Roger Zelazny - Donnerjack

“You seem content enough with the limitations of Virtu,” Skyga said. He tried to keep his query polite, knowing that he still needed this ally’s cooperation. “Why did you approach me with the concept of the Church of Elish if you did not believe in the need for the reestablishment of the divine to its proper place in the Verite?”

“You were the one who saw the potential for permanent crossover,” the Hierophant reminded him. “I just wanted to start a religion and I thought your help recruiting a few godlets would be a good thing.”

“Yes, but why did you wish to start a religion? Certainly you do not feel that humans need to know the truth about Virtu?”

The aion who had once been known as A. I. Aisles, the first aion comedian, chuckled, drained his beer, and blew a note like the bellowing of a cow for her calf across the neck.

“Truth? Well, sure I think they need to know.”

“You do?”

“Sure.” A. I. Aisles laughed until his belly shook. “Most of them don’t believe it—not really, not deep down inside. Not even when we give ‘em miracles and virt powers. They’re just playing the game.”

“I still fail to understand why you would wish to encourage this.”

A. I. Aisles snickered. “Can you think of a better joke on humanity? We give ‘em the dope on old gods and older powers waiting for them in Virtu. They help us set the stage to make it come true—to give ‘em back the old gods and all the rest.”

“You think this is funny?”

“Slapstick and farce.” A. I. Aisles laughed so hard that tears ran down his round cheeks. “Nothing funnier.”

Skyga smiled politely. His expression generated further howls from the comedian.

“It’s a pisser, Skyga, old buddy, old pal. A real pisser.”

Through a simple interface, Lydia Hazzard called her daughter. “How have you been, honey?”

“Pretty good. I went out to dinner with Drum. Italian—I had a great seafood pasta. We should go when you come back.”

“I’d like that.”

“And how have you been, Mom?”

“Busy. Things here are… complicated.”

“Can’t explain over the VT?”

“I’m afraid not.” Alice nodded. “Will you be home for your birthday, Mom?”

“I… That is coming up, isn’t it? You won’t let your old mom forget that she’s getting on, will you?”

Giggles.

“You’re not that old, Mom. Don’t you dare fuss and not let me take you out!”

“If I’m home by then.”

“Mom, is everything all right?”

“With me everything is fine, I promise.”

“Is it a patient?”

“I said I couldn’t discuss it.”

“Sorry.”

“So am I, honey.”

“Maybe I can come see you for your birthday if you’re not back. I just sold another article.”

“Great! Where?”

“To Virtropolis under the Alice Looking-Glass nom de plume. It’s about a new tee-shirt fad.”

“That’s wonderful! Honey, can we talk about your visiting me when I know when I’ll be home? If I’m back, I’ll let you spend your eft taking me out to dinner at the Italian place you mentioned.”

“Okay.”

“I should be going now.”

“I miss you, Mom. Really. It’s quiet without you here.”

“You’re sweet. I’ll hurry back. I love you.”

“And I love you, Mom. Take care.”

Lydia had the genius loci disconnect the interface that had made the call possible despite the locus being outside of the usual networked sites. She touched a dampness from her eyes.

“Is Alice well?” Ambry asked.

He had sat to one side while she made the call, neither intruding nor retreating. Lydia went over and cuddled next to him.

“She’s fine. Wanted to know if I’ll be home for my birthday.”

“You can go if you wish and return afterwards.”

“And risk something happening to you during that time?”

“The risk is not immense.”

“I couldn’t relax and Alice would notice. She’s terribly perceptive, far more perceptive than she should be at that age. Far more perceptive than I was, I’m certain.”

Ambry embraced her. “Alice has a very sweet and very sensitive mother. Despite your professional commitments, you never let her doubt that she was loved and wanted.”

“She’s also nosey. If I don’t come up with a good excuse, she is quite likely to come looking for me.”

“It is doubtful that she could find us.”

“And that would raise questions in itself. Alice—in her Link persona—is quite a devastatingly thorough investigative reporter. Now that she has joined forces with her friend Desmond Drum, I’m not certain that anything could be kept from her for long.”

“Why not invite her to join us here for your birthday?”

“Ambry?”

“I have longed to meet my daughter. Until now, it has not seemed prudent, given the peculiar nature of her genesis. However, if she is as good an investigator as you say…”

“She is.”

“Then she is quite likely to learn something about me on her own. Remember, your friend Gwen met me once and you do take solo jaunts into virt on a fairly regular basis. The excuses you have made will not hold if Alice begins probing.”

“True.”

“What do you say, Lydia? Shall we make this a family party?”

“How much do we tell her about you?”

“None of the new theology, please. I am still getting accustomed to the ideas myself. Let us simply tell her that I am Wolfer Martin D’Ambry, a resident of Virtu, and your long-time lover. She will quickly conclude the rest.”

Lydia considered, her expression brightening.

“I like it!”

“If the ‘lapse’ to my memory occurs…”

“As you said, that is not likely. In any case, Ambry, the more I think about it, the more I think that Alice should get to know you.” She grew suddenly serious. “Then if the worst happens…”

“Yes. I agree. We can talk with our host genius loci and make arrangements to bring Alice here.”

Lydia pulled him to his feet. “I can hardly wait!”

Ambry laughed and took her hand. Together they went to seek the genius loci who resided behind the North Wind and ask her permission to hold a birthday party. The genius loci was delighted with the idea and promised to help Lydia blow out every candle on her cake.

It had not taken long for Markon and Virginia to realize that there was more to Earthma’s little bundle of joy than they had been told. Within a few days of the goddess depositing her offspring in their care, Markon had begun to feel listless. Initially, he had tried to dismiss this as the strain of rehabilitating all the entities that had been damaged in the assault by Sayjak’s band, but soon he was forced to admit that there was something more.

Virginia immediately suspected that Earthma was responsible. She glowered at the sealed, sarcophaguslike forcefield that held Earthma’s child. The reddish light that cycled over it—fading from the hue of dried blood to rosy pink and then darkening again—did not appear to notice her regard.

“Where does it hurt?” she asked Markon, trying to sound flippant but merely sounding worried. “I mean, is there any location or time where the listlessness seems more dominant?”

Markon attempted to run a diagnostic, a routine task made nearly impossible by the fact that lie was having increasing difficulty finding energy to do anything other than keep his normal systems running at peak.

“I cannot tell,” he said, at last, “but I do seem more affected in initiating new programs rather than in maintaining standard subroutines.”

“Can you localize a source for the drain?”