God of God

by Mark Kraver

  “The giver of life. The One who watches over me and protects me,” he answered, feeling in his gut the wonderment of still being a child in Sunday school.

  “The well-practiced ecumenical answer that rolls off the tongue. A two-thousand-year-old defense of the faith. It is very hard to put into words what Creator means, is it not? That is what the Bible is. A collection of ancient words trying to explain the meaning of God, our Creator. We as humans do not have the vocabulary to put into words what God means to us, or even what she is in reality. It has been a universal conundrum since the beginning of time.”

  “Eos? Are you saying our God as we know him—her, also has a God?”

  “Why not? Isn’t it logical that the God of your God is also your God?” he asked, rephrasing the question.

  “I don’t think I ever thought of it that way,” the pontiff said, feeling his soul shaken. He looked up toward Heaven but now only saw the ornate ceiling.

  “Changing one's religion is not that difficult to do. Muslims are doing it now with their radical interpretation of the Koran, and the Catholic Church has a great deal of experience doing that already. When the Conquistadors invaded South and Central America, did they not change the religions practiced by the people for hundreds, if not thousands, of years?”

  “Yes, but they were pagan human sacrificers.”

  “Yes, they were.”

  “What will come of the Church after this Anti-Babel Judgement Day?”

  “The Church will continue, of course. People will not stop believing. They need a common purpose. Companionship. The love others bring to them and what they can give to others will not end. It just won’t be so decadent,” the Cardinal said, looking around the elaborately furnished room. “Oh, and one other thing. Priests and Nuns will marry their loved ones, like Jesus did. It’s not wise to violate human nature. It is in our genes.”

  “What? How do you know Jesus—”

  “Let’s say, information is added and subtracted when you write about a legendary person you’ve never met. Especially when written about by a liberal rabbi in an unorthodox liturgical sermon mirroring the annual reading of the Torah,” he said as he rose from his chair and walked to the side of the room that overlooked a small courtyard.

  After a long pause of reflection, the Pope asked, “Don’t get me wrong, and this may sound selfish, but what will become of me?”

  The Cardinal smiled, peering out the curtained window. “The people in the church will continue to seek your guidance, if they need it. You are still our loving Pope. The trivial, ornate customs of the religious experience will become less important than the fellowship the church brings to the enlightened heart. You will have a long and healthy life. You will stay here in the Vatican, of course, where else would you go?” He closed the curtain and turned back to face the Pope. “The Anti-Babel is here,” he said calmly.

  “I am afraid. You told me there is no reason to fear, no place to run, but I am still afraid.”

  The Cardinal smiled again, removed his red zucchetto skull cap, and pushed back his thick dark hair revealing a small golden disc implanted under his hairline over his right ear. “This is true,” he said. “There is no place to go, but Heaven.”

  “What will happen? In the end, when—”

  At that moment the room filled with white streaks that materialized into cherubim. The Pope felt a flash of amazement before slumping into deep sleep on his throne-shaped parlor chair, the look of surprise still plastered to his face.

  “Surrender to the void. Listen to the color of your dreams. You will dream, my friend. You will dream of a new world. You will dream of Heaven,” the Cardinal said, brushing his hand over the father’s face to close his wide-open eyes.

  Chapter 65

  The family is the first essential cell of human society.

  Pope John XXIII, 1881-1963, Earth

  Library of Souls

  Team DiRoma

  Conrad lay unconscious on a plush king-sized bed in the master bedroom of their penthouse apartment. Logan felt like a prized bird in a gilded cage, sitting on the couch in an uncomfortably numb catatonic state, gazing at the mesmerizing static on the TV screen. Her baby was either sleeping or instinctively knew her mother needed some quiet time.

  A question dawned on her, and she asked it out loud. “Mac. You knew Vince was sick, but you knew the Anti-Babel would cure him. Why didn’t you tell me?”

  Mac didn’t respond. He swallowed as he looked up at Logan with a deer-in-the-headlights expression on his face of ‘ask me no questions, and I will tell you no lies.’

  Logan scowled at his wordless response. “Hmm. So, where is the magnificent Numen now?” she asked. “Tell me I’m not the only life he’s screwing up.”

  Again, he said nothing. The doorbell rang, and Mac popped up from the couch gratefully. He pressed a buzzer to allow whomever it was to come up, then stood in front of the private elevator doors waiting like a stone sentinel.

  “You’re expecting someone?”

  About thirty seconds later the elevator door opened and four people spilled out, each giving Mac an Elohim fist-to-chest thumping salute, a kiss on each cheek, followed by a big hug. After their warm greetings, Mac turned to Logan with a grin of unrestrained joy. “Prophetess Logan,” he effused, “these are my brothers, Apollo the ‘helicopter pilot,’ Felix the ‘backhoe operator,’ and Ajax the ‘lobbyist.’ Oh, and my sister Fors Fortuna. We just call her ‘Tuna.’”

  “It is a great honor to make your acquaintance, Prophetess,” Tuna said. She smiled broadly putting her right hand to her breast in a salute, followed in turn by her three brothers saluting.

  “Now if all the pleasantries are aside it is time to link up,” said Ajax, clearly the one in charge, as he moved purposefully toward the table.

  Tuna punched Mac in the arm as she walked past him.

  “I have all the equipment in place,” Mac said, surprising Logan. She craned her neck, looking around for something she had missed.

  “What equipment?” she asked.

  Apollo tugged on his tie and reached into the umbrella stand by the elevator door. He pulled out a clear plastic scroll that opened into a keyboard which attached to the back of his hand. Tuna and Felix walked over to the large picture windows overlooking Central Park, where both chose a light switch on the wall to flip three times; at once, the windows turned into giant computer screens.

  Logan dropped her jaw and marveled at the advanced technology. She looked at Mac. “What?” she asked. “You don’t have a toy to play with?”

  Mac smiled, picked up the remote control, and pressed a button. Holographic computer monitors projected out of the ceiling chandelier on either side of the television. Then, from his pocket, Mac pulled out what looked like a keychain and squeezed its sides. The small object unfolded into a sophisticated wireless holographic keyboard that seemed to connect to his fingertips with laser beams only when he held up his hand to type. As soon as his fingers stopped moving, the keyboard seemed to fold in on itself, then reappeared as he wriggled his fingers again.

  The magic show wasn’t over. Mac walked to the coffee table where Logan was resting her tired, swollen feet, picked up the fruit bowl, fished out the lone apple, and pitched it to her. She caught the fruit effortlessly and looked unimpressed, until he began pulling on the bowl, expanded it origami style into a large flat sheet. He then turned and placed the flattened surface onto the large blank wall with a magnetic snap. A strange logo against a black screen flickered on, and a long fast-moving progress bar flashed on and then off. “It takes a second to boot-up, download the current updates, and alert Atlantis we are online,” Mac said.

  “Wow, Atlantis comes to Manhattan.” The voice came from the doorway and everyone turned to see Conrad standing there, looking around the room. Logan jumped from the couch and ran to hug him but, hindered by her enormous belly, had to settle for pressing against him from the side.

  “I was so worried about you,” she said,
her face buried in his chest, weeping. “I thought I was losing you.”

  He rubbed her back in large, slow circles. “Man,” he said,” I had the most bizarre dreams. How did I get back to the apartment?” A host of cherubim materialized and paraded in front of him. Conrad grinned weakly. “Oh, yes, of course. Thanks, guys!”

  The one called Bullet bowed to take all the credit, annoying the others who tried to push him out of the way, each fighting to bow and accept Conrad’s praise. Becoming annoyed, their pushes grew more aggressive as they flew around the room chasing each other like wild hummingbirds.

  “Stop it, you’re embarrassing me.” Mac shouted, causing the misfits to vanish and his sister to roll her eyes at Logan and Conrad.

  “Max, do you have the linkup ready with Atlantis yet?” Ajax asked.

  “Okay, satellite coming up right now,” Mac answered waving his laser guided fingers over his keyboard with lightning speed.

  “Mac, you’re still a satellite jockey,” Logan said, with amusement.

  Mac noticed his siblings’ curious expressions at Logan’s comment. “She knows my name is really Max,” he said. “She calls me Mac because of Apple computers.”

  “It was his undercover name,” Logan taunted, trying to embarrass him.

  “That’s because he told Steve Wozniak how to build a simple computer when we were young kids visiting Cupertino. We were just visiting our Aunt Alison’s apartment after spending the week at grandpa’s semiconductor lab. He couldn’t keep his mouth shut back then either,” Tuna said with a smirk.

  Mac tossed her a look of indifference and started to respond but was distracted by a new sound coming from one of the screens. “Here we go,” Mac said, as a picture-on-picture side window appeared on everyone’s monitors, showing the full grinning face of Dimitris. Cassia, visible just behind Dimitris’ left shoulder, had a look of concentration as her father adjusted some knobs on their end.

  Logan twisted away from Conrad’s embrace, stunned by the appearance of these strangers. “Mac!” she cried out. “Who is that?”

  Mac sighed, annoyed by the interruption. “That’s Dimitris,” he said quietly. “He’s coordinating the Anti-Babel from the Atlantean main dome under Antarctica.”

  “Dimitris, Cassia,” Tuna said. “We are ready to join the link.”

  “Excellent,” Dimitris answered.

  All the screens changed simultaneously and showed the current latitude of the Anti-Babel as it swept through Canada, upper Europe and Asia.

  “The mission will be complete in 12 hours,” reported Ajax. “All positions are responding around the world. Seventeen submarines are below the polar icecap; ten aircraft are circling the pole with five refueling tankers, and one hundred or so variously-sized floating vessels are dancing with the icebergs.”

  “Global warming, gotta love it,” said Apollo, tugging on his tie. “Once the Anti-Babel is complete, those escapees will be led back to their respective countries and be decommissioned.”

  One by one, Team DiRoma reported the logistics of North America to Dimitris.

  “Supply lines are being established, and first responders are on standby.”

  “Transportation is returning to normal and will decrease logarithmically after people find their way back to their homes.”

  “All power plants are online and in proper working order. The new fusion grids are expected to take thirty to sixty days to uplink.”

  “Prisons and hospitals are being released.”

  “Sanitation and water supplies are secure.”

  “Currencies are offline.”

  “Food supply chains are functioning sub-optimally but are improving as more cherubim are diverted from the Anti-Babel to help the global workforce. The average citizen is twenty-five to fifty percent overweight so will not suffer from diminished rations.”

  “That doesn’t include me, does it?” Logan asked, polishing off the last of the apple core, seeds and all.

  Conrad looked at her pleading face. “Okay fine,” he complained, “I’ll see if there’s anything in the fridge.”

  “Plant-based farming outputs are continuing on schedule, and live stocks are being let out to pasture,” Mac said, forging ahead.

  “Central and South American trade routes are linking up as we are speaking,” his sister added, “and Canada will be online soon.”

  “We thank you, Fortuna, for that last-minute influx of funds,” Dimitris commented. “They were used in securing more trucking and farm equipment as we move into the non-currency phase. Ajax, governments are offline, thank you. Maximilian, the Prophetess looks comfortable,” he said, nodding his head to Logan sitting on the couch with her hands folded across her enormous belly.

  “Ah, excuse me,” Conrad said, coming back into the room with a plate full of mystery food. “What does it mean, governments are offline?”

  “It means their primitive communication systems are no longer functioning. Without that they are non-functional,” said Ajax.

  Conrad furrowed his brow. “Non-functional?”

  “Useless,” Ajax offered.

  “So, what will happen without governments?”

  “The people running it will hang around a while in a vain attempt to be relevant, then they will eventually give up, migrate to their homes, and live out the rest of their lives with their families, of course,” Ajax answered.

  “Of course. They’ll just get tired of trying to re-establish communications, then give up and go home?” Conrad reiterated.

  “Right,” Ajax said, turning back to his window monitor.

  “And how long do you expect this to take?” asked Logan.

  “Days, weeks, months. It will vary individual to individual I am sure,” said Mac.

  “And all the military? Police? Fire fighters? What will they be doing? The same?” asked Conrad.

  “Well, we know there won’t be a baby boom because they’ve already taken care of that,” Logan said, patting her distended belly with one hand. She wrinkled her nose as she examined a piece of what looked like cauliflower crust veggie pizza for bugs and other creepy things.

  “Once the military forces around the world return to their respective countries, they will go home and resume their family lives. The police will not be needed, and everyone will become a firefighter. Accidents do happen,” Mac answered.

  “No police? Right. Of course.” Conrad looked at the Atlantean skeptically. “Mac, we all know that no laws mean no rules, and no rules means pandemonium, looting, murders—not to mention the complete lack of civilization. You saw what happened before the Anti-Babel hit.”

  Tuna sighed and turned around to view her window monitor, shaking her head in disbelief without contributing to the conversation.

  “What? Am I, not right? How can you have seven to eight billion people living on the same planet behave themselves without law enforcement? Tell me how you are planning to do that?”

  “Dr. Conrad, do you feel like looting or murdering someone?” Apollo asked, tugging on his tie.

  “No, of course not. That’s not my point. I’m trying to say it is very naive to think you can take over the world without a single law enforcement agency. That’s all.”

  “Point taken,” said Mac, trying to be diplomatic.

  Through her keypad, Tuna communicated with Felix, Ajax, and Apollo. “Can you begin the migration of citizenry from the Florida Keys and other barrier islands in the Gulf of Mexico,” she typed, “and on the Eastern and Western seashore once the homeless have secured quarters?”

  They each nodded while moving their hands across their transparent touchless monitor screens.

  “The evacuation of New Orleans has already begun,” reported Apollo. “Once completed, the materials will be recycled, and the levy system will be flooded under the natural sinking of the delta.”

  “It’s about time,” Felix added. “You can’t fight mother nature forever.”

  “Your point about law enforcement, Dr. Conrad, is a good
one,” Mac said, entertaining his concerns. “Implanted in every individual on this planet, including yourself, is the Anti-Babel’s signature. It serves as a universal translator, healthcare monitoring system, and a moral regulator.”

  “You mean mind control?” Logan gasped.

  Mac didn’t quite know how to answer that without creating a firestorm. Each of the other Atlantean bounced a quick look around the room, silently communicating about formulating an answer.

  “Put it this way,” Mac continued, “the Anti-Babel is a multipurpose genetically-implanted regulatory device that allows the people of this planet to do things that they have never been able to do before.”

  “Like what?” asked Conrad.

  “Well, for one thing, cooperate with one another,” Tuna said, turning to put in her two cents.

  “And this cooperation will keep people from mischief?” Logan asked, a note of condescension in her voice.

  “Correct,” answered Mac with another diplomatic nod.

  Conrad elbowed Logan playfully. “Snobby chick,” he said under his breath. He paused, thinking, then looked to Mac. “So, I can do whatever I want, believe whatever I want to believe, as long as I don’t misbehave?”

  “Correct,” Mac said smiling and nodding.

  “And what if I misbehave?” asked Logan. “Will I feel the wrath of the Elohim?”

  Mac laughed. “No, nothing like that, although I like that phrase ‘Wrath of the Elohim.’ Sounds like the title of a Hollywood movie,” he said, drawing a frown from Tuna. “But no, nothing so melodramatic. No, no, no. You will simply think of other things to do, more constructive things.”