99 Gods: War

“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 Singularity 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.

  Just the sort of brainless-booby tactic John hoped to use against the 99, someday.

  “This doesn’t improve my trust of these Telepaths,” Atlanta said, flickering a look at Dana as she responded to John. “You’re saying that when it’s in their best interest to betray us, they will?”

  “Perhaps that’s what I’m saying,” John said. Although amusing as a mental exercise, he didn’t want to set Atlanta against the Telepaths, not after the behind-the-scenes work he had done to defuse the potential conflicts between them. “I look at the problem differently, as a form or a test of enhanced rationality, as do Nessa and Ken. I’m not sure about their newer recruits, but with Nessa and Ken teaching them, I’m sure they’ll eventually understand the conundrum the same way as well. Making agreements and holding to them is a rational thing to do, and they won’t lie to themselves about the consequences or lack of consequences of betraying their agreements.”

  Atlanta shook her head. “I find this difficult to believe. Nessa’s the most whack non-institutionalized person I’ve ever met, and I’ve met some real winners over the years. I can’t understand how you consider her rational and sane.”

  John smiled. “She’s not sane from a normal person’s viewpoint. She’s sane from a Telepath’s viewpoint.
The difference is supremely important. They’re not perfect automatons, don’t make that mistake. They’re as human and flawed as the rest of us. However, realism and rationality are much more important to a Telepath than they are for us. Their very lives depend on being realists.”

  “I’m not sure you should be putting the Gods into the ‘us’ category, John,” Singularity said. “As I’ve pointed out to you several times, the price of our enhanced power over reality comes with lessened free will. I certainly don’t fully understand the ramifications of this, but I’ve met Gods who don’t possess even the slightest interest in realism and rationality.”

  John nodded, as did Atlanta. Dana frowned, unhappy.

  “There’s an interesting corollary to your comment on hatred and Telepaths,” Singularity said, pushing on. John expected Singularity to opine that his own mission required realism and rationality, but he didn’t. Perhaps Singularity thought it self-evident. “When we give in to hatred to cover our weaknesses and imperfections, we hold up as a guidepost for our thoughts the opposite. Strength and perfection, a vision of purity and power, a vision of perfect humanity. Perfected humanity. When we hate, we hate anyone who stands between us and this perfect vision. Who does this sound like to you?”

  “Dubuque,” Dana said. John nodded, and covered a shiver. Atlanta nodded, without the shiver. Singularity had hit the nail on the head. “Anyone who stands in the way of Dubuque’s faith-based City of God is fair game to be hated, judged inhuman and discarded,” John said. “Satan’s pawns, in his eyes.”

  “Which is why we must work together, as much as we can, to defend ourselves from being discarded,” Singularity said. He and Dana exchanged smiles.

  “I don’t believe being Nessa’s body double is going to be healthy for you in the long run, Celebrity,” John said. He had cornered Ken and the two Nessas on a couch by the ambrosia bar.

  “Diplomatic as always,” one of the Nessa’s said.

  “Definitely not a charm school graduate,” the other one said.

  John sighed. They had gotten good enough to make it impossible for him to tell them apart. If there was any way to talk them out of their game, he had to find the argument. “Surely you understand the danger?”

  “It’s more than a danger,” the Nessa on the left said.

  “It’s an opportunity,” the Nessa on the right said, finishing the other one’s sentence for her.

  “You’re playing games with me.”

  “We’re practicing,” both of the Nessas said, in unison.

  He knew of only one answer to their comments. John ate one of the tiny quarter-sandwiches Boise had conjured up and took a large swig of ambrosia.

  Ken sat between the two Nessas, a goofy grin on his face, similarly chugging ambrosia. Seven empty mugs littered the faux floor in front of him. When he needed another, he telekinesed a full mug over to him. The divine restorative had at least removed the pallor of death from his dark skinned face. “You must admit the body double trick fits Nessa’s personality,” Ken said. “There’s always been more of her than can be contained in one body.”

  The Nessas laughed.

  “You don’t fear being submerged in Nessa’s mind permanently?” John said, to whichever one of them was Celebrity. He pulled over a high-backed cushioned chair from the unoccupied conversation cluster behind him, and sat.

  Left Nessa shook her head. “If I was that sort of person, Celebrity wouldn’t have made this offer,” right Nessa said.

  “What about this messing up your marriage?”

  “Well, it’s either the best wet dream I’ve ever had,” Ken said. “Or the worst nightmare. I don’t know which, yet. At least the two of them made one concession. I get to call the shots.”

  “Wouldn’t be fair…”

  “…otherwise.”

  John shivered. It was one thing to talk about the fact that the mature Telepaths weren’t insane by their own standards and another to face the evidence in person. If he had been in Ken’s position, he would still be running. “I saw Inventor giving you pointers on your experimentation. How does the one body trick work, anyway? Or was it an illusion?”

  The two Nessa’s stood, held hands, and flowed into each other until they became one. John couldn’t repress a shiver. “What do you think, oh great magician?” the now single Nessa said.

  “I must admit this appears to my magical senses, such as they are, that the two of you overlap in space,” John said. “My mind, though, refuses to make sense of it.”

  “Remember when I showed you what Gods are made of?” Nessa said. Celebrity’s lesson, though, not Nessa’s. “Our internal pieces are so much smaller than atoms, and atoms are so much empty space, that my own substance can slip through atoms without any trouble. Which, of course, points out a talent I didn’t realize I had: I can walk through walls and other substances, a trick I don’t think any of the Territorials can ever match.”

  “How about the opposite?” John said. “Can you form your substance into a barrier capable of protecting you?”

  Nessa’s eyes widened. “You mean to avoid being vaporized or a way to protect my – Nessa’s – flesh?”

  “Both.”

  “Huh.” Nessa closed her eyes. She shimmered. “This is going to take practice, but I think the answer is yes. Perhaps I can be useful in a combat situation after all.”

  “Good,” John said. “Practice, when you have time.” He was about to go into the details of an appropriate practice regimen when a rang in his mind. John, wary, shut up.

  The two Nessas separated.

  “Don’t you worry about this merging trick affecting your pregnancy?” John said. He hoped this was a safer comment.

  Left Nessa shrugged. “Why should that be any different than my worries about my brain?”

  “Hormones.”

  Left Nessa snorted. “Compared to the fear hormones about brain damage, the Telepath’s worst nightmare?”

  “I get the point,” John said. “Can you flip back to being not-Nessa, Celebrity?”

  Flash. Celebrity, who had been right Nessa, at least after their merging, became the shape she had been wearing while working with John. “These changes are actually easier, now. I’ve picked up something from Nessa, some sort of added mental discipline,” Celebrity said. The thought of any of the Gods picking up lessons from Nessa made John’s stomach clench in terror, but he hid his reaction. “You know something? Nessa’s correct. When I’m Nessa, I’m pregnant.”

  “That doesn’t make any sense,” John said. “What sort of thing would that produce?”

  “Thing?” Celebrity shook her head. “You’re right. I’m not gestating a human baby. Babies. I wonder if I can produce little baby Gods?”

  “You’re way too cavalier about this,” John said. Had Celebrity found a way to get back at her angelic creators she so loudly distrusted? John didn’t think such a payback worth the risk. “Nor do I understand how this works.”

  “Does it matter? Why sneer at miracles?” Celebrity said. “Besides, everyone loves babies.”

  “You’ve caught Nessa’s fey attitude about reality, Celebrity,” John said. “What you’re doing isn’t without cost.”

  “Your arrogance is showing again, John,” Celebrity said, her tone of voice and body language radically different. “Mental laziness. The so-called Angelic Host made me a divine actress. Taking on someone else’s viewpoint as a role is second nature to me. So too is taking on their physical reality. My Mission requires me to master this.”

  John readied a cutting comment, but kept the comment safe in his mind when he realized who Celebrity played now.

  Him.

  “You’ve convinced me,” John said. Celebrity flashed back into Nessa. “I do have one question, though. What was going on when Inventor convinced you to be three, not two?”

  “He wanted to see how many of us we could be,” Nessa said. “We stopped
with three. You’ll like this, John.” She stood and merged with Celebrity, and then separated into three Nessas. Ken rolled his eyes and chugged ambrosia.

  “Okay, there’s three of you. I assume two of you are Celebrity and one is a flesh and blood Nessa?”

  “You assume wrong, you arrogant pustule,” the middle Nessa said. “You’d think a magician could learn to think allegorically. Instead, you’re trying to make physical sense out of real magic. You need to free your mind from its petty constraints, or some God’s going to turn you into their bootman.”

  John took a step back and took a deep breath. “If I remember the asperity and advanced vocabulary, you’re Nessa’s right sock, aren’t you? We haven’t had the dubious pleasure of speaking since the Blind Tom episode, may he rot in hell if he ever decides to die. Welcome back.”

  “I didn’t go anywhere,” the middle Nessa said. “At least you haven’t grown senile.”

  “Thank you for your kind words,” John said, and turned to the right Nessa. “I understand why you stopped at three.” Left sock, the obvious number four, would likely try to kill him again. He didn’t know what the darker and more emotional aspect of Nessa might do to the others at the meeting, but it wouldn’t be pretty. He turned back to the middle Nessa. “You should go back to being a personality fragment, though. This isn’t healthy.”

  “I’m not a personality fragment,” middle Nessa said. “Or a separate personality or anything of the sort. You know quite well that I don’t suffer from MPD.”

  “Then what are you?”

  “I just utilize a separate paradigm for interfacing with the world.”

  “It’s the part of me who wants to be more self-important and exacting,” left Nessa said. “Rather successful, too.”

  “It’s a left brain right brain thing,” right Nessa said. “I’ll bet, if we wanted to play around for a few weeks, we could come up with a method by which everyone could listen to their left and right brains. You want to volunteer for the experiment, John?”

  “No thanks,” John said. He shivered and backed off.

  “We lost,” Alt said. He paced, back and forth in front of a wide-eyed Dr. Horton, Boise, Dana and a now extremely quiet and observationally-oriented Singularity. Nicole, one of the Telepaths’ later recruits, sat at Dana’s side. Of all the wounded Telepaths, Nicole had come out the worst. She huddled under a blanket, a tiny figure in the corner of an oversized couch, and greeted the world with a glassy eyed stare. “We lost so bad that I can’t even call the fight a contest. If you hadn’t shown up, Boise, the last two assassins would have been able to finish us off in a few more minutes.”

  “I’m not sure I see the problem,” John said.

  “What?” Alt said. He seemed to have picked up Nessa’s over-emotionalism today, and as with Nessa normally, his emotions flew from one extreme to the other, the only constancy being loudness. “Oh, I get it. You don’t care that one of your allied groups is worth shit.”

  John shook his head and walked over to sit in the vacant chair next to Nicole. She shied away from him. To John’s surprise, the chair underneath him began to give him a back massage. He leaned back and relaxed.

  “I’m positive that one or more of your group will figure a way around the mental protections Worcester put on those assassins without too much difficulty,” John said. “I don’t see this as being a long term problem.”

  “Nonsense. You were right when you said the Gods have tremendous room for improvement and we…”

  “That was easier than I thought,” Nicole said, interrupting Alt. “Oh, and your mental protections aren’t very good, either, Mr. Lorenzi.”

  “Call me John,” John said. He really needed to take the time to upgrade his mental protections. This had become ridiculous; worse, he couldn’t ever remember a group of Mystics that included multiple Telepaths able to read him. The possibilities, good and bad, made his stomach churn. “You just penetrated the surviving assassins’ mental protections, didn’t you, Nicole?”

  “Yes,” Nicole said. She preened.

  “Damn,” Alt said. “I guess I owe you an apology, Mr. Lorenzi.”

  “You might as well call me John,” John said. “I’ve found, over the years, that formality around Telepaths is a waste of time.” He had thought that with his magic available to him for the first time, he would finally be able to keep Telepaths out of his mind. His assumption turned out to be incorrect.

  “Still, why do you think we’re at all useful to you? All the Gods need to do is come up with something new and we’re hosed. I mean, if they’d sent a dozen assassins in two vehicles, we’d be dead. If Nessa, Mary and I hadn’t been out walking, we’d be dead. The attack was too close for comfort.”

  “You need to trust yourself more,” Nicole said, brightening up. “Something inside you knew the attack was coming, Alt. That was why you were outside with Nessa.”

  “Then why didn’t I just warn everyone?” Alt said, loud and angry.

  Bingo. “Relax. You’re asking too much of yourself, and feeling guilty without cause,” John said. “None of you died in the attack, and your group learned many important lessons. You, for one, need to be better in tune with your own mental capabilities. Your hunches are important.”

  “I know that,” Alt said. His face flushed. “I haven’t been doing this for years, like the rest of you.” Nicole shrunk back in her corner of the couch. “I didn’t mean to bark at you, Nicole.”

  “We’re counting on you to get better,” Nicole said. “I’ve heard Nessa and Ken talking about how John thinks they don’t have much growth potential. John was only talking about them, not the rest of us. It’s been less than two weeks since Nessa cleaned out the trash in my mind, just a little while longer for you. We’re the ones who need to improve, because we do have the room to improve.”

  “Exactly,” John said.

  “What’s your opinion of the actions of the Seven Suits?” John said, to Boise. Boise’s projection stood near the wall, watching over his creation. Atlanta flickered over to them in an instant, likely primed to pick up anything dealing with those conspirators.

  “They don’t appreciate mortals with any sort of power, abnormal or otherwise. In addition, they’re building their own power base in the world of finance, and acting as enablers to certain powerful Territorial Gods, including Dubuque, Verona and Guangzhou,” Boise said.

  “Guangzhou? He’s joined up with Verona and Dubuque?”

  “Highly unlikely,” Atlanta said. “Guangzhou is extremely wary of Western philosophies and religions.”

  “Correct,” Boise said. “I think he’s working on starting up his own faction. Only time will tell if anything comes of it.”

  “Then the Suits are calling the shots?” John said.

  “They profess an extremely disdainful attitude toward the Territorial Gods, and they’ve made the mistake of thinking they can buy us,” Atlanta said. “However, Gods are more difficult to buy than corporations, even us Territorial ones. In that regard, we’re even worse than the slimiest of politicians. The requirements of our Missions make us far more apt to change sides at the slightest provocation.”

  John licked his lips. “I’m surprised you’re willing to admit such a thing.”

  Atlanta smiled hungrily at him. “Take it as a warning on all fronts,” she said, and wandered off.

  “We’re still going to need to do something about the Suits someday,” John said. It would be nice to get his stolen bank and brokerage accounts back. With the price of gold tanking, likely due to the activities of the other Gods, he was well on his way back to being a pauper. “I don’t know what, though.”

  “I don’t know either,” Boise said, scratching himself. “I’m afraid it may already be too late for us Territorials to do anything about them. That, I fear, is the strength of the Ideological Gods.” He paused. “I’ve got one for you, Mr. Lorenzi, and it pertains to the is
sue of the Seven Suits. A goodly number, if not all, of the Territorial Gods taught as mortals. Even Atlanta, who as a Marine officer spent much of her time teaching chopper pilots. I suspect the Angelic Host chose us specifically for our teaching experience. None of us are well suited to oppose the Seven Suits. We don’t possess the right backgrounds.”

  John shook his head, unhappy to hear this likely correct bit of analysis.

  The Nessas called them all together. John continued to sit and let his chair massage his back, so Ken telekinetically picked him up and moved him and his chair over near the two Nessas. John refused to let anything annoy him right now; all of his recruits and all of the Telepaths had gotten serious for once. He recognized Nessa and Ken’s training in their Telepaths; they all wore the narrow eyed ‘lies are evil’ masks on their faces, some more than others. The Telepaths’ two bodyguards were properly deferential in this situation, but in the fight, he had caught the woman thug successfully barking orders at the Telepaths. He would have liked to witness the male thug in action, but the man had been wounded and out of the fight by the time John arrived. The Mindbound turned out to be all he had hoped for when he gave them a once-over with his spy eyes: hardnosed, argumentative and properly difficult to control.

  Despite the cocktail party aspect of the meeting, John hadn’t seen any obvious links or affinities between his group and the Telepaths. Willie showed himself to be easily flustered around strong-willed women, and had hardly said a word since Boise created the dome above them. The poor man remained too uncertain of himself and his new skills as a magician to push himself into this fray, despite the fact he had been a half-assed occultist for years, almost but not quite believing in his own magic. Dr. Horton, Atlanta’s liaison to the Indigo group, stayed as far away from the Telepaths as possible, save for a short and likely terrifying conversation with Nessa, where Nessa told her she was safe, and that if Dr. Horton wanted to talk to a Telepath, to go through her. Nessa had dealt with the Indigo before, he knew, but her interactions with them had not included Dr. Horton. The Gods mixed better, but damn their screwy natures, none of them lost the ‘we’re Gods and you’re not’ crap enough to keep from rubbing the Telepaths the wrong way. Well, save for Celebrity, who John feared he had well and truly lost to the Telepath camp.

  As the group assembled, Inventor lagging behind, trying to chat up one of the Telepath recruits, Giselle, John caught the two Nessas studying him. he semaphored to them, in his mind. Neither deigned to answer in any way.

  Instead, one of the Nessa’s stepped forward. “We’ve talked among ourselves and made a decision.”

  John opened his mouth to challenge Nessa about when the Telepaths could have had the time to talk among themselves, not having gotten together as a group since he arrived, but shut his mouth with a snap. The Telepaths had been telepathically chattering with each other during the entire soiree, he realized.

  “We’re going to continue on and visit Portland,” the other Nessa said.

  “That’s unwise,” John said. “We should stay together until we have the protection against Dubuque’s control worked out.”

  “That’s not our worry,” the first Nessa said. “I’ve already got the mind control problem covered for my group. I’m convinced we need to get to Portland before Dubuque can try anything else. We need her on our side, and quickly.”

  “Why?” John said.

  “She’s the opposition leader,” Alt said.

  “Not that I know of,” John said. He looked at the Gods, who had grouped together, all but Celebrity. None of them saw things that way either.

  “Okay, I didn’t state that right,” Alt said. John still wasn’t sure what to make of Alt’s tricks, all much quieter than Nessa and Ken’s abilities. If he had enough strength to challenge Dubuque in any fashion, John didn’t see it. “We believe Portland should be the opposition leader, and will be, if we give her the evidence of Dubuque’s activities. She’s got potential, immense potential. She hasn’t utilized it yet.”

  “She already has the information,” Dana said. “She’s in my mind right now, as glued to our little confab as a guy watching the Super Bowl.”

  “Has she been convinced to break with Dubuque?” the second Nessa asked.

  Dana frowned and thought. “No.”

  “Then we still need to visit her in person. Tell her we’re on the way,” Alt said.

  “Why don’t we invite her here, as a projection?” John said. “Dana?”

  Dana shook her head. “I’m sorry. Portland’s feeling paranoid. She’s afraid someone’s gotten to all of us.”

  John sighed. They couldn’t all go visit Portland, either. “Whose sway?”

  Dana licked her lips and turned away to look at Atlanta. “Your sway, John,” Dana said. “She thinks you’re far more powerful than you’ve let on.”

  “Oh, he is, but mind control at this level isn’t one of his tricks,” the first Nessa said. “Will she accept a visit by a group of bedraggled Telepaths and a rebellious Practical God?”

  “Yes,” Dana said.

  “Then as soon as we can acquire some transportation, we’re on our way,” Nessa said.

  “Stupid,” Atlanta said, her arms crossed across her chest. “Splitting up is real stupid.”

  “It would help if Portland could trust you, Atlanta,” Dana said.

  “That’s her problem, not mine.” Atlanta turned to John. “Do you know of some safe place where we can hide out and figure out how to balk Dubuque’s mind control? I’m carting my real body this way, and I’d like to know where to go.”

  John nodded, but the other Gods shivered in their fake bodies. “Perhaps another time on the real body business, Atlanta. I do have a place for us to go, though. I’ll direct you there.”

  “Well, that’ll teach me,” Atlanta said, unhappy but not ready to blast them to cinders. “In the meantime, I propose we follow our psychic friends from above until they get to Portland, just in case Dubuque goes after them again.”

  “We’re not psychics, we’re Telepaths,” one of the Nessas said, under her breath.

  “Great idea,” John said. Both Nessas shrugged.

  This fight and its aftermath had turned out to be the big break he had been waiting for. John just hoped they could put a real alliance together before Dubuque found another way to interfere.

  45. (Nessa)

  Nessa lay in bed a languid pool of goo, half under Ken and half asleep. Or that’s what she felt like, after their first night in the city of Portland. She would rather stay in bed the rest of the day and share some more love with Ken, but they had a luncheon appointment scheduled with the God Portland. Of all things, Portland had a flunky of hers waiting for them when they pulled into the hotel, and the flunky had given them a phone number to call. Ken had called on his cell and talked to Portland, and they had gone all formal at each other and arranged a fancy lunch meeting at a neutral location, Antonio’s Restaurant.

  Celebrity and Ken chatted. Nessa let them. Sex with Celebrity inside her made Nessa all tingly and gooey. She had predicted the opposite, suspecting the overlapping bodies trick would dilute the experience. She did have a twinge of jealousy because someone beside her made love to Ken, but she decided she was being foolish. When they merged, Nessa couldn’t tell where her thoughts ended and Celebrity’s started. Better, being one with Celebrity made Nessa feel saner. The merging did dilute her telepathy and other tricks, but also gave her a little of Celebrity’s miracle-making God tricks.

  The merging gave her no doubts about the dangers of worshippers: far more potent than speedballs, and far more addictive.

  Nessa sent.

  Celebrity sent back.

  Nessa sent.

  “Nessa, let’s talk,” Ken said, and telepathically sent.

  “Okay, you’ve got both of us now.”

  He gave Nessa a hug.

  “Not exactly what I meant,” she said, and wiggle
d in his arms, not minding where she was at all. “What do you want to talk about?”

  “This idea you and Celebrity have cooked up, where you become the God and Celebrity takes your body. I think it’s another of your crazy schemes that’s going to backfire on you,” Ken said.

  “It’s only as an experiment,” Nessa said. “I’d make a nasty God. The rest of the Gods wouldn’t know what hit them. There’s so many cute tricks…”

  “Stop,” Ken said. “This is exactly what I’m talking about. Celebrity, trading bodies would be a disaster. Nessa’s schemes always end up getting her in trouble. If you want to be a human so much, why not trade with someone besides Nessa?”

  “Because,” Celebrity said, using Nessa’s voice, “I haven’t met anyone else whose mind would survive the experience. With Nessa, it’s not even a risk. The real risk is we would end up with Nessa the God and Nessa the Telepath and no more me at all.”

  Ken frowned even more. “Which would be fine with you?”

  “Ken, I died and got resurrected as a God against my will,” Celebrity said. “I’m nothing more than a pawn in the games of hideous monsters. Using Nessa’s telepathy I measured myself up against normal human minds, and I didn’t like what I found. I’m so messed up it’s beyond belief. The world would be a far better place without me.”

  “Well, I’d miss you,” Ken said. His mind flashed on a memory of the previous night, a hot and sweaty memory.

  Men. Effective, though, as Ken’s comment did buoy Celebrity’s despair.

  “We’re not going to do the experiment today, in any event,” Nessa said. “We need to get up and get ready for this meeting with Portland. My body needs a long shower, and so will yours, Celebrity, if you split off from me before I take my shower.”

  Portland, it appeared, had completely rented out Antonio’s. Alt led the Telepaths into the restaurant, which had a large table all set up for them, with Portland and a black man of the loaned-God-power variety sitting next to her.

  They introduced themselves to each other. Melvin Terry was the man with the loaned God powers, which came from Atlanta. Everyone sat down at the table, behind white linen, crystal goblets, and way too many pieces of silverware.

  The waitstaff served food, and Portland and Melvin chit-chatted with them about mundane events while they ate lunch. Portland said she actually got hungry if she didn’t eat, and did digest the food she ate, even though she knew she couldn’t starve to death. Portland didn’t impress Nessa hardly at all. She still presented herself as a portly woman in her fifties, which if Nessa remembered Celebrity’s comments correctly meant this was her appearance before she died and got turned into a God.

  She had no idea why Alt fingered her as the leader God for their side. Alt did such things, though. So far, all his strange recruitment choices had worked out. There must be more to Portland than an ability to wiggle out from under Dubuque’s control and block Nessa’s attempts to read her mind.

  After the waitstaff cleared the desserts away except the one in front of Nessa, who was still finishing a wonderful concoction she rarely found in Alaska known of as Death By Chocolate, Alt started the formal meeting.

  “Portland, we have some evidence we would like you to look at,” he said.

  Portland pushed her coffee cup away and speared Alt with her eyes. Nessa noticed someone had subtly rearranged the room and the seating. She, Celebrity, Alt, Ken, and Phil gathered around Portland, while Melvin had moved to join the other members of the Telepath group. Even with access to Celebrity’s tricks, Nessa couldn’t tell how or when the rearrangement occurred. In fact, Nessa now suspected she couldn’t do or sense anything Portland didn’t want her to do or sense.

  Portland might not be imposing or leader-like, but she did have immense power. If Portland turned out to be an enemy, they were in big trouble.

  This pissed Nessa off. Sudden anger allowed her to penetrate the mystery: no rearrangement had happened. Instead, Portland had rearranged everyone’s perception. The complexity of the mental tricks involved to support such an illusion boggled Nessa’s mind, and for a while she worked out sight vectors in her head. Then she realized Portland hadn’t done the trick Nessa’s way. She had adjusted reality by analogy and ordered the light to follow along. Such cheating made Nessa jealous.

  “I examined your two captives,” Portland said. “They are as you said they are. I agree with Boise, though, about Dubuque’s lack of direct involvement and still hold open the possibility this could all be a misunderstanding.”

  “Thank you for the vote of confidence,” Nessa said. “Anything else you need to clear up?”

  “I’m not convinced Dubuque has worshippers.”

  “I can locate the Dave in Denver person for you,” Alt said. “Would this help?”

  “Yes, but not immediately. I’ll fly a projection over to examine him, though, if you locate him for me.”

  “He’s currently on an airplane, on his way to Los Angeles,” Alt said. “He moves around a lot.”

  “Perfect. I have a projection in Los Angeles already,” Portland said. “I’ll examine him when he arrives at the airport. He’ll never notice a thing. I do hope you’re mistaken, though, Alt.”

  Alt sighed. “If you need to examine my mind to find out if anyone has played with my memories, I’m willing to let you, ma’am.”

  Portland smiled. “No need for the ‘ma’am’ or any other formalities. By my measure, the five of you are my equals.”

  “Just in case a mistake has been made, I’m not a Telepath,” Phil said.

  “In my book you are,” Portland said. “You do use your mental talents for other than guarding your mind.”

  “I do?”

  “He does?” Nessa said. She dove into Phil’s mind through Javier’s telepathy and rummaged around again, not the easiest task in the world because of Phil’s strong mental barriers. As far as she sensed, he wasn’t one of the Telepath varieties she already knew about.

  Phil winced in pain. “Nessa, please.”

  “Bite me,” Nessa said.

  Ken sniggered.

  “His intellect and memory is augmented by mental energies on what I perceive as the Telepath bands.” Portland smiled. “Not that I know what these bands are, or what they represent.”

  “Okay, that’s unexpected,” Phil said. “If you need anything from me to aid you in making your decision, Portland, I’m game.”

  Nessa lost herself in dark thoughts. Telepath bands indeed. Portland just made this up on the spot. Phil was no more a functional Telepath than a housecat. He certainly wasn’t anything like… Oops! Nessa squashed her thought, not her secret to give out.

  “I don’t think that will be necessary,” Portland said. “Although I’m not convinced Dubuque knew his people would go so far in their attempts to stop you, I’m convinced your case about Dubuque’s enmity is airtight. For reasons I don’t understand, he has turned on you, despite the fact your group did nothing to warrant such a response. I find no evidence of any outside interference, and this isn’t a trick set up by the witch-burner or by Atlanta. If you’re willing, I’ll take your group under my protection until I can clear up this misunderstanding with Dubuque.” Or if Dubuque proves to have worshippers, in which case it’s war, Nessa continued, reading Portland’s leaky thoughts.

  “Whoa,” Alt said. “This is a bit fast for me. I’m not sure I can agree to this.”

  “I can,” Ken said. “Portland, do you have any guess about what’s really going on here?”

  “I can tell you I’ve heard nothing from Dubuque about your group, positive or negative,” Portland said. “None of you are evil doers…and trust me, this is the sort of thing I can tell. Celebrity and I have already spoken, in our way, while you were eating dinner, and I accept her explanation that the reason she’s potentially in trouble is due to her slow movement from being a Practical to an Ideological God. I find her new ideology withi
n the acceptable limits; in fact, it’s one I’m tempted to publicly support. There isn’t a one of the Gods born and raised in North America who doesn’t suspect the Angelic Host of playing tricks of one variety or another. As a group, the North American Gods are an untrusting and independent bunch of cusses.”

  “Nessa?” Ken said. “What’s your viewpoint on this? I don’t know if you realize or not, but you’re shielding as strongly as a strong Mindbound terrified by a Telepath, and I can’t read you at all right now.”

  Nessa took a sip of water. She didn’t want to answer Ken, for fear of giving too much away, which would have been a clear violation of her mother’s second rule. “Why’d you reject the others in our group, Portland?” she said.

  “My feel is you five are the ones who count.”

  “I don’t share your opinion.”

  “I realize you and I have issues,” Portland said. “While we wait for a response from Dubuque, I hope to have some time to work them out with you.”

  “I’m not going to fall under your mental sway so easily.”

  “Nor I, yours.”

  “Waiter, I would appreciate another of those desserts, please,” Nessa said.

  Portland met Nessa’s eyes and pulled at Nessa’s mind.

  Well, if Portland wants something from my mind, I’ll oblige, Nessa thought. She dropped a terror-filled episode from her past, the confrontation with Blind Tom, directly into Portland’s pull and into her mind. Portland’s chair scraped back an inch.

  “You’re hopelessly traumatized, Nessa,” Portland said, instantly taking in all Nessa sent. “I can cure you and make you whole. Mental healing is one of my specialties.”

  Nessa took Portland’s comment as an invitation to poke into Portland’s mind, which she was able to do now, because of the connection forged when Portland allowed Nessa’s memories into her mind. Before Apotheosis, Portland had indeed been a fifty-ish professional, a divorcee who had fallen away from the Catholic Church and an assistant principal at a local magnet high school, most recently in charge of the career development staff. Portland stopped Nessa’s probe with a fifteen year old memory of a dish-tossing full volume fight with her now ex-husband. Nessa echoed with one of the fights with her ex-husband.

  “Surely there’s a better way for the two of you to air out your, um, issues,” Celebrity said, wincing. Alt’s mind had gone elsewhere, Phil eased toward a decision to lose his distrust of Portland, and Ken readied for a fight.

  “I find this an adequate method,” Portland said, eyes focused on Nessa.

  “You’re indecisive,” Nessa said. “That’s what’s been bothering me about you.” She took a deep breath. “I can live with indecisiveness. I’m not always the most decisive person, either.”

  “I’m glad you’ve decided I meet your standards,” Portland said, arch. “You, on the other hand, have insufficient stick-to-it-iveness.” Her inability to rescue Uffie, for instance. “Outside of your trauma issues, your inability to properly complete projects is your largest problem. I can help you overcome this.”

  Nessa glared at Portland and didn’t respond. The exploitable gaps in Portland’s mental defenses vanished. Nessa concentrated on keeping her own mental barriers up and strong.

  “There’s little to be gained by this, both of you,” Ken said. “Trust me, we don’t want to bring the house down, now do we? What’s our next move, Portland?”

  “If you want, I can put you up in my headquarters, and…”

  Alt’s eyes opened. “We’ve got problems, folks. Miami’s on the way, fresh from a visit to Dubuque. He’s under orders to physically subdue us all and take us to Dubuque, and, ma’am, Portland, he expects your help.”

  Portland backed off from her confrontation with Nessa. “You read this in Miami’s mind?”

  “Not exactly,” Alt said. “I just know this is his plan, and how the plan came about. I don’t know how this trick of mine works.”

  “Then you are as dangerous as Dubuque appears to think you are,” Portland said.

  “My screwy insights are why I’m considered dangerous?” Alt said. His voice dropped an octave. “Now That Sucks.”

  Nessa laughed. “Here you were hoping it was something physically dangerous that had Dubuque upset, Alt. Too bad.”

  “Bite me,” Alt said.

  “Chil-dren,” Portland said. She had grown frustrated enough that her eyebrows had nearly merged to become one. “Alt, do you have any feel for how long it’s going to be before Miami arrives?”

  “An hour to an hour and a half,” Alt said. “With your permission, I’d like to have Javier contact John Lorenzi’s group. They should be able to get here before Miami shows.”

  “I’ll consider the idea,” Portland said. “But first, on the off chance this is a real threat, we need to move out of here. I think my out-of-town estate is best. I wouldn’t want it on my conscience if a fight started here inside my city.”

  Alt frowned at the ‘off chance’ comment. He had gotten too used to everyone instantly believing him, Nessa decided. Portland, though, wasn’t a believer of anything, save perhaps in the innate goodness of young people.

  “Let’s go, then,” Ken said.

  Nessa shrugged, disgusted at her own thoughts. Portland would waffle until it became too late to do anything useful.

  It’s what the Angelic Host designed Portland to do.

  Portland flew them to her estate with the ease of long practice, flying the two vehicles procured in Boise and giving ulcers to all the air traffic controllers in the vicinity. The God’s estate looked new and in obvious violation of the City of Portland’s tough zoning laws, in the middle of a farm, right next to a hilly decade-old suburb.

  Godhood hath its privileges, Nessa decided. Portland gathered the five of them in a quiet and cozy study. The comfortable room had more ceramic animals, mostly dogs, than books. A toy poodle yapped its greetings at them, went to Portland’s lap and curled up. Over forty people worked in this estate, a tiny fraction of Portland’s organization, but many of them were Portland’s top people, her Wise Shepherds. Nessa realized everyone here had mental protections equal to Portland’s, mental protections created by Portland, of course.

  “Dubuque’s not answering my hails,” Portland said. “Nor can any of my people get in contact with him by more mundane electronic means. His people are stalling. I don’t like this.”

  “So we fight,” Nessa said. Her chair was too comfortable for her mood, so she stood up and paced. She hated real fights and she didn’t have much experience with them. However, she knew she couldn’t run from something like this.

  “Not so fast,” Portland said. “I should be able to clear up this confusion with Miami when he appears. I’m certainly not helping him detain you.”

  “If he decides to shoot first and ask questions later, people are going to die, and by ‘people’ I mean us, ma’am,” Alt said leaning forward in his chair. “I have a hunch Miami could easily make such a decision.”

  “Our defenses are that crappy?” Ken said. Alt nodded. “It would have helped if you’d figured this out beforehand.”

  “Sorry,” Alt said. “I just got the insight now. Mr. Lorenzi is, unfortunately, correct in his analysis, and the newly awakened among us haven’t had a chance to master our own abilities.”

  “You will not shoot first at a God,” Portland said, with the voice of the heavens. “If you did, I would have to reconsider my position to support you.”

  “Can you protect us from being detained? Physically subdued?” Nessa said, pacing past a small table filled with ceramic poodles.

  “Not against a God with a combat fetish,” Portland said. “I have better things to do with myself than to spend my time learning to fight other Gods. You must trust in good sense and diplomacy.”

  “Portland, you’re being ridiculous,” Nessa said. “If Miami’s gone rogue, I’d probably agree with you. You might be able
to talk him down. However, in this case, he’s following Dubuque’s explicit orders, which means he’s under Dubuque’s mental control. If…”

  “Only if Alt here is correct,” Portland said. “Don’t forget the power of stupidity and error. In my experience, most if not all claims of conspiracy and evil of this nature boil down to mistakes and errors.”

  She’s too nice, and nice people finish last, Nessa thought. Even if this particular nice person did have incredible power. “We’ve got to contact John Lorenzi. He and his group can help. For one thing, Atlanta must have gotten her damned real body to them by now, and if anyone’s able to balk Miami, it’s her.”

  “Which is exactly why I don’t want you contacting them,” Portland said. “Atlanta will shoot first and ask questions later, and the last thing I want is for us to blunder into a God war. You have no conception of how bad this might be, not only for us Gods, but for every human on the planet. Besides, doing so would slap God Almighty in the face. We don’t want to do that, either.”

  “Dubuque’s ordered Miami to physically drag us back to him! He’ll kill us if we resist!” Nessa said. She stalked up to Portland and got in her face. “We have the right to defend ourselves, and in this case, the right to ask someone who’s already volunteered her services to help us defend ourselves. We’re mortal, Portland, and when we die, dammit, we’re dead. I have no desire to sit here and wait to find out if Miami can kill the lot of us with his first shot.”

  “You only think Miami might shoot first because of Alt’s intuition,” Portland said. “That’s not the same thing as being absolutely sure…”

  “You will not gamble our lives away because you don’t trust Alt,” Nessa said.

  “You will not start an idiotic apocalyptic war on a hunch something might just go bad!”

  Under stress, Portland’s mind leaked thoughts, and Nessa didn’t like what she found. “You don’t know what the hell you’re doing! You’ve never faced anything like this in your life. This isn’t some playground dispute! As, um Trotsky said…” she paused, letting Right Sock take over “‘You may not be interested in war, but war is interested in you.’ You can’t escape war by pretending it can’t happen!” Nessa’s voice rose to a shout and she waggled a finger in Portland’s face. “At least give over leadership to someone who’s been in a fight before.” Portland shook her head. “Well, then, if you’re not going to give us permission to defend ourselves, we’re going to take the permission no matter what you say or do!”

  “Crap,” Ken said.

  “Give her hell,” Phil said, which drew a glare from Ken and Alt.

  Portland didn’t respond and saved her glare for Nessa.

  Nessa took a deep breath, backed away a half step and thought over what she had just said. “I’m sorry about the last, Portland,” she said. “My threat was out of line.”

  Portland nodded. “It’s your old traumas,” she said, and stood up, arms open, to hug Nessa. The poodle dropped to the floor with a scramble of feet. “That’s where your anger comes from. You want to make sure nothing like the confrontation ever happens again. I can help.”

  Nessa hugged her back. She always had a hard time turning down a hug. So few people ever wanted to hug a homely schizzy mess like her.

  “Wait just a second, there, Portland,” Celebrity said. She rushed forward, toward the two of them. “It’s…”

  Celebrity hit a barrier Portland put up around Nessa with a clang.

  The world vanished around Nessa.

  Clouds and old memories. The smell of chocolate and sod. The wood-smoke smell of an Alaskan winter. The sound of a Russian Orthodox Church service. The scent of Nessa’s firearms collection. The memory of shooting a rogue bear who had become immune to her control. The horrors of the incident, the explosion and the confrontation.

  Portland’s desk at her old high school job. Thousands of conversations with students about their career plans. A husband. Fights with her husband. Her children who had never supported her when she fought with her husband. The messy divorce. Her children, grown up, coming back to visit, their entire childhood off limits in the family discussions because of her ex. Grandchildren as a way to provide new conversation topics.

  The danger of worship, something Portland saw because of her incredible empathy. Portland’s creation of an army of employees and volunteers, all with the task of taking the power loaned to them by Portland and doing good. Portland’s do-gooders accepting donations, telling those who donated that no matter how large the donation, everyone would get the same treatment. The lecture the do-gooders all knew how to give: the miracles of the Gods are not to make life easier, they are to do the impossible when appropriate and to help others who want to make lives easier for others. The recruitments and support of the actual miracle workers, Portland’s best of the best, her Wise Shepherds, every one of them pleasant. All new and different and directly supported by Portland’s divine willpower, Portland’s invention. She had leapt ahead of the other Gods.

  Nessa remembered her time in Eklutna. Helping the helpless. Giving them the will to fight and the will to strive. Comforting grief. Keeping the predators – mostly two-legged – away, and arranging for restitution when one slipped through. Making wife beaters understand by giving them the mental experience of being helpless and beaten, memories plucked from their victims.

  The clouds parted and Nessa stepped down to a forested hillside above a grassy meadow, busy with songbirds. Portland appeared there as well, her normal dumpy self. “Come sit by me,” Portland said, patting the ground next to her, at the edge of the meadow under the trees.

  “This is my mental refuge,” Nessa said, petulant.

  “I like this place,” Portland said. “I’m surprised at you. You abhor violence as much as I do. Based on what you were saying, I hadn’t expected this at all.”

  “I’m surprised you’re actually uncorrupted,” Nessa said. “I was beginning to suspect Dubuque had gotten to you.”

  “Dubuque has nothing on me. I too can wear masks,” Portland said. “I’d thought you were nothing more than a pawn of John Lorenzi.”

  “Never.” She relented and sat on the cool ground next to Portland. The smell of wildflowers and damp earth drifted up to her nose.

  “I understand, now,” Portland said. “I can’t ease too many of your traumas. They’re tied up in your nature. They’re what makes you an adult Telepath. Did you know that?”

  “Kinda sorta,” Nessa said. “I can’t make you more decisive, either. You know too much. As with Celebrity, you’re both way brainier than I am. I can’t keep track of your mental strands and arguments, ‘cause there are too many of them. For you, there really are too many angles, too many options.”

  “When the so-called Angelic Host made me a God, they made me smarter. Not necessarily better.”

  “You recruited Denver Dave to be one of your Wise Shepherds, but he turned you down,” Nessa said, seeing around some invisible corners. “You should trust your own judgment. If he wrote on some internet blog that he’s a Dubuque worshipper, you should believe him.”

  Portland smiled. “I recognized him as well. That’s the only reason why I’m willing to send over a projection. The number of cranks on the internet is so high they drown out any real information, and I don’t have anywhere near enough spare mental capacity to cope.”

  Nessa grunted and hugged her knees in front of her. A couple of songbirds trilled happily. “So, what are you trying to do, anyway? I can sense your mission or whatever you call it, but I don’t understand.”

  “No big secret. I’m enhancing communities,” Portland said. She held out her hand and a sparrow landed on her finger. “What’s called civil society. I’m helping people re-connect with other people, fighting the splintering off caused by modern technology. As an aside, I think the Angelic Host chose us to be Gods because of our misgivings about modern technology and mo
dern society. Thankfully, though, we don’t all share the same misgivings. Anyway, a civil society is a congeries of communities defining and enhancing a shared culture, and which become themselves a community in a larger shared culture. A community must have enough internal substance to engender cooperation without coercion and be compelling enough to engender solidarity without having to…”

  Nessa cleared her throat. The sparrow chirped in surprise and flew off to join the other sparrows in the tall grass. “Pardon me, but I don’t understand a word you’re saying,” Nessa said. “Well, I do understand communities and I think I understand solidarity, like when people get riled up about the right to vote, but I don’t understand how a God fits in, especially a Territorial God. Yah know.”

  Portland gave Nessa a motherly hug; it felt funny in Nessa’s own dream space. “Charity. Helping others. Spreading the idea of community. Making religion and faith into constructive forces, never ever negative. Setting examples. You’re right, though, it’s often difficult to send the right message. My Mission takes time, as quick fixes are always wrong. I want Dubuque’s utopia, too, but I’m willing to wait for a long time and do the change slowly, very slowly, and do the change right.”

  “So you’re doing what you did as a mortal, only bigger.” Nessa frowned and cupped her hand under Portland’s chin. “You love what you’re doing, but your actions bother you, too.”

  “I try and keep those thoughts hidden.”

  “You don’t believe in fighting, but you’ll defend yourself, and you’ve practiced defending those around you.”

  Portland blanched. “I fear for those around me. I fear the horrors I might cause if I went mad. I’m afraid that Miami knows too much about combat and I won’t know how to protect the people around me from his tricks.”

  “That’s not everything,” Nessa said. “You, like several of the other Gods, are afraid you don’t have free will.”

  “It’s more than just fear. I know that what the Angelic Host did to me compromised my free will.”

  Nessa concentrated and brought up an abstraction of Portland’s thought processes. “Here. This is the major free will block.”

  Portland gasped. “That’s my Mission! It’s the main measure of any God’s personal power,” she said. “Those bastards! If I exert my free will, I cut into my own power as a God.” She paused. “That’s what Atlanta did, when she confronted Dubuque. That’s how she resisted him. That’s what weakened her and sent her on her current path.” She shook her head. “I can’t follow her example. It wouldn’t be logical or help my cause.”

  “You might need to. Here’s how to do a little snipping of this blockage without destroying it.”

  Portland studied what Nessa showed her. “Thank you,” she said. She similarly summoned one of Nessa’s thought processes. “This is why you don’t complete your projects.”

  Nessa looked at the thought process and recognized it. “Left sock?”

  “Without pain, you become a gutless vegetable,” left sock said.

  “Intriguing mixed metaphor,” Portland said. “True, guilt and self-punishment are not necessarily bad in all cases, but they shouldn’t be so primary, shouldn’t have so much of an overshadowing effect. I would say that you are over-punishing yourself. I can reduce the relative power of this thing if you want.”

  “Okay, sure,” Nessa said.

  “Hey! I’m you,” left sock said. “You can’t do this to me.”

  “Sure I can,” Nessa said. “It’s proper punishment.”

  Her comment stopped left sock’s pending diatribe, enough for Nessa to follow Portland’s instructions on reducing Left Sock’s power over her.

  “I can’t stop you in what you want to do,” Portland said. “I’ve seen too much now.”

  “You love me.”

  “You’re much like me. I always fall in love with those who are like me.”

  “I do too.” Nessa sighed. “Love always messes people up because it’s so hard for non-Telepaths to separate love from sex. That’s why I don’t mind getting older; eventually I’ll be able to love everyone I want to without having the guys get horny and the like.” She twisted her braid in her hands. “We’re going to have to watch my problems, though. I always fight with all the parental figures in my life.”

  Portland nodded. “That’s because they never understand you.”

  “Are you sure you do?”

  “Positive,” Portland said. “I don’t agree with your opinions on everything, but I understand their validity.”

  “Okay,” Nessa said. “I certainly understand you more than I did before. Alt’s insight’s right. You are our leader. I hadn’t known I’ve been looking for one, but you are our leader.” Sometimes a leader didn’t need to be out front on horseback shouting orders. Most of the time, actually, if you came from the uterine side of the divide. Portland worked as a consensus builder. She listened and thought about what she heard. Better, she could love.

  “It isn’t right for me to lead mortals of your ilk, even if you are my peers,” Portland said. “I don’t have the telepathic connections you do with humanity, no toes in the water of your coincidence pond, and I won’t be able to make the right decisions. In many cases, you’ll have to make your own way.”

  “I’m not at all sure about the coincidence pond, but with regard to the other Gods…” Nessa smiled. “You Gods are beyond our understanding. If we tried to order you Gods around, we’d just mess things up.”

  “Miami’s coming,” Portland said. “I can’t tell you not to defend yourselves. You can’t tell me to defend you, but I will if Miami attacks. As best I can, even unto my second death.”

  “We have to contact Atlanta and John Lorenzi.”

  “Unfortunately, I’ve come to the conclusion you’re correct. No good will come of this path,” Portland said. She gave Nessa another hug. “Cough up the suggestion, Nessa. I won’t get mad.”

  “You didn’t try hard enough to contact Dubuque,” Nessa said. “Our only hope to avoid this turning into a fight is if Dubuque reins in Miami. Consider this an official hunch.”

  “If I exert my willpower to force a contact, I’ll weaken myself for any potential fight,” Portland said. “I’ll do it, though. No good will come of any of the paths we choose today.”

  “Sometimes life sucks,” Nessa said. “You just take the hits and keep on going.”

  “Hey, that’s my advice,” Portland said. “The number of times I’ve given that tidbit out…”

  Ken rubbed Nessa’s neck, and she leaned back into it. Apparently, she and Portland had frozen each other in place mid hug, for far longer than Nessa had realized.

  “Miami’s going to be here soon,” Alt said. “We’ve got to prepare.”

  Far far longer.

  “I’m going to try once more to contact Dubuque,” Portland said. Alt frowned. “Trust me, if this goes bad, it’s not going to use up much time at all.”

  Portland concentrated, radiating willpower, and lit up like a small sun. Nessa blanched at Portland’s power, clearly enough to stop Miami in his tracks. Her ‘I have better things to do with myself than to spend my time learning to fight other Gods’ comment haunted Nessa. Portland had the power to squash the lesser Gods but lacked the necessary skills, and, like Nessa, lacked the necessary mindset. She, like Nessa once did, believed in fighting only when one got backed into a corner.

  Getting her ass whupped would change her attitude, as it changed Nessa’s, but she feared the price. Such as all their lives.

  A sphere appeared in midair, showing Dubuque.

  “Impossible,” Dubuque said. Nessa saw Dubuque floating among the trees, in his white suit and surrounded by his own powered flunkies, piney mountains around him.

  “We must talk. Now,” Portland said.

  Dubuque’s flunkies looked ready for combat, but Dubuque himself didn’t radiate any martial awe at all. Instead,
he radiated his normal goodness, sweetness and light. Had they made a mistake?

  Ken sent.

  “If you’re going to be insistent about it, we can talk,” Dubuque said. “I’m in the middle of a tricky operation here, so talk fast.”

  “Fine,” Portland said. “What are you doing in Boise’s territory, anyway?”

  “Lorenzi, the spawn of Satan, is here,” Dubuque said. “I’m bringing him in for justice.”

  “I assume you cleared this with Boise?” Portland said.

  “Boise is no longer on our side,” Dubuque said. “He’s protecting this particular spawn of Satan.”

  “I don’t agree with your assessment, but we can discuss this later,” Portland said. “What I want to know is why you’re sending Miami here.”

  Dubuque sighed. “You know already about my goals for improving society. I discovered a method for identifying sinners, based not only on their actions but on their thoughts and beliefs. I passed this trick along to Miami when he came to me to surrender and join the City of God. He said he knew of two mortal sinners who had the capacity for immense destruction, and said I knew them, too. After we compared notes on them I agreed they and their similarly dangerous recruits needed to be neutralized and saved. You’re harboring these sinners, Portland. I expect you to turn all of them over to Miami.”

  “The ones you speak of are standing right beside me this instant, Dubuque, and they are not sinners, just different,” Portland said. “Innocents. We don’t have the right to, em, neutralize innocents. If you or Miami has some civil complaint about their previous actions, that’s for the courts to decide, not you or I.”

  Nessa sent to everyone.

  Portland sent back, bringing a smile to Nessa’s face. Portland wouldn’t believe her toe was in the coincidence sea until she got hit by a tidal wave, but disbelief never made anything so.

  “The courts?” Dubuque said. “We Living Saints are beyond courts. In fact, the entire United States government, at all levels, is irrelevant and an obstruction to our goodness and Godliness. The City of God will take their place in due time.”

  Nessa didn’t like his comment, not at all. She smelled corruption at work.

  “Call off Miami,” Portland said.

  “Miami isn’t my slave or my follower,” Dubuque said, radiating goodness and conciliation. “My agreement with him, the one bringing him into the City of God, calls on him to reject his worshippers and convert their worship of him into simple veneration. Save on City of God issues, such as worshippers, he bargained for and won his independence. He initiated this attempt to neutralize these two sinners, not I.”

  Ken sent. Nessa didn’t bother.

  “Veneration? Is this how you see worship, now?”

  “Never,” Dubuque said. “As I’ve stated before, it’s wrong for any of us Living Saints to be worshipped. All who wish to use me as an intermediary to God may do so. This isn’t worship, for those who use me as an intermediary worship God. Not me. This is part of my formal Mission to help others.

  “I understand this calling isn’t one all Living Saints will wish to take on. I chose this as my responsibility, my burden. If you wish to aid me, all I ask of you is to direct those mortals of yours who needs such an intermediary to seek me out. I will be open to their prayers; if you want, I’ll get my people to send you the documentation on the prayer procedures. Through God’s will, their prayers will be answered.”

  Nessa shivered. In his own convoluted way, Dubuque had admitted to worshippers. How could he imagine that being worshipped as an intermediary wasn’t worship?

  What had this done to him?

  Was this the source of her feeling of corruption?

  Anger flickered around Portland. “What you’re doing is wrong, Dubuque, no matter what words you couch it in,” Portland said. “The one you harm most by letting mortals worship you is yourself.”

  “It is not worship!” Dubuque said. “I pledge this to you. I have work to do, now, and so do you. Go in peace.” Dubuque exerted his willpower. Portland matched it, both Gods glowing brightly, and Portland’s communication sphere shattered.

  “He’s strong,” Portland said, visibly exhausted. “Strong enough to cut off my communication sphere.” She turned to Nessa. “As I feared, this cost me a great deal of power.”

  Nessa nodded. “It was necessary.” Otherwise, Portland wouldn’t believe.

  “We’ve got to hurry, folks,” Alt said. “Miami’s going to be here in just a few minutes!”

  “Can we contact Lorenzi and Atlanta now?” Nessa said.

  Portland nodded. “If Atlanta tries to stop me, I won’t have enough power to force contact,” Portland said. “I’ll try, though.”

  “We don’t have time for Atlanta,” Alt said.

  “Sure we do,” Nessa said. “Atlanta’s real body can fly really fast, at least when she’s not towing the big heavy thing she’s carrying, or trying to move a projection.”

  “Thing?” Ken asked.

  “Some sort of multi-ton object. She’s been towing it from her territory for almost thirty hours now, unless she got it to where she wanted it to go. She blocked me out ten hours ago,” Portland said. She concentrated, and shook her head. “I’m still blocked.” She half smiled. “Let me try Lorenzi instead.”

  She waved her arms and a clear glassy sphere appeared in the middle of the room, a Dana projection inside. Nessa realized Dana’s projection was wherever John Lorenzi and his gaggle of Gods were holed up, somewhere in Boise’s territory. The strange Dr. Horton other stood next to her, radiating a mixture of terror and anticipation.

  “Dana? Vanessa Binglehauser and her people wish to speak to you and those with you.”

  “Oh, hell,” Dana said, turning herself around to look at them. “This isn’t a good time, unless you and your people know of a way to zip over here in an instant. We’re pinned down. Phoenix is here, threatening us with an entire army of flying powered idiots, some of whom we think are from Dubuque.”

  “Phoenix is actually attacking you?” Portland said, aghast.

  “Well, no. Nobody’s attacking anyone yet, and if Dubuque’s here, he hasn’t shown himself,” Dana said. “So far, they’re just probing our defenses and calling on us to surrender, so we can be brought to the City of God and saved.”

  “Fuck,” Ken said. “Dana, we just learned Dubuque got to Miami somehow, and Miami’s on the way to do the same to us. This is Dubuque’s big victory push. We surrender and he wins.”

  “Crap,” Dana said. “We can’t help, pinned down like this.” She turned her head to the side. “Atlanta?”

  Atlanta’s projection walked into the glassy sphere. “Yes?”

  “Where are our real bodies?”

  “I’m not saying,” Atlanta said. “I’m frankly tired of distrust.”

  “You earned whatever distrust you perceive,” Portland said.

  Atlanta and Portland glared at each other.

  Nessa sent to everybody, including Atlanta and Dana.

  “Well, I trust you, Atlanta,” Ken said. “If you can help us, I’m inviting you in, all on my lonesome.”

  Portland pursed her lips and stepped back a pace. “You’re taking responsibility for her and her evil ways?”

  “Of course I am,” Ken said.

  “It’s true you alone didn’t brush off my offers of help,” Atlanta said. “Nessa, Alt, and, wait a second, Phil? What’s your opinion of Ken’s invitation?”

  “I think it’s necessary,” Nessa said.

  “You and I don’t understand each other at all,” Alt said. “Nor do we have the time to work out our issues.” Atlanta nodded. “But we’re in a war, even if nobody else understands, yet. We’re allies. Do as you must.”

  “Lukewarm, the both of you. Phil?”

  Phil paused for a moment and shook his head. Nessa grit her teeth at the rat bastard stiff-necked God-distrusting Mindbound
! She had known he would kick the feet out from under her someday! Dammit dammit dammit!

  “Sorry, Ken,” Atlanta said. “I can’t pledge my help.” Atlanta stepped back, out of the glassy sphere.

  “Fuck!” Ken said. “She was our best hope. This leaves us with nothing.”

  “In that case, I suggest you pray to God with all your hearts,” Dana said. “I’m sure as hell going to be praying. Given what’s going on here, Portland, unless you turn the Telepaths over to Miami, Dubuque’s going to demand you be brought in to be saved as well.” Dana stepped out of the communication sphere, which vanished.

  Portland nodded and turned, angry, glowing like a red-hot ember. She turned to Nessa and Alt. “I apologize to both of you. I just finished checking out Denver Dave. Dubuque’s successfully been pulling the wool over my eyes, to where he can convincingly lie about his worshippers to my face, the bastard. He’s more than being worshipped by a few in secret; he’s got nearly a hundred thousand worshippers, and he’s been doing his utmost to keep them out of my sight. My Mission calls. I must oppose him.” Her glow didn’t fade.

  “As I said when this started, we fight,” Nessa said. She thanked Denver Dave in spirit, knowing someone like him couldn’t hear her, and knowing he had already caused Dubuque the problems she earlier predicted.

  Portland balled her fists. “You still don’t know what you’re saying. If Miami attacks us he will utterly destroy the overall Integrity of the Gods, and most likely doom the Gods’ overall Mission of stopping national war. All the good we’ve done as Gods will most likely go away if we fight.” She frowned. “That’s the real danger of worshippers. A God addled by worshippers, and responding to their needs, will no longer heed God Almighty’s commandment against war!”

  Nessa tasted acid as her stomach clenched, hearing the truth in Portland’s words.

  Now she knew she faced death.

  46. (Atlanta)

  Dana tapped on Atlanta’s shoulder. Atlanta shook her head ‘no’ and resumed maintaining the shields around Lorenzi’s so-called safe house. Dana tapped again.

  “This is just a diversion,” Dana said.

  Some diversion. Phoenix, perhaps Dubuque as well, and over fifty of their divine-supported power-wielding flunkies of a dozen different persuasions flew around their safe house like rabid bats, threatening their capture and preventing them from leaving, all while probing their defenses. Defending this place would have been a hell of a lot easier if Atlanta had her real body here, but none of the others trusted her. Still. Her real body hovered within a short hop of Portland, at John’s request, along with its secret cargo.

  “Boise?” Boise turned from the giant plate glass window to look at Atlanta, his face a mask of intense concentration. “Can you hold these shields for a minute? Some sort of problem’s come up.”

  “I’m not sure how I’m holding them now,” Boise said. He hadn’t been in any Godly conflicts before, and although he had bountiful power to draw on, his inexperience showed.

  Atlanta took a quick scan around the busy room. Magicians, Gods, and numerous flunkies of various sorts attempted to defend the so called backwoods cabin the size of some executive’s luxury home. John had a birdbath set up next to the kitchen bar, what he called a ‘scry pool’. He directed his own probes and defenses, and those of his magician troops, with it. Few of either worked.

  “Okay, Dana, what’s going on?”

  Dana pointed. One of Portland’s communication spheres had appeared in the room.

  “You first,” Atlanta said, and walked toward the communication sphere.

  “So you’re just going to leave them hanging?” Dana said, after they stepped out of Portland’s communication sphere and it vanished. They retreated to the corner by the coat closet to talk. Velma closed her laptop and followed.

  “Give me one reason why I should bother with that bag of dicks.” The potential confrontation between Portland and Miami would give Atlanta and her allies more political ammunition, which they could use to sway hearts and minds. Getting involved appeared to be a no-win situation.

  “How about three: they’re helpless, it’s the right thing to do, and our real bodies are right on top of them.”

  Atlanta shook her head. “Boise and Lorenzi are counting on us. We don’t know what Phoenix’s and Dubuque’s goals are, Dana. They could decide to attack us at any moment!”

  “What?” Lorenzi said, hearing his name and looking up from his birdbath. “Something going on?”

  “Miami’s about to squish the Telepaths, and Portland’s convinced she won’t be able to protect them,” Dana said.

  A gross exaggeration of the situation, which Atlanta thought was Portland’s own damned fault anyway. Portland had the power and had even practiced self-defense, but she lacked self-confidence. If a fight actually started, Miami would beat her like a drum.

  “Perfect,” Lorenzi said, with an undercurrent of an evil chuckle and an ‘everything is going just like I had planned’. There were times when Atlanta doubted she had chosen the right side, such as whenever Lorenzi said word one. He took being ‘the bad guy’ way too far, in her measured opinion. “Atlanta, be ready to attack these idiots besieging us the instant Miami goes after Portland. Once the other side starts the war, we can ahem defend ourselves ahem without destroying ourselves with bad magical karma, or impacting your overall Mission.”

  For one, the damned magician had learned too much about them.

  “You can’t!” Dana said. “The Telepaths are people, too! They haven’t done anything to merit Miami’s aggression, or us sacrificing them.”

  “They’ve already had several confrontations with Miami,” Atlanta said.

  “We cleared that up already. The only reason Miami is attacking them today is because of Dubuque’s prodding,” Dana said. “You said it yourself. Miami’s months away from being ready to expand his influence outside of his territory. He’s still got too many unresolved problems there.”

  “True,” Atlanta said. She couldn’t figure why Dubuque chose to force both confrontations today. What might he get out of this?

  Ah. He thinks we will all surrender if bullied, Atlanta decided. Which meant Dubuque didn’t think anyone useful would be around to help Portland. Which meant Miami probably had some damned good weaponry with him. Which meant some sort of fight, if only a demonstration of his combat abilities, was inevitable.

  She wanted to be there, at least to learn Miami’s tricks.

  “Okay, say we do this, then what?” Atlanta said.

  “You’re thinking of helping Portland with your real bodies?” Lorenzi said.

  Atlanta nodded.

  Lorenzi chewed on his fat lip and thought. “If Miami crosses the line, will you fight him?”

  “Of course. Self-defense only, to start out with. I want his Mission in the basement, weakening him, before I do anything. However, as I said before, if a fight breaks out between Territorials, the fallout’s going to hit all the Gods, no matter how the fight turns out. I doubt Miami’s going to cross that line. Even he’s not that stupid. I’m guessing Dubuque’s bluffing. He’s backing Portland into a corner and forcing her to toe the party line.”

  “Good, good. Call the bluff. Make them back off.”

  “If I’m putting my effort in the Portland defense, I won’t be here to help you hold off Phoenix and Dubuque’s stooges. Your defenses won’t be able to hold.”

  Lorenzi smiled. “I’m not so sure. The longer they spend probing our defenses, the more I learn about them and the more ideas I have about what I and my magicians can do to them. We’re learning more about them than they’re learning about us.”

  “Well, I’ve learned enough to know that you can’t hold them off without our help.”

  “We still have Boise, who’s getting better with every second that passes. This is his territory, a huge advantage. Besides, we haven’t yet used any of our offensive tr
icks,” Lorenzi said. He rubbed his hands together and smiled.

  Why am I working with this lunatic? Atlanta asked herself. She looked at Dana, who practically bounced up and down on her heels. “If I go, you have to go as well, and you’re going as a fighter, and we’re taking Velma.”

  “Of course, Atlanta,” Velma said. She, at least, knew when the shit hit the fan, people like her risked their lives and often died.

  “Me?” Dana said, proving she did not.

  Atlanta raised an eyebrow. “What did you think you were going to be doing?”

  “Healing. Clean up.”

  Atlanta sighed. “Dana.”

  “Alright, already. What are you going to have me do?”

  “To start with, you get to move and cover the white elephant.” Atlanta appreciated the Telepaths’ name for her acquisition.

  “Jesus!”

  “You’re going to need this. Here,” Atlanta said, and made a false softball throw to Dana.

  “What the?” Dana frowned. “You just gave me your powers? Won’t this weaken you?”

  “I’ve had this trick prepped for over two weeks. Boise?”

  He turned from the window and made an identical softball motion. Dana boggled.

  “This is insane.” Dana flexed her fingers and levitated her projection by accident. “You’ve made me into the most powerful mortal on the planet. Why didn’t you do this earlier?”

  “I’m not revealing any tricks to my enemies until they’re needed,” Atlanta said, not telling Dana she thought her chief of staff was already the most powerful mortal on the planet. Dana needed the blooding to come to her full potential. Perhaps this time… “It’s not for battle, Dana. You’re going to need the power to move and hide the white elephant.”

  Atlanta had a hundred tricks and scenarios backed up as contingency plans against enemy action, most of which she hoped she would never need to use. This one… Atlanta wiggled eyebrows and forced Dana’s projection back to ground level. “Don’t get too cocky. Even with this, even after you get back to your real body, you’ll barely be more powerful than one of my projections.”

  “Are we going to tell the Telepaths?”

  “No need to bother with the obvious,” Atlanta said. “On three, to our real bodies.”

  “Do we have time for this?” Dana said. Atlanta felt the Telepaths examining Dana, Velma and her. If her new shields held, the only thing the Telepaths should be able to tell was that an unknown God had arrived nearby. That is, until Alt opened his goddamned mouth…

  “Yes,” Atlanta said. She sensed Miami about a hundred miles out, poking along subsonic. For a God with his supposed strength, he moved damned slow. She had figured out hypersonic movement before she recruited Dana, but Miami still moved in the subsonic. Apparently speed wasn’t one of his thrills.

  Dana started up the white elephant and accelerated the beast toward Portland’s home.

  “Now, into projection transport space,” Atlanta said. She and Dana created new projections and transferred their conscious minds to them, then made the transition to the overwhelming beauty of transport space, leaving Velma behind with the white elephant.

  “Where are we going?” Dana said.

  “Nowhere. I need to show you something.” Atlanta started the sense transfer, showing Dana how to duplicate all of Atlanta’s transport space-functional God-senses. Dana’s eyes open wide after Atlanta finished.

  “This is beautiful!” Dana said. “Atlanta! This place is so beautiful!” Before, Dana had only been able to sense the light below, the dark above, and the dim blue curls that marked concentrations of dense population.

  Atlanta lost herself in the beauty of the place, a place of calm before the oncoming storm. She pointed at a distant incarnadine cloud moving toward them. “Remember this place and enjoy its beauty. This place also has other uses. Notice the cloud. That’s Miami.”

  “But he’s coming here for real, isn’t he?”

  “Miami’s got a bunch of tricks involving created realities,” Atlanta said. “He’s carrying his weaponry in them. He doesn’t realize, but his reality creations disturb the projection transport space. Unless he drops his created realities, he, or any other God who uses tricks like this, can’t hide themselves. This is how I’ve been tracking him all this time.”

  “This is a huge hole in his defenses, then.”

  “Yes, it is,” Atlanta said. She allowed herself a chuckle. “Eventually, no God in their right mind will do such things. Until then, this is a hole worth exploiting.”

  “Uh huh,” Dana said. “This won’t matter when he gets here, though. You set this up just to show me how beautiful this place is, didn’t you?”

  Atlanta sighed. “Miami might try for stealth in a fight, Dana. You need to be prepared.”

  “Right,” Dana said. “Whatever you say.” Dana’s mind went vacant as she took in the beauty. “What’s up with you, anyway?”

  This time Atlanta didn’t sigh. “Being a Territorial God’s far too much work,” she said. “Hell, at one time I even had outside interests and a sense of humor. This place makes up for a lot.”

  Dana smiled. “Yes, it does.”

  “In any event, we’ve got a confrontation to prepare for,” Atlanta said. “Let’s go back to our real bodies. Why don’t you repeat my instructions back to me…”

  “…and I put everything into flying this monstrosity and into personal shielding,” Dana said, nervous. Velma eyed both of them in a mixture of horror and awe. “If you give the red signal, bring it in close and fire it off. If you give the blue signal, abandon it and join the fight. Be ready to defend me if something comes my way.”

  “Good enough,” Atlanta said and clapped Dana on the back. “Good luck.” She flew off, hugging the now harvested wheat fields below and covered with ever-changing illusions. She sensed Miami now, about twenty miles out.

  She waited, fended off devious telepathic probes, and kept herself between Miami and Portland. Luckily, neither Portland nor the Telepaths attempted to move or to approach Atlanta in person. At least they had a little sense.

  Or they were too scared to do anything.

  She wondered if Miami would listen to reason. She expected he would, once he knew about the assassination attempt on the Telepaths and the siege around Lorenzi and Boise. If he didn’t do the expected? Well, Atlanta had her charged staves and the distortion tricks, none of which she had showed to a single living or divine soul.

  Dubuque would be a big problem if he showed up. She and her allies hadn’t had the time to work up a good defense against Dubuque’s mental takeover, but they were about half way to figuring out how she, Boise and Lorenzi had managed to thwart the God. John hadn’t been happy to learn Dubuque had momentarily gotten them both. Dubuque’s mental takeover was something cunning, an attack against whatever passed for a subconscious in a God. His trick worked on mortals as well, though not at all well against Telepaths and Mindbound, an important clue. The Telepaths’ belief that Dubuque, at the time, hadn’t known he was doing his trick was a second important clue.

  She and Boise still hadn’t worked out how their subconscious minds naturally repelled Dubuque’s attack and why Gods like Phoenix and Montreal hadn’t. Nor had they figured out whether Portland had repelled Dubuque’s attack, found a way around it, or remained under his control, which fed Atlanta’s reticence to inform Portland in person about their arrival.

  Which way would Portland jump? Atlanta half expected that if Miami gave the right signal, Atlanta would have Portland on her ass, or she would watch helplessly as Portland subdued the Telepaths and bundled them off to be Dubuque’s slaves or prisoners.

  What if Dubuque came with Miami, though? They hadn’t seen or sensed Dubuque in the Lorenzi siege, only Dubuque’s troops. He could be on his way here. They had no real information regarding Dubuque’s battle abilities; he might be anything from a feeb in battle like,
alas, Boise, to someone more powerful than her. Based on personality and lack of experience, Atlanta guessed feeb, but she needed to honor Dubuque’s threat potential until proven otherwise.

  Miami passed Velma, Dana and the white elephant without even the slightest notice, meaning their protections had worked. If she wanted, Atlanta knew she could ambush Miami, attack without provocation, and destroy him before he knew what hit him.

  Instincts said a sneak attack would be bad.

  Ignore tactics, she told herself. Think strategy. Think Mission.

  She had to try to talk him out of his attack.

  When Miami got close enough to Portland’s house, too close to evade Atlanta, she made herself visible to him, hands raised, obviously non-hostile.

  “This isn’t a place to be all alone,” Miami said as he faced her a hundred feet above the quiet farmland near Portland’s home. He was dressed in his normal natty business suit, his couture perfect for a conference room battle or a night out with his best friend’s wife. “A gal like you could get hurt.” Miami hummed with power, ready for battle. Atlanta saw hostility in his eyes, the urge to kill. She had seen the look in the eyes of hundreds of soldiers in her time.

  “I’d like to pass on a warning. Dubuque’s pulling one over on you,” Atlanta said. Miami felt different to her in many ways. Exhausted by something she couldn’t put her finger on, buoyed by something else foul.

  “How so?” Miami said. She examined the foulness, but she couldn’t determine the its origin. It made her nervous, though.

  “I don’t know what story Dubuque told you, but you’re here because he wants to trick you into taking the Mission hit for whatever happens today. He pulled a fast one on Worcester as well: he used her to set up a group of assassins who failed at their attempt to kill the Telepaths.”

  The wind whipped around the two Gods as Atlanta studied Miami’s unsurprised reaction. Fuck!

  “Worcester’s a dupe,” Miami said. “She doesn’t know how good she’s got it.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Because my master didn’t order her to personally fight another God.”

  Master? Crap. “You’ll fight Portland?”

  “I will if she doesn’t agree to help me subdue the Telepaths and take them back to my master,” Miami said. “She needs to choose the winning side, or else.”

  “You mean kill, not ‘subdue’, don’t you?”

  “No, subdue,” Miami said. “Nobody’s going to die today unless…”

  “Unless what?”

  Miami hesitated. “Never you mind,” he said. Bastard. He had all the contingencies planned out as well. “I’m going to give you a bit of advice, Atlanta. Go to Dubuque. Prostrate yourself before him and beg him to be your master and make you into a proper Living Saint. He has a lot to teach, and what he teaches will give you great power.”

  “That’s what you did?”

  He nodded. “I saw the writing on the wall, and I’m the Living Saint Miami now.” Miami smiled. “No more worshippers, alas. Just veneration. Only, the power of veneration is simply awesome, enough to make up for losing the pleasure the worshippers gave me. Dubuque is deh boss.”

  Shit. That’s what buoyed Miami, and made his aura so foul. “Veneration is still worship, though,” Atlanta said, her voice reduced to a whisper. Just not as debilitating. “Still wrong. Changing the name and making it safer doesn’t get around its moral problems.”

  Lorenzi’s crap magic had been right. Dubuque had been accepting worship since the day after Apotheosis. Atlanta flashed on an image of the religious practices of the Caribbean that went well beyond normal Christianity: Santaria, blood sacrifice of animals, zombies, an image she picked up from Miami. She held back a feral snarl.

  “So you say,” Miami said. “Go to Dubuque. Let him teach you the difference. Let him show you the difference.”

  “Don’t do this, Miami,” Atlanta said. “I’m protecting Portland, whether she wants my protection or not. If you attack me, you’ll doom yourself. The Host made us Gods so that we would stop wars, not start them. If you attack, all you’ll be doing is pissing off God Almighty.” Miami frowned at her. “I’ll give you some free advice: leave. Go back to your home territory and hunker down. Let Portland and Dubuque settle their differences on their own.”

  “I don’t think so,” Miami said. His eyes narrowed. “You’re confused, Atlanta. There’s…”

  He didn’t finish his sentence. To Atlanta’s surprise, he interrupted his words with a Golden Fire attack at her, at range, a helix of Golden Fire. She parried it with ease, but as she did Miami shot a different attack at her, a bolt of White Lightning which momentarily dazzled her.

  When the dazzle lifted, she realized the reason for Miami’s slow movement. He carried sixteen hopped-up normals with him, hidden in a reality bubble. During her dazzled instant, he freed them, and they now shot off toward Portland’s lair, weapons ready.

  “God Almighty won’t do a thing, because he doesn’t exist!” Miami said, voice booming. “Only the antiquated and antiquarian Angelic Host exists, the entities who made us true Living Saints, and they will accept anything we do because that’s their Mission! All shall venerate us forever!” He shot another Golden Fire helix at her, a more potent version of his first attack. His attack penetrated her shields and minorly scorched her.

  Fuck! Now, she had to fight.

  She dropped a marker on the most promising of Miami’s hopped up normals, as she had several scenarios built around an event like this, and bent space and jumped, transporting herself to within arm’s length of Miami. She swung one of her charged staves at him, hiding it until the last possible instant. The charged staff hit and detonated, spraying little bits of the forever-venerated God across the unkempt farmland. Miami screamed, formed a shield around himself and backed off. He blasted Atlanta with another bolt of White Lightning as he retreated.

  Atlanta winced as his third attack penetrated her shields with ease and deeply scored her body, tendrils snaking toward her mind, urging her to become a nice motionless statue. She ignored the tendrils and boggled at the idea that her shields had failed so spectacularly so early in the fight. Her mouth drew back in a sneer as she blasted Miami, hitting him with her special Yellow Helix range attacks, one after the other, attempting to blast his body to goo.

  As she showed the world her own secretly designed range weaponry, her thoughts gravitated to her worst-case scenarios. This didn’t look good. No, not at all.