99 Gods: Betrayer

by Randall Farmer

  War planned on Dubuque being alone.

  The Telepaths switched from illusory Supported to an invisible-to-all-detections mode once inside the restricted area’s perimeter defenses. They reached the polished mahogany doors to Dubuque’s oversized office and gathered themselves. Working as a team, they merged their minds for the trickiest challenge of all, the illusion of the doors not opening. War had taught the Telepaths this new mind-merging trick, although she only jumped the gun a little. Without her intervention, Nessa and Ken would have taught them within a few weeks. Then the Telepaths, the lot of them under anathema, would have started their futile underground war against all the 99 Gods save for Persona, eventually to be nabbed by Portland’s Indigo-tinged Telepath hunters and neutered by Lorenzi. Now there would be no short Telepath vs God war.

  Persona hid herself safely inside Alt, under orders not to do a thing save to protect him. Easily buffaloed, she believed War’s explanation as to why this attack would succeed.

  The doors opened. Dubuque worked alone and undefended. He didn’t notice as Alt herded them in; Angela, their one telekinetic, although not nearly as powerful as Ken, proved good enough to damp the sound of their movement and their effects on air currents.

  The group slid across the ceiling, the Telepaths still linked as one. Nicole, their top mind reader, led the way, hands out, ready to physically touch Dubuque and immediately take over his mind. The physical contact amplified the strength of their attack seven-fold. No single mind could withstand their attack.

  Nicole touched Dubuque and the Telepaths attacked.

  Dubuque laughed. Using the massed power of his worshippers he flipped the polarity of the attack, marched through all the Telepaths’ mental defenses and took them over in a microsecond.

  With one exception, the mental defenses on War’s real body. As a Mindbound bodyguard, her real body hadn’t been in on the attack; as the rest of the bodyguards got caught up in Dubuque’s willpower-based mental attack, War played along, the outer layers of her real mind in her real body pretending to fall under Dubuque’s control.

  The great Betrayal was complete.

  “Yes! Captured without a drop of blood spilled, despite Verona’s predictions!” Dubuque said, crowing. “I figured you fools would stage one last attack, Recruiter, but I didn’t suspect this! By stealth! With linked minds! I need to learn this new trick of yours. It’s quite intriguing.” He paused. “Such a waste. Your attempt was futile.”

  “War said we had a chance,” Alt said. Dubuque preserved Alt’s ego and, at least for the moment, left him in control of his speech. “There’s supposed to be a lag time between when you need the power of your worshippers and when you have it.”

  “She was mistaken,” Dubuque said. “Strange. War, I sense your projection. Get on my desk, now.”

  War did as ordered. Dubuque could dismiss her Tinkerbelle-sized projection if he wanted, but didn’t. “What’s going on?”

  “I can’t fight you alone,” War said. “You defeated our attack and showed your hidden prowess.”

  “Riiight,” Dubuque said. “Why did you do this?”

  Dubuque might be a worshipper-dominated nutjob, but he wasn’t a fool. He understood the Betrayal.

  The Living Saint bent his willpower and summoned his Supported; with his willpower he put his lair on highest alert. He suspected a ‘gotcha’, another attack; he feared the personal attack here might be a second distraction. The worshipper-backed willpower vice of Dubuque’s mind held War’s projection in place. She began to pray, as one false step would cause everything to go wrong. Her great betrayal might easily turn into a betrayal for nothing.

  “Why else?” War said. “For the bounty, of course.”

  Behind her, Alt shrieked. “Betrayer! Monster! You led us…”

  With a flick of Dubuque’s finger, Alt quieted. “This doesn’t explain anything.”

  “I see no point in saying any more to you now.”

  “Well, I do,” he said. “Portland?”

  A closet door opened and a powerless Portland projection turned on. “Did they all turn against us?” Javier said, a whisper. Dubuque ignored him. Portland’s projection didn’t surprise War. She knew about Portland’s endless and fruitless diplomacy.

  “Your attack failed. Quite ignominiously, I might add,” Dubuque said to Portland’s projection. “The team you sent in is quite alive, and they’re my prisoners now.”

  Portland sat her projection down in a chair in front of Dubuque’s desk. “I understand, to my humble embarrassment. I forced them to attack today, in fear that if they didn’t they would never get a better chance. War was right. They did need more time.”

  “You admit this?”

  “This was my fault. Not theirs. They did this on my orders.”

  “Interesting. And War?”

  “She followed my orders as well,” Portland said.

  “Perhaps.” Dubuque steepled his fingers and smiled. “I want your surrender. You and your entire Divine Compact. I’ll find the Compact more useful after I own the damned thing.”

  “Never.”

  “Fine. Say goodbye to your friends, then. Blind Tom has been asking me for some experimental subjects. I think I’ll agree to his request, but I don’t think he’s going to be careful with these prisoners. I’ll even have to punish the old Telepath after their funerals.” Dubuque waved his hand in dismissal, and went back to his paperwork.

  “Dubuque, that’s evil.”

  “I’m not God; I cannot cure all ills,” Dubuque said. “Now, unless you have something important to say, back to your closet.”

  “No,” Portland said. “I want them to live. They shouldn’t suffer for my mistake. Give them back to me.”

  Pathetic. Portland’s weak character negated her willpower and Mission strength. She should have just written them off. War, though, counted on Portland’s character flaws.

  “Ah. A bargain? I don’t think so; if I let them go I’ll just find them on my doorstep when you or your replacement thinks up the next harebrained scheme. No, I think their lives are over.”

  War’s prayer turned frantic. If Portland turned this into open war, they lost all hope.

  “Your blackmail attempt will not work. I will not join you,” Portland said.

  Dubuque’s charisma flared and he began to glow, shining in a sun otherwise hidden from view. His clothes changed from his normal white suit to angelic white robes. A halo appeared above his head. “Hear the word of God: ‘Come, gather together for the great supper of God, so that you may eat the flesh of kings, generals and mighty men, of horses and their riders, and the flesh of all people, free and slave, small and great.’ The time is now, Portland. The City of God is here. I’m setting the plates for the great supper of God.” He paused and pointed a finger at Portland. She flinched, but didn’t bow to him. “The Divine Compact is now mine. You are now a member of the City of God, subject to my righteous leadership, and my first order to you is to reign in War. Whatever you think of my holy path is no longer relevant. I am doing as I am doing and I will do whatever is necessary to bring the City of God to all mankind. I will save all the souls I can save…and I will damn the rest. You can no longer stop me.”

  Portland’s projection shivered as she thought. “You say I no longer have any hope? You’re entitled to your opinion.” Portland always had hope, damn her, the wrong kind of hope. “I’ll tell you what. I’ll agree to give over what control I have over the Divine Compact to you, but since the Compact isn’t coercive, the other members, such as War, might not follow me.” Portland’s projection stood up straighter, stiff backed. “Furthermore, I refuse to join the City of God.”

  Damnation! What a time for Portland to grow a spine. Please, War prayed. Let Portland be her normal twisty self!

  “You still don’t understand,” Dubuque said. “I won. Because of your attack, because of the captivity of your precious Telepaths, I hold your soul in my hand. Before you can recover from the Mission hit
, my army can have you besieged, if not destroyed. Your only choice is to help the cause of good or accept your own destruction and damnation. Choose. Now. I demand your surrender.”

  War tensed.

  Portland tensed as well, but didn’t say anything. Slowly, carefully, reluctantly, she bowed to Dubuque. “Let’s try it this way. I’ll agree to join the City of God, but only as an allied God…”

  “Allied Living Saint,” Dubuque said, interrupting.

  “Allied Living Saint.” Portland didn’t raise her eyes. “I will ally if you let the Telepaths live.”

  “Then we are agreed,” Dubuque said. “I will keep them as hostages to ensure your future good behavior. They will serve me well and I will save their souls, as I did Blind Tom.”

  War relaxed, finally, and stopped praying. Portland and Dubuque’s exchange was what she had been praying for, leading to all that followed, good and bad, as she had seen in the Place of Time.

  “Now – demand that War surrender to me, in person.”

  “I cannot. I never pierced the mystery of her hidden real body. She’s something else, not an ally or a servant,” Portland said, angry. Someone – Javier, most likely – had filled Portland in on War’s betrayal. Nobody mind-controlled a Telepath for any length of time. Dubuque would learn. “I’m sorry.”

  Dubuque snorted. “I’m not sure what War is, either. Fine, I’ll deal with her myself. You, back to your closet.”

  Portland did so. Dubuque turned to War’s projection, his worshipper backed charisma full on.

  “What’s your real game, betrayer? Why did you lead Portland’s Telepaths into certain defeat? Answer me!” Dubuque’s words shattered her Mission and ended her as War. In a moment, she would surrender to Dubuque and his ever-damned charisma.

  “As I said, boss, I’ll get back to you later about what you owe me.” War poofed her projection without a moment to spare, leaving Dubuque simmering and confused, which she saw through her real and unsuspected eyes.

  The great Betrayal was over.

  Now her real work began.

  52. (Dave)

  “Elorie? Something’s happening, you have to get up,” Dave said. Whispered, in the almost dark room, barely lit by the echoes of a lantern creeping through the shuttered window. What he sensed wasn’t noise, or light, or any other normal sensory input. His stomach was queasy, as during the fight in the Room of Finding in Cappadocia. He itched all over.

  “Dave?” Elorie’s eyes opened. She curled tight against herself in her rope bed in the room the Watchers had made for her. “Help me up.”

  Her hand shook in his. “Is something wrong?” Dave said. Nothing should be wrong with Elorie’s health now.

  Elorie looked around and spotted a glass vial on a small table under the window, carved glass, beautiful as a sunrise. She led him over and reached out her hand. Dave handed the vial to her; and she opened and drank the contents. Her hands steadied.

  “This is vile and tastes like shit,” Elorie said, taking a deep breath, relaxing. “But the stuff works. Where were you yesterday?”

  “I figured if you wanted to be with me, you would seek me out,” Dave said. Her eyes had held too much anger for him to be close. “I swear Nessa’s crew spends all their time coming up with ever more onerous demands. We’ll never get out of here because of them.” He watched Elorie’s dark silhouette as she raised the empty vial to her mouth and licked its rim. “Elorie?”

  She met his eyes and lowered hers. “It’s addictive,” she said, whispering. “I love the stuff. I know this shit is working.” She relaxed even more. A moment later she winced, her eyelids fluttering.

  “The potion doesn’t appear to be working that well.”

  “The wince was something else, something in my head, something like words,” Elorie said. “A shout. Where are the Watchers?”

  “They all ran toward their front gate a few minutes ago,” Dave said. He had been outside in the courtyard, watching the stars and escaping Elorie’s anger. Was her wince connected to his queasiness? “Wordlessly and quickly.” One nameless Watcher had run through a dead tree trunk. Through. Definitely some form of magic.

  The stone floor under Dave’s feet shook, as from an explosion or mild earthquake. No noise.

  “What was that?”

  “Dunno.”

  “The front gate,” Elorie said. “Let’s go!” She started to walk, less steady than he liked. Dave followed.

  “What did you do yesterday?” Dave said.

  “How about you? Or were you just mooning about, worrying about me?” Her eyes grew harsh as she led them out into the maze-like interior of the Watchers’ home.

  He now knew how he had failed her when he first came to this place. Her suffering moved him to pity, the one emotion that Elorie couldn’t forgive. Such pride, such a sense of self, which stood her well through her life and career, even through two bouts of cancer. Then, he guessed, her pride failed her. Those she knew realized she would die, no matter what they did. Pity was inevitable. Even he, who thought he had passed beyond such shallow emotions as a result of his own dance with death, who thought he knew perfectly well how to face life and death with stoic honor, had failed.

  “I tried to draw out Tevosh, the Watcher assigned to guard me, the same way you did,” Dave said. He sighed. “We talked for hours, but the only thing new I learned was that unlike what I might expect from an immortal, Tevosh and many of the Watchers hadn’t grown beyond the desire and accomplishments of sex.” Dave snorted. “Tevosh said you were too tall and too scrawny for him.”

  “Scrawny? Me? Tall? He must like fat midgets,” Elorie said. Her eyes flickered away for a moment, then scanned around her as they exited the Watcher home into a sort of wide alley. The first hints of sunrise lightened the darkness, and above, the brilliance of the stars faded.

  Dave followed Elorie as she headed to the front gate. “I spoke with Yanisen and one who names herself Youngest. They were more closed mouthed than normal, but even so I learned they were responsible for the introduction of the idea of the Kingdom of God to humanity. They were quite proud, and considered this their greatest work of good.”

  “Them? Impossible.” Still, Lorenzi had said the Kingdom of God had been a common idea in Jesus’s era.

  “Not at all impossible. They thought of it as a way to prevent the excesses of Kings and Emperors, the same fear the Ecumenists had,” Elorie said. They left the alleyway into the central courtyard. “It’s some sort of long term plan, one not yet complete. The Watchers aren’t always horrible and evil. They have their myths, their stories and their prophesies, their own uplifting dreams and aspirations, and establishing the Kingdom of God is one of them. The Watchers claim to know the future, though based on what, Yanisen didn’t say. The establishment of the Kingdom of God won’t be something as simple as casting a magic spell and merging Heaven and Earth. It’s something extravagant and complex; the Watchers will do something which causes something which causes something else and…”

  The ground trembled again, this time accompanied by a nearly subsonic thrum. A Watcher, screaming, flew over their heads from the area of the front gate, landing against a four story stone wall thirty paces behind them. The Watcher spread out flat, twenty feet across, and dissolved into starry bits.

  “No!” Elorie said, screaming and clutching at her forehead. She ran ahead, and adrenaline gripped Dave; he followed, grabbing futilely for Elorie and missing. Another Watcher passed by overhead, spinning, shedding fingers, toes, hands and other parts as she flew

  “Stop! You idiots, stop!” Dave said, shouting, stumbling. This fight meant only one thing: Nessa, Ken and their group had attacked. “Nessa, Ken, don’t do this!” Dave said, though he wasn’t able to see them. He couldn’t imagine anything good happening from this fight. Nothing ever did from fights like this. Nessa and Ken’s heads would end up on poles. They couldn’t defeat the Watchers, the Watchers were ancient, strong, wise and vastly outnumbered the two…

 
Three Watchers appeared around the corner, backpedaling toward Dave and Elorie. One Watcher, one of the nameless ones, screamed at whatever pursued him. “Stop or I’ll kill the hostages. You cannot…”

  Three paces from the two of them, the Watcher exploded, covering Dave with sandy grit that inched away on its own, as if poisonous insects crawled all over his body. The moving grit itched, he scratched madly and fell, barely able to breathe.

  “Disssgusting,” Dave said, attempting to sweep the last of the invisible insects from his exposed skin. The fallen Watcher’s threat didn’t bother him; he would have done the same in their shoes.

  Elorie screamed at the top of her lungs and grabbed her short curly hair.

  “Stop stop stop they’re in my head and it hurts!”

  Adrenaline leapt through Dave, leaving him almost lighter than air. He stumbled to his feet and grabbed Elorie by her blouse. She struggled in his grasp, reminding him of what had happened in the Room of Finding.

  He remembered.

  In the Room of Finding, when everything went bad, Elorie had started to unclip herself from the rope. He screamed and grabbed her; and she tried to slap away his hands. “I must. Let go.” He ignored her, grabbed tighter, then screamed a warning to the unlistening others. Elorie struggled in his arms, but he refused to let go, even after she bit him in the arm. As Jack and Lisa dug into the trap pit, the aura of ‘bad magic’ grew, as did the sensation of something pinching his mind. Telepathy. The telepathy didn’t get in. When Jack and Lisa uncovered the trap, they had frozen still as statues and drawn in the rest, all except him and Elorie. Elorie hadn’t stopped struggling. She ordered him to let her go, saying “Dammit, Dave, do as you were told and follow my lead!” He refused, buying him an elbow in the nuts; he had almost lost his grip on her, and then overbalanced he almost fell backwards – and Elorie rammed into him, deep in his grasp. Elorie then stopped struggling. For a moment, before someone among the controlled questers shot him, she had been free of the trap’s control.