The Endless War That Never Ends

by Christopher Brimmage

  She had been dumbfounded when she reached the area where people were chasing after a bumblebee-demon who carried a black banner. She had even stopped to watch for a while. A second demon fluttered on six wings over to her and told her to keep walking, that she would be judged by Minos when she arrived at the Second Circle. She would recognize him by his snake-tail.

  She had moved on without argument. She waited in the ridiculously long line for Charon’s boat to cross the Acheron, and even got his autograph while crossing. She paused in Limbo, the First Circle of Hell—to which she believed she should have been assigned if Hell were fair—and discussed various viewpoints with the philosophers that resided there.

  To her surprise, when it was her turn to stand before Minos, he wrapped his tail around himself nine times. “Wait, what?” she had screamed. “What does that mean?”

  “It means that you have been judged guilty of betrayal,” replied Minos.

  “What? That’s dumb. Who did I betray?”

  “You betrayed the Multiverse,” responded Minos. “I stared into your soul. You chose destruction.”

  “But I did it to save this reality! I had no other choice! You and everything else in this reality would have been wiped from existence if I hadn’t chosen destruction!”

  “Oh, you did us no favors with that one. Let’s see if you still want to exist after you’ve spent some time in the bottom Circle. I bet you’ll wish for nonexistence before you’ve been down there a month.”

  “But I saved everyone in this reality, you ungrateful prick!” she screamed, her voice breaking into sobs. “How is this fair?”

  “But how many others died in our place?” asked Minos, his tail tightening in frustration. “Take her away.”

  Seven six-winged demons appeared, each holding a pitchfork. They stripped her, stabbed the pitchforks into her, lifted her into the air, and ferried her down, down, down, far underground.

  *

  Years and years passed. Though she had been unable to read the foreign inscription on the arched stone gateway at the beginning of the journey down into Hell, she had inadvertently taken its advice: she had abandoned all hope.

  But then one day, she heard familiar a voice, and her acclimation to a hopeless eternity was flipped on its head. She heard Art!

  “Art!” she screamed. She received no reply. Her heart beat faster. Desperation filled her.

  “Art!” she screamed again. The wind blazed ferociously, carrying her scream away into the ether. “Over here!”

  Since her banishment to this horrid place, she had been stuck facing the giant’s wretched toe. But she heard Art’s voice behind her, there was no mistaking it. It was loud, but it was beginning to grow fainter. He must be leaving. No! she thought. She lifted her hands. The movement sent cold shivers through her body. It was the first time she had moved them in years, as she had found it slightly more comfortable to simply let her body dangle limply below her in the water. But this was her only chance, so pain be damned.

  She slammed her palms against the ice and pushed, attempting to twist herself around to face the opposite direction. Her skin was frozen to the ice around her neck. She did not budge. She pushed harder than she had ever pushed anything before. The skin tore away from her pale neck and she managed about a quarter-turn before the cold froze her back in place. Her arms ached from the effort and her breath came in fits, but it was enough. She could see him. She could see Art. He was with that robot she had fought so many times over the years—who was for some inexplicable reason wrapped in ropes made from flames—and he was with that cursed god-version of himself. But he was here. Hope soared through her heart. “Art!” she screamed again, over and over between desperate breaths.

  He spun around. She nearly squealed in delight. But she could see he looked confused and could not place from where the sound was coming. The fiery-haired version of him tugged on his arm and pointed toward an arched passageway in the side of the wall near them.

  “Art!” Ginny screamed again, over and over and over. Art wrenched away from the god and ran toward her. He slipped and fell. He stood back up, using some poor guy’s head for balance. He sprinted toward her, but he fell again. He used another poor guy’s head for balance. He repeated this process probably half a dozen more times. Finally, he gave up standing and crawled on his hands and knees. She continued screaming his name all the while. This felt like simultaneously the most tedious and the most desperate game of Marco Polo ever.

  Then he saw her. Recognition filled his eyes. He smiled. “Hi, Ginny,” he said.

  “Hiya, Arthur,” she said, smiling back.

  “I hate it when you call me that. What are you doing all the way down here?”

  Her smile faded. Art’s companions caught up to him as she was catching him up on her story. The god asked her to start over, so he could hear, too, so she sighed and did so. When she got to the part about the B.I.T. home world freezing in time, God-Art laughed in delight. He glanced over at her Art.

  “Well, I know where the bears are now,” said the god, “and they’re apparently stuck in place. Looks like I don’t need you anymore. Would you like to stay here with her in this Circle of Hell, or would you like to return to the Fifth?”

  “Oh, shut up and stop trying to scare us,” said her Art. “You know that I know those bears won’t go anywhere with you if I’m not there—even if they’re frozen in time, they’ll find a way to thwart and abandon you. So, it’s obvious you’re bluffing, and you’re going to take me with you no matter what. You’re just trying to get me to beg you to take me with you, because it amuses you somehow and you think somebody showing fear gives you power over them. But you seem to have forgotten that I loved my life down here in Hell, so if you want to send me back to the Fifth Circle, be my guest.”

  God-Art frowned, his fun apparently spoiled. Before he could speak, Ginny pleaded, “If you’re looking for somebody to beg, then I’ll beg. Take me with you. Please.”

  “[whir] Please do not – CLACK – do not listen to this – CLACK – this beast. Former Master Art, you must leave her. She deserves – CLACK – deserves this fate.”

  Her Art nodded at her. “Sorry, Drillbot. But I’m not going anywhere without her. God-Me, you can forget about getting your hands on the bears if you don’t free her.”

  The robot roared in protest, and the god growled in anger. Her Art sat down on the ice beside her to express this ultimatum, but then immediately jumped back up onto his feet, squealing because it was too cold.

  The god frowned and stared at Ginny with scorn. After a few moments, he finally said, “Fine.”

  He stuck his thumb into his mouth and blew hard against it. An arc of flames shot out from his palm and landed on the ice next to her. He moved the arc in a small circle, melting the ice. It sloughed away, and before she could sink into the black water, the god grabbed her and pulled her out.

  He stared at her with fierce eyes. “I’ll need to resurrect you. It will be painful and will take a few moments.”

  Ginny nodded. Then she screamed when the god threw her against the robot. She caught fire and immediately burned to cinders.

  *

  Ginny experienced black nothingness for she knew not how long, but then she found herself standing amongst the three others. She looked down at herself and smiled to see that she was now clothed. Then she cursed in fury when she realized she had been clothed like a Dictator Scout from Earth 1,000,000—the world to which she had been led under false pretenses long ago when the Multiverse had first butted its stupid way into her life.

  “Look, we’ve got to get to the Pink One as soon as possible,” said Ginny. “We still exist, which means the bear is still frozen in time. But if she figures out a way to get free, then this reality is dead. She promised me this reality would be her last victim so long as I was destroying other realities for her. But when I became frozen alongside her, whatever magic she had used to keep my soul bound to my corpse stopped working. And she made it clea
r to me that the contract between us was broken as soon as my soul left my body. We’ve got to figure out a solution, and fast. How long have I been down here?”

  The god’s laughter drowned out everything nearby, even the wind. He said, “Oh, it matters not how long you have been down here. You will not save this reality. I have big plans for it once I get my hands on the pink bear.”

  Ginny frowned. Her Art spoke to the god, “Look, I don’t want you doing anything to this reality. It’s the one place in existence I might be able to relax once this stupid ordeal is done. Promise you won’t do anything sinister to it, or I don’t come with you.”

  The god smiled. It reminded Ginny of a snake. “Oh, fine,” he said. “I won’t do anything sinister to it. Now let’s move.”

  Ginny was not quite reassured, because she noticed that he only promised to not do anything sinister—and sinister had not been clearly defined. She could have pointed out this flaw in the agreement to her Art, but more than anything else right now, she did not want to stay down here, and drawing attention to the god’s potential deception would do nothing but prolong the conversation. She could solve this future God-Art conundrum when free of this place.

  Thus, she grabbed her Art by the crook of the arm and began walking toward the dark arched passageway in the nearby stone wall. The others followed.

  Chapter 21

  BACK TO THE BEGINNING

  Agent 27142 ripped another bush from the ground. He tossed it up on top of his shift-shuttle and nodded. It was sufficiently covered with foliage and blended in to the forest. He stared at the dirt covering his hands and frowned. It was too bad this ship had been too damaged for its cloaking systems to work. He could have saved about two-hours’ worth of gardening, or whatever it is you call ripping greenery from the ground and using it to camouflage your ship.

  He clicked his heels, turned from the ship, and walked away. A ten-minute walk brought him to the edge of the woods. He crossed an interstate highway when there was a lull in cars, walked another few blocks, and stopped in front of a familiar rundown apartment.

  The hedges in front of the apartment were large and bushy. Behind them, mini-blinds stood open behind the window, allowing Agent 27142 to see inside. A man sat at a table. He had scruffy stubble and he looked unwashed. A woman stood over his shoulder, holding papers and yelling into his ear. He buried his face in his hands.

  Agent 27142 knocked on the front door to the apartment.

  “Who is it?” demanded a man’s voice through the door.

  Agent 27142 knocked again.

  “You deaf? Who is it?”

  Agent 27142 knocked again. He watched the peephole in the door, waiting for a shadow to block out the light coming through it.

  “I got a gun, motherfu-”

  Agent 27142 kicked the door next to its handle. The door crashed inward and smacked the man in the head. He stumbled backward. Agent 27142 walked forward, twisted the man’s arm until he dropped the gun, and then used his right leg to sweep both the man’s legs out from under him. The man crashed to the floor with a curse.

  The woman stepped over to Agent 27142. She held a kitchen knife in her hand. “What are you doing?” she demanded. “Why don’t you people leave us alone! We’re moving out next week, for god’s sake!”

  “Threatening me with that knife is a terribly bad idea,” said Agent 27142. He stared at her. Without looking down at the man on the floor, Agent 27142 pressed his boot down on the side of his head. “I would recommend you drop it. Now.”

  She looked from Agent 27142’s face down to the man. Trembling, she dropped the knife. “O-OK. I dropped it. Now w-what do you w-want?”

  “You said you want ‘you people’ to leave you alone. Who is ‘you people?’”

  The woman looked incredulous. “Seriously? The robot in the stupid disguise. The man with the flaming hair who looked just like you, but taller. They almost k-killed us.”

  Agent 27142 did not reply other than to nod. He pulled a pair of zip ties from his holster. He bound the man’s hands behind his back. He walked over to the woman and did the same. Then he lifted the man onto his feet and marched them both to a back bedroom. As soon as he opened the door, screeching wails from a toddler assaulted his ears. He shoved both the man and the woman between their shoulder blades, and they tumbled forward onto the carpet.

  “You two are going to stay in here and neither move nor make a sound. I suggest you keep that baby quiet, so I can think.”

  Agent 27142 shut the door. He pulled out one of his little brass pill-shaped objects, pushed the button on it, and stabbed the spikes that emerged from it into the metal door handle. The handle melted, the molten metal drooping down to cover the area where the door met the wall. When it cooled enough to harden, the metal had fixed itself in place, locking the door so that it would not budge and would keep the family out of his way.

  Agent 27142 walked into the living room and sat on the couch to think. Who looks like me but has flaming hair? That’s a new one, he thought. Doesn’t matter, though. My hunch was right! When the robot landed in this reality, it came to the domicile of Prisoner-Art.

  Agent 27142 continued thinking, I always ignored the fool every time he bragged to himself about his role in the creation of the robot, and I ignored him when he wished aloud his hopes that the robot would survive every single time it appeared in battle. I was letting the fool think that I did not hear him. I was waiting until I wiped the robot from existence to reveal to the idiot that I had heard every word. I was waiting for the sweet moment when I could witness the despair on the prisoner’s face, and then I was going to commence the torture for his offense in creating the deadly machine, and it was going to be one of the best torture-sessions of my life. But if I had known what the damned mechanical beast was going to do to my beloved, I would have flayed the skin from the prisoner’s bones right when I met him!

  But I do not have time for sulking, Agent 27142 continued thinking, taking a deep breath to calm himself. This is my chance for vengeance, if only I can find a lead for where the robot may have gone next. It is time to look for clues!

  And then he caught the luckiest break that he had ever had caught, other than that one time the little girl had appeared in the barrier between realities with her gourd or that other time he had won the battle against the Aquatic Agrarian Uprising with a lucky lightning bolt when all else seemed hopeless or that other time when he had spotted the wrench on the factory line that had been wedged between two pistons that would have caused a ship to blow up if it had gone undetected. But other than those instances and a few more he did not feel like recalling just now, this was his luckiest break ever.

  He felt a buzzing in a pouch on his holster. He opened it and pulled out a small rectangular device. It was blinking red. He opened it, and a small screen popped up that displayed a map with Prisoner-Art’s identification code on it. He’s right outside! thought Agent 27142. But how? I saw his corpse onboard my shift-shuttle. He’s dead. This tracker traces his life signature. A wrong reading is impossible.

  He stood and clicked his heels together. He picked up Henry, drew his Scatter Gun pistol, and walked toward the door.

  “Henry,” said Agent 27142, “if we get into a battle, you had better back me up if you know what’s good for you.”

  “Nothing’s ever good for me,” whined the gourd. “But I will help, since I’ve no other choice.”

  “Good,” said Agent 27142, and with that, he stepped through the open doorway out onto the front stoop. He looked left and right, but saw no sign of Prisoner-Art.

  “What the hell?” Agent 27142 muttered to himself. “Where is he?”

  “I detect no battles,” said Henry. “Should I remain at the ready, or can I relax? When I’m tense, I get gassy.”

  Agent 27142 stared down at the tracker. It maintained its claim that Prisoner-Art was just in front of him, but there was no Prisoner-Art. He frowned in confusion.

  Then movement caught his eye.
The manhole cover in the street wiggled. Agent 27142 smiled as he understood. “I’ve got you now, you chunky bastard.”

  Chapter 22

  A DEVIL OF AN EMERGENCE

  THOUGH DRILLBOT HAD an internal thermometer he used to measure the temperature around him, it held no real meaning for him other than to give him arbitrary data about his surroundings. Drillbot’s internal processors could not experience cold. There was simply a lack of the concept in the ones and zeroes that bounced through his core. But down here at the bottom of the well in the lowest depths of this Hell, he felt cold, anyway.

  The group had only traveled about a quarter-mile down the passageway, but already God-Art had needed to resurrect Normal-Art and Ginny three times each, because they kept dropping dead from the chill. Drillbot watched the couple and grew sad. As they walked arm-in-arm, Normal-Art would often say something to make Ginny laugh. She would respond in kind. They would share a laugh together, and then one would shriek and keel over in frigid death.

  The sight made Drillbot jealous. He missed Ginny Rex. He missed her companionship, her laughter, her soft snores, the feeling of her mullet as it whipped across his face when she tossed in her sleep. He missed her kisses, her underbelly, her purrs after she found pleasure in his drill-arms. He would have given anything to freeze to death with her and stay forever entwined in her tiny, tiny arms.

  Normal-Art fell to another bout of cold, and as God-Art resurrected him by forcing a phoenix feather down his dead throat, Drillbot studied the passageway ahead. Pitch blackness, with the only light coming from God-Art’s flaming hair and the leash that surrounded himself. The flickering firelight drifted out in front of the group, giving the rounded stones that formed the walls the impression of largesse. Other than the round stones and the frozen ground, there was nothing of note to see.