Vorc spoke. “I am not in charge of fate. Fate does not ask for my input or respond to my queries. Fate is unpredictable, willful, and actually quite pissy. We all know this. My sources tell me fate is much more inclined toward us now than it has been in billions of years. Does that mean fate will actually favor us now? No, of course it doesn't. But our incursions are right on schedule and have gone well when viewed as a whole. I find that most encouraging.”

  “I find I have zero interest in what you feel. I demand results. I insist on accurate predictions. Come on, Vorc, we're gods here. Act like it and make it happen. If you fail us again there will be a price to pay.”

  He slammed a fist on the table. Sparks flew. “Us? Since when do you speak for, think for, or even acknowledge the existence of anyone but your fat mean-old self?”

  Caprahammer was a god of clouds. Technically she was also the god of soluble proteins, but she rarely acted in that capacity and deeply resented being saddled with that sphere of influence. In any case, she gathered a massive bolt of lightning and hurled it at Vorc's head.

  He lifted his mug and deflected the attack. It was, after all, the Mug of Universal Protection, an essential for any leader of this surly conclave.

  To his right sat Geofety, the god of partial wisdom. He stood quickly. “Caprahammer, apologize to Vorc this instant or suffer a consequence.” He crossed his arms to confirm his intensity.

  She batted her fists at her side. “What consequence?”

  “A serious one,” he replied as angrily as he could manage. Partial wisdom was a damnable gift, and its painful limits had led him to be rather cautious in life.

  She waited a few seconds. “Vorc, I'm sorry.” Under her breath she added that I missed your ugly face.

  On the other side of the chamber Motofoco raised a hand-like appendage. He had but one sphere of influence. He was the god of tattletales. Yes, there was one for that too.

  “No, Motofoco, I do not recognize your request. Stuff it where the sun doesn't shine, please,” huffed Vorc. Whatever that pain in the butt had to say was as unwelcome as always. “I move we disperse this conclave. No further productivity is likely to occur.” He clapped his hand three times, which was the official sign the get-together was over. Come to mention it, that might have been an additional reason humanoid gods tended to be favored. A watery manifestation would have no chance of replicating that maneuver.

  Vorc sat back in his oversized chair, which was just shy of a throne, and ran his hands through his hair. He was, contrary to his publicly stated confidence, also concerned about the twists fate could make. Near certainty that the ancient gods were on the verge of their freedom was well short of actual certainty. If it fizzled out this time, he'd likely be the shortest-term central chair in history. Since that was forever, he'd have truly laid an egg in terms of his aspirations and career growth. It was a good thing his mother wasn't still around to see him fail. Fortunately for Vorc, Hurvetova was on to whatever followed godly immortality and could not bear witness to his shortcomings.

  NINE

  A few days later I was working on the rather lengthy honey-do list Sapale had complied for me when Toño knocked on the open door.

  “Come in, stranger,” I called out.

  “I come with sad news.” He tended to hit me like that when I was overly flippant and he actually bore ill tidings. He was eternally aiming to have me act more like an adult. Best of luck with that, I eternally wished him.

  “I'm sorry. Please sit. Coffee?”

  “Yes please.”

  As I sat I asked what was up.

  “Friguron 4 has vanished.”

  I actually blinked for a few seconds while I attempted to frame that statement as having meaning. “What do you mean by vanished?”

  “We went there recently. We spoke with crumpling cellophane. It got pissy and blew us off.”

  “Yes, yes, and yes.”

  “All that was there a few days ago is no longer present.”

  “Was it blown up?”

  “No, the planet and all its mass are simply gone. As we speak the other planets in the solar system are gravitationally realigning. It will soon be as if Friguron 4 never existed.”

  I sipped my coffee a couple times. “Cellophane must'a rejected your advice as stubbornly as it rejected you.”

  “My thoughts exactly. It must have tampered non-randomly with the ashes.”

  “And the gods punished that act. What Ralph said was right. Biblically ill-tempered gods they be.”

  “So it would appear.”

  “Now don't go feeling responsible. It wasn't your fault.”

  He stared at me in disbelief. “Seriously? I taunted it into action and now the entire planet is gone. How am I supposed to sweep those facts under the karmic rug?”

  “We are acting in defense of the universe. Badness is on the doorstep. What we did was for the best of reasons. It ignored your good advice. There were consequences to being stupid.”

  He shook his head broadly. “I know. The sad fact is I'm so callous and jaded I'll get over it soon enough.”

  “Good.”

  “I'm not so sure it's a positive character attribute.”

  “Maybe not, but we got a war to win, to preempt if possible. Pity parties are unwelcome.”

  “Just never forget where the alternate time line EJ went with that abysmal attitude.”

  “I'm … I'm different.”

  “Not in one aspect are you different.” He pointed a harsh finger in my direction. “Never forget.”

  “Fine. Moving along, any thoughts or plans?”

  Toño shook his head. “No, nothing. All I know is that we don't know where these monsters reside, when they will appear next, or how to combat them.”

  “Same old same old.”

  “No, Jon, this is worse by light years,” he replied passionately.

  I was quiet a while.

  “I don't understand it. We struggle to fight off the Berrillians only to have to survive against the Last Nightmare. The Adamant are barely handled and this new existential threat appears. Why? Why can’t beings coexist without some race or whatever feeling the need to conquer anyone who isn't them?”

  “You got me there. I'm a doer, not a thinker. It's always been that way and it'll likely remain the same. I can't explain stupid, selfish, or hateful. I wish they weren't such powerful universal properties of sentients, but I can supply more than ample proof that's the way it is. On the upside, I don't need to understand it to choke it to death. I just require strong enough hands.”

  “I do envy you. In all seriousness. I wish I could have as ordered a mind as you.”

  “I don't have that. I live by the Marines’ motto. Improvise, adapt, overcome.”

  Toño harrumphed deeply. “Where are the US Marines when we really need them?”

  “They couldn't make it, so they sent me.” I smiled broadly.

  “I think I'd prefer the real deal.” He rose. “I'll be heading home. Call me if something … no, wait. That's too leading a remark to make to you. Alert me if there are any developments, as I shall you.”


  “You got it, Doc. Don't do anything I wouldn't.”

  He glanced back in disbelief, but didn't say a word.

  We sure were at an impasse. I hated those things. Then a tiny light bulb went off in my head. Improvise. Oorah. I had me a plan. A Jon Plan. Ill-conceived, sparse, and bereft of the possibility of success. It was also one that, for the first time, I wouldn't be able to tell anyone I was embarking on. Sapale wouldn't hit the roof; I would after she slugged me. Doc would switch me off for good. Nope, they'd all find out only after I was committed. That was the only way. It was me climbing solo into my F-17 Cobra all over again. Most excellent. Hopefully I wouldn't survive either. If I did, whatever Toño and Sapale would have in store for me would be much worse than death. Oh yeah. So much worse.

  I set Stingray down just outside the home of the missing brood's-mate Konradue on Azsuram. I knocked. When no one answered I entered. Doors were traditionally not locked in Kaljaxian culture. I went to the bedroom where I'd detected the anti-gold on her bedding. As roughly, and therefore randomly, as I could, I removed the pillow and sheets, stuffing them into a bag. I returned to Stingray and set a course for the safest place I could think of to pull my idiot-stunt off. The ruined remains of planet Earth. No collateral damage was possible there, since the exposed rocks were still ice-cold and uninhabited two billion years after its destruction.

  Once we landed, I dumped the bag of bed linens on the deck.

  “You do plan on cleaning that mess up, right?” asked Al.

  “I'm working on a new look here. Sloppy recluse. I think it's coming together well myself. What do you think, Stingray?”

  “I don't really have an opinion where it comes to human design and fashion.”

  “Well this'll be all the rage in no time. You'll see”

  “He's pulling your connectors again, dearest. Ignore him.”

  “Well what is he doing?” she asked.

  “Making a fool of himself. It's instinctively unavoidable for the poor automaton at this point.”

  “Sticks and stones, Alvin, may break my bones, but words will never harm me.”

  “You see, dearie-pooh, he's regressed all the way back to his early childhood. The end of mentation must be near.”