Gods and The City

by Steve Statham

  Mik had returned to the Hightower, which he admitted had now become like a home to him. "And anyway," he'd said, "We still need someone up there in case those four-footed bastards decide to return. She's still the biggest gun in our arsenal."

  She allowed herself some time to feel the sorrow of their lost life together, but the needs of The City soon forced her to pack those feelings away.

  Talia adopted her warrior goddess Aspect once more and walked the streets of The City. It was good for them to see her during these times of uncertainty. She noticed that some people eyed her with suspicion; she was not Tower, after all. But most people smiled and waved, and rushed to follow in her wake. A group of giggling children beckoned her to the temple district, where they pointed out a small makeshift temple. A hand-stitched idol of her warrior-goddess Aspect was propped up on a column in the center with flowers laid out before it.

  She still was not sure how she felt about that.

  It forced her once again to reflect on the nature of godhood, or at least this human version of it. New worlds had been opened to her, yet what she cherished the most was the core identity she still maintained.

  At least she hoped it was her true core identity.

  And so, what was godhood? Humanity had thrown seven individuals as high as they could, into rarified realms of power that most people could not even comprehend. And now her as well, even if she still did not fully understand why she had been chosen.

  Yet these, in turn, had been defeated by higher powers. The implication, of course, was that human ideas of power were wholly inadequate for controlling even our little corner of the universe. There were powers so vast in the cosmos that the gods of mankind were as children before them.

  No, she decided. Don't get lost in that defeatist thinking. We've come a long way under terrible circumstances. Show some pride in what your people have accomplished.

  Pride would be something she would have to cultivate in the people. When even the gods could be defeated, it was imperative that the remnants of humanity learn to stand on their own. Talia held the keys to such transformation. The biotechnological marvels held in The City's archives would allow humanity to take the next step on its own evolutionary road.

  But this time we'll go together. A god should be a guide, a representation of the higher things that can be achieved.

  It was better that more people held these powers, she decided, rather than fewer.

  Our thousand-year sleep is over.

  The City, so long hidden, had been discovered by the Otrid. Their invasion force was defeated, but might return at any time. Their incursion had left her with the stewardship of the defeated crab-legged aliens with which to deal, more pawns in the Otrid's schemes.

  The City's original protector was dead, the god Faraway was dead, Maelstrom was crippled and Triton had been corrupted.

  Apollo had been strangely silent. Apex would never leave the new world he had been laboring to build for centuries. Grey Wolf was nearly as remote a presence as Faraway or Maelstrom. Talia had not been able to re-establish contact with the Wandering World that she protected.

  And yet, Talia felt a dawning sense of anticipation growing inside her.

  Our destiny is our own again, if we have the strength to seize it.

  With that thought, she walked out among the throngs of followers, her warrior goddess Aspect shining like morning, seeing the people in a new and beautiful light.

  25

  The Immortal God

  Buried Memory Fragment: level 12 access

  Cache: 87429

  Source: Tower

  Relative Date: 25 years ago

  Retrieved by: Protector Designate Talia, Radiant Acolyte

  The birth of a baby never got old, especially the ones from Tower's own line. The joy he felt radiated throughout The City.

  He wore his Aspect of a newly certified doctor from one of the more distant provinces under the dome, the better to circulate within this medical facility without attracting undue attention. He kept many such false identities, "people" he had created so that he could walk anonymously when necessary. The City administrators kept a precise count of The City's population, but Tower was the protector god and all systems answered to him. He easily kept the incongruity of his phantom people hidden.

  His great-daughter groaned again in pain. The baby was near to joining the world.

  Tower had been the only god who had managed to bring along a living family member on that long-ago flight to the Benefactors' homeworld.

  It was against the very first laws, of course.

  To be one of the candidates for uplift required that these new "gods" be childless. The gods were to have no progeny so that no aristocracy would develop, and there would be no favorites among men. It was the sacrifice required of the gods for them to be granted such power.

  Tower had understood that reasoning but had ignored it without reservation.

  Alone among the gods, his own DNA continued on, unbroken from a line stretching back into the furthest mists of human history. He believed it was a tragic mistake that the people chosen for elevation would have no living descendents. They all unquestionably cared for the survival of the human race in general, but they did not have that direct link, that anchor to the future, that had always inspired individual human beings to great feats. Protecting one's own blood, one's progeny, was the surest guarantee of eternal vigilance, Tower believed.

  Such power as the gods controlled without the grounding influence of direct flesh-and-blood descendents offered too many opportunities for distraction and indifference.

  And so he had forged an identity for his young son and implanted false DNA records in the public files. In the chaos of the mass exodus from Earth it had not been difficult to manufacture new backgrounds. It was common knowledge that Jensen's older children had died in the attack on Earth, but none of the survivors had ever seen this youngest child of his, and none suspected the subterfuge. He was treated as just another orphaned child, one of hundreds.

  The baby now being born was the offspring of that son's line, many generations removed. He could yet see faint glimpses of his son in the mother's features.

  Tower had unobtrusively guided all of the generations of his bloodline, endowing each with attributes that he valued. This one, he decided, would be thoroughly immersed in the history of the human race, from the earliest records to the Diaspora among the stars. Maintaining the memory of the past was becoming a forgotten vocation. Such studies seemed like a luxury when the maintenance of The City and the replenishment of the population were the primary preoccupations of mankind.

  But it was forever true that people would need to know the lessons of the past with a deeper understanding than could be derived from scattered data dives.

  With a final effort, Tower's great-daughter pushed the new life into the world. His doctor Aspect expertly cut the umbilical cord and wrapped up the baby, all the while maintaining a composed and professional outward appearance. But deep inside his underground chamber, inside the very systems of The City itself, Tower's soul sang with joy.

  "She's perfect," Tower's doctor Aspect told his great-daughter as he handed the child to her. "What will you name her?"

  She smiled, exhaustion and perfect contentment displayed in unison on her face.

  "We'll name her Talia. I've always liked that name."

  The end

  Click below to read the exciting follow-up to Gods and The City!

  Gods and the Stars

  Gods are dead. The fleet is in tatters. Yet the Otrid invaders have been pushed back, for now. But a ruthless Otrid Lord is rising and he will not let the humans slip from his grasp.

  The surviving people of The City have to adapt quickly, or face extinction. Long-suppressed bio-technology may be one way, but not everyone is convinced. They must find the missing gods and rebuild their defenses if they hope to survive. Most important of all, they must discover if the legendary new world
being created for them actually exists, or if it's just one more false hope.

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  Copyright

  Gods and The City is a work of fiction. Names, characters and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2014 by Steve Statham

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.

  Published in the United States by Statham Communications LLC

  Visit: stevestatham.com

  Cover design by Clarissa Yeo at Yocla Designs

  Atop the World Mountain

  A short story

  By Steve Statham

  “But that can’t possibly be true,” Giselle said, leaning forward over the table, the strands of her dark hair nearly dipping into the foam at the top of her pint glass.

  “Oh, but it is, I assure you,” Drake said, clearing aside the empty pale ale bottles. He leaned in toward Giselle, lowering his voice so that only his two companions could hear him. “I’m telling you, my cousin is entirely reliable on this. He witnessed it firsthand.”

  Heath rolled his eyes. “Yes, your cousin, who would climb to the top of the World Mountain freehand, backwards, if only the funding would arrive and his back injury would heal.”

  “Scoff all you want, but I’ll remind you he’s been higher up than you,” Drake said. He leaned back on his barstool and waved to the server to bring another round. He was enjoying this batch of ale mightily. The hops harvest on the lower terraced farming levels had been truly outstanding. He made a mental note to secure a few extra bottles before the run sold out.

  “I just don’t see how you could get enough lift to make it to the top level in a wingsuit,” Giselle said. The atmospheric curtain shimmered behind her, momentarily blurring the view of the Western Range, the smaller mountain chain that led to the Highland Sea, eventually.

  Attractive as she was, Drake had to force himself to maintain eye contact and not look over her shoulder to the view beyond. They rarely ever got this terrace table at the pub; the view was astounding, the best on the whole Western Face, as far as he was concerned. They were only half way up the World Mountain, but that was high enough to look down upon every other mountain range on the planet.

  “I know, it’s hard to believe,” Drake said. As they all well understood, the whole purpose of a wingsuit was to glide down the mountain to lower levels. And you could only do that during Tormonth, when the winds stalled before shifting directions for the new season. "But this natural-gas eruption in Haven's Chasm is something entirely new. My cousin has been measuring the volume, he's done the equations, and he guarantees it will provide sufficient lift."

  Heath squirmed uncomfortably in his seat. “Ok, but setting aside whether he’s got the physics of this thing correct, would we even be allowed up that high? I kind of like things around here,” he said. “I worked hard to get to this level. I’d hate to lose my quarters. I can’t recall when anyone has ever come back from the top.”

  Drake said nothing for a moment, measuring his response. He had been through this with Heath many times before. Too sharp a response and Heath would just storm away; but if he didn't push him a little the man would never do anything in this life. Drake looked out at the Western Range. The peaks glowed in the setting sun, the light warmed and amplified by the atmospheric curtain. "Well, that's kind of the crux of the matter, isn't it? Do we just sit around and take orders all our lives, or do we steal a little life for ourselves?" He turned back to Heath and Giselle, looking each in the eyes in turn. "Don't you ever get sick of this passive life? Waiting here at the lower levels, ignorant of what's going on above us, until you're finally summoned to the top right before you die?"

  "Of course I get sick of it!" Heath said. "That doesn't mean I want to bet my life on it!"

  Drake held his breath. Heath was falling into the same pattern, backing away from any venture that strayed from the ordinary. It was ever thus. Drake had really hoped he would not have to undertake this exploration by himself. But he would if he had to. He waited for Giselle to speak.

  Giselle took a long drink from her pint glass. “Just yesterday I happened upon one of the indoctrination tours for the children," she said. She mimicked the high pitch of an Instructor's voice: "'We must never ascend until we are called,'" she sneered. "Probably just a bunch of dusty old men in robes up there. I’m with you, Drake. I am sick of waiting around for blessings from on high. This may be the biggest mountain in a hundred worlds, but it's not big enough for me."

  “Ah, that’s what I love about you ‘Selle," Drake said, smiling. "You’re up for anything.”

  ****

  They stood at the mouth of the sheer-cut cave, quietly looking out over the peaks of the Southern Range. Clouds boiled below them, except where the torrents of gas from Haven's Chasm had cleared a massive hole. The Southern Range trailed away into the distance, jagged peaks occasionally thrusting up through the reddish clouds.

  It had taken three days by tube to travel the internal network of tunnels that wound through the World Mountain from the West Face to the South Face, and up to the highest levels accessible to them.

  Drake had spent his whole life on the World Mountain, and had even been to this commerce hangar before. The majesty of the view still silenced him. The sheer scale of the giant peaks, the commanding, god-like view of the planet, overwhelmed any compulsion to speak.

  After some time, Giselle turned to face Drake. There was a thunderstruck quality in her eyes he had never seen before. She spoke quietly, directly to Drake, so that Heath could not hear. "Are we really going to do this?"

  Drake started to reply, but felt his own voice falter. There was no denying the enormity of it. But he had checked the calculations himself, twice. It would work. It would.

  Regaining his composure, he smiled at Giselle. "Remember the first time we leaped off an opening just like this one? When we glided down to the agricultural levels? I do. I'm pretty sure I had that same expression on my face that you do now."

  She returned a faint smile.

  "The wingsuits give us plenty of control," Drake said. "If we can't go up, we can surely glide down to one of the lower levels, even if it isn't Tormonth. Now c'mon, let's finish the pre-flight checklist."

  She nodded and turned her back to him so he could inspect the wingsuit's performance interface. Drake's cousin had reset the command parameters of their wingsuits to accept an ascent beyond design specifications — a gross violation of administrative mandates, but then this whole adventure was contrary to mandates. Drake checked once again that the commands had not been automatically reset.

  He completed his inspection and turned so Giselle could do likewise with his wingsuit. He noticed that Heath had wandered off by himself, looking out of the cave mouth to the mountains beyond. He still looked reluctant, almost surly, but Drake knew that he would follow Giselle anywhere.

  The three of them finished their pre-flight routine in silence. They had received some questioning looks from the cargo handlers as they donned their wingsuits — it was not yet gliding season after all. But there were no compliance sentinels nearby, and the workers made no effort to engage them. Even so, Drake led the trio quickly to the edge of the precipice. It would not pay to linger.

  Drake engaged his suit's pressurization function. The readouts on his lenses told him that Giselle and Heath had also pressurized. He stepped in front of them, to the very edge of the rock ledge. Even through the atmospheric curtain he could see the waves of heated gas flowing upward like a living sky.

  He turned around to face them and gave his best brave smile. "To the top!" he said, and leaped backward off the ledge, twisting aroun
d as his wings deployed. He fell rapidly until the nearly formless wings shaped the atmosphere to do his bidding. His readouts told him that Giselle had followed, and then Heath.

  The joy that Drake felt every time he embraced the sky engulfed him once again. The World Mountain dominated human life on the planet, but the sky owned his heart. Here at the edge of atmosphere and space he felt free; the majesty of an entire world lay before him.

  He leveled off and angled toward the atmospheric curtain. It winked in and out of his vision, a thin barrier between life on the World Mountain and the eternal cold beyond. He braced himself for the transition.

  Whether it was from the upwelling of the warm gasses or some other quirk of the seasons, passing through the curtain this time was a smoother experience than any other crossing he had attempted. He shuddered only slightly as he broke through into the native atmosphere. He felt his wingsuit compensating for the pressure and temperature differentials. Seconds later, he heard Giselle on the comm link give a soft laugh as she passed through. Heath was silent throughout his own transition through the curtain.

  But Drake had little time to follow their responses. He had glided only a few hundred meters beyond the atmospheric curtain when he began to feel the first tentative effects of the natural gas eruption below. His gradual descent stopped. The readouts on his lenses displayed temperature and pressure readings he had never witnessed in any of his previous glides.

  And then the world carried him away.

  He laughed in astonishment. The hot natural gas venting from the chasm delivered the most perfect updraft Drake had ever felt in his life, as if the sky itself had reached up from below to lift him to the heavens. From behind and below he heard Giselle's sharp intake of breath even over the comm link. "Oh! Heath, do you feel it?"