James Wittenbach - Worlds Apart 07

by Yronwode

  Presumably, they still do, although this world has no contact with others. We can not know for sure.”

  “So, these Levitating Matriarchs, can they reject me?” Eddie asked hopefully.

  “They can, be they are usually deferential to the Will of the Pontifex,” Meek told him. “Only if you cause them grave offense will they protest your nomination.”

  “Grave offense, eh?” Eddie said, and grinned just a little bit.

  There was a knock at the door to his chambers. Meek answered it, and the Levitating Matriarchs made their grand entrance. They wore tall pointy hats, black with elaborate designs on the front, and their robes were a bright and shimmering shade of blue. There were twelve of them, and they glided over the floors, their feet not touching the ground.

  “Our Dear Pontifex Solace the 21st has chosen you, through the guidance of prophecy and the Divine Universal Spirit, chosen you as successor.” It was only one voice, not a chorus, but it seemed to come from all of the Levitating Matriarchs at once. “Tell us how you intend to lead our faith on this world of trouble, strife, and opposition.”

  “First of all,” Eddie began, “There’s the issue of quality hygiene tissue. You don’t know how to make it. That has to end. Second, I’m concerned about the children. Is our children learning? We all have to ask that.”

  “What will be your decree?” the Voice of the Levitating Matriarchs repeated.

  “Decree?” Eddie asked. “I never even finished upper school.”

  “What knows he of our Scriptures, of our doctrine?” the Voice of the Levitating Matriarchs asked Archonex Meek.

  “Little or nothing,” Meek answered.

  “That’s right,” Eddie answered.

  The Levitating Matriarchs said nothing for a while but just continued to circle him, and circle him, and circle him more until he was dizzy. Then, a different voice, one of the women speaking on her own, said, “Tabula Rasa.”

  “Tabula Rasa,” agreed the others in unison.

  And at that, the circle of levitating women began to spin faster and faster. Their robes became a blur. As they spun, the Levitating Matriarchs murmured. It was like the chorus of voices crazy people hear in their heads, Eddie thought. It did not seem to be going well.

  Eddie suppressed a grin, and decided to see if he could make it go worse. “Hey, under those robes, are any of you hot? Or, is it just me?” The murmuring grew angrier in tone. To Eddie, this was a good sign. He was about to ask if it was hard to levitate with so much excess weight, when Meek intervened. “Reverend Mothers, he is new to our church, and crude in his ways, but he is the chosen successor of our Most Holy Pontifex Solace the 21st.”

  “Then, we shall respect her grace’s wish,” said the Voice of the Levitating Matriarchs. And suddenly, the spinning halted and they formed a circle. “But first, a test.”

  Test? Eddie thought.

  One of the matriarchs broke from the circle and produced a small box, about the size of a man’s head. It was simple and black, glossy and wet looking, with a hole on one side large enough for a man’s hand to squeeze into.

  “Do you know what this is?” asked the Voice of the Levitating Matriarchs.

  “I think so,” Eddie answered.

  “Then, you know what to do with it,” the Voice of the Levitating Matriarchs continued.

  Eddie began to undo the bindings on the front of his pants.

  “Guess Again,” said the Voice of the Levitating Matriarchs.

  Figuring out their meaning, Eddie put his hand into the box. “Cold,” he said. “So very cold. Slimy… and wiggly… Oh my Divine Spirit, it’s worms.” He jerked his hand out. He was surprised to find it dry and warm.

  “No worms,” he said.

  “The only thing in the box is what you bring to the box,” the Voice of the Levitating Matriarchs explained.

  “I’m just glad I didn’t put my other thing in there,” Eddie said.

  The Matriarchs realigned themselves, gliding into two neat rows of six, and bowed. “We deem his response of worms to be … acceptable.” Meek looked relieved. He was the only one.

  “You must choose a name,” hissed the voice of the Levitating Matriarchs.

  Eddie Roebuck had been briefed about this. “I will be known as His Holiness, Grexxx Grebulon the First.”

  “What is the significance of this name, Grexx Grebulon,” asked the voice of the Levitating Matriarchs.

  “In the world where I come from, the name Grexxx Grebulon is hallowed and revered. Grexxx Grebulon is the name of …”

  “We deem the name acceptable,” the Voice of the Levitating Matriarchs interrupted.

  “But I never got to tell you…” Eddie stammered, but he was interrupted.

  There was a flash, followed by a blast of air, and smoke, and when it had cleared, all 12 matriarchs were gone.

  The sudden blast had laid out Eddie Roebuck, and he found himself looking up at Archonex Meek from the floor. “What was that all about?”

  “I do not know,” Meeks confessed. “The ways of the Matriarchs are strange to us. But it is written in the Third Compendium of Beta Ceres that they must… review the Pontifex designate. They seemed to have done so. Nothing now can prevent your installation as Pontifex.”

  “Great,” Eddie said slowly, and closed his eyes.

  Yronwode – Urbtar Lek

  K-Rock rode into Urbtar Lek on the back of a thunder lizard accompanied by ten of his burliest guards, having trekked for five days across the burning desert wastes between Izzan-Al-Izzan and the ruined city of Urbtar Lek.

  Urbtar Lek, in older times, had been a citadel of one of the earliest generations of Xirong prisoners. Founded by descendants of prisoners who desired a return to ordered, civilized society, (long before the arrival of the Starcross Emissaries) it had flourished for a time, almost in secret. Then, it had had been over-run, taken down by corrupt, decadent rulers on the inside, and besieged by savage tribesmen on the outside.

  K-Rock and his men passed through the Valley of bones on the city’s west side, where the bleached, fossilized skeletons of giant, reptilian creatures lay scattered for miles across the sands. They came in through the west gate of the city, encountering an expanse of flat ground atop a mesa, laid over with a grid formed by streets and the broken foundations of ancient stone buildings, long since fallen.

  K-Rock had mostly forgotten his prior confusion by now. It was quite obvious to his mind that his destiny was to liberate the oppressed masses of the Tsi Bai, even if he was still not quite sure who he had been before.

  “Urbtar Lek,” Big McLargeHuge said as they passed under the gate.

  “So, I guessed,” K-Rock said, “How old are these ruins?”

  “I can’t know,” Big McLargeHuge answered. “Time don’t leave no mark here.” K-Rock couldn’t figure out, at first, what he meant. Then he realized, without seasons, or moons, and just a handful of visible stars, marking years would be difficult on this planet.

  “Where will the Chieftains meet us?” K-Rock asked.

  Suddenly, four large men jumped out from behind the fallen columns of some ancient edifice. “We meet here, K-Rock!” the largest of them snarled. They carried large firearms. K-Rock’s men displayed their own in return.

  K-Rock jumped from his mount and walked toward them. “This display is completely unnecessary,” he said in the most calming tones he could summon. He raised his walking stick. “After all, four big brutes against little ol’ me?” In the moments that followed, K-Rock became a blur to them, It seemed impossible that a man so large could swing his staff so swiftly, and with such accuracy, and so deftly, knocking the three not-as-large men unconscious and somehow separating the arm from the shoulders of the biggest one.

  K-Rock held the guard’s neatly severed arm. “Oh my, that has got to hurt.” He tossed it aside, and then, with another swift movement, severed the guard’s head from his torso to end his suffering.

  “We heard you were ruthless,” someone shouted.
K-Rock turned and his guards pointed weapons that way. “We see it to be true.”

  “That is true,” K-Rock called to him. “I am utterly without ruth. And what is your name, fellow?”

  The man was considerably older than Boros had been, and much battle-scarred. He thumped his chest. “Nodoy, of Nazza-Al-Unsar,” he told him. “So, you be spaceman. You think to unite our tribes. Disappoint me. Friends the Theocrats look for you. Big money on our head.”

  K-Rock ignored this and approached the man. “Are the Chieftains of the other Phalanges here?”

  “Most,” Nodoy said slowly. “They’re curious on you, you coming from the sky, you prophecy the rain of fire. You killed the LIs, which as far as we know ain’t been done before. You died and came back, which is even less common. Some of them think you’re Kariad, but you don’t look like the Kariad in my mind, now saying.”

  “I will speak with them,” K-Rock told the man. Nodoy turned and led him to a building of rough stone and concrete that had been built on the site of what might have been a temple, in ancient days.

  The inside was a great cavernous space, with what was probably an altar at one end (if this had indeed been a temple). Nine other men, all around the age of Nodoy and all battle-hardened, waited around a large oblong table as K-Rock entered.

  “I will be brief,” K-Rock told them. “I am proposing a union of our Phalanges, under me, for the purpose of eliminating the Theocrats once and for all.” The chieftains shifted in their chairs, a couple of them snorted. He turned to Big McLargehuge, who had followed him inside. “Bring the wine.” McLargehuge exited.

  K-Rock continued. “The reason we have not been victorious in the past is that the Theocrats have kept us divided and weak. I propose to make us united and strong. I have no designs on your lands, your people, or your power, I just ask for an army of 10,000 men from each of you. And when I have conquered Midian, I will return your men, and share the wealth of the city with you.”

  The chieftains were openly laughing now.

  K-Rock’s address rose to a crescendo just as the wine was being poured for each Chieftain. Two more large barrels were put at the front of the room. “We will take Midian, and we will take their cities, we will take their fine homes, their armaments, all the luxuries of life they hold for themselves while keeping us in a state of deprivation and despair. The end of their time will be a great day for all the Tsi Bai.” He held up his own glass. “To victory and beyond!”

  No one drank. They all just stared at him like a madman. Nodoy finally addressed him. “K-Rock, did anyone ever tell you you’re stupid?”

  “What do you mean?” K-Rock asked.

  “You must really think we’re all sick with the stupid. You think we’d drink your poison wine?” another Chieftain, Yoohoo, asked, knocking his goblet onto the floor and splashing it across the rough old rocks.

  “I will gladly drink out of the glass of any man here,” K-Rock shouted.

  “Nobody’d believe you anyway,” said another Chieftain, Goten, of New Babillon.

  “Nobody believes any o’ that ‘drive the Crats into the sea’ talk for neither. Nobody here gonna to be stupid enough to believe that. You’re gonna to be a fool if you do.

  Exterminate the Crats… Shudders to think us all.”

  “I don’t follow,” K-Rock said.

  Another Chieftain, Nameki, stepped up. “We ain’t the smucks … the masses.

  We’re the civilized here. We live on top. Crat ‘development aid’ keeps us comfortable. If the smucks ever found out about it, they’d tear us apart. Long as they take their hate out on the Crats, they don’t care what we do. Hates what keeps us in power. Hates what keeps us civilized. The system is perfect. Why change the system?” Nodoy agreed. “We don’t say it too much, but we know it, all of us. Clear to any thoughtful man. The system gives a standard of living to any man who can master it.

  Law of Reason says it every man’s duty to his own self to master the system he’s born to. Man’s duty to his self is to get what power and wealth he can outta the system.” K-Rock challenged them. “Your masses live in poverty, while the Theocrats live decadently in their magnificent cities on the stolen wealth of the Xirong…” Nameki posed a question. “You ever ask yourself, how did the Crats get rich by stealing from peoples what have nothing?”

  K-Rock felt himself growing hot and fuming. He knew what they were saying made sense, but it was not helpful to the cause. “That is irrelevant. Your people are willing to sacrifice themselves to reclaim what is the rightful property of the Xirong.” Nameki shrugged. “Suicide missiles and blood bombs gets us rid of the stupidest and violentest of the smucks. They could be a real problem to us, otherwise.” Goten heartily agreed. “Deed, what with all the inbreeding in the smucks…

  Shudders to think what would happen if they all of them lived. Next Gen gonna to be so stupid, just shit their pants all day and sit in it.” Yoohoo laughed heartily and sang a few bars of a Xirong military chant, hoping the others would join him. “? Die, die for Yronwode/ Death set you free/ Kill, kill, some Theocrats/ Death set you free? ” He stopped when no one joined in.

  Nameki could not restrain a chuckle: “Glorious sacrifice for freedom of all Xirong! Ancestor of mine thought that one up. There’s an old-time Xirong ‘stition that the Commonwealth trapped the souls of Xirong on this planet, so they didn’t taminate the human races when they died. But my ancestor told ‘em, ‘Noble Sacrifice’ frees your soul.” Since then, we ain’t never run out of fools willing to die for our sins.”

  “The Crats like it, too” Nodoy went on. “They’re civilized, we’re civilized, all us together benefit in what you call a symbiotic relationship.”

  “How do the Theocrats benefit?” K-Rock asked.

  “Their chiefs stay in power,” Nodoy explained. “And their smucks sing their own selves to Sabbath Day about all the good work they do for the poor oppressed Xirong.

  When they die, their imaginary Sky-God takes them to the magical land of dancing ponies, or some such thing.”

  “Xirong ancestors lost the Crusades,” Yoohoo added, a bit grimly. “Ancestors of the Crats called them Adversary, because they had the Law of Reason, same as the Kariad. Law of Reason says humans ain’t nothing more than sons of a virus. Xirong Ancestors dared dream of immortality didn’t to bow down to false gods of theocracy.

  So, the Theocrats sent ‘em into exile to Yronwode. Gave ‘em the whole planet for their own selves. Then, the Theocrat Redeemers go in after them, try to bend ‘em to false gods once again.”

  “See how good that worked?” put in one of the Chieftains who had not spoken yet.

  K-Rock had had enough at this point. “I am the agent of forces far more powerful than the Theocrats.”

  Nameki snorted, and addressed K-Rock. “You mean Kariad. Y’know, some don’t b’lieve you’re from Kariad. Nameki don’t doubt you’re from Kariad. You’re just as dumb, maybe more.”

  Goten added. “The Kariad wanted to take the Crats to another world. Can you imagine planet Yronwode with nothing on it but Tsi Bai. Shudders to think.” Nodoy stood, and met K-Rock’s hard stare. “Do we believe you survived the LIs? Yes. Do we believe you ‘Rose from dead?’ Maybe it could be so. Do we believe in the prophecy of the falling stars? We’ll give you that, too. But it ain’t nothin’ but a show.

  Entertainment. Nobody gonna to follow you for it. A phalange ain’t obligated to survive but for its own self. My smucks don’t die for his smucks, his smucks not to die for mine. I take care of my own and my own. Nobody else.” Murmurs of agreement spread around the table. K-Rock argued. “By banding together, we could have even more. Imagine the technology and wealth of the Theocrats meeting the power of your reason.”

  Goten waved him off. “Law of Reason tells us, the will to use force always beats the fear to use force. Midians gonna to always retreat from us, always gonna to pay us more not to use force on them. They fear us ‘cos they know we got the will and they got the fear.”
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  Nodoy put in. “System works for everybody. Midians pay us to promise not to attack. We attack anyway, they pay us even more. So it goes. But we all attack together, for real, then, they got no choice. They romper stomp us.”

  “Enough!” K-Rock slammed his walking stick down on the table, where it made a sound like thunder. K-Rock lifted a vessel onto the table with his free hand, opened the lid, and pulled a hissing, blood-red snake from inside. “You may be familiar with the Death Serpent. Its venom kills instantly. Its blood kills slowly. Fourteen to sixteen days typically.”

  The chieftains drew back from the snake. K-Rock put it back into the container.

  “So?” asked Nodoy.

  K-Rock raised the battlestaff defensively. “Big McLargehuge, Bob Johnson, give them their wine.”

  Before Nameki could protest that they would not drink, McLargehuge and John each grabbed a barrel, opened it, and flung it contents over the Chieftains, until all had been soaked or splashed with wine. The barrel at mid-table exploded from an internal charge, and ensured that no one had been missed.

  Ten angry Chieftains, and double that number of bodyguards, jumped up angrily. K-Rock held them at bay with Mr. Smashy, but Nodoy screamed at him: “Let’s see you come back from dead after we cut you into chunks.” K-Rock stared them down. “You have all been infected with serpent’s blood.”

  “How?” Nameki demanded. Then, he realized.

  K-Rock smirked. “It would have been much less messy if you had just drunk the wine. You should not experience symptoms for ten days, but after that, the symptoms will be agonizing.”

  “You gave us all the death penalty, yourself included,” Nodoy thundered.

  “I already came back from the dead once,” K-Rock told them. “But don’t worry.

  There is an antidote, and I have procured enough to cure each of you.”