“May I be frank with you?” Heyer asked.
“Please do.”
He sighed. “When they are not bombarding me with incessant questions, I have noticed that their discussions can be, well, it is difficult to explain, but—”
She stopped him. “I lived with them, I get it. Can’t tell you how many times I lost an hour of my life listening to one of their inane arguments.”
He looked at her gratefully. A short silence followed, and Paige wasn’t sure what to say, but the alien spoke before she had to.
“From what I can tell, they have been re-imagining the gospels,” Heyer said.
“Yeah, their comic book,” Paige said.
Heyer nodded.
Paige nodded. “Yeah . . .”
If she wasn’t reading him wrong, he seemed to be feigning disinterest.
“They call it the New Testament Reloaded,” Paige said.
Heyer nodded again.
“I could ask Mr. Clean to produce you a copy,” Paige offered.
“No, no . . . that will not be necessary,” Heyer said.
Paige studied him a bit longer, then smiled widely. “You’ve read them already.”
Heyer closed his eyes again. “Please, keep your voice low.”
“Sure, sure, but um . . . I’m going to need to hear this,” Paige said. “You’re like a million years old—why are you reading comic books?”
“While I am nowhere near as ancient as you suggest,” Heyer said, “I am old enough to be embarrassed.”
Paige stifled a laugh. “I won’t tell anyone.”
“I appreciate your discretion,” Heyer said.
“Oh, I meant I won’t tell anyone—but you have to tell me why.”
Heyer sighed. “It is painfully egotistic.”
“Now I’m twice as curious,” Paige said.
He turned to her slowly, keeping his voice a low whisper. “It is the conflict between the Christ and the Anti-Christ,” Heyer said. “Two beings born with more power than any one individual should rightly possess. The only two of their kind. No one to tell them what their power is for—what they’re meant to do with it. They only have one another, and the judgment of a species for which they can never truly be a part of. Yet, they inevitably seem to find themselves on opposite ends of philosophy.”
She nodded. “Oh—okay, I get it. You’re overrelating to comic book Jesus.”
Heyer squirmed a bit at the assumption. “No, I am not sure which of the two I relate to most.”
“That’s . . . troubling,” Paige said. “If I’m being honest.”
“Well, therein lies the fascination.” Heyer said. “The ending is a foregone conclusion. As the story demands that Jesus become the Messiah, his course of action will reflect what these two children believe to be the moral choice.”
She stared at the alien awhile, then down at her roommates. “Well crap . . . now I want to hear.”
“We could end the comic in a way that gives answers that the Bible left to speculation,” Collin said.
“Okay, can you be more specific?” Hayden asked.
“I’m mostly thinking the inconsistency in God’s behavior between the New and Old Testaments,” Collin said. “Old Testament God is often worse than the devil. I mean, ‘Commit Genocide? Sure, no big’. ‘Not gonna do as I say? Fine I’ll kill every first-born son in your city’. Fast forward a few hundred years and New Testament God is like, ‘I just want you all to know I love you’.”
Hayden sipped his coffee and sighed. “Your sweeping generalizations leave as much to be desired as usual, but whatever, go on.”
“Okay so, the second thing we could answer is the question everyone asks at some point. If God’s all powerful, created everything, knows how it all plays out, why create Lucifer? Why let him keep existing? I mean, did he need his own nemesis for some reason? Did he need Evil so people would know what Good was supposed to look like?”
“And you have an answer that fixes all that?”
“I have an idea, I need you to help me turn it into a story,” Collin said. “But it won’t just fix those two things, it will also explain why there has never been a second coming.”
“Stop building this up,” Hayden said. “You’ve got my attention, let’s hear it.”
“What if, after the events of the last book,” Collin said, “Jesus and the Anti-Christ decide not to have a head-on collision. They realize it is a foregone conclusion that they won’t bring about any change in the world. What if, instead, they team up to replace the gods who put them on a collision course in the first place?”
Hayden frowned. “A coup to dethrone God and the Devil?”
Collin grimaced. “No, not exactly. You can’t exactly pull a coup on an all-knowing, infallible being.”
“So, what then?” Hayden asked.
“Well, it goes back to what I just said. The whole idea of God being infallible implies the entity is perfect, and therefore shouldn’t be changed. But . . . what if, like in all things, perfection isn’t real. What if no being could ever be perfect throughout time without changing to fit new circumstances. How does one retain the title of being infallible if he changes?”
Hayden shrugged.
“What if the infallible being purposely sets in motion events that will ultimately change him?”
“Wait,” Hayden said. “You’re saying God changes himself. Like an update, becomes God 2.0.”
“Exactly,” Collin said.
Hayden tapped his fingers on the table, finished his coffee, stood and refilled the cup. Tapped his finger on the table some more. Meanwhile, Collin watched him for some sort of reaction.
“Okay, I’m intrigued, but I have two questions,” Hayden said.
“Sure,” Collin said.
“The first is, what is it that God is changing about himself specifically?” Hayden asked.
“Right,” Collin said. “So, you know that old rhetorical question: Who do you think God really favors in the web? The spider, or the fly?
Hayden frowned. “Old rhetorical question? Bro, that’s a line from Blade II.”
“What . . . no . . . really?” Collin asked, his face contorting in disbelief.
Hayden nodded slowly.
“Well, whatever, it’s still a good question.”
Hayden shrugged but didn’t disagree.
“Anyhow, it got me thinking. Imagine you’re a god. One of the creators if not the creator of all life in the universe. You’re facing the dilemma of the spider and the fly. The way I see it, an all-powerful god has two choices.
“The first one is obvious—do nothing. He doesn’t help the spider or the fly. Things run their course, fly dies and spider gets to eat. Second is a little more complicated, choose a side. Favor one over the other. Presumably in this case, the fly lives but the spider starves.
“Either way, it seems pretty immoral for a god to choose one life over another,” Collin said. “But, there is one exception.”
“Which is?”
“This God double checks his math and realizes there is something off.”
“Like what?” Hayden asked.
“Maybe the spider is stronger than it ever should have been. Maybe the fly is weaker than it ever should have been. In other words, maybe something a god did led to the unfair scenario in the first place.”
“Basically, I’m saying that the only time a god should intervene in one life’s fate over another’s, is if his or another god’s actions are somehow responsible for the scales being out of balance. In that case, he has the power to make things fair. If he does anything more, then he’s just picking favorites.”
Hayden considered. “So, you’re saying the Christ and Anti-Christ realize that some unfair supernatural forces have already decided their fate. They take it on themselves to fix the imbalance.”
“Exactly,” Collin said.
“Okay,” Hayden frowned in thought. “I guess this is as good a time as any for my second question. How do they do anything a
bout it and still have it turn out that God set it all in motion in the first place?”
“The Holy and Unholy Trinity,” Collin said.
“This again . . .”
“What if, before Jesus died, he was temporarily separated from the Trinity, like a car with its engine being worked on. Then, when he is crucified, everything he felt and learned on earth . . . reunites with the Trinity. What if what he brings back changes the nature of God when he is reabsorbed into the whole?”
“You’re saying that when Jesus dies, he sort of infects God with an upgrade forged from his experiences living as a man.”
Collin nodded.
“And so, in a way, God found a way to change himself through his son,” Collin said. “Meanwhile, the devil is changed in the same way, as the same thing occurs with the Unholy Trinity.”
“And you’re saying that this turns him into a creator that doesn’t choose sides,” Hayden said. “Only involves himself if he or another god is responsible for exerting influence on existence.”
Collin shrugged. “Hey man, all I said is that it could be our explanation for why there is such a bipolar personality change between Old and New Testament God.”
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
“YOU’VE NEVER . . .”
Thwack . . . thud.
Hayden had lost count of the times he’d watched the Ferox shoot across the room and slam into the wall on the other side. The crash would have shaken all of Hangman’s Tree, but inside the projection chamber Mr. Clean could insulate the rest of the building from such consequences of physics. The Ferox, a manifested simulation, fell to the floor with the grace of a crash test dummy, then reanimated, stood, and waited on the other side of the room for Jonathan’s signal to charge once again.
Orange light radiated from under his shirt as Jonathan relaxed his grip on yet another Excali-bar 2.0 prototype. He looked down at the demolition bar as he considered whether he liked the feel of this one over the others he’d tested. Having observed the process of elimination for a while now, Hayden felt as though he were trying to have a conversation with someone in a batting cage.
“You’ve never even considered it?” Hayden asked.
Jonathan returned to the table against which Hayden was leaning and tossed the bar down on the no pile instead of the much smaller maybe pile. Only then did he look up and seem to realize Hayden’s question hadn’t been rhetorical.
“Isn’t the whole point of a costume to conceal your identity?” Jonathan asked as he picked up the next prototype. “Anonymity isn’t really an issue for us.”
“That’s not the ‘whole’ point. I’m not even saying it should have a mask,” Hayden shook his head. “You have freakin’ superpowers, and you’ve been running around fighting monsters in a motorcycle jacket.”
“Hayden,” Jonathan said, pausing a moment to study him closely. “I’m having one of those moments where I can’t tell if you’re serious serious or pretend serious.”
“At the moment I’m incredulous,” Hayden said.
Jonathan smirked as he stepped back into the testing zone with the next prototype. He moved through a few variations of strikes and blocks along with occasional maneuvers that looked more showy than useful.
Each prototype bar had slight variations in weight, length, thickness, and surface texture. Jonathan had wanted to be able to split the bar into two halves and bring it back together quickly. Mr. Clean had provided several variants to accomplish this last bit with differing levels of complexity. Some of the staffs were simple puzzle pieces that fit together, while others utilized alien tech involving magnetic forces to bring the staff together or apart when necessary.
Jonathan had seemed to prefer simpler mechanisms at first. The models that required their own variation of a twist and pull technique to lock and unlock the two halves at the center without making the staff vulnerable to splitting. He was starting to come around to the more sophisticated models.
Farther down the table, there was a similar pile of upgraded modifications to Doomsday as well, but Jonathan hadn’t gotten to them yet. After finishing his practice maneuvers, he seemed satisfied enough, and stepped into position.
“I once fought a Ferox with nothing but my gym shorts on. I was training in the garage and the damn portal practically showed up in our driveway,” Jonathan said as he signaled the Ferox projection to charge.
“What’s your point?” Hayden asked, flinching as Jonathan struck.
Thwack . . . Thud.
Jonathan gave this staff a small grin, then returned to the table to put it on the ‘maybe’ pile. “It’s the exception, not the rule, but in The Never a Ferox can show up quick and close.”
He picked up the next bar, immediately not liking the weight of it and tossing it on the ‘no’ pile.
“There isn’t always time to get into some elaborate cos . . .”
Jonathan trailed off. Looked at Hayden as though realizing he’d actually been tricked into having this ridiculous discussion. “Look, I’ve yet to feel an overwhelming need to put on spandex.”
Hayden’s eyes narrowed. “No one said spandex.”
“We’re thinking a wet suit? Latex? Some sort of onesie?”
“No, and stop being absurd,” Hayden said.
Jonathan’s eyebrows bent as he nodded; he didn’t speak, but his expression was enough to say: Yes, Hayden, clearly it is I who is being absurd.
“You’re thinking of this wrong. It’s not about flashy colors or skintight clothes. It’s symbolism.”
“And what exactly should I have been symbolizing all this time?” Jonathan asked as he began testing out the next staff.
“Well, now you’re asking a good question,” Hayden said. “But I’m not talking about just you. This is an army. It needs a uniform. A symbol everyone here can get behind.”
Jonathan sighed, and stopped his maneuvering. “Look Hayden, love you like a brother, but this is a matter of utility. Now, if chafing had become a problem, I’d have considered the spand—”
“I never said spandex!” Hayden said.
He looked like he was about to storm off, but instead, he took a deep breath. “I have concluded that you lack the appropriate vision. I will address this deficiency by myself.”
Jonathan shrugged. “Knock yourself out if you’ve got time to burn. But . . . do you seriously think you’re going to get Perth or Beo into some outfit?”
“Maybe,” Hayden said.
“. . . Tamsworth? . . . Rourke?”
Hayden’s certainty wavered. “If you wear it, they might follow. Or . . . you’re in command. You could just order them—”
“Nope,” Jonathan said.
Hayden grimaced, but then began rubbing his fingers against his beard. “Okay, say I can convince Tam or Rourke, then you’ll consider it?”
Jonathan placed the butt of his staff against the projection chamber’s floor. “Interesting . . . tell you what, get Tam, Rourke, and Rivers on board . . . and I’ll think about it.”
Hayden turned and was off immediately.
“Where you going?”
“I’ve got art to make and plots to scheme!” Hayden yelled back as the projection chamber’s doors opened.
Jonathan watched the doors close behind his friend. “Mr. Clean, I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that I’m nervous about how highly motivated he was.”
“Yes, I do not believe you’ve heard the end of this,” Mr. Clean said.
Jonathan sighed, shrugged, and signaled for the Ferox to charge again.
Thwack . . . Thud.
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
PERSONAL LOGS OF MR. CLEAN
THIS EVENING I witnessed an interesting interplay between Jonathan and his roommates, most of which followed a long meeting of the war council. A cumbersome challenge to observing human beings is what they often leave unsaid. Those things I am not adept at inferring during the silences when the imprecision of body language does the speaking.
Before the event in quest
ion, I observed that Hayden was abnormally quiet. In fact, there was a seventy percent reduction in his oral participation during the meeting. My initial hypothesis was he lacked any useful input.
However, when the meeting adjourned, he immediately sought privacy from the others. Jonathan must have picked up on the behavior as well.
Regardless, Jonathan approached his friend with what I inferred to be a degree of caution. Making efforts to make Hayden aware of his approach before drawing into speaking range.
“Something is bothering you,” Jonathan said.
“I’m not hiding it well,” Hayden answered.
What followed was a series of human social behaviors I’ve observed on countless occasions. Jonathan offers a proverbial sounding board. Hayden behaves reluctant to explain himself. Yet, despite this back and forth, it seems they both know that Hayden will explain and Jonathan will listen and offer sympathy.
One day, I hope to understand what purpose preliminary reservations accomplish.
“If you want to talk, I’m listening,” Jonathan finally says.
Then, as predicted, Hayden confesses that his rapid expansion of knowledge regarding the greater universe outside previously known human understanding, his interactions with an alien biological being, as well as an alien AI, and a growing familiarity with other cultures outside his planet, have been repeatedly casting doubt upon various aspects of his faith. My understanding being that Hayden adheres to that of the Roman Catholic belief system to some degree.
I expected Jonathan would tell him that his reflection was understandable and commiserate with his friend’s troubles. Yet, after some silent deliberation he approached his friend’s dilemma in a rather unexpected manner.
“Hayden, listen to me, because I wouldn’t say this to anyone else. I expect you’ll understand why by the time I’m finished. Ever since this started, since my first day down this rabbit hole, most things have largely gone wrong. Sometimes they have gone so wrong—that the outcome was something that even the AI couldn’t predict. Some of these things didn’t do me any favors, but others . . .”
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