Rage of the Ancient Gods

by Craig Robertson

  “Out.”

  Sapale and I walked to the small city nearest to where we'd stashed Stingray. We'd selected a spot far from Vorc, the DS, and everyone who knew us. Since we had instant transportation available we felt it was prudent to be as anonymous as possible. I have to say the word prudent always gave me an itchy rash. The concept of prudence was basically the opposite of that of fighter pilot. But on occasion we all had to do distasteful things that gave the appearance of us being mature adults.

  I'd discovered Cleinoid settlements didn't have names. The population concentration we were entering was just there. It never came up, but if I wanted to go, say, to the place Wul lived, I have no idea how I'd have asked directions. The gods must simply have known where the individuals they wished to contact were located. Weird.

  “Place looks pretty quiet,” Sapale remarked as we strolled.

  “Probably saw me coming and leapt for cover.” I swaggered my hips a little extra.

  “Or smelled you coming and leapt for gas masks.”

  “Love, that insult is beneath you. You, a Kaljaxian and two billion years practiced, can do much better.”

  “You're right. I'm saddened and sorry. Say your line again, the cover one.”

  “Probably saw me coming and leapt for cover.” I omitted the swagger.

  “Or saw you coming and leapt to cover their eyes.”

  “That’s infinitely worse.”

  “One more time. I'll get this.”

  “Probably saw me coming and leapt for cover.”

  “Or saw you coming, noticed I was with you and leapt for cover.”

  “Better, but work on that rapier-like wit you once possessed.”

  She was quiet a spell. “You know how Toño is a stickler about making our bodies fully functional?”

  Didn't see that conversation coming. “Ah, I recall something to that effect. What occasions that remark?”

  “Now's as good a time as any to tell you. I'm pregnant.”

  I stopped so we stopped. “You're what? This is lame humor, right?”

  “Have I ever mentioned the concept of insensitive pig when referring to you?”

  “Frequently and always appropriately.”

  “Honey, you're doing it again.”

  “But I know you're joshing. My sperm supply is long gone, and even if it wasn't our physiologies aren't compatible. You know that. Wait, are you saying you've still kept Kaljaxian sperm viable all these years, and you elected in this present crisis to become pregnant?”

  “Would that be wrong of me? Selfish of me?”

  “Um, yes and yes shove their way to the front of my thoughts.”

  “Well that's not what happened, so forget I even mentioned my … condition.”

  I turned to her and held her shoulders gently. “I'm trying here, so bear with me. I can't be the father. Toño can't be the father. You can't have stored the genetics of a Kaljaxian father. If you are pregnant, who's the father?”

  She looked down in shame. I heard her begin to weep.

  “If you don't want to tell me it's okay. Tell me when you're good and ready.”

  “I'm …,” she sniveled a bit, “I'm ready.” She squared her shoulders and sucked back her tears. “Al is the father. There, are you satisfied.”

  “Al? Huh?”

  “And when Blessing finds out because she has to in time, we don't know what will become of the ship's AI capabilities. Al says Al Jr. might replace Blessing, but I'm not certain that's even possible.”

  “Are you sure? I know we're in Godville where every impossible is possible, but … are you sure?”

  “Yes, I'm certain. I got you.”

  Why bless my soul she had. I started to giggle. Soon we were incapacitated with laughter. It felt damn good. It felt very good.

  We wandered around a while. Finally, you had to know it, we stopped at a local watering hole. The smell of roasting something wafting out the open door was too hard to ignore. Of the many bars and clubs I'd been to in this crazy universe, Glow More was one of the nicest. It avoided the overdone stuffiness of most establishments. It was also not dingy and smelly like Queeheg's dive. It was well lit, pleasantly decorated, and importantly had no roaming nudes. If it did Sapale would wear my arm out punching it. Like it was my idea golems paraded around in a manner designed to please the eye.

  We sat at a table in an obscure corner. Again, we wanted to be noticed as little as possible.

  A waitress came over and greeted us warmly. “Afternoon, my name's Daleria and I'll be assisting you today. What can I get you to start?”

  “First off, I have to ask what is that wonderful smell?”

  “Ah, today's special is felnastop roasted on a spit over a quie wood.”

  I was about to ask if Felnastop was someone who refused to pay his bill but let that impulse pass. Plus, even if it was I wanted some.

  “How's that served?” asked Sapale.

  “Why anyway you like it. Sliced with a hasterly-reduction sauce, as a sandwich. There's really no way it can't be enjoyed.”

  “If you were going to have some, how would you order it?” Sapale pressed politely.

  “Me? Sliced with salt and a spice mix.”

  “Plain and simply,” she responded.

  “That's the best way in my opinion.”

  “Well two of those and two nectars please,” my brood's-mate concluded.

  “Excellent.”

  I kid you not. Daleria walked through the kitchen doors and then came right out with a big tray. She came back and set two steaming hot plates of food down. Then she set a pair of glasses in front of us and filled them with nectar of the gods. She rested the bottle between us and asked, “Will there be anything else?”

  “No,” I replied.

  Whatever or whoever felnastop was, it was magnificent. Melt-in-your-mouth tender, brimming with juices, and subtly sweet, it exploded on the palate like Fourth of July rockets of deliciousness. I was an instant fan. I could tell Sapale was too. She never once looked up to me or wavered in her focus on the delight. In fact neither of us said one word until both our plates were cleaner than when they'd come from the dishwasher.

  “I see you both enjoyed it?” remarked Daleria as she cleared our plates.

  “It's unbelievable,” marveled Sapale.

  “We're not from around here and haven't had felnastop before. Is it only found locally?” I asked.

  “Yes, I noticed you didn't look familiar. I'd say it's quite a local specialty. It doesn't grow anywhere else but on the lower slopes of the mountain range to the east, Shriner's Range. It requires a fast hand and a good deal of luck to catch them.”

  “It grows as in it's a plant?”

  “Yes, underground in fact.”

  “If it's stuck in the dirt why's it hard to catch? Seems like they'd be sitting ducks.”

  “Oh no. They're quick as a wink and have been known to bite.”

  “I thought you said they were a plant. You're describing a rodent.”

  “Oh they're a plant to be certain. But they're fast runners when their roots are fully out of the soil.”

  “Well I'll be damned,” I mused.

  “That's a different topic and not something I'm qualified to speculate in that arena.”

  “What a diplomat you are,” said my mate. “Seriously, you don't have to know him too long at all before you're pretty sure of whether he's damned or not.”

  “I'll take your word on that, ma'am.”

  “Sapale,” my wife replied. “My friends call me Sapale. Please do so yourself.”

  “I will, Sapale. Thank you. Most guests are not as considerate. I appreciate the courtesy.”

  “And I'm Ryanmax,” I said, extending a hand.

  We shook.

  “Pleased to make your acquaintance too, Ryanmax.” She looked thoughtful. “I don't think we've met, but your name sound vaguely familiar.” She continued to try and noodle out where she knew the name from.

  “Oh please, sweethea
rt, don't encourage his ego,” responded Sapale. “He's this close to impossible to live with as it is.” She pinched her fingers real close.

  “As I'm certain you didn't come here to chat with me, is there anything else I can get you?”

  “Chatting with you is a joy,” replied Sapale. “But, since you brought it up, a second round of that felnastop would be wonderful.”

  “Coming right up. The vomitorium,” she nodded to to one side, “is over there if you feel the need.”

  “Ah, no but thanks,” I responded, rather embarrassed. “We're just a couple of big eaters.”

  “Not to worry,” added my equally stunned wife.

  “Suit yourselves,” she replied with a wink. Hey, I had yet to see one winker in this bozo universe. I liked her already.

  Daleria returned just as quickly with two plates, maybe small trays, of savory joy. They were definitely stacked higher too.

  “You're a saint, Daleria,” I said.

  She actually pulled her head back and tilted her head. “Saint? We don't have saints, Ryanmax.” Then she snapped her fingers and pointed at me. “Wul. It was Wul who mentioned you to me.”

  If I was taken aback by the vomitorium thing, I was positively dumbstruck now. “You know Wul?”

  “Didn't I sort of say I did just now?” All of the sudden she wasn't so deferential. She wasn't rude or anything, just more straightforward.

  “I guess you did. But Wul, he lives a long way from here.”

  She shook her head gently. “No, we say he hangs out pretty far from here. None of us lives anywhere, at least for long.”

  “The way you say ‘we,’ you kind of sound like you're not including me,” I said as non-threateningly as I could. I was hoping to hell I didn't have to snap her neck in a second.

  “Wul didn't just tell me about you. He told me about you.”

  “What's that supposed to mean?” Again, I tried to sound neutral.

  “Someone's getting defensive pretty quick here. I wouldn't have said anything if I wasn't trustworthy.”

  “Girl has a point,” agreed Sapale. “If she was any danger she'd have been a quiet little golem and walked away.”

  “A what?” Daleria giggled through her nose. “It's the both of you that are luny.” She snickered again.

  “What did I say?” challenged Sapale, who was much worse at hiding her emotions than me.

  Daleria got serious. “I am not a golem.” She smiled briefly. “I am a demigod.”

  “I thought all service staff were golems,” I said, entering back in.

  “Wul, Wul, Wul. Wait till I tell him that one. No, Ryanmax, nearly all service staff are golems. But some living breathing folks do it too. I own this place and I enjoy working with patrons.” She reflexively scanned the room. “If I were a golem you'd know by my neck. They all have a thin groove around the top of their necks. It's sort of a design flaw no one ever bothered to fix.” She extended her neck to demonstrate she lacked one. “Removing the flaw might take work and we can't have that.”

  She sounded rather displeased with her kin. Nice.

  “You're working,” observed Sapale.

  “Yes, but I'm not an overprivileged, self-impressed, and lazy Cleinoid god.”

  “Ah, yes you are,” I said tentatively.

  “I know. Confusing to an outsider. I'm a demigod, not a god. When you hear the word demi think of frozen turds, rotten meat, or, I don't know, nothing at all because that's how we're regarded.”

  “Seriously? I thought you were one big happy family,” asked Sapale.

  “They are. We are not. For one thing few of them think of us as family.”

  “What about Wul?” I asked.

  “Wul is a good man and a rare exception. I consider him one of my few friends among the godly gods.”

  She spoke with some vitriol there. Nicer.

  “You kind of referred to us like we weren't Cleinoids. You know we are, right?” I queried.

  That brought another nasal giggle. “And I'm peach pie.”

  “You don't look like peach pie,” Sapale remarked pointedly.

  Daleria scanned the room to confirm we were the only customers. Then she set her tray on the table and slid into a chair. “If you see anyone come in, let me know at once. If a god saw walking refuse sitting with the high and mighty it would draw instant suspicion.”

  “Okay.”

  “I know you two are not from here. You're travelers of some sort. Very, very lucky ones to boot. The fact that no one has ever infiltrated this perverse society is the only reason you've been as successful as you have been.”

  “Wul told you that?” I asked neutrally.

  “No. Wul told me about you, well mostly you,” she gestured to me. “He knows you're different but he hasn't connected the dots yet. He suffers from the same blindspot the others do.”

  “If you suspect we're infiltrators, why not sound the alarm?” asked my wife.

  “Why in the world would I do that? If you're here to study us then who cares? If, however, you're here to destroy us, why would I try and stop you? You'd be doing the right thing.”

  “You have a death wish?” I asked, perplexed.

  “No, I'm fine with living. But these wretched Cleinoids are much worse than you can ever know. They deserve a good killing, hopefully a slow and painful one, but fast and merciful is okay by me too.”

  “Not a fan then?”

  “Not hardly.”

  What an odd development in a nearly infinite daisy chain of oddness. But Daleria had to have learned of us from Wul, so she had street cred. Or did she? What if she was one of Vorc's agents? That would fit too. He'd have a network of them for sure. And yours truly would be at the top of the most-wanted list. Vorc could have given his people a story like she had in hopes of drawing us out, gaining our confidence. Crapola.

  Keep her talking, I said to Sapale in my head. I need to think a sec.

  You got it.

  “I'm not clear on something. Maybe you could help me? What exactly is the difference, as you see it, between a god and a demigod. It seems …”

  I muted my audio input.

  If Daleria knew Wul as she maintained, he might well have told her all about us. But I couldn't very well call him to confirm the fact. I could ask the Als to try, but who knew where Wul was? And if she was a traitor, opening up to us might be lethal. She could be wrong and we could be vengeful. I had to credit her a point for taking that real risk if she was telling the truth.

  If Vorc was behind all this, it would be more likely. I mean, what were the chances of running into the one turncoat in existence? A lot less than Vorc having spies everywhere, that was for sure. And her smack talk about the Cleinoids would be forgiven if she was doing her job. End and the means.

  So what would a traitor do that a spy wouldn't, or vice versa? Oh yeah.

  “Daleria, I need you to pass a test in order to trust you. I want you to kill the next person that comes in that door.” I pointed to the entrance we'd used.

  She looked appropriately shocked. It took her a second to compose herself. “What if it's my deliveryman?”

  “Dead. No options. Even if it's Wul.”

  “Not likely. But I'm confused. I'm also frightened. Why kill a random stranger?”

  “Like I said, it's a test.”

  “I don't want any tests. Believe me. Don't believe me. It's fine by me either way.”

  “This is the test you kind of have to take. You have to pass it too,” I replied firmly.

  Refusing to kill the next person was consistent with either traitor or spy, unfortunately. I'd only know for certain when the critical moment came.

  “I don't have a weapon. Yes. How can I …”

  She stopped protesting when I slid her my flashlight. Remember I had one installed, but it came out of my forehead if I needed it? Not a pretty sight. But I totally guarantee Daleria had no idea what I was providing her.

  “This is where you push to fire. The pulse comes out th
is end.” I tapped the lens.

  She picked it up like it was a pissed-off cobra. “May I test-fire it since this is a test?”

  “No. We're working on faith here. It'll kill just about anything and it doesn't have a recoil or anything. A child could use it.”

  We all sat back and waited. Fortunately we didn't have to wait long. Two sort of humanoids came in chatting up a storm. They were initially oblivious to our table.

  Daleria popped up like her chair was spring-loaded. “I'll get you that and be right back,” she said apropos of nothing. She also slid my flashlight back to me with a glare.

  When she was at her closest to me I whispered, “You passed, kiddo.”

  THIRTY

  Vorc sat alone in his office, nervously tapping his quill against his cheek. Reflecting back on it, he couldn't recall the last good night’s sleep he'd had. Mostly he awoke from any number of gruesome dreams covered in sweat and feeling cold as ice. He was ready for a change, some relief. He ruminated on three things during the daylight hours. Dominion Splitter, his not ravaging Prime, and Ryanmax. When nighttime came, he suffered insomnia from those same forces, though Ryanmax seemed to be his greatest worry the later the hour became. He would become so punch-drunk with fatigue he'd combine the three curses. He'd fancy he was pounding Ryanmax's skull into DS as Vorc passed into Prime. Or Ryanmax would bring DS to Vorc's bedchamber and hit him with it until Prime fell out and crushed Vorc.

  There was a soft rap at the door. Felladonna's petite head slipped in. “Sir, the sisters are here.”

  “Oh,” was his weak response.

  “Sir, you sent for them. It took all I could do to drag them from their tower, which is disgusting by the way.”

  “Tell me about it. That’s precisely the reason I wanted them to come here. I'd force them to bathe too if I thought I held enough sway with them.”

  “So I should send them in?”

  “If you must.”

  Felladonna started to respond that she was under no personal pressure or obligation to do so, but let it go.

  “Oh, sister dearest,” Deca marveled disingenuously, “come see the fancy office our center seat occupies.”

  “My oh my,” cooed Fest, “it is much nicer than our humble abode.”