99 Gods: War

by Randall Farmer

  “The Telepaths shouldn’t be in your territory, unless they’re being more dilatory than normal,” Lorenzi said.

  She had no problem believing they might be more dilatory than normal. “What were their plans?” She knew the Telepaths had left Florida after Celebrity dropped the record from Lorenzi’s Dubuque spy on them, but she hadn’t been told what, if anything, they had decided to do next. She expected them to find a bit of neutral territory, perhaps Memphis again, and sit down and dither.

  “They were going to talk to Portland to present our evidence of Dubuque’s chicanery and some evidence they uncovered proving, finally, to them, about Dubuque having worshippers,” Lorenzi said. “They’d chosen to use ground transportation and they should be somewhere west of Denver by now.”

  “They’re going to be attacked before they reach Portland’s territory,” Dana said. “I’m guessing Dubuque’s worried about Portland’s reaction to the worshipper evidence, because if the Telepaths come up with something real, Portland will turn against him, I have no doubt. He can’t afford to lose Portland. They’re forcing his hand.”

  They had long since figured out Dubuque didn’t want to start any rough stuff, despite Verona’s prodding.

  “I’ll also bet he’s not at all happy about what might happen if Portland allies with us,” Dana said.

  That, Atlanta guessed, would only happen after hell froze over. Something more had to be going on here. She growled in frustration.

  “Too many guesses,” Lorenzi said. “Insufficient information. This still could be an attempt to keep you from helping me, Atlanta.”

  “Do you have anything else urgent besides this set of spy records?” Atlanta said.

  “No,” Lorenzi said.

  “In that case, I can give you a preliminary analysis,” Atlanta said. “I was just doing a double-check to make sure there wasn’t anything in the spy records to contradict what I’ve come up with.”

  “Go to,” Lorenzi said.

  “You were right about Worcester. Despite her protests, she has worshippers, she knows it, and she’s comfortable with them. It’s secret societies.”

  Lorenzi nodded. Dana and Reed turned to her, interested in an explanation. “Worcester worship is spreading through the Ivy League and Prep School sororities, fraternities and school-based secret societies. She’s funneling all of her divine miracles through them, or, at least, the ones she’s not providing up front to Dubuque’s people when they come by to ask her for support. She knows how many Mission benefits she can get from this style of support, and she’s handing out the miracles as fast as she can. She’s of the opinion she’s too strong willed for worshippers to mess her up.”

  “She’s joined the addicted addled, then,” Reed said. Atlanta nodded.

  “There’s more, which may relate to what’s going on with the Telepaths,” Atlanta said. “I think Dubuque’s using Worcester’s secret society support as a cut-out. I’ve found several examples of requests for miracles of protection versus Telepaths and miracles of protection from other Gods, all requests from charity workers. Charity workers needing protection from Telepaths and other Gods?” Her audience nodded with her. “If my analysis is correct, Dubuque’s got operatives of his, working outside the law, supported by Worcester. If I’m right, if his flunkies’ activities blows up in their faces or becomes public, it’s going to trace back to Worcester, not him.”

  “You’re right, Atlanta,” John said. “This supports Dana’s idea that the Telepaths are at risk of being nabbed.”

  “This is more than a risk. This is a certainty, and they’re in a lot more danger than just ‘nabbing’,” a new voice said. Atlanta turned and found another projection standing beside her. Boise.

  Lorenzi paled. “How’d you get in here?”

  Atlanta’s Integrity plummeted, as keeping other Gods’ projections out of Lorenzi’s HQ was her responsibility. Or had been, until Boise had simply ignored her defenses.

  “Desire,” Boise said, which she translated as: ‘I can teleport projections, and can do so right through your protections’. “I’ve decided to formally ally with your group, Mr. Lorenzi. You want me, I’m in.”

  Lorenzi froze for a moment as he digested the news and Atlanta’s Integrity recovered. Projected fleas jumped on Boise’s divine skin, competing with the flies for space. The bastard had even found a way to project his washing-is-for-sissies body odor. “Welcome aboard,” Lorenzi said, still discommoded. “Why?”

  “A group of Worcester-supported human assassins are after the Telepaths,” Boise’s projection said. “They’re going to succeed, and the stain of blood will be large enough to erase any of my lingering doubts about the contest. You aren’t going to be the bad guys much longer.”

  Finally, a good use for the Telepaths. They knew the dangers inherent in their plans, and this would validate their path of action.

  “Dubuque’s made a strategic mistake, then,” Dana said. “But only if we stand by and let this ambush happen in secret. We need to find the Telepaths and protect them.” Atlanta would rather see the Telepaths live than die, but witnessing their destruction would suffice as well. There had to be some positive use for them…if only she or the others could think of one.

  Lorenzi nodded. The morality bothered him as well.

  “Dubuque?” Boise said. Lorenzi filled him in on how Dubuque was using Worcester’s secret societies as cutouts. “Okay, I understand where you’re going with this. You don’t have real proof that Dubuque is behind Worcester’s assassins, but I’ll let this stand for now as a working hypothesis.”

  Atlanta snorted. She knew Dubuque was behind Worcester’s attack. She could just smell it.

  “I’ll also bet Dubuque maneuvered Freedom into cutting off our contact with the Telepaths. Devious bastard,” Lorenzi said, continuing to jabber. “We’re still left with the problem of finding the Telepaths fast enough.”

  “Call them on one of their cellphones,” Boise said.

  “I’ve tried,” John said. “Someone’s blocking the airwaves.”

  Boise frowned. “Huh. I’m not, and I can’t sense who is.”

  “You can scry,” Reed said to Lorenzi.

  “Scrying isn’t fast. It will take a half hour or more, if we want a location,” John said. “Worse, I can’t fly and scry at the same time, and none of my new crew of magicians are good enough to do either.”

  “The Telepaths knew what they were doing was dangerous,” Atlanta said, trying to bring the discussion back to reality. “We should work on making their sacrifice a meaningful one.” All four of the others glared at her. None of them saw the honor of conflict in a positive light. Dammit, Dubuque had handed their group his head on a platter and Lorenzi and his crew were going to give it back, if they could, by playing hero.

  “The contest isn’t so simple,” Boise said. “Few if any of the other Gods will turn on Dubuque because of this attack, unless they listen to me on the subject. Which they probably won’t. Most of the 99 Gods lack any sense of morality.” The last he said with a thousand degree glare at Atlanta. “If you publicize the attack, though, the price will be in public opinion.”

  “Which is why you’re willing to ally with us now,” Dana said. Boise bowed to her.

  Heroism. Fucking inevitable. “If we can save the Telepaths without paying an extraordinary price, we should,” Atlanta said. “Unfortunately, I’m under attack in my territory right now, a political attack. Defending my territory is more important.”

  “No, Atlanta, it isn’t,” Boise said.

  “Logic says otherwise.”

  “Logic isn’t always right,” Boise said. “I can’t predict the future, but I do understand the consequences of free willed decisions. You face a moral choice, Atlanta. Ignoring the plight of the Telepaths and protecting your territory from Dubuque is a moral failure on your part, which leads you inexorably into Dubuque’s camp, or to your destruction.”

  “Let me think about this,” Atlanta said. She stepped
back and thought, weighing hundreds of variables. She understood the obvious dilemma: either decision led her into deeper trouble.

  Dubuque had won.

  The crap the Angelic Host built into her, her extra emotions, told her the proper course would be to go to Dubuque and surrender. That’s how Territorials should think.

  This annoyed her more than everything else. The Host built her to be a two-timing backstabbing Judas!

  “How much time do we have?” Lorenzi asked Boise.

  “I don’t know,” Boise said. “Perhaps as much as an hour. Most likely a lot less.”

  She didn’t have Boise’s moral feel for the situation, but with Boise’s projection in front of her, she had no doubt that he believed what he said. Boise felt, if anything, stronger in his rejection of Dubuque than anyone else in the room.

  Her realization eased much of her inner agony, but it didn’t solve her problem.

  Could the Host be right? She dove into her own mind to analyze the ‘why?’ The more she understood about why she needed to surrender, the better she might be able to fight the urge.

  “Do you know where the Telepaths are?” Lorenzi said. “How did you learn this, anyway?”

  “I learned through prayer and meditation,” Boise said. “Impractical skills, but as you likely already realize, I’m a very impractical God.” Boise laughed. “I’ve decided it’s time for action. My Godhood won’t help anyone if I just sit in my cave and know all the horrible things happening or about to happen. My conscience won’t allow otherwise.”

  Dubuque won by setting up the trap, she realized. From a Territorial God’s perspective, he had won honestly. He had proven himself her superior. This was what made the surrender to Dubuque feel right. The Host made her so she would fight only so hard and no harder against other Territorial Gods, a built in method of conflict resolution.

  “Can you fly us?” Lorenzi said.

  “Not through a projection,” Boise said.

  “Can you, Atlanta?”

  “Yes, no problem, if I choose to,” Atlanta said, grimacing at the effort it would cost. “I’m still thinking.”

  It galled her to let Dubuque win. It galled her to have the urge to surrender. Even the concept of changing sides royally pissed her off. She didn’t want to give in to any of these built-in urges. If she did, she would be giving in to the sorry morality of the Angelic Host, their obvious intrinsic lack of strength of character, and their games.

  Some God this would make her.

  If she flew Lorenzi and his crew to attempt to save the Telepaths, Dubuque would destroy her hold on her territory, and destroy her Mission. The only Mission left to her would be her tie to Lorenzi. She would be his flunky in all senses of the word.

  If she abandoned Lorenzi and his group to deal with Dubuque’s political attack, she would save her territory. Boise’s point meant that if she defended her territory right now, she showed her opposition to Dubuque lukewarm at best. Which meant…

  “Cease protecting John Lorenzi and his people and I will allow the war between us to end,” Dubuque said, in Atlanta’s head. Not a real-time message, his offer came relayed through the Angelic Host, the Angelic Host serving the function given in the name ‘angel’. Messenger. Dubuque had foreseen this dilemma.

  Damn him.

  His canned message went on. “You need not bow to me, formally become my ally, or further treat with me. All I require is you no longer aid or protect my enemies and you restrict your activities to your territory and only your territory.”

  The offer tempted her, but Dubuque had made a mistake. He shouldn’t have ever sent his message. She understood, now, Boise’s point about this being a moral choice, and how the wrong moral choice would inevitably lead her into Dubuque’s arms or to her destruction.

  Dubuque would let her sit until he could gather her into his arms or pick her off at his leisure. As a Marine officer, her teachers had exposed her to too much history. This never worked for nations, for warlords, or even for officers caught up in political fights between their superiors. Dubuque didn’t offer a way out, just a delay.

  Nor did Dubuque’s offer give her any way of avoiding dishonor.

  She decided she would rather become Lorenzi’s goddamned flunky than dishonor herself and surrender to Dubuque. Lorenzi, at least, possessed something she recognized as honor and morality, despite his dubious and dark background.

  “I’m in,” Atlanta said. “I’ll fly you to Portland.” The conversation had turned to logistics. Lorenzi’s magicians had abandoned their spy efforts and packed. Boise had Lorenzi’s ear and the lecture had turned to the dangers of too many mortal magicians. Lorenzi nodded along, buying Boise’s arguments. Not that he would do squat about them, though.

  “Great,” Lorenzi said. “Let’s get out of here pronto.”

  Pronto?

  “Don’t you want to wait for Dana and my real bodies to arrive?” Lorenzi’s safe house sat at the edge of her territory, as close to Dubuque’s territory as possible, in Little Rock, Arkansas. He appeared to have dozens, if not hundreds, of safe houses.

  He shook his head. “No. We can’t afford to wait.”

  She could live with his decision. Atlanta suppressed her urge to argue, grabbed her smartphone, texted a coded message to the Indigo group about the dire nature of the situation and their need to go on full alert. She eyeballed the crew in Lorenzi’s safe house, picked them up and flew, taking her projection, Dana’s projection, Velma’s projection, Boise’s projection, Lorenzi, Reed and at Lorenzi’s direction the magician in sweats, presumably the most promising of the bunch. When they reached the stratosphere after her slow projection-slog through the thick troposphere air, Atlanta pushed. Within moments they went hypersonic.

  Lorenzi got out a bowl, poured water, and began his scry.

  She started her, Dana and Velma’s real bodies along as well, unfortunately slower, picking up a little just-in-case surprise on the way.

  “Velma, I’ve got some priorities for you. For triage.”

  Dr. Horton nodded, and followed as Atlanta read off her mental list.

  40. (Nessa)

  After the tour bus squeaked its way to a stop, Nessa waited for Ken, snoring beside her, to wake. He didn’t. She extricated herself from his arms and stood.

  “You look green,” Alt said, from where he sat, several seats forward.

  Green didn’t half cut it. “I need to get out of the bus,” Nessa said. “Care to join me?”

  He hesitated for a moment in an easily read longing for more sleep before he nodded and led them out of the bus. “Oh, damn,” Mary said, from the seat behind Nessa’s. She leveraged her lean frame out of her seat and hurried after to carry out her assignment as Nessa’s shadow.

  “Nessa, you armed?” Mary said, after she caught up with Nessa.

  Nessa patted her jacket. One Uzi, over the shoulder, as prescribed. Mary nodded. “You, Alt?”

  “Yah,” Alt said. Like Nessa, Alt favored long guns, but in situations like this he used a subgun, in his case an MP5K, a conversion of the HK94 machine gun. They had talked for hours on the subject, boring Ken to distraction. Alt stepped over Nicole, curled up under a blanket and sleeping restlessly on the floor of the tour bus. “Think we should wake her up? Maybe find her a more comfortable place to sleep?”

  “Nah,” Nessa said. “She’s having enough problems with her life as it is.”

  Alt frowned at Nessa, shrugged, and pushed forward past a stack of bungee-cord restrained suitcases left on the tour bus by its previous users. Nessa pushed by him and rushed forward and down the steps of the bus. She turned, bent over and vomited.

  “Jesus,” Alt said. “You eat something funky?”

  Nessa shook her head and accepted a torn rag from Mary to wipe her face. “No,” she said, after she stood. “Morning sickness.”

  “More like four in the morning sickness,” Alt said. “So you’re really pregnant?”

  “You didn’t believe us?”

/>   “I’m never sure when you’re pulling my leg,” Alt said. Mary laughed.

  “Glad I’m not the only one,” Mary said.

  “I need to walk,” Nessa said, and headed off into the late November just-below-freezing night, walking with her legs straight and robotic. “My bodily control weakens if I’m too cooped up.”

  As she walked, she looked around and took a deep breath of the fog-enshrouded truck stop. Diesel exhaust and the faint odor of sewage filled the air. The bus driving crew, two hires of Ken’s Nessa hadn’t even learned the names of, had parked the bus beyond the farthest set of gas pumps from the main truck stop building, far enough for the ground fog to give the lights a fuzzy quality to them. The hired drivers had gone into the main building, to guzzle coffee and take leaks. Nessa had no desire to go there, too many strangers in the main building for her, so she led them off toward a dark part of the truck stop parking lot.

  “You coping with Celebrity okay?” Nessa said, to Alt. Nessa hadn’t slept since they left Miami. She wasn’t able to sleep in moving vehicles, not since her telepathy awakened as a tween. She happily let the others do the driving and the logistics; she didn’t know the day, and if Alt hadn’t mentioned it, the time. She hadn’t suffered morning sickness before in this pregnancy and suspected it might be psychosomatic. Although she knew she had caught based on her mental tricks, her late period had been her first real world evidence. Well, since the pregnancy was real, then tender breasts and morning sickness were legal, so she developed both. This craziness had happened the same way in her first pregnancy as well, a thought she hurriedly crammed back into her memories, hopefully never to surface again.

  “I’m coping so far,” Alt said. “Celebrity’s different than I expected. There’s no thoughts leaking from her of the I’m God You’re Not variety, which makes everything a lot easier.”

  “So she’s not a walking blasphemy, eh?” Nessa said. Alt held to old-style Judaism, one God, and only one God.

  “She’s right about the Gods being victims,” Alt said. “None of them asked for what happened to them, and from what Celebrity’s said, it’s clear their transformation into whatever the hell they are messed with their personalities and psychology. I’d been afraid the 99 Gods would lose their humanity from the start, but I’d never dreamed the loss would happen so quickly, like with Verona and Dubuque.”