99 Gods: War

by Randall Farmer

  “Tiff? What do you mean?”

  Tiff didn’t answer. Dave stalked the kitchen for a few moments, seething, before deciding to go to his Dubuque shrine and pray.

  43. (John)

  “I’m appalled,” Freedom said. He paced the perimeter of the fight scene, through blood, water and fog, the strangest looking of any of those involved. John’s initial impression of Freedom and his dress had been ‘Rodeo Cowboy’, but Nessa had wormed her way into his mind again, and informed him rodeo cowboys dressed far snazzier and Freedom dressed more like a ‘ranch hand’, an actual cowboy. Despite the fancy cowboy hat. Which well-off ranch hands apparently wore. Freedom’s hat, at least, did a surpassingly effective job of keeping the rain off him.

  After his little scene with the two Nessas – damn Celebrity! – he couldn’t keep Nessa out of his mind. He needed a new spell or two, and a decent exercise in self-discipline, if he wanted to keep Nessa from learning of any of a dozen current activities he knew she wouldn’t approve.

  “This is way out of line,” Freedom said, continuing. “Not only is this out of line, this is partly my fault. Dubuque dragged a clue in front of me that led me to believe he was about to screw me over politically. I’ve been working on politically opposing Dubuque’s takeover of the North American Gods, helping Portland on the sly, and I knew my cause would lose ground if Portland got linked to the apostate God, Celebrity.” Freedom talked with a Texas accent. “I’m pissed. Dubuque’s made me look like a fool, and made me look like I’m your enemy.”

  “You should have asked first,” Ken said, standing between the two Nessas. Ken looked ten pounds lighter and shaky, despite being up and walking and eating. He had taken two pieces of hot shrapnel through his abdomen, a mortal wound for anyone who couldn’t use their own telekinesis to stop blood flow. He would have died anyway if not for Boise’s attention. Even with the magic at John’s disposal, John knew he couldn’t have saved Ken.

  “I’m sorry.” Aaahm saarrri. “The truth of the matter is that politically, you Telepaths are poison.”

  “Then why are you here now?” Alt said. “Why’d you accept Mr. Lorenzi’s invitation?”

  The rain continued to fall on all of them as they stood amid the soggy, bloody chaos of the parking lot, and because of the important evidence they couldn’t move the discussion anywhere else. John knew his lady’s model umbrella might make a bad impression on the Gods, but he liked the color and he certainly didn’t mind anything to cut down his image. The stronger he looked to the Gods, the more he looked like a danger, even to his putative God allies. He had noticed how quickly the Gods changed sides, but he didn’t blame them. He blamed the Angelic Host who made them.

  The Telepath group and all of John’s smaller group huddled together and investigated the evidence of the fight. Freedom had shown up in person. Inventor and Singularity had shown as projections, pulled in by some trick of Boise’s that Atlanta wanted to learn so badly her projection was practically slavering.

  “Well, I’ve always said that when you make a mistake, own up to it as soon as possible,” Freedom said. “I’ll admit I’m not happy with the idea of allying with you, but none of you are enemies, political or otherwise.”

  “Even me?” Atlanta said. She didn’t bother with fake rain protection to keep up appearances. She just made her projection more translucent and let the rain drip through.

  “Even you.” Freedom shrugged. “My political schemes are now sunk, anyway, by what happened here. I think this attack by Worcester will improve my case, but it’s now a different case. Now we’ve got two out-of-line Gods to worry about, her and Dubuque.” He turned to the two Nessas. Neither he nor John could tell them apart. “I owe you one.”

  Both Nessa’s nodded in unison.

  One of them had been bad enough.

  John would rather Freedom owed John one, but those were the breaks. “How about you two?” John said, turning to Inventor and Singularity.

  “Both of us are having a hard time believing Worcester did this. This is out of character for her,” Singularity said.

  “I have reason to believe she was used as a dupe,” John said. He outlined for everyone the results of his spying and the analysis of the situation. “If you don’t mind me using some magic, I can trace this back, using our captives, and give you tangible proof.”

  “If you must,” Singularity said, edging away. Dana’s projection, at Atlanta’s side as always, edged away with him.

  John led the mob over to the air pumps, where they kept the two captives tied up. When his group arrived, screaming down from the stratosphere, flown by Atlanta through outer space in one of the more terrifying series of events he had suffered through since the coming of the 99 Gods, they had subdued the last two of the putative assassins. Atlanta had forced Dana, as a projection, to do the dirty work. The tension between Atlanta and Dana worried him, as he needed Dana and her brilliance as much as he needed Atlanta’s raw power, and wouldn’t be happy if Atlanta broke with Dana and forced her out of the group. Despite her reluctance to act and a bit of grousing, Dana had stunned the two assassins with ease.

  “Drag them over here, please,” John said. Willie, John’s apprentice magician, and Mary, one of the Telepaths’ bodyguards, did the dragging. John put the two captives on the other side of a puddle of water, which he used as an impromptu scry bowl. One of the Gods, he wasn’t sure which, covered his puddle with an invisible shield to keep the rain away and the puddle still.

  He prayed to Mother Mary and the Holy Spirit, and summoned images in the puddle showing the history of the assassin group. He traced their hiring to a cloaked figure, who he sensed as a befuddled flunky of Worcester. “Wait, I’m sure this gets better,” John said, as the mob muttered Worcester-themed curses. He followed the Worcester flunky back to where a cloaked figure had accosted said flunky, the one who had befuddled the Worcester flunky and set up the meeting with the assassins. This cloaked figure John traced back to Dubuque’s operation in Oklahoma City. Said cloaked figure received his orders directly from one of Dubuque’s top flunkies.

  “So Dubuque is behind this,” Singularity said. “This fits my feel for what’s going on much better.”

  “You need to know, from things we figured out earlier, that Worcester’s now accepting worshippers,” Atlanta said.

  “Ergo, turned to the dark side,” Inventor said. “Write her off.” Several in the mob tittered at Inventor’s comment, some modern cultural reference, most likely, John decided, one he thought he might have heard once or twice before. Certainly post-Shakespeare, though.

  “Not so fast,” one of the Nessas said. “I’m not writing anyone off right now. We don’t understand what’s going on. What if Dubuque’s also controlled by this Verona God, for instance? You Gods don’t seem to have much resistance to divine mental control.”

  Atlanta fumed and didn’t say a word, but she did glare hotly at both Nessas.

  “We saw no evidence that Verona had the goods on Dubuque,” John said. “If anything, I’d guess Dubuque’s calling the shots. However, I’m basing this on my years of experience at reading posture and voice. Nothing substantive.”

  “I think we should also write off Phoenix,” Singularity said. “I talked to him last week, and it was almost like talking to Dubuque. City of God this, City of God that. The light’s on but nobody’s home.”

  “Crap,” the other Nessa said. “He’d been so reasonable earlier.” John simmered, annoyed at Celebrity and her game. He promised himself to remain poised and pleasant, anyway. “So, now you’ve convinced us Dubuque’s the bad guy behind the attack, what’s next?”

  “Well, I’m not going to sit back and let assassins come after my unprotected people,” Freedom said. “My people need to arm themselves and get ready for a fight. Dubuque, Phoenix and Worcester are going to be formidable enemies if this continues moving from the political to the physical.”

  “Don’t read too much into this analysis,” Boise said. “Dubuque
’s still learning how to organize, and events are likely more complex than they appear. My gut feel is he told his people to ‘stop the Telepaths’ and left it to them to plan the details. If we confront him, I’ll bet he’s going to have plausible deniability on his side.”

  This elicited muttered curses from several of the listeners.

  Inventor turned to Singularity. “I still think we need to formally join the rebel alliance,” he said. More titters from the crowd. John caught Atlanta rolling her eyes and he winked at her.

  “I don’t believe we have any other choice,” Singularity said, towering over all of them save Dana and Freedom. He turned to John and hit him with male leadership charisma impossible from anyone save a God. “We’re in.”

  At least the two Practical Gods hadn’t chosen the Telepaths.

  “Number one on the agenda is teaching people how to fight off Dubuque’s control,” John said. “I’ve been thinking about how I managed, and I’m convinced I can cover…”

  Singularity shook his head. “It would be wrong for any of us Gods to use your style of magic.”

  “Atlanta and I showed ourselves naturally immune, though it took work for both of us,” Boise said. “I’ll bet if we work together we can come up with something to teach any God, or at least any Territorial God.”

  “If you do that, I might be able to turn your trick into an amulet and save us all a bunch of time,” Inventor said.

  “What, pray tell, is an amulet?” Boise said.

  Inventor shrugged. “Think magic item. Or enchantment. That could be a better word for it.”

  More titters.

  John ignored the titters.

  “Objectified and portable willpower, then,” Inventor said.

  “That will work,” Boise said. “It’s going to take us time to figure out how to block Dubuque, but in the meantime, since I’m here in person, I can cover all of you.”

  “You’ve signed up with John’s group, Boise?” one of the Nessa’s said.

  Boise nodded. “I was willing to be lenient with Dubuque, Phoenix and Worcester’s games, on the hope they could be persuaded to curb their ambitions, but Freedom’s right. Even if Dubuque didn’t personally order the hit, the attack did cross the line. I saw the attack coming, mystically, and warned Mr. Lorenzi and my people ahead of time. That’s why we were on the way.”

  Unfortunately, John hadn’t finished the scry before Atlanta pushed them through outer space all the way to Portland. They had to backtrack, once John located the Telepaths.

  “Good. Thank you,” the other Nessa said. She looked at John and met his eyes, and unless Celebrity’s impersonation was able to mimic a Nessa telepathic glare and mind probe, this one was the real Nessa.

  He could almost hear her thinking ‘you should have found a way to rescue us before we got the shit kicked out of us, you bastard.’

  “If you don’t mind, I’ll make this a more pleasant place for discussion,” Boise said. “Now that we’re agreed on the problem, we need to talk solutions.” Nobody objected. With only a bare hint of concentration on Boise’s face, the rain stopped, the air warmed, their clothes dried out, and a building, complete with comfortable furniture, appeared around them. Boise kept concentrating, and the dome-shaped building filled with quiet music and refreshments.

  John folded up his umbrella and began to circulate.

  “The Isle of Crete was the next point on the journey, and an earthquake occurring at the time, Apollonius suddenly exclaimed in the streets : “The earth is bringing forth land.” Folks looked as he pointed toward the sea, and there beheld a new island in the direction of Therae. He arrived at Rome, whither his fame had preceded him, just as the Emperor Nero had issued an edict against all who dealt in magic; and, although he knew that he was included in the denunciation, he boldly went to the forum, where he restored to life the dead body of a beautiful lady, and predicted an eclipse of the sun, which shortly occurred. Nero caused him to be arrested, loaded with chains, and flung into an underground dungeon. When his jailers next made their rounds, they found the chains broken and the cell empty, but heard the chanting of invisible angels. This story would not be believed by the head jailer at Sing Sing.” – P.T. Barnum, Humbugs of the World

  “That’s the real danger of worshippers!”

  44. (John)

  “So, John, why do you trust the Telepaths? They denied both of us their cooperation before. I think they’re going to use us and discard us,” Atlanta said. Atlanta, Dana, John and Singularity sat in a small conversation grouping of comfortable chairs near a sideboard set with various wonderful snacks.

  John nodded. “I understand your fears,” he said. Their impromptu meeting had turned into a low-key cocktail party after Boise provided ‘ambrosia’, which to John’s amusement proved to be non-alcoholic but loaded with divine-created restoratives. Even Nessa couldn’t resist the chocolate-free concoction. “I’ve dealt with Telepaths for longer than I want to admit, and these two are past the point of discarding us. The answer is in the psychology of the Telepath, at least these two active mature Telepaths. Consider hatred.”

  “Hatred?”

  “Why do people hate?” John said.

  “Damn if I know,” Atlanta said. Of the projections involved, hers was the only one that didn’t even attempt to fit in by carrying around a mug of ambrosia or a plate of the various delicate finger-foods Boise had conjured up with his loaves and fishes routine. Her hands remained empty.

  “Like any deep emotion, hatred is biochemical in origin,” Singularity said. Much to John’s pleasure, the cocktail party atmosphere had allowed him to separate Singularity from Inventor. Twenty feet away, Inventor talked shop with the two Nessas and Ken, suggesting different tricks to Celebrity, some of which were passing strange. On the other hand, Dana had attached herself to Singularity; John hoped the obvious attraction between them didn’t cost Atlanta her services. The longer Dana stayed with Atlanta, the more reasonable Atlanta became. “Hatred evolved long before we acquired language, and has been noted in Chimpanzees. It’s a way of protecting pre-verbal tribes from cheaters. If all one did was get angry at cheaters, they’ll just cheat again. If one grows to hate a cheater, one doesn’t forget the offense and can act to prevent it in the future, without having to verbalize a complex strategy for coping with cheaters.”

  “That wasn’t quite what I was getting at,” John said. Not a believer in human evolution, John didn’t want to delve into the details of Singularity’s comments. Besides, he didn’t think he could win any variety of technical argument with the macho athletic polymath. John, though, sat at the center of this little grouping, not Singularity. At least for the moment; a jaw like Singularity’s could motivate armies to leap on enemy swords. “Although your comment does lead into my real observation. If you’re correct, hatred is an unnecessary emotion for us quite verbal humans, an irrational emotional response involving going overboard with one’s dislike. Hatred is something we must choose to feel.”

  “The opposite of heroism, then,” Atlanta said. “Hatred as the irrational outgrowth of anger mirrors heroism as the irrational outgrowth of altruism.”

  “I’m not sure they are pure opposites,” Dana said. John nodded. “What does this have to do with the Telepaths and trust?”

  “When we hate we find it pleasurable. It thrills, reassures, makes us feel strong, gives our personal problems external cause, and negates our personal responsibility,” John said, carefully choosing his words. Singularity brought out the pompous cleric in him, which is why the Telepath Giselle had already fled in mock mortal terror, but Dana and Atlanta didn’t seem to mind. “Hatred is a form of personal power, and people who give in to hatred do so because they cannot abide their own weakness and imperfection. Because of the human condition, weakness and imperfection exists for everyone, and thus hate can tempt everyone.”

  “Yes, yes, I read my Sartre too,” Singularity said. It was a rare day when John found someone able to out-pompous him, but S
ingularity did. “Are you saying the Telepaths don’t hate?”

  “Our mature Telepaths, not counting the Mindbound, had to endure a crucible none of us ever had to face, the ability to remake one’s perceived reality almost at will. The power of the Telepath is the mind, and before any Telepath can master the mind of another or the reality around him, he must first master his own mind,” John said. “If he falls into the trap of remaking his perceived reality to match his wishes and desires, he will go insane and lose the ability to do anything outside of his own mind. The Telepaths here successfully passed through this crucible, and they all passed the test the same way, by learning to recognize the lies in their own minds.” In several cases, with the terrifying help of Nessa. “Oh, they still lie to themselves, but they know they lie when they do so, and they’re much better at fighting off internal lies than the rest of us are.”

  “They choose not to hate?” Dana said, her eyes open wide in sudden insight and understanding. John guessed she hadn’t trusted the Telepaths, at least before her insight.

  “They can’t afford to hate. It’s too irrational,” John said. “Their faith is in logic itself, which may sound strange for people who to us seem so irrational and psychotic, but true none the less.”

  “They’re not likely to be heroic, then, either,” Singularity said.

  “Far too true.” All the relatively sane Telepaths John had known over the centuries were hesitant to risk themselves, or to act in any way, unless desperate.

  The background music changed from some modern string adaptation of popular music to a lifeless harp piece. It made John want to strangle Boise for the music selection; harpists needed to play with emotion and abandon, not this dead one-two-three one-two-three nonsense. No wonder these Americans thought of the harp as an instrument from a bygone day. John took another sip of the ambrosia, wondering how Boise had come up with such a concoction. Based on what John had seen, Boise had likely conjured up the liquid from nothing, not knowing what was in it or why, a typical mindless divine miracle of the 99 Gods.