99 Gods: War

by Randall Farmer

  “Yes. You’re starting to enjoy the killing,” Boise said. Atlanta grimaced.

  “Starting?” Dana said. “She’s always enjoyed it.”

  Atlanta glared at Dana. “What I enjoy is doing a good job.” She feared Boise might have a point, though. Her early sweeps had been too much like a chore. Recently, after she had reduced the number of targets down to something more manageable and only gone after the absolute worst, she had come to look forward to it. Too much positive reinforcement, perhaps, from the Mission gain she got out of the activity.

  “It’s something you need to watch,” Boise said.

  Montreal cleared her throat, interrupting Atlanta’s next caustic comment. “Phoenix is here, guys.”

  So he was. Phoenix swooped down out of the stratosphere and landed a dozen feet away, a waft of icy stratosphere arriving with him. He brushed ice crystals off his jeans and Navaho designer shirt and took a deep breath, taking a good look around him at the lack of scenery.

  “Is there anything we need to discuss first?” Phoenix said. They shook their heads. “Sorry I was late. I got held up untangling a family in Santa Fe from the clutches of the New Mexico state bureaucracy.”

  Typical. “Let’s go, then,” Atlanta said.

  Stacks of boxes and moving vans filled the abandoned outlet mall’s parking lot and spilled over into the seedy used car dealership next door. Atlanta took a quick census and found over a thousand new Dubuque followers in and around his illusory palace, a huge increase since Atlanta’s last look-see.

  “What’s he doing?” Dana said. “Moving?”

  “Yes,” Boise said. “Dubuque’s bought a mega-church in Oklahoma City and he’s relocating there. He’s decided it’s time to start preaching to the masses.”

  Atlanta sighed with distaste. Preaching, as one of the Territorial Gods, felt wrong to her. Or, at least, tacky. “That’s something I thought would fall only to the Ideological Gods.”

  “I don’t think we’re as limited as your comment implies, Atlanta,” Boise said. “Dubuque’s decided formal preaching’s the only way to win over the number of people he needs for his plans. To succeed, he needs a better church. Besides, during his run in with the supposedly evil human magician, John Lorenzi, the magician melted this divine creation of his to the ground. That’s the sort of thing that would focus the mind of any of us.”

  Atlanta snorted as she walked toward Dubuque’s divine creation, the divine group dodging workers wheeling boxes as they entered Dubuque’s home. Atlanta noticed quite a few of Dubuque’s entourage had divine enhancements, but the divine enhancements on Dubuque’s followers didn’t look like Dana’s or Melvin’s. She studied them while they walked into Dubuque’s entryway and realized that none of Dubuque’s divinely boosted had any control over their enhancements. They only possessed fixed skills: extra stamina, extra strength, enhanced senses and the like. Nothing like Dana and Melvin’s more open-ended ability to call down miracles.

  Melvin shot Atlanta a glance, worried. He had come to the same conclusion she had: Dubuque had made himself an army. Atlanta nodded and pointed to her eyes.

  Smiling functionaries walked quickly over to them as they made their way down the wide hall and greeted them with figurative open arms, obviously warned of their arrival. The functionaries presented Montreal, Portland and herself with bouquets of flowers and presented Phoenix and Boise with commemorative Iowa State Fair mugs. Boise, bemused, signaled to the functionary to give his to Melvin, showing the world that his projection couldn’t hold solid objects. The squeaky clean functionaries led them to a courtyard, converted into an outdoor gym. There, they watched Dubuque finish a spirited volleyball game with some of his college-age followers. All men. Most of Dubuque’s crew were men, Atlanta realized, and most were quite athletic. Atlanta smiled at their banter, all quite familiar. Dubuque humorously needled the player next to him for having rocks for hands and molasses feet, after the player had made an amazing spike, and Atlanta noted Dubuque played as a normal, with the skill level about the same as the worst normal human on his team.

  If anything, Dubuque’s Mission appeared stronger than in her last visit.

  “Welcome, welcome, my fellow Living Saints,” Dubuque said to them, after the next point ended. He apologized to his team, toweled off, and then changed his conjured-up athletic gear to a formal suit. “Let’s go find somewhere less, um, fragrant for our meeting.” Two of his teammates threw towels at him in spirited offended dignity, and Dubuque smiled.

  He led them to a large meet and greet room, scattering his followers with banter along the way. He or his people had stripped the meeting room down to a stark white-on-white nothingness, doubtless due to the move. “Sit down and make yourselves comfortable,” Dubuque said, his voice space filling and homey. He barely had to concentrate to create illusory reality-based seats for all of them. “What brings you all here today?”

  They had selected Phoenix as their spokesperson. He met Dubuque’s gaze and started in. “Business, Dubuque. We can do the pleasantries later.”

  “Fine by me,” Dubuque said, bemused, after a half-glare at Atlanta. “What sort of business?”

  “We’ve discovered two problems, and we’re looking to build a Divine consensus about them,” Phoenix said. He leaned toward Dubuque and lowered his voice. Atlanta understood his reticence. Too many of Dubuque’s flunkies milled about. “The first problem is the so-called Seven Suits. Not only are they corrupting the normal business community, they’ve stooped to kidnapping and harassing the operatives of other Gods and have forcefully attacked Atlanta. The second is the danger of active worshippers, as Miami and some of the other Territorial Gods have. We’ve determined that tolerating active worship is bad. Doing so is not only a rebuke of God Almighty, but personally bad as well, at the Mission level.”

  “Very interesting,” Dubuque said. He thought for a moment and nodded, followed by a whistle and a hand wave. The meeting room cleared of functionaries. Without people to break the monotony, the place took on a vaguely TV scifi aura. Even the fancy white suit Dubuque had created for himself added to the white-on-white starkness of the place. “Of course having active worshippers is bad. Despite the common name given to us, we aren’t Gods, and in no way should we set ourselves up in God Almighty’s place. I hadn’t realized having worshippers might be bad for us at the Mission level, though. You say Miami has active worshippers?”

  “He’s admitted it to both Atlanta and myself.”

  “Disquieting,” Dubuque said. He chuckled. “Here I was all prepared for another debate about my rabble-rousing among our men and women of faith and my recent decision to preach.”

  “Another debate?” Phoenix said.

  “Let us just say that Worcester has a sharp tongue,” Dubuque said. He turned to the others, gathering in their eyes with his magnetic personality. “Do any of you have any problems with what I’ve decided to do?”

  “A little,” Boise said. “Not because of the message, but because of your tone. Portland and Montreal nodded, but both Phoenix and Atlanta shrugged. She suspected her fellow Marine cared as little about theological debates as she did. “I understand the Evangelical community has labeled you too liberal for their tastes, and they’ve protested outside your current home several times. I’m not sure you have to be so forceful about defending your position, for instance, about your support of Darwinism.”

  Dubuque frowned a tiny frown. “I’d like to hear your viewpoint on this, Boise.”

  “Sure. No problem.” Boise paused and licked his parched lips. Atlanta wondered if this affectation reflected the actions of Boise’s real body or something more subtle. “Irrespective of its factual truth, Darwinism does undercut Western Civilization’s traditional morality,” Boise said. “People need uncomplicated correct answers to moral questions; they need to have morality spelled out as ‘right’ and ‘wrong’, they need their morality simple. Darwinism, because of its scientific milieu, is not the least bit simple, and it remo
ves one of the pillars of faith by removing the idea that God created us to know right from wrong. Marxism and Freudianism did the same, but theologians easily discredited them because they were soft-science nonsense. However, Darwinism is hard science, and difficult to discredit in the same way. Until we, as Gods or Living Saints or whatever you want to call us, can come up with replacement pillars of faith, we shouldn’t be undercutting any existing pillars of faith, even if they are misguided.”

  Dubuque nodded. “I understand your point, and I’ll have to take it into consideration,” he said. “Perhaps I have been too harsh, but I can’t see any point to lying or denying my antipathy toward those who deny God’s reality.” Dubuque’s presence took on the power of his Rapture, compelling and brilliant white. “We came flawed out of nature, Boise. I view the Genesis story of Adam and Eve as an allegory of nature and evolution. God created nature, and to survive in nature, as pre-civilized beings, we evolved to learn of evil and good. Eden, to me, isn’t a physical place but a psychological state, a state of pre-verbal innocence to which we cannot return. I view the rest of the Old Testament as the story of God bringing civilization and morality to his chosen yet flawed people. Our morality comes from God’s teachings, not our physical form.”

  “I understand, and agree,” Boise said.

  Atlanta sat patiently, disinterested.

  “Shall we return to our reason for your being here, then?” Dubuque said. Boise nodded, as did the rest of them. Dubuque turned back to Phoenix, business-like and imposing. “I know about the Suit’s economic disruptions. How could one not? I didn’t know anything about these kidnappings and harassment, though. What proof do you have of all of this?”

  “Atlanta’s and Dana’s personal experiences, which we’ve all verified,” Phoenix said, radiating a tiny bit of nervousness. Atlanta empathized with Phoenix. Dubuque’s Mission-derived force of personality was quite daunting.

  “Excuse me?” Boise said, standing, Old Testament fire building in his eyes. “What are…” Dubuque turned his sharp gaze on Boise, and as Boise spoke, his image shivered, then vanished.

  “Oh. Sorry,” Dubuque said. “I guess I must have accidentally disturbed his long distance projection.”

  “Think nothing of it,” Phoenix said. A third of Atlanta’s mental tracks paused after hearing Phoenix’s odd response to Dubuque’s claim. Something bothered her here, and she couldn’t figure out what. “Boise clearly hasn’t mastered his projection technique yet. He can’t hold on to physical objects, for one thing.”

  Atlanta couldn’t help but wonder how accidental Dubuque’s actions were. Her omnipresent spark of paranoia grew as she began to analyze everything going on here, today. For instance, she thought, what uses could a war protester turned preacher have for an army?

  “I hope he can come back soon. If you don’t mind me saying so, he’s the most intriguing of all the Territorials,” Dubuque said. He paused and smiled. “Returning to the issue of the Suits, I’ll take your proof as a given, then. So, regarding the other subject, do you have any proof of the bad effects of worshippers on our Missions?”

  “Yes. Using inexact words, worshippers are a tradeoff between power and free will,” Phoenix said. “The more worshippers one of us has, the more their worship increases your willpower and the more their worship guides your free will; I had a few worshippers and only noticed the effect when Portland pointed it out to me. It’s very seductive and drug-like. But we aren’t meant to be pawns, and being a pawn does reduce our Mission.”

  “Increases your willpower?” Dubuque said, not really a question. “Interesting and unsettling. I would have thought such a patently wrong activity would be neutral at best.” He frowned. “You’re saying it’s a temptation toward evil, then.”

  Phoenix nodded.

  “What evidence do you have of this?” Dubuque said.

  “The evidence is in my mind,” Phoenix said.

  “Good enough for now,” Dubuque said, unfocused, at best half-interested. “I would like to examine some real evidence for this someday, when you get a chance.”

  “You can see it now. Just take it from my mind,” Phoenix said. “This is important. All five of us believe the lure of worshippers to be the most dangerous internal threat we Territorials face, the same way we believe the actions of the Seven Suits to be the most dangerous external threat we face.”

  Dubuque rubbed his head. “Okay, okay, but there could be a problem. Unfortunately, looking into another God’s mind isn’t a trick I’ve learned yet. However, I can try.”

  Atlanta frowned, suddenly on edge. None of the others reacted. She sifted through her mind, wondering what she had picked up. Then she got it. Dubuque’s face had the faint look of eagles on it, a battle ready intensity she had seen many times in her fellow soldiers.

  A facial expression quite out of place here.

  Dubuque closed his eyes and concentrated. Atlanta felt the stark white walls closing in on her, almost claustrophobic.

  What was Dubuque doing?

  “I understand, now,” Dubuque said, after a few moments. “You’re right about all these dangers. Miami is getting quite a bit of power from his worshippers, and such a thing is seductive, especially for a Living Saint so easily drawn to violence. You can leave them in my capable hands to deal with, although I might ask your help in some small aspects of this.”

  “Then it’s settled, Dubuque,” Phoenix said. “We’ll leave this mess for you. Thank you.” He smiled and leaned back in his seat.

  Portland frowned at Dubuque. Atlanta, confused, paused and cogitated. Several of her mental thought tracks now appeared stalled, or stuck.

  “I understand the burden I’ve taken on, Portland,” Dubuque said, answering Portland’s unasked question. “You don’t need to worry about any of this anymore.”

  “I’m sorry, Dubuque, but we didn’t agree to this ahead of time,” Portland said. “I believe we can only deal with these problems in an effective manner by acting as a community.”

  “Then let me be a martyr to the greater good,” Dubuque said, with an open-palm gesture. “If you look behind their words, you’ll find the Angelic Host tasked us Living Saints to found a City of God, upon God’s creation, a culmination of God’s lessons about morality and civilization. Did any of us think such a task would be easy or without sacrifices? I’ll take this responsibility as mine and gladly expose myself to the dangers of acting alone that you fear.”

  Atlanta didn’t recall their creators giving them any such task and didn’t understand how it fit into the danger of worshippers, but in her mind she saw the promise of such a place, Dubuque’s utopian City of God. Heaven on Earth. All violence and conflict would vanish into the holy peace of God. She wouldn’t have to purge evildoers from her territory, as there wouldn’t be any evildoers. Dubuque’s glorious vision felt correct. She wanted to help in any way possible.

  Despite a sudden urge to defend herself in some manner.

  She had experienced this before, when she and Dana visited Dubuque, alone, as if Dubuque wielded some form of mind control. Subtle mind control, with no active willpower in use, as far as she could sense.

  Her claustrophobia increased, the infinity of white around them ever closing in. Atlanta bent her mind to figuring out what Dubuque had been doing when he looked into Phoenix’s mind. It took her seven seconds on her nine remaining tracks, but she got it. It hadn’t been mind control. Instead, Dubuque had been strengthening his own mental barriers, making sure Dubuque’s own mind stayed inviolate.

  So Dubuque had something to hide, eh? She wondered what it might be. She came up with far too many possible answers, and no data or logic that might allow her to choose between them.

  As this was less hostile than some form of mind control, she allowed herself to relax.

  “As long as you know this responsibility you have taken on places you in grave danger, then I won’t stand in your way,” Portland said. “I understand. If you need to unburden yourself about t
he weight of your Mission, come to me and talk. I’ll listen.”

  “I’ll do that,” Dubuque said, smiling. Portland smiled back, echoing Dubuque’s and Phoenix’s smiles.

  Dana tugged on Atlanta’s sleeve. Atlanta turned to her chief of staff and found fear in Dana’s eyes. She tried to speak, but couldn’t. Atlanta looked over at Melvin. He looked afraid as well, another unmoving statue. For some reason, Dubuque had frightened them.

  But of what?

  Dubuque’s charisma, no doubt. He had gotten to Phoenix. Had his charisma gotten to any of the rest of them?

  Atlanta took Dana’s hand in hers, to loan her enough strength to fight off her fear of Dubuque.

  Instead, she realized Dana’s free will, in some essential fashion, dwarfed Atlanta’s at this moment. Strange. Atlanta closed her eyes and tuned out the world.

  Free will.

  Mortality.

  Dana’s mortality and her own innate cussedness gave her enough strength to resist Dubuque’s magnetic pull. That wasn’t what bothered her. Instead, she worried that Portland had betrayed herself. That she, Atlanta, would as well. Or already had.

  If Dana had this strength, though, why didn’t she do something with it? Why hadn’t she challenged Dubuque? Atlanta willed herself to understand, and she did. Dubuque didn’t hold Dana’s mind, but he held her body, with a different and subtle willpower trick.

  Dubuque’s underhanded attack pissed off Atlanta, and she decided to fight back. She pushed her willpower into Dana, to allow Dana to take back control over her body. Dana pushed Atlanta’s loaned strength back. Atlanta opened her eyes, met Dana’s gaze and found the answer: Dana thought Dubuque had already gotten to Atlanta, and feared Atlanta’s willpower would enslave her mind. Atlanta shook her head, and Dana resisted more forcefully, in panic.