Pantheocide

Chapter Thirty Five

Home of George and Rose Matthews, C?saraugusta, Cisalpine Gaul, New Rome, Hell

He was sitting in a cold, dark street, the constant rain soaking him to the bone while the bitter wind chilled him until every joint in his body ached. Starvation gnawed at him, cramping his stomach and making his insides clench with pain. Soon, he would have to root through the garbage for something to eat, fighting the rats for the worm and maggot-riddled fragments of food in the filthy trash. Even when he found something, the relief it would bring would only be temporary, lasting just long enough to add emphasis to the agony of starvation when it returned full-force. Even worse, while he was foraging, he would have lost his place around the fire and would have to fight his way back in. George Matthews sighed and started to dig into the trash. If he was lucky, he might find a piece of rotten meat.

“Wake up George, it’s only a nightmare.” He opened his eyes and saw his wife looking down at him, a gentle smile on her face. A younger face, much younger than he had remembered looking down on him before, in the moments between feeling the agonizing pain in his chest and left arm and the darkness closing in on him. Now, she looked as if she was in her mid-forties, a very well preserved and elegant mid-forties. He felt no jealousy because he too had undergone the same rejuvenation and looked around the same age. That had been one of the subtle torments of Hell, to be restored to one’s best only to suffer all the agonies had made Hell what it was. But all that was in the past and now he had a future to look forward to. He had been found in the First Circle of Hell and taken to the reception camps on the Phelan Plain. There his name and particulars had been taken down and fed into a computer. There had been a celebration when the answer came up for so very few of those recovered found close family they could turn to. Amid the applause, he’d been told that his wife was waiting for him, that she already had a home waiting for him and he could join her as soon as he wished.

Quietly, without saying anything, he had worried about that. How much had she been changed, what had she suffered here in Hell before she had been rescued? What sort of home had she managed to build here? Then he had met with her, she had run to him and held him and everything seemed to be good again. She’d explained that she had died after Hell had been conquered and that she’d brought all her assets with her. She’d used them to buy this villa in the new city of Caesaraugusta, in the province of Cisalpine Gaul of the New Roman Republic. She’d registered it in both their names and owning property made them Roman Citizens. Even now, months into his Second Life here, he wondered at the good fortune that had led him to marry the woman who had so painstakingly built a home for him to return to. He shook the sleep from his head, got up from the couch and hugged her. “Rose.” There was a world of love and admiration in that single word.

“Oh George.” His wife returned the embrace and led him to their dining room. A simple breakfast was laid out on the table, some fresh bread, cheese, mushrooms and wine. None of it was quite what it appeared, the cheese was made from the milk of female foodbeasts, the grain for the bread and the mushrooms were species native to Hell and the wine was actually made from a fermented red fungus but they tasted right and the truth was that humans here didn’t need to eat, not physically. They needed to eat emotionally, communal dining was too deeply ingrained in their psyche to be discarded, but the driving starvation he remembered from the Hellpit was a delusion. He sighed and looked out of the window. The villa was built on the banks of the Askaris River, their plot of land actually ending on the river itself. Across the Askaris was a low range of hills, ironically called The Alps. They were in the adjoining province, Transalpine Gaul, one that was still largely unoccupied. The rolling hills were tree-covered and their dark red foliage complemented the lighter red of the river beautifully.

“What have we got happening today?” George carefully spread some cheese on a lump of bread and took a bite. The sharp, clean taste of the cheese was perfect for cutting through the residue of sleep. That was another thing humans here didn’t actually need but couldn’t really do without. Sleep.

“Well, we have the monthly election coming up. One of the Senators for Cisalpine Gaul has reached the end of his term so we have to go and vote for his successor.” There were 120 Senators representing the individual provinces of the Republic and each served a term of two years. Their elections were spread out so that 1/24th of their number were elected each month. So far, most elections were unopposed. The whole political system was a work-in-progress after all. The previous month Second Consul Jade Kim had been up for re-election and she, too, had been unopposed.

“And I’ve had a message from Naomi and John. They’d like to come visit now we’re established here.” A mischievous grin crossed Rose’s face. “I suppose they must have forgiven me for taking all our money. It shook them when they found we can take it with us after all.”

The couple looked at each other and laughed. “You did well there Rose, that John was always a bit full of himself I thought. Not nearly good enough for our Naomi. Anyway, they’re welcome here. This villa’s got the room for them, thanks to you. Now, time for work.”

Rose nodded, put on her silver cap and gathered up her bag. She’d started work as a seamstress in one of the new factories but had quickly been promoted to a shift manager. She and her husband didn’t actually need to work, not yet anyway. The funds she had brought form their First Life had been adequate to get them started but work was psychologically needed just as food and sleep were. George Matthews had a job on a road-building gang. That had worried his wife, she remembered, all too well, the heart attack that had killed him, but he had reassured her that his health was better than it had ever been on Earth. Anyway, as he’d explained to her ‘working on the road is good, honest work and it feels good to be building something for our future’. She knew what he meant, the Republic was new and raw around the edges but it was their future. “I’ve put your toga out for the election this evening and a new stola for me.”

George nodded in appreciation. Most times people here wore the clothing they were familiar with, in the case of Rose and George, jeans and T-shirts, but for an election, formal Roman attire was required. Even if their senator hadn’t been up for re-election this month, the fact it was election day still meant that he would have had to appear before his constituents to answer their questions and address their concerns. But, this being his re-election meant there would be a formal debate between the candidates with questions taken from the audience, followed by the vote.

Together, they left their home through the double set of doors that kept the dust out of their home and went out to the road that serviced their sub-division. At the moment, the area was served by a Beast-drawn bus but in due course, a proper motor-bus would replace it. For a moment, George Matthews thought that the replacement had happened because he heard the sound of engines but it was something different. A small column of military vehicles, a mix of Humvees and armored cars. Human vehicles armed with long-barrelled guns. They pulled up alongside the bus stop and a figure got out, one wearing a breathing mask. Obviously he was still in his First Life.

“Ave Citizens.” The officer’s right hand was extended in a careful Roman salute, the clenched fist striking his chest above the heart and then extended towards the Matthews, upper arm close to the body, lower arm level with the ground, hand open, palm down. Not the way it had once been depicted at all, historians had been quite shocked when they had seen the real thing.

“Ave Colonel.” George and Rose returned the salute. “May we be of assistance to you?”

“Colonel Paschal, DIMO(N). I have an appointment to meet with First Consul Gaius Julius Caesar and Second Consul Jade Kim in New Rome.” Paschal flushed slightly, partly from the effort of remembering to get the formalities right, but also from embarrassment. “We seem to have lost our way. My driver insisted we stop and ask directions.” Behind him, the female driver of the Humvee was grinning. Rose reflected that Hell and Earth had some things in common, a reluctance to ask directions being one of them

Rose smiled at the Colonel. “George and Rose Matthews. It’s easy to go astray Colonel, the roads around here are being built and extended all the time. We Romans love good roads you know. Go straight on for about five kilometers until this road ends in a T junction. Turn left at the junction, that’ll put you on the Aemilian Way. Stay on that, it’ll take you all the way to Rome.”

“Thank you, Citizens.” Paschal looked at them curiously. “Please forgive the intrusion but, you are Americans?”

“We were Colonel, but that was in our First Lives. We’re Romans now.”

Temple of Ceaseless Compliance, Eternal City, Heaven

“So just who dared to try and pull this off?” Michael-Lan winced slightly, the wound in his shoulder was healed, the one in his chest very nearly so but he still got a twinge if he moved too fast.

“Humans?” Lemuel put the question tentatively. It was the only answer he dared think of.

Michael-Lan almost snorted with laughter. “If this was human work, you’d be dead. The favorite expressions of humans where killing is concerned are ‘if some is good, more is better’, ‘nothing succeeds like excess’ and ‘more dakka’. If humans wanted to kill you, you wouldn’t just be dead, your body parts would be strewn over half the Eternal City. This wasn’t human work, this was somebody else.”

Lemuel-Lan thought about it carefully. His body ached from the wounds suffered when rubble had fallen on him and he’d taken some Tylenol to ward off the pain. “It must be the First Conspiracy.” His voice had dropped so the words would not carry.

“Not The Second Conspiracy?” Michael-Lan dropped his voice to match.

“No, Most High One. I have infiltrated that group. There is heresy there, certainly, but it is well-intentioned. An excess of zeal has led the congregation of this Temple to use human products in order to serve Our Eternal Father more diligently. They have been led astray by good intentions and need only a little re-education to bring them back to the right path.”

Michael-Lan nodded, making a note to reward the team who had worked here for a job well done. “Nevertheless, maintain your infiltration of the group and find out its extent. They may be well-intentioned but when we pick them up, we must arrest them all at once. No loose ends. Make sure you identify them all.” And that should act as your orders to take you into the club. “You think it is the First Conspiracy then?”

“It must be, Noble Lord. I can think of none other. I would guess they have learned of our investigation into their organization and decided to strike. Perhaps a cell feared they were about to be discovered and wished to prevent that.”

“It could be.” Michael-Lan was thoughtful. This whole situation didn’t make sense from most points of view. Rivalry between cliques of Angels were well-known but they never, never got to the point of assassination. At worst, blackening reputations in Yah-Yah’s eyes and causing loss of influence. That didn’t worry Michael, as the Great General, he was above such things and anyway, he was a past-master at such games. Had one of the other Chayot-Ha-Kodesh decided to break the rules of millennia and start playing for keeps? Michael-Lan ran through the names in his mind. Of the Chayot of the First Rank, only Azrael, Zadkiel and Chamuel were likely candidates. Were the Chayot of the Second Rank trying a powerplay? Sariel, Raguel, and Remiel could be ruled out, Sariel was already a member of the Montmartre club, Raguel was one of Yahweh’s most devoted followers and Remiel was a mindless nonentity. Jophiel and Haniel? They were possibilities certainly but Michael didn’t think they would have the initiative to try something this radical. That left Barchiel and Salaphael. Michael couldn’t help but run the last name over in his mind. He was in mild disfavor and filled with resentment because of it. And he had the originality to think up an assassination plot. It was, after all, originality that had got him into trouble in the first place. It was not a valuable trait to have when Yahweh was around.

The simple fact that the attack on Lemuel had been tried was what worried Michael-Lan. It suggested that the First Conspiracy was moving closer to its goal of a take-over in Heaven. He knew enough to realize that any such effort would be a catastrophe, that it would result in a war at least as destructive as the Great Celestial War had been. Better the status-quo than fighting in the streets of the Eternal City. That would be casting the whole situation into the hands of the Humans. That thought made Michael-Lan stop cold. Could he be wrong? Was this a human strike at Heaven? He was going to great lengths to keep the humans on the defensive, to make sure their efforts were focussed on Earth while the sheer effort needed to support their war machine slowly exhausted them.

But suppose they had found a way to infiltrate Heaven? He’d heard how they had started a rebellion in Hell itself and used it to assassinate the highest of the Daemonic hierarchy. They’d even dropped the hammer on Asmodeus, the Hellish equivalent of a Chayot-Ha-Kodesh. Assassinating people was right in their line. That just left the question, why was Lemuel still alive. Anyway, there were no traces of explosives around here. The human preference would have been for a bomb, a big one packed into a vehicle. This attack had used a trumpet blast. That had to be angelic. Unless the humans were using an angel as a front. Humans manipulating an Archangel. That would be one for the books. Once more, Michael found affection for humans rising in him. They made life so interesting.

Then, another thought stopped Michael-Lan cold. Suppose, just suppose, it wasn’t angels or humans? Suppose another player had re-entered the game? One who hadn’t been part of it for millennia? It was possible that one of the others had seen the destruction of Hell, the death of Satan, seen the Humans fighting against Heaven, fending off the worst that could be thrown at them. The others might have decided that Heaven was so weakened by this war that it was time to strike back, to avenge the defeat that had driven them from Earth millennia ago. They might even see the opportunity of reasserting their domain over the Earth. If they did think that, Michael-Lan felt sorry for them for tackling the Humans head-on meant death.

Despite his ingrained apprehension at the thought of the Others returning, Michael-Lan was entranced by the idea. It would certainly mean his plan needed revision but that’s what plans were for. He could use this development, use it very effectively.

“Lemuel-Lan, continue here. I will look after the First Conspiracy. Return to your home.”

“With respect, Most Noble One, I would prefer to go to my office. There is much to be done there.”

Aha, you and Onniel are on the outs are you? Took long enough. Time to throw some more temptation your way. A little tender loving care should do. “As you wish, old friend. Your devotion to duty honors me.”

Michael watched Lemuel limp off and turned to the temple staff inspecting the damage to the outer wall. “Don’t sweat that guys, I’ll get the master mason to deal with it. He owes me a few favors. Charmeine-Lan, how’s Maion doing?”

“She’s settled into her new life Michael-Lan. Sometimes her resentment at selling herself surfaces but not so often now. And a little assistance goes far.”

“Good. We’ll throw her at Lemuel soon. Once he’s a little more frustrated and resentful at the way Onniel is treating him, you can take him to the Club. Just warn me when so I’m not there when he is. Charmeine, tell Maion to dance for him and coo over him. Just pay him unconditional attention, that’ll do the trick. Once he’s gone with her, he’ll fall into line easily enough.

Throne Room, The Ultimate Temple, The Eternal City, Heaven

“Lord of All, I most humbly beg that your servant Uriel be excused from displaying the customary genuflections at your immaculate presence. His wounds suffered in carrying out your duty are crippling and render him unfit for such actions.” Michael-Lan was sprawled out on the floor of the throne room, his peerless lips pressed to the alabaster tiles. Around him, the strange creatures that kept Yahweh amused during the long hours he spent in this room drifted slowly away into the billowing clouds of incense. It was a conditioned reflex after the number of lightning storms that had occurred in this room since the war with the humans had started.

“Uriel unable to pay due and proper respect?” The Voice of the Father of All echoed around the throne room, causing a rumble of thunder and a flicker of white lightning. In the background, the master mason made sure there was nobody between him and his bunker.

“That is the case One Above All Others, he fought valiantly at San Diego and was terribly wounded there. He received further injuries while fleeing from the pursuing humans and would have died.”

“But for your rescue. My Wuffles did not flee from the humans even when their bombs tore at him.” The roll of thunder had a distinctly sorrowful note as Yahweh remembered his late pet.

I’ll have to get the rest killed as soon as possible Michael-Lan thought. Yah-Yah thinks better when he’s mad with grief, leaves him only two eggs short of an omelet instead of three. “Indeed so, Immaculate Father Of Us All. But the humans fought with unusual cruelty even for them. Uriel’s condition is sorrowful indeed.”

“Then let him enter.” Uriel-Lan made a sorrowful picture indeed as he staggered into the throne room. His wings were twisted and bent out of shape, he showed burns all down his body and his legs were malformed. Michael-Lan’s doctors had done their best and Uriel’s massive healing power had done more but he was still a critically wounded Archangel. Michael-Lan was actually quite surprised he had made it to this meeting. Up on the throne, Yahweh seemed shocked at the sight. “The humans have done this to my faithful servant?”

The thunder cracked and a sheet of lightning rippled across the room, glancing off the walls and lighting the darker recesses of the antechambers. In the glare, Michael distinctly saw the Master mason vanishing into his bunker, his feet waving in the air before being hastily pulled to safety.

“I beg your forgiveness, Eternal Lord of All.” Uriel’s voice was shaky and seemed to crack, as if he was forcing the words out through a throat half-closed. Which wasn’t too far from the truth, being too close to the blast of exploding missiles had more damaging effects than were obvious. “My attempts to bring my peace to the humans have failed, they discovered how to resist me and defy Your will.”

To Michael’s great surprise, Yahweh didn’t incinerate Uriel on the spot. Better luck next time passed through his mind. Instead of throwing a tantrum Yahweh was nodding seriously. “How did the humans manage this?”

“I do not know Greatest of All. They have missiles that never miss, they have weapons that burn and sear their enemies. They have a weapon I have never encountered before, that makes my skin burn and my flesh boil. All of these they have ringed around their cities…. “

“I do not care about such things.” The crack of thunder silenced Uriel. “Their weapons are of no concern to me. How is it that they defy My Will?”

“They have barriers between their minds and the peace I bring them. It takes much effort to force through them and to get at the minds underneath. So much so that it is only possible to bring peace to a few at a time. By the time I have forced my way into their minds, their missiles are tearing at me and their weapons burn my flesh. Then, further attack becomes impossible. Greatest Father Of All, I swear to this with all my heart. For those who fly near a human city, death is certain. Each time I have tried, the humans grow more skilled at fighting me. The time I have to enforce my peace grows shorter.”

“Then your task is impossible?” Yahweh’s voice was silky-smooth and the menace was unmistakeable.

“No, Holiest of Holy Ones. One my injuries are healed I will try again. Perhaps this time success will attend me.”

“Lord Above All.” Michael-Lan cut in with unsurpassed fervor. “Uriel’s courage is indeed an example to us all. We can all draw strength from his devotion to Your Immaculate Presence.” Just in case you were thinking of letting him off.

“Indeed so. Uriel your courage is indeed notable. Consult with my treasured servant Michael to decide on your next target.”

“Lord Above All, might this humble servant suggest a possible strategy? If we send Uriel in to make his attack at the same time as the Scarlet Beast and the Whore of Babylon attack Jerusalem, perhaps we can split the human defense and score a crushing victory.”

“A cunning plan Greatest of my Generals. Make it so. Is there anything else?”

“Most Immaculate Lord, the matter of treason we discussed earlier. There is reason to believe that it does not stem from inside Heaven but from outside. Today, an attempt was made to assassinate one of Your most faithful servants, an investigator of the League of the Holy Court. We must believe that there are those in this city who have linked their name to The Others.”

Across the Eternal City, the thunderclouds roiled and spread, drenching the streets with the lurid glare of multi-colored lightning. Even the highest of the Host took cover inside buildings as hailstones the size of ostrich eggs pelted the streets, shattering on impact and crushing the more fragile of structures. The storm roared on, circling and recircling the Ultimate Temple. Eventually, it ebbed and terrified heads emerged from their hiding places to wonder at the destruction that they saw. Inside the throne room, Michael looked around the rubble where one of the curtain walls had collapsed, burying some of the exotic beasts that had taken cover behind them. In one corner, a hand emerged from the Master Mason’s bunker and started to clear the rubble away from the entrance. I must get myself one of those. Michael-Lan thought. This is getting hairy.

“Arrest them!” Yahweh’s voice was a scream that was eerily reminiscent of his deceased brother. “Arrest them all.”

“Thy will be done.” Michael-Lan genuflected and made his way out of the semi-destroyed throne room, picking his way between the piles of smoking rubble as he went.