Roger Zelazny - Donnerjack

Jay looked up at the lofty perch of Tranto’s shoulder. Although it was far lower than treetops he would have assayed without trepidation, he felt a momentary pang of acrophobia.

“Sure,” he said. “If you don’t mind.”

“I’d like it. I can cover a lot of ground when I put my mind to it. You’d have trouble keeping up—especially if we’re trying to talk. I’ll carry the monkey and the dog, too.”

Dubhe chortled. “I love it. If doom awaits, I might as well go in style.”

Mizar wheezed laughter. “I… will walk. Nose to the ground.” Tranto lifted Jay onto his back, settled him just behind his head. Dubhe took his place on Jay’s shoulder. With Mizar on point, they set out across the plains. The earthquake that accompanied them might have been the sounding of Tranto’s mighty feet, but it could have been Nazrat laughing at a joke only a genius loci could understand.

Once again, Drum and Link met with their employer in the Verite and once again he was costumed and masked. This time Daimon wore a perfect kimono of pale golden silk embroidered with dragons in crimson. His undergarments were also of crimson, as were his gloves. The demon mask he wore had been highlighted to complement the colors of his robes.

Noting Daimon’s delight in both disguise and his elaborate attire, Link had once wondered why their employer did not meet with them in Virtu, where such things would be both easier and more effective. She had rapidly deduced that Daimon did not dare enter the virtual realms and this, combined with his interest in the Elishites, had given her a fair idea what might be Daimon’s actual identity.

She did not mention her suppositions to Drum, however, for Drum was quite clever enough to have arrived at the same conclusions. If he had not spoken of them, there was a reason. Desmond Drum might have been surprised to learn of the respect with which Link viewed him. Then again, being Desmond Drum, he might not have been.

Drum was giving their report as Daimon prepared tea.

“The Elshies have, contrary to popular media opinion, decided to take an aggressive stance with their critics. For a few days after the riot, they appeared conciliatory, then—all at once—attitude changed. Link?”

Link accepted a delicate bowl of tea, bowed stiffly to Daimon, and organized her thoughts.

“Based on linguistic analysis of the Elshies’ latest press releases, I have deduced two things. One, the aggressive stance is not a pose—the church elders do sincerely believe that they can pull this off. If only prepared press releases showed this attitude, I would be tempted to believe that this was a pose, but I arranged for some ‘impromptu’ interviews and the same confidence was present.”

Daimon studied the chrysanthemum flower that had unfolded within his tea cup. He directed the gaze behind his mask to Link’s face. As there were black mesh screens set in the eye sockets, the effect was rather intimidating.

“Interesting. And your second deduction?”

“Given that the change in attitude occurred all at once, I guessed that there was a single, central meeting during which this policy was adopted. Drum took over here.”

He set down his teacup. “It didn’t take much to confirm Link’s guess. The Elshies have several meeting rooms equipped for joint virt/RT conferencing. Judging from travel records, surveillance of landing sites, and utility bills, there was a major conference the day of the first press release showing their altered attitude.”

“InNew York?” Daimon asked.

“That’s right. The press releases gave me a starting date to work backward from and I pinpointed the location.”

Daimon crossed his arms across his chest. Although his face was masked, he gave the impression of frowning.

“This change in attitude—as you call it—has already created some strange alliances. The Elishite Celebration is rapidly becoming a rallying point for any group interested in preserving freedom of religion or freedom of speech.”

Drum nodded. “Not surprising. The Elshies have purchased land in California and are preparing for another celebration.”

“Yes.” Daimon toyed with his teacup. “This has all been interesting, but now, favor me with your wilder conclusions.”

Link glanced at Drum. Drum nodded again.

“We think that the Elshies are getting advice from someone who has a great deal of authority. The High Priest is still being treated with deference, but there is a change. It’s rather as if he has been superseded.”

“Do you think it is by one of these gods? Bel Marduk, perhaps?”

Link shook her head. “No, it doesn’t have that feel. I’ve attended enough services to have a sense for what the gods are like. They are powerful, arrogant, and somehow antiquated in their assumptions. Whoever this is is clever and sophisticated, with contemporary cultural bias.”

“Then you suspect…” Daimon prompted.

“Literature about the Church of Elish has long suggested that the founder was an AI,but no one has been able to confirm this, and the Church, of course, claims only divine inspiration.”

“But…”

“Yes, I think that this aion is now taking an active hand in directing

Church policies. I suspect that it has an agenda that runs parallel to that publicly proclaimed by the Church, but which is not identical.”

“And?”

Link hesitated. Drum cut in.

“The kid thinks, wild as it sounds, that the founder of the Church of Elish is planning a coup to take over Verite. The virt powers and the crossover of the gods is just a beginning.”

“It’s insane, isn’t it?” Link said. “I mean, how can a vast computer system take over the reality that created it? It simply should not be able to happen, but that seems to be the agenda.”

“I don’t know how they would do it,” Daimon said, “but I suspect we need to find out and I suspect we need to find out quickly. I, for one, would not enjoy living in a world where gods such as Bel Marduk have free reign.”

He raised his teacup in mute salute. Drum and Link mimicked the motion.

Darkness: spider silk between crimson and gold.

Dr. Lydia Hazzard walked her patient to the door of the consulting room and turned the young man over to an orderly who would make certain that prescriptions were dispensed and billing was duly addressed. Touching the intercom call button set flush with the top of her walnut veneer desk, she signaled the reception area that she was free to take her next patient.

“No one left, Doctor,” the AP said politely. “The rest can be handled by automata.”

“Thank you, Delia,” Lydia said. “I’m going to slip out the back way.”

“Very good. Have a pleasant evening.”

“See you tomorrow.”

Returning to her apartment, Lydia saw with guilty pleasure that Alice was out. It was not that she didn’t love her daughter or enjoy her company, but Alice was so intense and, by necessity, Lydia had been a single parent.

Her own parents had been helpful, but they were so over-protective (having never been able to forget the peculiar fashion in which their grandchild had been conceived) and yet so inclined to spoil the girl, that Lydia had spent some of her money for an AP nursemaid and had taken on herself the full responsibility for making certain that Alice did not become egocentric and asocial as was often the case with children left too much in the care of APs.

She supposed that she had done well enough. Alice, admittedly, wasa peculiar young woman, but she cultivated her own resources and, as Link, had already made some contributions to society about which her mother felt ridiculous pride. Sometimes Lydia wished that Alice spent more time with people her own age, but then she would recall how during her own long-ago virt holiday the thing she had craved most of all was privacy.