99 Gods: War

“There was a set of mysteries at Athens, called Thesmophoria, and one at Rome, called the mysteries of the Bona Dea, which were celebrated by married women only. Various notions prevailed as to what they did. But can there be any reasonable doubt about it? They were, I fear, systematic conspirators meetings, in which the more experienced matrons instructed the junior ones how to manage their husbands. If this was not their object, then it was to maintain the influence of the heathen clergy over the heathen ladies. Women have always been the constituents of priests where false religions prevailed, as they have, for better purposes, of the ministers of the Gospel among Christians.” – P.T. Barnum, Humbugs of the World

  “Unfortunately, vigilantism is about all we have left.”

  22. (Atlanta)

  “This is so neat,” Montreal said, looking over Boise’s unexpected creation. Montreal’s ever-cute Quebec-French accent, her luscious and sex-suffused speaking voice and indeed her very presence goaded Atlanta to engage in carnal activities she had turned away from since Apotheosis. Atlanta wondered if she would ever have the time for such again. “How did you figure out how to do this? Is it something all of us Gods can do?” The Iowa afternoon sun shone down on the four gods and their companions, and Atlanta let it warm her dark skin. The autumn warmth made her think of home. Dried stalks and weeds crunched under her feet and poofs of dust floated into the air.

  “I believe long-distance projection is something all the Territorial Gods can do, and something they should all learn to do,” Boise said. His long-distance projection even had fleas. Atlanta thought he took the ugly old white guy prophet-in-the-wilderness game of his too far.

  It did enhance his Rapture, though.

  “I’ve got to learn this long-distance projection business,” Montreal said, lust in her voice. Portland nodded, as did Atlanta. She could project herself about five miles, but hadn’t thought to try anything farther.

  Portland led them out of the long-since-harvested soybean field and to a dirt road angling them toward Dubuque’s headquarters, five miles away. She hadn’t spoken much since her arrival, but she walked with a spring in her step Atlanta hadn’t seen before. Although they all could have flown the rest of the way, they walked simply for the pleasure of the conversation. Atlanta wondered if she had stumbled into the 99 God version of the Corps’ Lance Corporal Underground.

  Atlanta’s summitry plans hadn’t fully succeeded. Convincing Boise, Montreal and Portland had been easy: all she had to do was suffer through far too many verbal jabs about her (to them) inappropriate thug removal service. She had also talked to Worcester and Akron until she was blue in her godly black face, but Akron had been opposed to the entire idea of conspiring against other Gods and Worcester, a suspected Suit supporter, had been evasive. Phoenix, although tardy as usual, had pledged to show, the only one without preconditions, and Atlanta expected him at any moment.

  They walked silently for a moment, dodging ruts and potholes in the overused dirt road. It hadn’t been up to handling the traffic Dubuque’s palace generated. “Did you get Akron’s divine banquet recipe book?” Portland asked Montreal. Montreal looked up from her smartphone, where she had been playing with her Splursh page. Atlanta couldn’t imagine a God needing a Splursh page; she considered the faddish social media site based on group AI-based biography creation disgusting and tacky. Despite the recent improvement in AI quality, nearly every other paragraph an AI created made her wince.

  Montreal nodded. “The whole idea of focusing one’s Rapture into fresh vegetables and finger food strikes me as a bit much,” Portland said, with a half-grin on her face.

  “Why? It’s just another way of making the mortals happy,” Montreal said. “You ever spend any time poor?”

  All the other white folks shook their heads.

  “I had the misfortune to do so for six months,” Montreal said. She slowed and walked with her eyes downcast, gently pushing dirt clods to the side. “It does something to your mind to put so much thought into where your next meal is coming from; I got all greedy and grasping. Antisocial. Akron’s divine food actually cures the problem. I gave some out to some of the local needy and their mood improved immediately.”

  Melvin, the young veteran Atlanta had plucked and trained to be Portland’s military advisor, nearly as gifted with divine willpower as Dana, rolled his eyes. Try a few years, Montreal, Atlanta had the urge to say. Or perhaps an entire lifetime. Then you’ll notice real changes.

  Although they didn’t touch, Atlanta noticed Melvin’s steps matched Portland’s exactly. That and the studious way the two of them ignored each other, and several unexplained periods where Melvin’s thoughts hadn’t been in Atlanta’s mind, finally clicked. Atlanta made a mental note to mention to Portland she didn’t have to bother turning off Atlanta’s sensory link with Melvin just for some simple lovemaking. It wasn’t anything Atlanta hadn’t sensed before.

  “That’s well worth considering, Montreal,” Portland said. “Perhaps I should drop in on some shelters, try it and find out if it helps.” She smiled and looked vacantly off into the distance.

  “I thought of it as a warning,” Atlanta said, kicking a loose pebble a dozen yards ahead. She had received the recipe book on one of her supposedly private email accounts she had Dr. Horton and Lara sorting for her. She had Dana with her today, leaving Dr. Horton running the shop and experimenting with her newly acquired divine healing talents, and Lara off doing her café owner job.

  “A warning?” Portland said. “Whatever of?” A sheriff patrol car slowed, down where the dirt road y-ed ahead into a paved two lane road. Atlanta projected ‘none of your business, we’re not criminals’ at the patrolman and the patrol car sped off. She had been practicing her mental tricks.

  “Consider the use of willpower on food for dastardly ends,” Atlanta said. That had been the first thing she thought of after reading Akron’s preface. “For instance, consider the idea of putting anger and the urge to do violence into milk.” She and Dana had spent a few hours weaving a sensory miracle to alert them to any such attempt at the food supply in Atlanta’s territory. Atlanta found the idea that someone could mess with her territory to be terrifying.

  “What’s the danger in a glass of milk?” Portland said.

  “I wasn’t thinking about a glass of milk, I was thinking of a milk distribution center.”

  “Oh, Atlanta,” Portland said, and raised an eyebrow at Atlanta. “Why’d you have to bring up such a thing? None of us Gods would stoop to terrorism.”

  “I have no such faith,” Atlanta said. “To tell the truth, I expect it. Someday soon.” She expected far worse, and Portland should know better. The idea that the 99 Gods brought chaos had been one of Portland’s better ideas.

  Boise snorted. Atlanta noticed his flea-possessing projection didn’t raise any dust as it walked. Must be the beta version, she noted to herself. “Which brings us to the reason we’re here,” Boise said. “We Gods, at least us territorial ones, have so many different ways we could harm the world it boggles the mind. Even if we restrict our actions to the purely good, as Dubuque does. What we could do if we turned to willful destruction terrifies me.”

  Portland shuddered. “You’re right. Although I don’t think any of us would choose to be willfully destructive, the unintended consequences of a God doing thoughtless good deeds at the behest of some worshippers who’ve addled the God’s mind could be quite severe.” Portland still had quite the bug up her ass about worshippers. Atlanta thought the worshipper problem an effect of sloppy God behavior, not a cause of it. She decided to study the issue and put it on her mental four-digit long to-do list.

  Melvin cleared his throat. “Ma’am, that’s not anywhere near as bad as a worshipper-addled God declaring a jihad. One person’s good deed is another’s terror campaign.” Melvin, a reserve officer who had served in the Middle East for three years, didn’t have the sass Dana did. Despite the grief Dana gave her, Atlan
ta thought Dana’s sass far more constructive.

  He had managed to cheer up the cheerless Portland, though. That deserved a medal all in itself.

  “Precisely,” Boise said. Portland paled, likely thinking through the complexities and social dangers of a jihad backed by one of the Territorial Gods. Atlanta suspected she would eventually get an email from Portland on the subject, outlining dozens of possible bad consequences. That one would be worth memorizing. Portland did have her uses. “Still, the Angelic Host made it perfectly clear to us that war is a great evil and beyond the pale. There are no Practical or Ideological Gods of war, and stopping wars is one of the explicit responsibilities the Host handed to us. We would have to fall very low indeed to consider jihad.”

  Us meaning the Territorial Gods.

  Someone didn’t understand the Ideological and Practical Gods, Atlanta guessed.

  “Have you been following Accra’s activities?” Montreal said, proving she had been paying attention to the conversation even as she reveled in the late-season sunshine and warmth, sunning the tops of her breasts. Dana, Melvin and Portland nodded. Atlanta and Boise shook their heads.

  “What’s Accra been doing?” Atlanta said. His activities hadn’t yet made the parts of the internet Atlanta frequented.

  “He’s been snuffing out the west African brushfire wars with a vengeance,” Montreal said. That sounded good to Atlanta. There had been wars in West Africa for decades, one after the other, each more barbaric than the previous. “I think he might have even killed more people than you and Khartoum have, Atlanta. The same sort of people, too, only his victims are primarily soldiers.”

  A private plane stuttered by overhead, misfiring on one of its engine’s cylinders. Atlanta checked if the pilot was in any trouble, and decided not. The engine would make it to the woman’s destination. She also checked whether the woman knew about the Gods below, and found no awareness in her mind. Good.

  “Like Khartoum, he’s primarily going after the officers, with a few corrupt officials thrown in for leavening,” Melvin said. “My guess is he’ll soon start in on the common soldiers who’ve committed atrocities.”

  “Don’t be so supportive,” Boise said. “I’m still worried about the problem of such blood on a God’s hands as much as I’m worried about what it does to society.”

  Back to this again… “I know you’re watching me,” Atlanta said, after several minutes of quiet walking. They reached the paved road and turned toward their target, now visible a few miles ahead. Dubuque’s headquarters occupied the spacious parking lot of an abandoned outlet mall at the corner of their paved road and US 20. It glowed to Atlanta’s senses, far too wasteful of willpower for her tastes. “Have you seen any problems yet?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  “Another debate?” Phoenix said.

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

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

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

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

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

  “I understand, and agree,” Boise said.

  Atlanta sat patiently, disinterested.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  Phoenix nodded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

  A facial expression quite out of place here.

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

  What was Dubuque doing?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  Despite a sudden urge to defend herself in some manner.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  But of what?

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

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

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

  Free will.

  Mortality.

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

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

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

  Damned annoying. Dana could be right, though, Atlanta decided. She quit pushing.

  Dubuque turned to Atlanta and Montreal. “Now that we’ve agreed on the dangers of the Seven Suits and of worshipped Gods like Miami, let’s move on to my own pet worries, worries over to the paths the two of you have chosen,” Dubuque said. “I believe they are both morally wrong and personally hazardous. Let me help you.”

  “I’m not sure what you’re talking about,” Montreal said. Her wary eyes held the same reaction Atlanta’s did. “I’m sure you’re willing to tell me, though.”

  Atlanta turned her willpower and mind to analysis. She had to figure this nonsense out, and fast. She had to.

  “Yet you cannot deny the pleasure you offer is unholy,” Dubuque said, leaning close to Montreal. “You must place strict limits on it, limits you have not as yet set.”

  The discussion had gone on for fifteen minutes, Montreal slowly beaten down by the weight of Dubuque’s arguments. During the time, Atlanta had gone over Dubuque’s words and decided that despite the fact she still sensed no active willpower in use, Dubuque indeed swayed them all against their will. Logic said so, even though she still didn’t know how. Dubuque’s sway wasn’t omnipotent; his mind control trick hadn’t been enough to sway Montreal away from her Mission to be a goddess of pleasure, but had been enough to force Montreal to negotiate.

  Atlanta couldn’t sense any control over her mind, but, again logically, no shock there. Logically, the first thing any mind controller would learn to do would be to make sure his victims didn’t notice his tricks. How could she find her way out of this mess? Could she wiggle free while under Dubuque’s control? She feared not.

  Was her fear part of the control, though, or was it logic?

  Regardless, she neither liked nor wanted anyone to control her, in any form. She had to oppose the control if she wanted to remain herself. Such control offended her.

  “You’ve given me a lot of possible limits, too many in my book,” Montreal said. Still wary, but not hostile. “I’m not you, nor am I your slave. I do value your wise opinion, though. So tell me, what limits are most important to you?”

  “Well, I have already convinced you that drug use among you and your followers must be stopped,” Dubuque said. The convincing had come early. Atlanta guessed Montreal had already been wavering on the issue. “Adultery, then, must be the chief limit.”

  Dubuque’s arguments had exposed a typical man-of-God’s distaste for the temptations of the modern world. Sins, sins, sins. Lust in the heart. Give your life over to Jesus. She had heard it all before, far too many times, from men of God from all points on the political spectrum. Escape from this nonsense had been one of the reasons she had joined the Marines. These issues were far too petty to be spending so much time worrying about, or so she thought.

  “All sex out of wedlock? Forget it,” Montreal said. Montreal’s intransigence gave Atlanta hope.

  Dubuque sighed. “Adultery then as the breaking of one’s marriage vows. I am willing to consider the issue of sex outside of marriage as a topic for later discussion.” Emotionally, the munificence of Dubuque’s patience and willingness to compromise awed Atlanta. Logically, she realized Dubuque hadn’t
given up a thing.

  Atlanta slowly melted into the white floor, metaphorically, each further bit of frustration increasing her anger.

  This had to stop. She let herself fall into the pilot’s checklist: if one thing doesn’t work, try something else, and keep trying things until something works. After many ‘something else’s’, Atlanta, against her normal paranoid instincts, decided to open herself up to Dana’s loaned willpower. It flowed into Atlanta like a tide, and to her surprise Dana’s willpower tide freed Atlanta’s mind from Dubuque’s subtle sway, enhancing her self-awareness.

  No, she hadn’t fought off Dubuque’s trick. Instead, she had already fallen. Dubuque had gigged her Integrity and Rapture quite nicely. He didn’t need to argue Atlanta out of following her chosen path. Mere window dressing. Dubuque already had her where it counted, her Mission. Right now, she couldn’t kill a flea. The words would be a formality, to lock Dubuque’s message into Atlanta’s Integrity so Atlanta couldn’t wiggle out later.

  Dubuque had attacked her, and she had lost. Hot anger built inside, anger at herself for allowing this to happen. Atlanta looked at her arms in shock – they had gone back to their native brown. To a nice slave brown, literally whitened by Dubuque’s stark white gaze.

  Livid anger rushed through Atlanta, and she willed her skin back to the jet black she preferred as a statement of her identity. Dubuque’s gaze flickered over to her, puzzled.

  Dana’s willpower flowed out of Atlanta, and Atlanta’s arms faded to brown. Dubuque returned to his discussion with Montreal.

  She couldn’t defeat Dubuque this way. She and Dana didn’t have the strength.

  “For those who are married, I can limit myself to the enhancement of their pleasure only with their marriage partners,” Montreal said. Dubuque nodded.

  To her consternation, Atlanta found she agreed with Dubuque.

  Damnation! I’ve got to find a way to fight this on my own, Atlanta told herself.

  “Next, you need to admit it’s deeply wrong to enhance in any way the pleasure of women with women and men with men,” Dubuque said. “It may not be our right to forbid such things, but we have no call to encourage it.”

  Montreal licked her lips and studied her feet. “I don’t know. This isn’t…”

  “Listen to the word of God,” Dubuque said, his Rapture filling his voice. “You know in your heart those physical acts are wrong. The City of God cannot be founded on such wrong acts or on the mindless tolerance of the so-called victimless crimes. We must use our moral suasion to stop them, and even if you disagree, at least you mustn’t use your divine willpower to enhance such pleasure. You must see this. Tell me, Montreal.”

  “Yes,” Montreal said, rubbing her hands together. “You’re right. I do see this. I’ll do as you ask.”

  Atlanta clenched her fists. Montreal’s strength dwarfed hers, but when Dubuque pushed, the sex goddess caved. When Dubuque finally turned his eyes to her, Atlanta knew she would quickly cave, or lose her Integrity as well.

  The weight of futility crushed down on Atlanta, paralyzing her. She had lost, and in her gut, to her annoyance, her loss was proper.

  She had never imagined she would fall so soon. Her own accomplishments had fooled her and lulled her into a false sense of security. Her hands clenched in anger, Dana wincing and moaning as Atlanta squeezed Dana’s arm. “God, deliver me from this madness,” Dana said, whispering an actual prayer.

  Dana’s prayer wouldn’t work, Atlanta knew. Their creators had given them the power to do miracles in God’s name. Which meant they couldn’t pray to God for what they already had.

  They could pray to God for what they lacked, though.

  “If you must pray, pray for strength,” Atlanta said to Dana, with a whisper. “The will to be yourself.” Montreal, still speaking with Dubuque, agreed to give up on her enhancement of sex toy use, her surrender almost complete. Montreal’s expression grew vacant, matching the stark whiteness of the room. Dana shook her head, not understanding.

  Atlanta decided a little prayer wouldn’t hurt her, either. ‘God’, Atlanta prayed. ‘Give me the strength to overcome Dubuque’s attack. Give me the strength to use the power those who created me gave me to use. Give me the strength to will my own destiny.’

  By doing so you will harm yourself, her own Angel, the one named Weeping for Cordoba, said in her mind. There is no attack. His strength gives him the right of this. Thus you were made.

  My strength gives me the right to refuse him, Atlanta sent back. She smiled, remembering Dubuque’s earlier words. Let me be a martyr to the greater good.

  So be it.

  Atlanta’s arms became jet black again. The world around her subtly altered, as she now sensed Dubuque’s Mission-guided willpower at work, greatly enhancing his charisma.

  To her, Dubuque’s eyes had now become white holes in reality, burning terrifying power.

  “Atlanta,” Dubuque said, turning to her. “It’s time for us to talk.”

  “Speak, then,” Atlanta said. This time her arms remained jet black.

  “It’s time for you to stop solving problems by violence,” Dubuque said. “It’s wrong.”

  Atlanta’s new strength rattled around inside her, a new form of fierce awareness of herself and her Mission. Self-belief.

  Dubuque’s words no longer swayed her.

  The new strength had a cost. By focusing her willpower into, well, her willpower, it wasn’t available for other uses.

  “Dubuque,” Atlanta said. “Release us from this mental attack of yours. Then we can talk.”

  Dubuque frowned. “Attack? I’m doing nothing but talking, Atlanta.”

  Atlanta shook her head. “No more coercion. Win us over fairly, by logic, or win us over not at all.”

  Portland’s, Montreal’s and Phoenix’s eyes turned to Atlanta. Montreal’s and Phoenix’s eyes became white holes in reality as well. Atlanta’s stomach churned as her Rapture plummeted. Bees buzzed in her head. White tendrils of white room crept up her legs. Invisible fingers tried to peel her divine willpower off her personal will.

  Tried and failed.

  Only she was able to sense Dubuque’s actions. Only she had the ability to thwart them.

  Dubuque sighed. “There is no coercion here. Atlanta, this is for your own good.”

  “I’ll decide what’s for my own good or not, and I won’t allow myself to be coerced into anything.” Her statement rippled through her Mission, and through Dana, now able to struggle against the subtle willpower trick that bound her.

  “I’m saddened your warrior spirit sees enemies here, instead of friends,” Dubuque said. He raised his white and holy hands wide. “Atlanta, your actions are leading you down a road no Living Saint should follow, leading you to your self-destruction. I can help you, though, and save you! Give up your campaign of terror. Give up on your so-called justifiable removal of criminals from society. All four of us agree: your violence demeans all of us. God Almighty put us Living Saints here to stop war and violence! Your saintly violence is turning you into a monster.”

  Atlanta’s lips narrowed. “I’ll negotiate with you, Dubuque, but only if you stop trying to coerce me.” She gave her voice the boom of thunder, the wrath of God. “Only then.”

  “I am negotiating,” Dubuque said. The passion of his old mortal war-protester spirit flowed freely now. “Your ceaseless violence has already changed you. It’s twisted your mind and made this discussion into a confrontation.”

  “Please, Atlanta, let’s discuss this as Dubuque and Montreal did,” Portland said. “Your and Dana’s fears are unwarranted. I’m fully in agreement with Dubuque’s point, and I certainly haven’t been coerced into agreement. I’ve talked to you about this several times before, remember?”

  Atlanta nodded agreement and turned back to Dubuque.

  “Let us help,” Dubuque said. Pleading. His coercion beat on her mind like a hammer.


  “Dubuque, you’re the one who made this into a confrontation with your mind control,” Atlanta said, leaning forward. “You want to talk about my Mission? Fine. But you have to stop trying to take over my mind first!”

  Dubuque turned to Portland, Phoenix and Montreal. “Can you talk some sense into her? Get her to talk this over rationally?”

  “There’s no coercion here,” Portland said, puzzled. “We’re all here to help you, Atlanta.”

  “…here to help you, Atlanta,” echoed Phoenix and Montreal.

  Dana slumped over and vomited her breakfast at her feet.

  Portland’s face turned stony, and she flickered a suspicious glance at Dubuque. Only Melvin, among the others, even noticed.

  Atlanta fought back panic. Phoenix and Montreal’s echoed statements had stripped something off her, a piece of her Godhood holding her connection to the outside world and her territory. Her mind now whirled, unceasing, Dubuque’s stark white audience chamber twisting into all her senses. She focused more of her willpower on her free will, and as a side effect of her focus, her thoughts slowed to pre-Godhood speed, on but a single thought track. Her panic abated, though.

  “Forget it,” Atlanta said, angry and firm. “I refuse to bow to your will.” That wouldn’t be enough. She needed to buoy her Mission. “Instead, Dubuque, I pledge to free those who’ve fallen under your control.”

  Beside her, Dana escaped Dubuque’s hold, freed by Atlanta’s pledge.

  “You refuse our help? My help?” Dubuque said. Pained.

  “Coercive mind control is not help,” Atlanta said. “It’s an attack. It’s a form of violence, which you say you oppose.”

  Dubuque’s pained expression turned to anger. “You leave me no choice, Atlanta,” he said. “To oppose me on this is an open proclamation of enmity, placing yourself in league with the other side, those who oppose the will of God Almighty. If you refuse my arguments, you must be opposed.” Atlanta’s Integrity shattered, to fall dead and powerless at her feet. She wavered, longing for her lost Integrity. If she surrendered to Dubuque, she …

  “No! This is wrong!” Dana said. Atlanta steadied. Portland’s willpower gathered in storm as she glanced back and forth between Dubuque and Atlanta. She, however, did not act.

  Atlanta finally found the way forward, understanding what Dubuque intended. What the Angelic Host feared.

  This was war.

  She knew she had other ways to fulfill her Mission besides Integrity. She would rebuild her Integrity, but only outside of the range of Dubuque’s gaze.

  Here, she had to attack.

  With words, the chosen battlefield. Words and Mission.

  “I formally declare my opposition to your tyranny of the mind, Dubuque,” Atlanta said. The statement itself buoyed her. Dubuque’s stark white audience chamber lost its scifi radiance, revealed now as the flat off-white dingy meeting space it was. “Any utopia you build using your foul divine tricks will be little more than illusion, a Hell on Earth, even if you name it the City of God.”

  Dubuque rocked back as if slapped. Phoenix and Montreal’s eyes returned to normal, and Atlanta sensed she had shaken Dubuque’s Rapture. She would love to stomp on his Integrity, but now free of Dubuque’s control she realized Dubuque’s Integrity wasn’t his strength, and what little he had was impregnable.

  “I can’t believe a Living Saint would say such a thing!” Dubuque said. “You’re turning yourself into nothing more than one of the four horsemen of the apocalypse, an embodiment of war instead of a Territorial savior. The common good requires you to be stopped and fixed. We must!”

  She had to continue attacking, or his control would insinuate itself back into her Mission and mind. “Slavemaster,” Atlanta said. Again, she rocked his Rapture. “False Prophet!”

  “Antichrist! Demon!” Dubuque said. Atlanta’s own Rapture fell away.

  “False God,” Atlanta said, sneering back.

  Dubuque’s face flushed. “Attend me,” he said, his voice overcome by anger. He raised his arms. Phoenix and Montreal stood. Portland followed, an instant later, silently mouthing the words ‘Trust Me’, which Atlanta ignored. “Let us gather them into our arms and heal their delusions…”

  He said ‘heal’, but only one thing would come from this, a physical fight. A fight she couldn’t win, not with so much of her willpower devoted to keeping her mind free from Dubuque’s coercion. Not against four other Territorial Gods.

  Besides, she had shaken Dubuque’s Rapture as much as she could for the moment, and she had at least planted the seed of revolt into the minds of the other Territorials.

  Atlanta reacted much faster than Portland, Phoenix, Montreal and Dubuque. She grabbed Dana, pushed down, and blasted open the dirty white walls of Dubuque’s audience chamber, melting them back to the unreality they came from as she and Dana passed, letting in the sun and the blue sky to cleanse the foulness out of the place.

  It seemed to be an appropriate thing to do.

  They broke the sound barrier less than a hundred feet above the ground.

  23. (John)

  John’s magical area alarms went off, waking him from his early slumber. Before he could roll out of bed and put on his kitty-cat slippers, the front of his house exploded, indenting his bedroom shield and knocking him off his feet. Reflexively, as he searched for Reed and didn’t find him, he grabbed his bedroom shield and flew up and out, leaving behind a hole in the ceiling and in the unused storage room the next floor up, and a hole in the roof above, covering his remaining magical protections with plaster dust and other debris. Four more explosions followed him as he rose, and as he got his bearings, he focused on his neighborhood.

  There. Eight attackers. Should he just run? Scenarios rattled through his mind, and noting that his house wasn’t engulfed in flames, despite the bright flashes and loud bangs of the explosions, he decided on something more aggressive. Muttering words that morally bothered his subconscious, he made it appear as if he was still inside the house, casting aggressive fire magics at his opponents. Only one of the fire magics connected with any of the eight, who dropped to the ground and rolled, attempting to extinguish the flames. He would live. One of the attackers signaled the others, and they all opened fire on his old house with automatic weapons, and between the weapons fire and his flame attacks seemingly emanating from the house, his old home finally caught fire. A moment later the city gas inside blew, demolishing the house down to basement level, and setting three nearby houses on fire.

  John muttered another spell, and willed his magic out, seeking. No willpower. No abnormal anythings. “This damned rumpus is going to attract far too much attention,” he said, swallowing curses he would rather never say or even think. He landed high on a tree, a half block away, and used his magic to anchor him to an unsteady branch. He followed the attackers with his magic as they rushed the remains of his house, weapons ready.

  They thought he might survive the gunfire and an explosion? John snorted, glad to be overestimated for once. He provided the thugs with illusory charred remains, and they dutifully took pictures before they fled.

  Woozy from something unfamiliar, he muttered one more spell, sieving through the mind of the burned and more vulnerable attacker for information. Who sent you? Martin Davis, the leader of my brotherhood, the American Zion Triumphant. Why were you sent? The Continuous Patriot Revolution website listed Lorenzi as Living Saint Dubuque’s number one enemy. Our goal was to capture him, doing the Living Saint a favor he won’t be able to ignore. We want in, into the City of God. How did you find Lorenzi? We didn’t, our intelligence-gathering brethren did, using electronic surveillance techniques involving hacked urban cameras and other tricks I know nothing of. John dropped the spell, and took a deep breath.

  Kendrick had been right, John thought. If I hadn’t regained my magic, these thugs would have captured me.

  He willed his magic to fly h
im away, but the world spun around his head, faster, and he found himself on the ground, in someone’s garden, a pumpkin patch yet unpicked. Thick smelly smoke curled along the ground. Sirens wailed and police and fire-truck lights flashed nearby; he lay splayed on the ground only five houses away from the remains of his former house. The firefighters sprayed the nearby houses, not the remains of his.

  “I’m magically exhausted,” John said, trying and failing to figure out how much time had passed since he tried to fly away from the tree. He crawled, bruised, out of the pumpkin patch and into the darkness, catching his paisley nightie on the pumpkin vines and tree branches and leaving bits of fabric behind. “Well, at least Reed stepped out tonight to dip his wick.” Had the attackers even known about Reed?

  He needed a safe harbor, and this was no longer the place.

  John ran up to his Toyota Matrix that Reed had borrowed for the night and banged on the passenger side window. Reed, wide-eyed and terrified, popped the door and John climbed in. “Thanks,” John said. Reed turned the car and fled.

  “I got here as fast as I could after I felt the attack on you,” Reed said. He smelled of, well, John’s mind didn’t want to go there. Carousing. Drugs. Whatever.

  “I’m steamed. I’m very steamed. If you’d been home, you’d be dead,” John said.

  “I would have picked up their emotions as they approached,” Reed said. “I think.”

  “I’m not up to protecting you, at least as of yet. I’ve got to get better with this crap. I tire too easily, and I know why.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I’m a bloody inefficient amateur magician!” John said, his voice low and angry. “I need more practice.” He sighed. “And if we keep having crap like this happen, it’s going to run me out of simoleons.”

  Reed stopped at a corner, five blocks from his former home. He turned, looked over at John, and winced. “We need to get you some clothes.”

  “And something for my bare feet. Then we’re going to visit my Indiana friends.”

  “If you’re a magician now, we don’t want you here,” Jurgen said. He was the leader of the Indiana branch of the Indigo, and John was glad to get hold of him at this early hour of the morning. John wasn’t sure whether to hold Reed’s smartphone to his ear or hold it in front of him so he could watch the screen as he talked. “Hell. Attacked in your own home? How did they even find you?”

  “Supposedly, electronic detective work,” John said. “I’m not sure what they believed they did was duck soup. My guess is they had a little surreptitious help from one of the 99.”

  Jurgen growled. “You still can’t come here. You’re too dangerous for us.”

  Well, there went this safe harbor possibility. John shook his head, disgusted. “You’re right that you’re in danger, but it’s not from me. You’re in enemy God territory, with Akron on one side and Dubuque on the other.”

  “We know that.”

  “I think you need to leave. Go hide under Atlanta, if you’ve made any progress there. If not, somewhere on the west coast.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding,” Jurgen said. “I’m not trusting that goddamned commie.”

  “You’ll head south, then?”

  “Uh huh,” Jurgen said. “Epharis gave us fair warning that we needed to move, and the attack on you convinced me that the time is now.”

  “Good.”

  John handed Reed’s phone back to him, so he could end the call. He put his head in his hands to think. The new clothes Reed had found for him scratched, too tight on his portly frame.

  “Where to?” Reed said. “Are we going to drive, or fly?”

  “Drive. I’ve got a safehouse in Atlanta, not a good one,” John said. “I’m also going to activate one in Little Rock and one in Charleston, and I’ve got a small organization in Charleston to activate. After that, I think I’m going to train up some magicians.” The idea of training up magicians bothered him, but he didn’t see any choice in the matter. He couldn’t do this alone, and if he couldn’t find allies, he would have to make them. His rationalizations didn’t sooth his moral disgust. “We’re going to need real money. Let’s get out of here, and as soon as the cocks crow and the banks open I’ll get us some cash.”

  “Wait. A bank? Why don’t you use an ATM?”

  John sighed and closed his eyes. “What’s an ATM?”

  24. (Atlanta)

  “Can’t we go farther?” Dana said. The icy air flew around them still as they slowed, on their way back to ground level.

  “I’m exhausted,” Atlanta said. She picked out a cheap motel in the village of Sabula, along the Mississippi, and decided the place would be a good spot to rest. “Freeing myself from Dubuque’s coercion took a lot out of me. Going farther would leave me more vulnerable. Leave both of us more vulnerable.” They landed.

  Dana paid for a room with cash and collapsed on the hard motel bed, wet eyed. Atlanta looked into Dana’s mind for a moment to make sure Dana’s ego hadn’t collapsed. It hadn’t. Atlanta paced. Normally, she would go medieval on Dana for showing any such weakness, but Atlanta wouldn’t mind a mother figure to cry on right about now, herself. Dubuque’s unexpected attack had come with a very high pucker factor, leaving her damn little willpower left to pull on. If the damned Suits showed up now, they would flatten her and Dana like a Georgia road-roller. She and Dana would need to run.

  If Dubuque appeared anywhere in Atlanta’s sense range, she would also run. She would run until Dubuque gave up the chase or her willpower gave out. Atlanta tried to catalog what Dubuque had done to her Mission and found she couldn’t separate it from the effects of her exhaustion. She gave up in disgust and steamed.

  She thought being a God meant she wouldn’t have to take crap like this anymore. She didn’t like retreating. The world shouldn’t work like that for a Territorial God. Humiliating.

  “What are you going to do?” Dana said, a few minutes later.

  Atlanta stopped her pacing and sat down on the bed beside Dana. “That’s ‘we’, Dana.”

  “My power comes from Portland, and she’s turned against us,” Dana said. “You need to get rid of me. I’m a weakness, a spy.”

  Atlanta stroked Dana’s hair. “Melvin’s still mine, and Portland hasn’t dropped you,” she said. “Portland neither turned against us nor is allied with Dubuque.”

  “She sure seemed to.”

  “She’s squishy,” Atlanta said. “She’s been iffy about me from the first time we met, and the only thing she gave up was leadership on the issues we brought to Dubuque. Any time Dubuque presses her, she’s just going to squish out in a different direction. She’ll do our cause more help inside Dubuque’s tent causing friction with her endless complications than she’d do with us.”

  “Atlanta,” Dana said. “No one deserves to be enslaved. I’m not sure how we lucked out of this disaster.”

  “I don’t think Portland’s enslaved, and we didn’t luck out. We broke Dubuque’s coercion because we’re better at this than the others,” Atlanta said. At least nastier. “You’re right, though. He almost got us.” She hid a bad case of nerves behind her falsely confident voice.

  “I don’t feel safe here.”

  “Good,” Atlanta said, her lessons as a blooded Marine aviator returning full force. “You’re going to need to learn how to not feel safe anywhere.” She wanted to go out and let loose her temper. Find some gang-dominated place and kill the lot of them. Fill the streets with blood.

  “So you’re not hiding the fact that we lost?”

  Atlanta snorted. “We didn’t lose.” She watched Dana’s mind puzzle through her pronouncement. “We didn’t win, either. We did quite well by surviving Dubuque’s sneak attack. In addition, we also exposed Dubuque’s mind-control, lessened his Mission and whipped his Rapture good.” At a large cost to her own Mission, as Weeping for Cordoba had predicted, which she left unstated. “W
e live, uncontrolled, to fight another day.”

  “You’re talking like this is some kind of war? Aren’t you going against God’s commandment?”

  “What the fuck is this if this isn’t war?” Atlanta said. “Dubuque started it, dammit.”

  Dana grunted, not buying Atlanta’s argument.

  “He’s lying to himself if he thinks he can coerce this City of God utopia of his into existence,” Atlanta said. “Something inside him knows he’s lying. That’s his weakness, his own fucking conscience. That’s why I could mess up his Mission with my words.”

  “And your own conscience isn’t a weakness?”

  “Fuck,” Atlanta said. She didn’t want to think about that. There had to be a way to fight off Dubuque’s damned ability to coerce the other Gods. If not, they were doomed.

  Dana shivered again. “I’m not going to survive this,” Dana said. “Despite your training, I didn’t do squat in the confrontation. I didn’t do anything useful in the fight against the Suits. I’ve never even been in a fight before the Suits grabbed me. What am I going to do? How can I help you at all?”

  “The more experience you get, the better you’ll be,” Atlanta said. She groped for something positive to say. “After you started praying, I decided it wouldn’t hurt to do so myself. I got an answer. Did you get anything?”

  “What? No,” Dana said. She twisted around to look Atlanta in the eyes. “I don’t understand. What’re you saying?”

  “When I prayed to God for strength, I got an answer, in words, from one of my creators. One of the Angelic Host, if we must use the term. He told me what I prayed for would hurt me if I got it. I asked him to do it anyway and I got the necessary strength.”

  Dana didn’t comment, thinking. “They’re not on Dubuque’s side,” she said, a minute later.

  “On the real,” Atlanta said, a low murmur. “They’re also not opposed to me. I couldn’t tell if they support me or whether they’re neutral. They’re involved, though.”

  “Huh.” Dana chewed her lip. “So what are we going to do, Atlanta?” she said. “In specific.”

  “You have an idea?”

  “Uh huh. Dubuque’s right about the effects of violence on you. You might want to think about giving up being a vigilante.”

  Atlanta examined Dana with her willpower, looking for Dubuque’s coercion at work. She found nothing. “Why did you offer your suggestion?”

  “Well, your vigilantism bothered your divine allies before they encountered Dubuque,” Dana said. She tensed a little, recognizing her shaky ground.

  “Unfortunately, vigilantism is about all we have left,” Atlanta said. “Dubuque took my allies from me. If I get more allies he’ll take them away again.” She turned away to stare at the stain from a swatted mosquito on the wall.

  Dana untangled herself from Atlanta and settled on her stomach, head cocked up to meet Atlanta’s eyes. “What’s the point of what we’re doing? How in the hell does vigilantism get us anywhere?”

  “Perhaps nowhere.” Atlanta looked down at Dana. “Dana, we’re going to be on the defensive. We don’t have any choice. This won’t be pretty, either. Dubuque managed to pin the ‘enemy’ label on me when he called me out. There’s no reason for me to hold back any more for fear of Godly disapproval. Their disapproval’s maxed out now.”

  “Shit,” Dana said. Atlanta waited Dana out. A minute later, Dana spoke the obvious. “I’m not going to be able to stand this. You’re going to lose me, too.”

  “I’m going to need you more than ever. Boise’s right when he intimated that my chosen path is addictive. I need someone nearby to give me grief about what I’m doing, or I will become the monster the others fear.”

  Dana closed her eyes. “Why should I do something this stupid? You’re going to kill me some day for giving you too much grief.”

  “You’ll do the job because you know you can do good by keeping me from going overboard,” Atlanta said. Dana buried her head in her hands and moaned. Yes, Dana would stay by her side.

  “So what more are you planning on doing?” Dana said, several long minutes later. She meant ‘more evil’. Atlanta smiled through clenched teeth, visions of blood and violence in her mind.

  “Unless Dubuque backs down, he’ll go after me in my territory, both directly and indirectly. I predict he or his flunkies are going to lean on people in my territory to break with me. I’m going to need to make examples of those who betray me. I’m going to need to lean on people in my territory with threats of the same.”

  “You’re talking killing innocents, people who’ve done nothing more than change their allegiance.”

  “Yes, I am,” Atlanta said. “As I said, this won’t be pretty.”

  “You willing to listen to a suggestion?” Dana said.

  “Of course.” Atlanta found Dana’s sudden lack of sass disturbing. The fight had sucked the sass right out of her.

  “Create a few more hardcase Supported like Melvin and give them what it takes to do the vigilante work.”

  Atlanta smiled as she worked out the many levels of Dana’s suggestion, and her use of the term ‘Supported’. Jan and the Indigo had gotten to Dana, a good thing. “Interesting. If I did that, I wouldn’t be expanding my evil, in your terms, just changing its focus from thugs who need killing to fools who need intimidating. I’d also be setting up these new people of yours as targets, taking some of the danger off of ourselves. I’d also be putting together an organization of divinely powered, which you’ve suggested several times before and I turned down as an unnecessary distraction.”

  “Uh huh,” Dana said. “So?”

  “This time, I agree with you,” Atlanta said. “We’ll need to warn the recruits that it’s suicidal. I’m sure I’ll still be able to find recruits, though.”

  “Atlanta?” Dana said. “Do you see any way out of this, ever? Or is the best we can hope for to hold on until the tide runs too high and we get swamped?”

  “Our situation is nowhere near that bleak,” she said. Ideas by the dozen ran through her head. “Dubuque’s got big dreams, but, at least to start with, he’s out of his league. As a mortal, he was an anti-war protester and part-time bookkeeper. He’s still quite undisciplined, haring off in quite a few different directions: media celebrity, political gadfly, and now preacher. We’ve got time to organize against him. Don’t forget that someone still might be able to make him see reason or convince him he’ll face more dangerous enemies than the two of us.”

  “We can’t do this by ourselves,” Dana said.

  “Uh huh. We need to get us some powered allies. Practical Gods, Ideological Gods, and mortals. One possibility is that John Lorenzi person you ran into.”

  “He’s pro-Dubuque.”

  Atlanta shook her head. “Not according to Phoenix. He came to Dubuque to join up, but he and Dubuque fought. Dubuque told Phoenix that Lorenzi was evil, in league with the devil, but I’m not so sure any more. My guess is Dubuque tried to coerce him and failed.”

  “Okay. He’s one. Any other ideas?”

  “Yes, those two powerful mortals we spotted, the ones who are probably Telepaths. I’m not sure what they are or what they’re doing, but they’re nearby now, poking around Dubuque’s territory. I can feel them from here, and they’re not Dubuque pawns.”

  “They’re in grave danger if they’re here,” Dana said.

  “Perhaps. I’m not sure of their strengths and weaknesses. I think we should stay away from them for the moment. Watch them. Remember, my idea about new allies is for the long term, not short term. First, we need to get ourselves straightened out and train up the vigilante squad.”

  “Dammit, Atlanta, we should at least warn them of the danger they’re in,” Dana said. “He could recruit them!”

  Atlanta sighed. “You want us to go now?”

  “Yes, now,” Dana said. “I’ll fly us.”

  Atlanta ra
ised an eyebrow. “You’ve been doing some practicing on your own, haven’t you?”

  “I had incentive, an interest in not falling from sixty thousand feet to my death.”

  “Well, my conscience has spoken,” Atlanta said. If she didn’t listen to Dana occasionally, she would drive Dana away. “Let’s go.”

  25. (Dave)

  Dave sipped a caffeine-free diet cola and watched the rain drip down Mirabelle’s living room windows. “I found Diana and talked to her.”

  “So, did she get you in contact with Boise?” Mirabelle said.

  “No. Not exactly.”

  “I’m not surprised,” Steve said. “If contacting the Gods was straightforward, they wouldn’t be able to get you to sell your soul for the cure.”

  Mirabelle glowered. “What did Diana say?”

  “She spent forever confusing me with obtuse comments, but afterwards I realized she was only saying I needed to try the other Territorial Gods because Boise wasn’t being useful right now.” He sighed. “She also suggested I wait several months. By then, Boise’s supposed to be back up and doing things again.”

  “I guess there’s the other Territorial Gods,” Mirabelle said. “I’ve got contacts for only one, Portland, and she’s not much of a contact. I don’t have any contacts with the rest of them.”

  Given what Dave had seen of Mirabelle’s Boise contact, he didn’t want to press her on anything involving any of the other Gods. Dave shrugged.

  “I’ve read things on the internet about Portland and Phoenix’s followers,” Steve said. “Devoted cult members all. That’s what’s going to happen to you if you go to those Gods. It’s your call, but I’m not sure I’d try to contact any of them, even with my life on the line.”

  “Steve, it isn’t as if they’re hurting for potential followers,” Mirabelle said. “They’re all turning people away. Of course the ones they accept as recruits are the most devoted. It’s a good thing.”

  Steve stood and walked angrily out of Mirabelle’s living room.

  “Persevere, Dave,” Mirabelle said. “I’m sure you can succeed.”

  He nodded. His visit to Diana had at least lit a fire under his sodden ego and had torn him out of his self-pity. “I’m going to look into these Territorial Gods and see which one is the best match for me,” Dave said. “No more assumptions. If I’m going to do this, I’m going to do it the right way. My way.”

  Dave drove past his house like a scalphunter looking for cheap foreclosures to snap up. Balconies around two thirds of the house, exposed brown-painted wood beams on the outside, windows with toe-curling views of the mountains all of the way around the house, brick veneer up and down, and no sign of Tiff. He turned around and zipped up the driveway, up the hill and to the left, past the overflow parking and into the garage, where he parked his SUV beside the empty space where Tiff’s bright red sports car normally sat. He crept inside dragging luggage, hoping for enough time to do laundry before heading out again.

  It pained him to be staying in hotels, even in Denver. He should be spending more time at home, at least to see his kids. This whole situation annoyed the crap out of him, though, and his difficulty with Tiff made him most unwilling to be with her. He didn’t want to go to DPMJ either right now. His business situation reminded him of his futility. Right now, he wanted positive thoughts in his head, nothing else.

  He checked his mail kiosk and found a large stack waiting for his attention. Just over two thirds of the way through the pile, he heard the garage door rumble open and the click of the house intercom turning on.

  “Gotcha,” Tiff said, over the intercom.

  Damn.

  “You’re supposed to be at work,” Dave said.

  Tiff smiled. “Yes, of course.” She sat down beside him in the library, a good three feet away. “You’re avoiding me.”

  “I kept in phone and email contact.”

  “Uh huh.” Tiff licked her lips. “You’re being a fool.”

  “Tell me, how?”

  “First, by trying to avoid me. You had to know you wouldn’t succeed, Dave.” Tiff steepled her fingers in front of her nose and looked over them at him. She couldn’t often scare him with her omniscience act, but she succeeded today. “Second, by believing you can keep the details of your medical problems from me. Hell, I read your latest test results before you got to Dallas.”

  Dave’s stomach soured. “I understand.” Dammit, he didn’t need this!

  “I am a professional at gathering personal information.”

  “I see you’re smiling,” he said, remembering her comments about the bouncy names common to the data-mining firms. “Now you’re going to tell me it’s for my own good.”

  “It is!” Tiff said. “Dave. I know you’re worried sick about everything, but hiding from me isn’t going to help.”

  What I feel is informationally violated, he thought. She’s raped my bits!

  He should know better than to try to out-anything Tiff. He slunk down in his chair, defeated. So much for keeping up his spirits…

  “I also know we’ve grown apart and this is causing problems between us,” Tiff said. “Ignore that. I can’t help you and give you the support you need if you don’t let me.”

  Dave didn’t respond.

  “We’re a team, Dave, and don’t you dare forget that,” Tiff said.

  He no longer believed they were a team. Nor did he speak.

  “I think we need some counseling,” Tiff said. “I’m trying to set something up. I’ve been getting some counseling myself, but so far I haven’t found anyone who meets my standards for counseling the both of us.” Dave winced and turned away. Tiff wanted a counselor smarter than her. That pig would take a catapult to fly. No, a full sized trebuchet. “It’s become evident to me I’ve picked up some bad attitudes concerning our children.” Like perhaps she forgot their names again?

  “Talk to me, Dave. Tell me what’s going through your mind,” Tiff said. No way in hell, Dave told himself. No way in hell. “You can count on me, Dave, no matter what. I’m going to be taking care of you.”

  Dave slunk deeper down into his chair, more depressed.

  “What can I do to help?”

  Well, if anything would drive her away… “Tiff. Thank you for everything,” Dave said, sarcasting his best. “I’ve decided my only hope is to get a cure from one of the 99 Gods. I’m going to be researching them to find out which one’s the most compatible to me and my viewpoints. Then I’m going to go and visit. If I can. I’d welcome any information you have on the subject.” He suspected his chances of attracting the attention of one of these Gods depended on personal compatibility. For instance, he could tell Diana and Boise deserved each other. And, if he didn’t discount one of his freaky moments, Diana’s mother and Atlanta deserved each other as well.

  Tiff licked her lips, searching for the right words. “I can’t make your decision for you,” she said, showing how much she disagreed with him. “However, I can provide you with data on the 99 Gods of North America, especially the ones who heal, the Territorials. Don’t bother wasting your time with the other ones, especially Doctor. Trying to search him out would mean he’d never agree to help you. I’ve already done the research.” Nudge nudge I’m so far ahead of the curve on this I already lapped you, dear, he read into her comment. “Is this the sort of thing you’re looking for? Will this do?”

  Dave nodded, disgusted at this turn of events and Tiff’s unconscious condescension. Perhaps he shouldn’t have decided against a little shotgun-style brain surgery. It sounded better all the time.