99 Gods: Odysseia

by Randall Farmer

  The commanders of the various groups, the Nerds, the EW and the Natural Supported nodded.

  “To start with, we’re going to have Bob and PheareChylde running the enchanted weapons and one-shots – they’ve got the reaction time to use them to their fullest.” She went into the details of their assignments, hoping she hadn’t forgotten anything. “Folks, let’s make this work,” she said, in the end. They nodded and got busy.

  Dana set up in the control room, along with Bob, PheareChylde and Maria. “There’s too many,” Maria said, muttering into Dana’s ear. “We had a hard time with two dozen Paladins. We won’t be able to stop four hundred twenty two similarly powered opponents.” Maria had counted the opposition, her job, since she was able to amplify the control room’s attached sensors with her willpower and extend her senses through better defenses than the others. They had predicted the number, but the number daunted Dana nevertheless.

  Bob whistled. “Got something strange. Screen seventeen; I’m linking this to Richard and Kay as well.”

  Dana queued up screen seventeen. It showed a God confab in the attacker’s rear headquarters. Inside one of Dubuque’s instant willpower buildings, but within 80 miles and the bounds of Betrayer’s lair defenses, and so exposed to their detections. Dubuque and his crew. She couldn’t help but pay close attention.

  Dubuque (stern, arrogant, unyielding): “You challenge my leadership?”

  Portland (forceful, compelling, emoting): “You have the force you need, Dubuque. They can’t escape. There’s no need for an assault, at least right this instant. What I’m asking you for is the right to try things my way.”

  Verona (snotty): “Your way. You alone in this? Any of you other fools dare to challenge our leadership?”

  Budapest (bored, weak, a toady): “This isn’t a challenge to your leadership. This fine army we’ve assembled is better set up to fight against the forces of Tradition, our real and ungodly enemies. Portland is right. I believe we can coerce the surrender of these idiots without a resource-depleting fight.”

  Santa Fe (anger, rage, hatred): “Fool! They must die! Our people demand the annihilation of these heretics.”

  Portland: “I for one possess free will and I don’t have such demands to worry about. Let me approach these misguided souls and let me talk with them. If I fail, then the stage is yours. If I succeed, I will bring them out of Tradition and into the City of God. Without a fight. With the benefits of their advanced battle techniques and their ability to innovate. With Orlando and company in our pockets, we’ll be too powerful to oppose. We’ll be able to demand the Tradition Gods sit down at the bargaining table. There, we can show them the inevitability of their defeat and work out terms for their surrender.”

  Verona: “You say that Orlando and Columbia have joined Tradition? What proof do you have of this nonsense? The anti-modernist forces of Tradition would never accept these radical monsters.”

  Portland: “I’ve talked to everyone in person. That is, to the Tradition Gods and to Orlando. You doubt my word?”

  Verona: (muttering) “Traitor.”

  Dubuque: “What you speak of is impossible. Orlando and his crew have rebelled against all of the 99. They can’t have joined Tradition.”

  Portland: “If you want, I can summon in Beijing, the current Tradition boss, and he can explain the agreement himself.”

  Dubuque: “You will not! I refuse to let any projection of those God-denying heathens anywhere near my army and its secrets! I wouldn’t believe him anyway.”

  Portland: “That doesn’t change my proposal to negotiate Orlando and Columbia’s surrender to the City of God.”

  Dubuque: (after shooting a glance at Verona) “Nor does it change my objection. No. Portland, you’ve overstepped yourself for the last time. I’ve had enough of your independence, especially your idiotic push toward mortalization. Obey me or be cast out as a rebel.”

  Portland: “You’re being far too hasty, friend. We aren’t rebelling. There’s still much to discuss. But if you won’t allow me to approach Orlando and negotiate their surrender, I see no reason why my people should cooperate with you on the subject of providing these so-called resurrections to your Paladins.”

  Dubuque: “Santa Fe, attend to the attack.” (Santa Fe leaves.) “You try my patience, Portland.”

  Verona: “What is this ‘mortalization’?”

  Portland started to explain the idea of mortal names as a way of tying oneself more to humanity, along with her other complex and verbose ideas on the subject.

  “Very good,” Bob said. “Patricia’s being her usual pesty twisty self, this time throwing sand in the City of God’s gears instead of ours. Damn her! I swear her goal is to get us to appoint her leader just to shut her up.”

  “Actually, I believe you’re correct,” Maria said.

  “Guys, I’ve got a gambit I want to try,” Dana said, overriding her instinctive desire to hunker down or flee the battle. “We’ve got one God for real and all those Paladins. We kill enough Paladins early on he’s going to be one distracted God. I think…”

  They allowed the first wave of Paladin attackers to approach right up to the fortress walls; secure in their power they spread out, looking for weaknesses. The media watched their every move from a safe distance, invited in by Richard. Dana’s original strategy had been to snipe at Paladins while they tried to find a way to penetrate Betrayer’s outer wall defenses.

  Instead, Dana threw their entire mobile defense against an isolated group of twenty Paladins, an immediate sortie.

  When the combat started Dana turned away from the control center screens. Her eyes watered, sweat beaded on her forehead, and her skin felt cold and clammy.

  “Dana?” Maria said.

  “I’ve made a big mistake. I can’t do this,” Dana said, her voice low and husky. The world swam through Dana’s mind, her thoughts scattering into incoherence, her gut aching nausea. “I thought I could overcome my pacifism to direct from behind the lines, but all I’m doing is making myself sick.” She hadn’t been resurrected to do this. Or to be any army’s strategic leader.

  “You’re our general!” Bob said.

  “Nope, not anymore,” she said. She had been wrong; even arranging the sortie would haunt her memories for weeks. “I’m so sorry. I’m afraid you’re the battle boss now, Bob.”

  “What about the gambit?”

  “Don’t stop because of me,” Dana said. Even her words threatened to knock her over in a dead faint. Somewhere, she suspected, Angels were laughing.

 

  Nessa.

  Dana sighed and moved to the side of the control room, where she watched, her curiosity able to overwhelm her disgust now that she no longer sat in the commander’s chair. The sortie took all twenty Paladins and killed them, knocking their souls out of their tortoise shells. Orlando and Bob’s own Paladins protected the sortie’s flank, though instead of people’s souls inside, Bob’s Paladins, constructed from the remains of the Paladin shells Dana had taken from Dubuque, were remote controlled enchanted weapons. Unliving. As soon as one fell, Bob just rebooted and repowered the faux Paladin. Unfortunately, their Paladins weren’t worshipper backed, and although they looked the part they didn’t pack anywhere near the punch of the City of God Paladins.

  They did make good flank distractions. Their sortie returned without a scratch.

  As they hoped, the gambit overwhelmed Santa Fe, making him unable to do anything but put Paladins back together. His Paladin-resurrection station sat just beyond the outer defensive shell, safe, outside the area where the Lair’s defenders could sortie. Annoyingly, and as Dana had feared, Paladin souls were able to cross the barrier.

  “Natural Supported, as a unit, on the God. EW, as a unit, on the God,” Bob called. He and PheareChylde typed in commands and aimed the enchanted weaponry of the lair, which had remained silent to this point, on the God.

  “Fire,” Bob said.

  One volley flew at a distr
acted God. The sensors pointed in that direction all overloaded their dynamic range and showed pure white. In her mind, Dana felt Santa Fe lose Imago control.

  “Did we get him?” Maria said.

  “Nope,” Bob said. “He’s all silver and pancake flat, but we didn’t even force him to change identities. He’s out of the fight for minutes, though. Someone else’s going to have to take over.”

  They watched to see who would take command. Portland still held her own, arguing the City of God could still stand down and allow her to waltz in and compel Orlando and crew’s surrender.

  Dubuque and Verona stayed to argue with Portland and sent Lodz, San Jose and Worcester projections to run the Paladin resurrection station. Showing some sense, the three Living Saint projections moved the resurrection station another mile back from the Lair and behind a quarter mile of rock as well.

  “None of those three could command ten electricians to change a light bulb,” Bob said. “Any ideas about what’s going on?”

  “They’re not in command, they’re just minding the store,” PheareChylde said. “The commander’s this fusty old man.” She pointed to a moving-point-of-view screen, which settled on what appeared to be the world’s oldest man, sitting on a rock outcropping on a low Appalachian hill, surrounded by several Paladins. “He’s some sort of ubër-vile Telepath.”

  The comment drew Dana’s attention, and she looked, from a distance, over Bob’s shoulder. “Shit! Blind Tom!” Dana said. He had moved inside the barrier where he, if Dana’s guesses were correct, could no longer escape.

  Silent, with no warning at all, Nessa and Ken left the command center, flying.

  “Yup,” Bob said.

  Betrayer said in Dana’s head. Dana’s stomach clenched in surprise, fighting back vomit.

  Surprise, not reluctance, moved her. She had decided her sacrifice would be some sort of last-ditch attempt to save lives. This? She had seen too many battles and she knew battle foreplay. Betrayer was pinch-hitting with her best bench player in the first inning.

  Dana’s parents would have washed her mouth out with soap if she had ever used a baseball metaphor in front of them.

  Betrayer’s orders did send her body’s reactions all to hell. This was her death waiting for her; to her surprise her single resurrection amplified her fear and trepidation. Along with the unexpected timing of the request. She didn’t see any use in going after any of the Living Saint projections at this time. She wouldn’t last a tenth of a second, not with them full-up with power and surrounded by ample bodyguards.

  Betrayer sent. Nessa and Ken? What were they doing, anyway?

  Dana sent back, angry now.

  Betrayer sent.

 

 

  This felt like a waste. Dana froze for a moment when she sensed Nessa and Ken leave the lair, flying toward Blind Tom. Were they trying to get themselves killed?

 

  Betrayer’s unexpected apology and unveiled emotions changed her mind. As her surprise and anger vanished, her fears dissipated and the unexpected target made sense. There had been rumors of enmity between Nessa and Blind Tom, rumors that had circulated among Patricia of Portland’s people and Richard of Orlando’s people for months. As far as Dana knew, Nessa and Ken had never faced Blind Tom since the coming of the 99 Gods. The enmity had to be old, especially to get the two crazy Telepaths to go haring off on their own like this.

  Dana sent back, leaving the control room, shielding not only from the enemy but also from the man she loved. As she flew, she passed a room that wasn’t there to her senses. A bit of mental retuning solved the mystery – the Indigo group had gathered in the room and they were doing something with the Indigo magic. Dana frowned when she understood what they were doing – if the Indigo combatants died too dead in the fight, they would make their way to Hell as mythic warriors.

  56. (Nessa)

  Ken sent.

  They flew out of Betrayer’s lair under Ken’s teek power, as fast as they had ever moved before so close to the ground. The hard accelerations as they rounded corners and dodged attacks pulled at Nessa, distorting her body through her own recently diminished teek protections. She focused on maintaining total invisibility around them.

  You didn’t need the massive teek anymore, my own self – right sock’s voice in her head. The redundant strength will serve you better with astral projection and controllable hunches.

  Focus on the damned monster, sister mine – left sock’s voice in her head. You’ve got that murderous bastard now and he can’t get away this time! Take him down!

  Nessa focused.

  Ken sent. Nessa felt his paranoia, grown well out of its normal bounds because of the impending battle.

  Nessa sent back. Nobody asked Nessa and Ken to go after Blind Tom. They chose to do so on their own.

  Betrayer had predicted their actions, though, and provided help. Nessa swallowed vomit.

  Stealth wasn’t Dana’s game. As soon as she exited Betrayer’s lair she turned on her Angelic aura, attracting eyeballs across the entire battlefield. She wore her ludicrous Virgin Bride Reborn gown and veil, hideously out of place in a battle of this nature.

  Dana’s aura helped. Nessa relaxed as the pressure on her invisibilities lessened. Some of the damned Paladins even bowed to Dana as she passed, and none of them shot or attacked her holy angelness.

  They recognized one of their own.

  Disturbing. The Paladins echoed Dana’s holiness, even if summoned from the dead by the dark horrors of the City of God. Dana outshone them individually, but Dana alone of the lair’s defenders glowed with this holiness.

  Ken sent. Nessa hadn’t known, but Ken’s words made sense.

  Nessa sent back, suddenly inundated by information bubbling up from her own subconscious. Dana couldn’t fight but was able to protect herself and protect others. She spooked the Paladins into stopping their attacks. Dana could cover everyone and they could just leave! If Nessa could get her paws on Betrayer’s mind… No, wouldn’t work. Betrayer’s traps were all enchantment based, not based on ongoing willpower support, for just this reason.

  Nessa saw another way around this disastrous battle. They could just dig themselves in and hide behind Dana, deep in the lair. Standoff. Force Dubuque and Verona to turn to Portland. Good?

  No. Nessa sent to Ken. Nothing would work, no matter what they did.

  Ken sent back, mentally buffeting Nessa’s mind with his own telepathy. He actually teeked Nessa’s eyeballs so they pointed at Blind Tom.

  She saw and growled, half-angry at Ken and far angrier at Blind Tom. Yes. Time to focus. For the first time since the confrontation, they faced their real enemy. She had to focus.

  The lair’s defenses opened up again with the enchanted weaponry, blowing away any Paladins the weapons touched. The Paladins didn’t care; in fact, many of the damned Paladins leapt in front of the enchanted weaponry’s beams. They wanted to die quickly from these attacks in the early part of the fight and learn to be immune from them.

  The weapons also targeted Blind Tom.
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br />   Fat lot of good that did. Dubuque had been training Blind Tom, and Blind Tom’s insanely powerful and flexible tricks had responded. Nessa sent, as the lair’s enchanted weaponry attacks on him dissipated harmlessly a foot away from the old man’s body. Electrical discharges arced off his protections, powerful and uncontrolled enough to incinerate trees and harm nearby innocents. Which, due to Betrayer’s wise choice of lair location, there weren’t any. The Paladins around him, unfortunately, all seemed able to protect themselves from the flash.

  Ken sent back.

  Nessa sent. She boggled at Blind Tom’s power. The creep had always been more powerful.

  They did, their hands finding each other’s.

  The world came alive around Nessa, as she saw now as Ken saw, his months of willpower-detection and analysis training snapping home into her mind’s eye. Blind Tom had ample willpower tricks around him, many involving battle command and transportation – flying, teleportation, the works. He wasn’t a Supported, of course, not even a neo-Supported. So he didn’t wield these tricks, he stood on them. He would never have enough time to trigger any of the delayed tricks. What was he doing here?