by Stuart Slade
Across the desk, Petraeus pressed a button on his intercom and asked the Duty Officer to bring Michael in. As he did, he and Jackson exchanged smiles. They made a point of meeting Michael here; although the rooms were oversized, they were still uncomfortably small for the big Archangel. It was quite impossible for him to either enter the room decorously or strike poses once inside. “Mike, do you get the feeling Michael isn’t quite what he was?”
“You mean, has he had the stuffing knocked out of him? I got that feel as well. About time too, he was too full of himself when we got here. Tossing him out on his ear was a good move Dave.”
“There’s more to it than that. We need to keep a close eye on him. But, I meant that it may not be humanity’s choice who goes where. We may find we have to play the cards we get dealt. We’ve still no idea on what lies the other side of that gate.” There was a photograph on the wall behind his desk that showed the hazards of the Minos Gate. As an experiment, DIMO(N) had driven a HEMTT up to the gate and then backed the rear half in. The vehicle was now half-size, the part that had been pushed through the gate boundary had vanished. Nothing that crossed that boundary ever came back.
The door opened and Michael-Lan inserted himself into the office by way of a door that was intended for beings half his size. Petraeus looked at him carefully and was convinced his initial impressions had been right. Something had been knocked out of this Archangel, the cocksure, daring self-confidence wasn’t gone but it had been dented and tarnished. And there was a calculating air about him, one that indicated he had been given a mighty problem to chew over.
“Michael-Lan. We want to clarify some points with you. It appears that humans haven’t entered Heaven directly for many years. Is that correct.”
“It is General. Yahweh closed the gates of Heaven to humans centuries ago. About the fifteenth century by your calendar.”
“We thought it was earlier than that. Never mind. The humans who arrived here after that, how did they get here?”
“I went down to the Plateau of Minos and collected them. I had a deal with the Fallen Ones who worked there. I took the humans I wanted in exchange for opium. It worked out quite well, I had no intention of telling anybody about my pipeline and the Fallen Ones knew if they gave me up there would be no more clouds of bliss for them,” Michael struck a penitent and regretful note that fooled nobody. “I only wish I could have saved more.”
“I’m sure,” Petraeus was sarcastic. “So, there was a time when humans arrived here directly. How?”
“There was a gate here, like the one on the Plateau of Minos. It still is there in fact, but no humans have arrived through it for many centuries. Poor Peter is really bored down there. I used to slide him a few shots of cocaine now and then, help him pass the time.”
Petraeus shuddered quietly. “So, it’s possible that Yahweh ‘closed’ the Gates because no more humans were coming through? That his ‘order’ was just a recognition of what was already established?”
“The order came first. Once Yahweh had given it, the number of humans coming through slowed down and stopped. At the same time, the number turning up at Minos increased.”
“I see. Michael, I’m going to assign a military unit to take over guarding the site of that gate. You will take them there.” Petraeus paused and thumbed his intercom box again. “Duty Officer, get me the commander of Third Armored. I’m going to be borrowing one of his tank battalions again.”
Spearhead Battalion, Heaven
Her command had grown again. She now had an engineering company attached to what was still laughingly called a battalion. That meant the Spearhead ‘battalion’ now had eight full companies plus an assortment of platoon-sized attachments. Colonel Keisha Stevenson had the uneasy feeling that the only reason why it wasn’t reclassified as a larger unit was that doing so would mean she got a General’s star.
“This is it.” Michael-Lan stood in front of the black ellipse, one that was guarded by a pair of pearl-encrusted metal gates. “Until Yahweh closed everything down, this used to be quite busy. It’s only got a caretaker now, Peter. Nice old boy.”
“That would be Saint Peter, I suppose.” Stevenson wondered what her old church preacher would have said about this situation. He’d often waxed eloquent about what Saint Peter would do when faced with various members of his congregation but ‘obeyed orders delivered at gunpoint’ hadn’t been one of the options considered.
“That’s what you call him, sure.” Michael’s voice was slightly distant again. In the long drive up here, Stevenson had noted that. It was as if Michael’s mind was elsewhere. Given what she had learned about him, that probably didn’t bode well for somebody.
“Take me to him.” Her voice was blunt. Her orders were to secure this entire area. She had the force needed to do it and those orders included clearance to do whatever that task required. Behind her, the tank transporters were lining up and unloading her vehicles. Getting here had been a ten-hour drive and if she’d brought her armor up on its tracks, half the vehicles would be left by the roadside as mechanical casualties by now. The tank transporters had been an optimal solution and Stevenson understood that being General Petraeus’s go-to commander meant that her ‘optimal solutions’ had a very high priority.
Michael led her over to a hut built beside the gates. It was a small, ramshackle affair, one that would have been condemned as a slum in New Jersey but Stevenson’s expectations had been changed by her time in Heaven. For here, and in the eyes of most of the human inhabitants of Heaven, this was as good as it got, better than anything they’d known in their earthbound lives. The door creaked open and a figure with a flowing white beard emerged.
“Michael-Lan, Great General, welcome to the Gates of Pearl.”
The voice was obsequious and that made Stevenson’s hackles rise. Humans didn’t have to tip their caps to Angels any more. There was a more-than-necessary snap to her voice when she spoke. “You are Peter, the guardian of this gate?”
He looked at her, initially almost with belittlement. Then he saw the uniform and the guns, and he took in the sight of the vehicles unloading. “You are a soldier, a woman soldier.”
“I am Colonel Stevenson, commander of this position. From now on, you report to me, not him.” She gestured at Michael and saw him nod. “Now, you are?”
“I am Shimeon Kepha Ha-Tzadik. Also known as Simon Peter and follower of Jeshua.” He smiled sadly. “I am also caretaker here.”
He looked hopefully at Michael who responded by producing a small packet of white powder. Peter whinnied with delight and produced a mirror, knife and a plastic drinking straw from a pocket in his robes. Slightly disgusted, Stevenson watched him cut a line and snort it up through the straw. Peter caught her expression and offered her a line.
“No.” Her voice was even sharper and the dislike in it more obvious.
Peter looked at her, then his face brightened. “I have some liquor here if you prefer that. Built the still myself.”
“Hokay, when did you learn to do that?”
“Back in the old days, when we were roaming around Galilaea with Jeshua. He used to do his preaching and the rest of us would brew up and sell the moonshine. Only, Jeshua would never stop in one place long enough for us to set up a decent business. As soon as we got the still set up and established ourselves, he’d move on and we’d have to do the same. That’s what finished us in the end you know.”
“Do tell.” Despite herself, Stevenson was beginning to like him.
“We kept moving on and we never paid the tax duty on the moonshine we were selling. That really upset the Romans. They didn’t care about the preaching but tax evasion was something quite else. Then it turned out that Judas had been skimming. He was responsible for giving the local administration their share of the take but he was short-changing them and pocketing the difference. He’d made thirty pieces of silver on the deal before they wised up and sent some Maccabee killers out to whack him. Anyway, Judas decided the only way to
get away was to sell the rest of us out to the Romans for tax evasion. Didn’t help him much, the Maccabees got him and strung him up anyway. Anyway, the Romans were about to crucify us all but Jeshua talked them out of it and took the blame himself. He took the fall, we all got to walk so we carried on preaching his message for him.”
Stevenson laughed delightedly and the old man seemed pleased. “You have got to tell that story to everybody down on Earth. I suppose Jesus – Jeshua is up here in heaven somewhere?”
Michael shook his head. “He never turned up; I suppose he’s down in Hell somewhere. He was only a tool you know, he was possessed by an angel called Elhmas. Once he’d finished with Joshua, he just abandoned him.”
Stevenson’s head snapped around at that, so she was looking at Michael. “And what happened to Elhmas?”
“Most everybody thinks you killed him. Oh, not you personally, you humans. He was in command of the Incomparable Legion of Light when it was nuked. The Host is certain that he died there.”
Stevenson nodded and tried a sip of the moonshine. It was surprisingly good. “Peter, got any more stories about the days in Galilaea?”
“Watch him Colonel.” Michael sounded amused. “Peter loves a good story. He’ll have you here for hours if you let him.”
Stevenson was about to say it didn’t matter and that she had plenty of time. Then, suddenly it did matter and she hadn’t. Because an unconscious body had emerged through Heaven’s Minos Gate and was on the ground.
USS Turner Joy. Seattle, Washington.
The band was playing “Anchors Aweigh” as the crew on the old destroyer made fast. Captain Reynolds gave the order “Finished with main engines” and the adventure was over. A new USS Turner Joy was commissioning soon and she would take over the reputation as well as the name. The DDG-120 Turner Joy was a Flight III Arleigh Burke class AEGIS destroyer with her own portal generation equipment built into her. Yet, she would be a cold, impersonal ship until her crew breathed life into her DD-951 Turner Joy already had her life, a phenomena that only sailors fully understood, but it was already ebbing away as her crew made ready to leave her.
“She’ll be back in the museum soon.” Sophia Metaxas looked sadly at the ship that had been her home for almost three years. In that time, Turner Joy had fought her battles on Earth, in Hell and in Heaven and had brought her crew safely back from every one of them. “It seems a shame somehow.”
“She’s steam-powered Sophia, the Navy is all gas turbine and nuclear now. When the war was on, she had her role to play. Especially since the Navy never expected to get her. That’s all finished now. Now, she can return to honorable retirement again. She has a tale to tell after all, and it’s one generations in the future will want to hear. Reynolds looked suddenly very sad. “I never did get Yahweh under my guns though.”
“I expect she’ll do a lot better than some of the museum ships have though.” Sophia was trying to look on the bright side. The Museum ship fleet had not done well from the war. Mostly, they were too old and too far gone to bring back into commission the way Turner Joy had been brought back. Some had been stripped for spare parts, others of useful equipment. All had been neglected in the driving urgency to concentrate every effort on the ships that could help win the war. Olympia had sunk at her moorings as a result and it was rumored that Texas was in a bad way and unlikely to survive.
“You can count on that. Anyway, my new ship is officially adopting her. We’ll be making sure our older sister gets proper care. We won’t be leaving you in the lurch.” Reynolds would be commanding DDG-120.
“Thanks, Captain. We’ll be keeping her ready though, Just in case.” Sophia nodded and turned to walk down the gangplank and back into civilian life. As she did so, another small increment of Turner Joy’s life ebbed away.
DIMO(N) Headquarters, The Pentagon, Washington
It was over. General Schatten looked around at the rapidly-emptying offices. Within a few hours DIMO(N) would cease to exist. Its military research and development activities would be taken over by the Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency, its civilian activities transferred to other government departments. He recognized it was inevitable, the Salvation War was over, there was no need for an organization like DIMO(N) any more. Others could take over the charge it had led, others could build upon the foundations it had laid. Just as James Randi’s Institute of Pneumatology and closed down and dispersed when its work was done, so too would DIMO(N). In his imagination, Schatten heard the sounds of a trumpet playing Taps.
“What will you be doing now General?” Schatten heard the voice cut through his reverie
“Dr. Surlethe. Come to say goodbye to us all.”
“And to thank you for a job well done. Considering you started off from a bunch of old texts and grimoires and made a start on turning the legends and myths there into the foundations of real science, you people pulled off a spectacular achievement. We’ve got a long, long way to go but it all started here. You achieved something else as well. You took legends and myths and replaced them with science. We really have got a long way to go but it will be facts and experiments that guide us all the way. Anyway, you didn’t answer my question. What will you be doing now?”
“I’ve been appointed the new Director of Celestial Intelligence. It won’t be announced until tomorrow and the Senate has to approve of course.”
“That won’t be a problem. So you’re the new DCI. So we will be working together after all. How do you fancy working with Homo Caelis?”
“Homo Caelis?”
“The genus that contains the Angels and Daemons. They really are closely related, you know. We had to call them something and that was the best bet.
“It’ll be hard to think of them as anything but the enemy.”
“We can’t be sure they aren’t. Not yet. And there is who knows what out there. We know there are at least three other groups up there. The Aesir, the Baals and the Olympians. Then there’s the devils, we’re not sure who or what they are. But, if Homo Caelis is the enemy, they are a defeated enemy. It’ll be up to us to keep them that way.”
Schatten nodded. “Still, there’s Yamantau and what it represents. And we still have the H.E.A.”
Surlethe grimaced. “I know, but it’s spread pretty thin. We’re straining every economy on Earth and a lot of the smaller countries don’t like it at all. With the United Nations sidelined and virtually moribund, they feel they’ve been cut out of the decision loop. Which they have of course. How that will work out is still to be seen. Still, there’s one thing we have to be thankful for. Humans don’t have to fear death any more. Not on Earth, anyway.”
“No, we don’t have to fear death here any more. I just wonder what else is out there, that’s all. And what lies beyond the Minos Gates.”
Surlethe grinned. “Well, don’t tell The President that you’re wondering. Even the thought of adding another few billions to the defense budget is giving him conniptions. Come on, let’s get ourselves a drink. I think we’ve earned it.”
Epilogue
The Oval Office, The White House, Washington D.C.
“There is no hope of reducing the defense budget?” The President sounded stricken at the news.
“No hope at all, Sir. We’re stuck at one-point-six trillion for years to come. The FY11 budget is set in stone and nothing can cut from that. As for FY12, simply controlling the areas we now hold are going to take most of our forces. Look at it this way, Sir, the combined land area of Heaven and Hell are three times the size of Earth. The HEA is the only force keeping both places reasonably stable at this time. How long that will be for is anybody’s guess. Secretary Warner shook his head. As usual, the politicians had thought the Army would crash in, defeat the enemy and the problems would all be over. Why would they never understand that defeating an enemy was just that start of a long and complicated situation? He knew all too well what the basic problems were. The armed forces had made defeating the enemy look so easy that the politician
s assumed that all the other problems would be equally easy to resolve.
“But we have social programs, essential reforms that have been delayed by the war … .” The President was genuinely dismayed at the apparently inevitable prospect of virtually his entire domestic program being flushed.
“Sir, when we got into the Salvation War, we assumed that it was going to last for decades and we geared up for that prospect. We’ve mobilized our economy and we’re on a war footing. Our industry is structured around supplying the armed forces, not just ours but other people’s as well, with what they need. We start slashing orders now, we’ll bring about an economic depression that’s unparalleled in our history. Forget about breadlines and soup kitchens, they’ll be for the better off. The ones who keep their jobs. The rest won’t even have those provisions to fall back on. We have to ease back, slowly and carefully. That’s assuming the situation in Heaven and Hell lets us do even that.”
A depressed sigh ran around the room. “You expect more trouble then?”
“Yes, Madam Secretary. The sheer shock of the daemonic defeat in Hell is wearing off down there. In some ways we’re to blame for that. The daemons were expecting us to overrun Hell with fire and sword. They thought we would massacre them all. Instead, we were pretty nice to them We fed them, looked after them, protected them. Now, I’m not saying that’s wrong and I will say that it has eased a lot of our problems. I’d say about seventy percent of the surviving daemons look on us pretty favorably. Another twenty five percent actively like us and want to learn from us.”
“That leaves just five percent.” The President pounced on the figure.
“Five percent, Sir. They’re swallowed up by hatred for us and a desire to hurt us. They see our treatment of them now that they are in our power as an example of weakness. They think they can exploit that and they’re right. To some extent, our hands are tied in dealing with them. If we go after them no-hold’s barred, we’ll alienate the ones who do support us. We learned a lot of lessons in Iraq along those lines. But Heaven’s the real problem. It’s strange but it’s the humans there that we’re worried about. The Jell … the angels appear to be pretty quiet. They haven’t got the suicidal guts the daemons have that’s for sure. But their human servants seem a lot more aggressive. We’ve had stone throwing incidents already.