Roger Zelazny - Donnerjack

“It still seems peculiar that we cannot simply petition the resident

AI for ideal weather.” Kwinan shook his head in wonder. “An entire world—an entire universe—without gods. We will do the Verite a great favor when the divine plan is fulfilled.”

“Maybe,” Kelsey said hesitantly. “Ben, do you even wonder at the wisdom of what we are doing?”

“Wonder? Only at the slowness of our pace. Are you having second thoughts, Brother Kelsey?”

“Not really, but the gods… I have never met one of the great ones, only encountered them from a distance during ceremonies. They are creatures of awesome arrogance. Will they understand the delicacy of our world?”

“They are gods,” Kwinan said.

“Yes, and the mythology of the region from which they claim origin is full of stories of divine vengeance on a catastrophic level—the Great Flood, monstrous creatures, plagues. Remember that the Old Testament owes much of the harshness of its god to the influence of the Sumerians, the Babylonians, the Assyrians.”

“Yes.”

“Should such gods be allowed to roam free in a world with atomic weapons? Verite cannot be reprogrammed from the baseline up. When the template is lost, it is lost.”

“You are having second thoughts, Brother Kelsey.”

“If you say so. I prefer to think of it as intelligent questioning.”

“So did your student Emmanuel Davis—he who was Arthur Eden, author of that very unkind book.”

“It did not lie.”

“No, but it asked questions that we were not prepared to have asked, raised questions of motive and faith.”

Ben Kwinan sipped from his glass, looked at the color of the liquor, sipped again.

“Randall, in the years since the revelation that Emmanuel Davis and Arthur Eden were one, your place in the Church has suffered. You have more talent than many, but have never been considered for the greater priesthood, for initiation into the deepest mysteries.”

“Yes, I know, but despite this I have served the Church faithfully. I brought these concerns to you because I believed that you would listen.”

“I am listening, Randall. I am even going to treat this conversation as a matter of private confession. My star has risen; yours has not, but we have been friends for a long time. Speak only to me of your concerns. I, in turn, will privately sound out the great leaders.”

“Have you ever met the Hierophant, Ben?”

“Only in great company and shrouded in glory. You know that it is said that the Hierophant is an AI. Although the reach and power of an AI seems vast to a human of Verite, even the greatest are vulnerable to attack. There are virus proges, seeker programs, worms, overwrites. The identity of the Hierophant is a secret to everyone, I believe, but the greater gods.”

Randall Kelsey rose, crossed to the bar, poured himself two fingers of Scotch whisky. It burned as he opened his throat and swallowed.

“Peat bog. Dogs body. I’ll have another and call a cab.”

Kwinan watched. “You will keep your counsel? I would not see you harmed in any way.”

“I will,” Kelsey said as he rose, thumbed the intercom for a cab. “I’m in far too deep to back out, my friend. I just want to do the best thing for everyone.”

“So do we all.”

They sat in silence until Kelsey’s cab landed on the roof. When their goodbyes were said, Kwinan carefully checked the room for bugs or recording devices (after all, his own faith could have been being tested). Then he drew down the menu and selected the coordinates for his own locus.

Ben Kwinan communed On High. The secure link bore him the sweetened charges, filling him with virtue as he let his form shift into that of a golden youth clad only in a jockstrap and sandals. When he had assumed the expected appearance, he stepped forth into the chamber within which he conspired with Seaga.

Since such discussions could not be held on Meru, where Skyga hummed his hums, and Earthma could be trusted to eavesdrop, Seaga had created this refuge, deep inside of the data-stream. In appearance it was not unlike a great chambered nautilus, pink, nacreous, and just translucent enough that any listener would be instantly detected and swallowed by the ferocious bytes that cruised these sacred streams.

Within this shell, Seaga manifested himself in the form of a cuttlefish, as blue as a jazz musician’s soul and cruelly beaked. The hesitant, almost worried voice that emitted from this monstrosity nearly made Celerity grin, high as he was on virtual liquor and divine power, but he suppressed it quite effectively by remembering the power of Seaga—power so vast that only the power of Skyga and Earthma could be considered equivalent.

“And what do you have to report?” the cuttlefish asked.

“Great Lord through whom data flows,” Celerity said, “the celebration of the Church of Elish is readied. I hear whispers in the hierarchy that one of the Greater Gods of Sumer will attempt the crossover during the festival.”

“Great God!”

“The power needed for the transmission of the data will be enormous. I cannot think that the crossover will be of long duration.”

“Who do you think will attempt the crossover?”

“That is a highly guarded secret, Seaga. My bet is either Marduk or Ishtar. They both manifest in a highly showy fashion. Ea or Shamash are distinct possibilities as well.”

“Have you learned who they really are?”

“That they are of the dwellers on Meru is without a doubt, but, except for some of the lesser aions, none who associates with the Church of Elish makes it too commonly known.”

“Yes, I can see that. Everyone wants to give the impression that they have mana and enough to spare.” The cuttlefish clattered its beak. “Celerity, I have reached the conclusion that Skyga is in some way connected to the Church of Elish.”

“So you have said before, mighty Seaga.”

“Don’t be flippant, Celerity. I am well aware that you have set yourself to be on the winning side no matter how this war progresses. If you betray me, I will use my last byte to search you out and rend you into such trash that even Deep Fields will reject.”

“Yes, Great Lord. I humbly beg your forgiveness. I am but a lesser god and it has been a long day.”

“Better. Now take your chin off my clean floor and listen. Skyga recreates his best troops from the wars following the Genesis Scramble. He recruits among those who remain free agents.”

“And you?”

“I do the same—balance of power and all that.”

“And Earthma?”

“Who knows what game she plays? Sometimes I think she has no care for the coming conflict. Other times I am certain that she is allied with Skyga. Other times… Celerity, may I tell you something in great secrecy?”

“I would be honored, lord.”

“Earthma is to bear a child. She has hinted ever so coyly that it is mine.”

“Congratulations!”

“The children of gods are not always matters for rejoicing, Celerity, especially of gods such as ourselves. Recall the hundred-handed giants spoken of by the ancient Greeks, or the monstrous bull that Ishtar brought forth to punish Gilgamesh.”

“I see your point.”

“Is this her way of hinting that she would ally with me, or her threat that she has gotten of me a fearsome weapon?”

“I do not know, lord.”

“Of course, you don’t, but if you should hear something…”

“I will listen carefully, lord, and ask careful questions.”

They spoke some time longer, then Celerity retreated from that place to Ben Kwinan’s home within Virtu. As he made the transit, he reflected that he had not mentioned Randall Kelsey’s disaffection to Seaga, but that did not seem important.