Dead & Godless (13 page)

“Let me
see what I can do,” said Jesus.

He
disappeared, and less than a minute later a stream of shaken men and women
started pouring out of the bank.

“Hold
your fire!” shouted the deputy chief to his officers.

After
the last hostage was free and away, Jesus waltzed out, shaking the dust from
his feet.

“You’ll
find the shooters taking a little nap in the lobby.”

“It’s
a good thing you showed up, Jesus.”

“All
in a day’s work,” the Lord said. “And by the way, you might want to duck.”

The
short-lived peace was shattered by a second round of gunshots, this time from a
different direction. Across the street, two masked men had stormed out of the
Second National Bank. Armed with submachine guns and carrying duffle bags full
of cash, they were ready for a fight, but hadn’t expected to find the entire
police force camped outside. With curses and a hail of hot lead, they retreated
back behind the bank’s brick walls.

“You
pigs better not try anything or the sixteen people in here are as good as
dead!”

The
deputy had wisely chosen to hit the floor. He pushed himself up, still
crouching, and brushed off the pieces of what used to be his driver-side
mirror.

“Damn!
A double bank heist!”

“Gotta
go,” Jesus said. “This one’s all yours.”

“But
what about those people across the street?”

“What
do I look like? Batman? They’ve got less than twenty hostages over there! Sorry,
but that’s not really worth my time.”

“But Lord!”

Already
on the move, Jesus waved farewell, but didn’t look back.

“See
you when I come again!”

Instead
of disappearing, he simply marched east down the road. Corwin and Ransom
followed at a distance.

“I’m
not calling for divine intervention to kick in when some random quota is met,” Corwin
told his attorney. “If even one innocent child is in danger, wouldn’t that be
reason enough to act?”

“So
it’s the age of the victim that matters?”

Reinforcements
continued to arrive, the glut of cop cars extending through the next block, home
to Lincoln Elementary School. A police chopper circled overhead while the Kevlar-clad
SWAT team took up position along the school’s perimeter.

Evidently
the city was having a rather rough day.

Beside
one of the nearby cruisers, an officer with a handlebar mustache coordinated
movements, talking over the static scrape of his hand radio. Seeing Jesus, he
dropped what he was doing and rushed over.

“Jesus,
since you’re here, we could really use a hand! We’ve got terrorists holed up in
the third and sixth grade classrooms. They’re threatening to start executing
kids if we don’t give in to their demands.”

“You
can leave the third grade classroom to me,” Jesus replied. “But the sixth
graders? Come on! Those kids are practically teenagers! Why would I bother
saving them?”

An
appalled look flashed across the officer’s face, but he quickly hid it,
reminding himself that the Lord works in very,
very
mysterious ways.

“How
about: the right to swing your fist ends where your neighbor’s nose beings,”
proposed Corwin as the digital world dissolved, reverting to a realm of
blackness threaded with neon blue. “How’s that for a line?”

“One
need not swing a fist to cause harm,” said Ransom. “Many are driven to suicide
by verbal abuse alone, and even sins committed in private can have a rippling
effect. Your line is arbitrary.”

“Any
line drawn would be arbitrary! But isn’t an arbitrary line better than none at
all? Even if god only saved children no older than five, wouldn’t that be an
improvement?”

“Try
telling that to the six-year-olds.” The angel stomped out his cigarette. “God
is not a spectator. He
does
intervene, but on his terms, not yours. And
the suffering that he’s most concerned with preventing is the eternal kind.”

Love Machines

The glowing trail
was darkening just ahead of their feet now. Ransom halted and lifted a hand
towards the unseen wall. A pattern emerged, spiraling out from his palm. The
intricate lines connected to form a circular doorway. Dull light seeped through
the cracks as it slid open, its facets twisting and unfolding like the petals
of a mechanical flower.

Shading
his eyes, Corwin stepped forth from the passage, but not too far. Where the
door stood, the walls were recessed, and beyond was a slim metallic ledge, a
platform that wrapped around the exterior of some massive structure. It was a
long way down, though how long, he couldn’t say. By the looks of it, this world
existed in the gap between two endless cloud oceans, one above and one below, a
ribbon of lavender sky ringing the horizon.

Colossal
pillars of steel speared down, suspended from who-knows-what above the upper
clouds. They ended before touching the billows below, electricity coursing
skyward through the thousand conduits that ran along their length. Each was
linked to the next by a series of long catwalks. Stretching like sword blades,
the daunting bridges looked far too thin to support their own weight, let alone
any travelers, yet they did.

Robotic
pedestrians journeyed between the pillars and satellite stations that hung
where the walkways intersected. Despite being wrought of cold steel, the world
hinted curiously at nature’s organic design. Electrical cables crept like
vines, and antenna arrays rose like skeletal trees from the stations, beads of
light waxing on the tips of their fiber-optic branches. The robots, too, were
distinctively male and female, with even scampering children and hunched
seniors present among their ranks. They hustled about in an orderly fashion,
everyone with someplace to be, but no one pushing or shoving to get there.

Setting
his sights on the nearest bridge, Ransom ventured out upon the ledge. Corwin plastered
his back to the wall and inched after him.

This
isn’t so bad. At least I can’t see the ground.

Like
clockwork, every ten seconds the wall vibrated, a metal heart thrumming within.
Pistons pumped, fans whirred and water rushed with controlled fury, funneled
through high-pressure pipes.

“Don’t
move!” warned Ransom as an orange light strobed overhead.

Just
past Corwin’s shoulder, the slats of a vent angled open, spewing steam and coolant
from the guts of the pillar. Hot waste rained down on the hidden world. When
the last of the fluid had splashed off the ledge, the slats flattened again,
the light going dim.

Corwin
quickened his pace and caught up with his attorney at the underside of the
bridge, where rungs in the wall offered access. As they mounted it, one of the
male automatons passed near. Toting a titanium briefcase, he looked as though
he was on his way to work. Ransom stuck out his leg.

The
poor robot never saw it coming. He pitched forward, clanging to the ground as
circuit boards spilled out of his briefcase.

“Pardon
me, sir,” he apologized, regaining his feet. “I hope our collision did not
impair your functioning.”

“You
should watch where you’re going,” chided Ransom. “You wouldn’t like me when my
functions are impaired.”

Without
complaint, the worker turned on his heels and went about fetching his loose
circuit boards. Another robot bent to help and Ransom gave that one a swift
kick in the backside, sending him crashing into the first.

“Oh,
good! Everything seems to be working!”

Corwin
was sure that his rude attorney had crossed the line this time, yet when the
Good Samaritan looked their way, his only words were: “I do wish you hadn’t
done that sir, but you have my forgiveness.”

“What
polite robots!” declared Corwin.

“They
cannot help but be,” said Ransom. “Evil isn’t in their programming.”

“It’s
too bad for them that the same can’t be said for angels.”

“My
sensors!” cried a third automaton as Ransom wrapped him in a headlock and blew
smoke in the hapless robot’s face. It stood wobbling, trying to adjust for its
clouded vision as they proceeded across the bridge.

“If
evil is incompatible with a loving God, then he ought to purge all evil, not just
some of it. He ought to block even sinful thoughts from entering the mind. The
result would be a race of robots, a world like this one.”

“Some
might call that an improvement,” mumbled Corwin, casting guilty glances back at
the battered and abused robots.

“What
do you think is the point of all this?” Ransom spread his arms. “From God’s
perspective, what is the purpose of creation?”

“I
try not to speak on behalf of gods, but I think I know what you’re going to
say.”

“The
point,” Ransom said slowly, “is love.”

He
drew up to the bridge’s edge, his gaze lost in the swirling bands of gray and
white and seashell, cloud whirlpools corkscrewing into the deep unknown.

“The
Father does not desire mere servants or slaves. He desires family—sons and
daughters capable of sharing in his love.”

“A
fatherly god may sound nice,” replied Corwin, “but if our world is anything to
go by, an indifferent or cruel god seems a lot more likely. And the shackles of
religion look an awful lot like slavery to me.”

“Ask
yourself this,” proposed Ransom. “What use could an omnipotent God—a being who,
should he desire anything, need only think it to make it so—possibly have for
slaves?”

Corwin
was no stranger to the concept. He had said much the same thing while debating Bible-thumping
theists in the past. Those debates had a tendency to end with threats of
hellfire, threats which were about as frightening to him as the prospect of Santa
stuffing his stockings full of coal.

“No
use,” he answered. “Any god that feels the need for slaves is clearly less than
omnipotent, not to mention foolish. If god wanted slaves, why give man free
will in the first place? He must not have thought that one through.”

“Such
ideas are worse than illogical. They’re dangerous,” added Ransom. “A loving
father cares for his children even when they disobey, but what is the worth of
a servant who refuses to serve? Where men deem themselves slaves of God, the
disobedient are branded as worse than slaves.”

“As
infidels,” Corwin concluded.

The
angel gave a solemn nod.

“But
isn’t your god needy as well?” challenged Corwin. “Doesn’t his desire for love
also imply a deficiency, just of a different sort?”

“Love
is a curious thing. Hoard it up, and you lose it. Give it away, and you gain
more. It defies all the usual rules.”

A sparrow
swooped down, sunlight glinting on its steel alloy wings. Alighting on Ransom’s
shoulder, the bird chirped synthesized notes and bobbed its head with sharp, precise
movements.

“Think
back to something that filled you with happiness. It need not be anything
dramatic. Even your favorite pizza will do.”

“Gianni’s
sure made a mean pie,” Corwin reminisced. Even now, he could almost taste their
rich, tangy sauce and aged pepperoni, thick-cut so that the singed edges curled
each slice into a wonderful little cup of grease. You couldn’t get pepperoni
like that at the chains. “If you told me that their Sicilian was divinely
inspired, I might even believe you.”

“Actually,
Gianni made a pact with a demon to acquire that recipe, but that’s beside the
point. After you discovered Gianni’s Pizza, did you keep it to yourself?”

“Are
you kidding? I should have gotten a discount for all the word-of-mouth
advertising I gave that place.”

“In
other words, you shared your love for your favorite pizzeria. Did you do so
because you felt unfulfilled or deficient in some way?”

“No,”
he admitted. “I enjoyed it, and so I told people about it.”

“The
Father’s love is like that,” Ransom explained. “He yearns to share it, not out
of any deficiency, but because his joy overflows. Just as a love-struck friend
won’t shut up about their beloved, or new parents can’t resist sending an endless
barrage of baby pictures to everyone they know, it is the nature of love to be
shared.”

“Again,
that sounds nice, but all this neat and tidy philosophy . . . Try telling that
to the love-struck friend when his beloved is hit by a drunk driver! Try telling
that to the new parents when their precious child is kidnapped!”

He
could hear his voice rising, the fire swelling in his chest, but his attorney
didn’t back down.

“Man
is quick to blame God for the crimes of his fellow man, yet even in that
instinct there hides a clue. You’ve felt it yourself.”

“What
are you talking about?”

“When
you suffer injustice, especially grievous injustice, you instinctively feel a
rage directed at something beyond man, something bigger. Your spirit burns and
you want to roar at the universe and at its Maker!”

“If
that’s evidence for god, it doesn’t bode well for his image.”

“The
same holds true for feelings of profound joy. Think of a mother cradling her
newborn child, her heart overcome with a gratitude so great that it transcends
anyone who might deserve thanks in the mortal world.”

Corwin
wasn’t sure that he had ever been that happy, but he had witnessed it, seen it
in the eyes of others, and he was definitely acquainted with the former
feeling.

The
sparrow sprang from Ransom’s shoulder, flapping its wings to gain altitude and
then wheeling away towards the pillar ahead. Where the pillar met the upper clouds,
arcs of lightning leapt from its conduits and quietly vanished into the haze. Heedless
of the danger, the bird flew closer.

Robotic
birds were apparently no smarter than real ones. A bolt of light branched, its
blazing hot touch frying the sparrow instantly. It trailed a thin stream of smoke
as it dove out of the air.

“There’s
one thing that your explanation overlooks,” realized Corwin. “You claim that
god permits evil for the sake of free will, but not all suffering is the result
of choices. Not all pain is inflicted by the willful hand of man. What about
earthquakes or hurricanes or diseases spread by insect bites?

“There
is plenty of evil that your god could stop without taking away anyone’s free
will. So why doesn’t he? If he loves us so much, why does he stay silent while
millions suffer at the whim of Mother Nature?”

A
draft ruffled his coat, the current of the drifting clouds pulling at him
gently but insistently. Corwin began to wish that the bridge had been built
with handrails.

“A
worthy question, and a difficult one,” said the angel. “Philosophy alone cannot
answer it. One needs look to revelation, to man’s ancient beginnings, to . . .”
he laid a hand on Corwin’s back, “the Fall!”

A
strong and sudden push cast Corwin over the bridge’s edge. In desperation he twisted
about, grasping for some lifeline, but everything firm and solid might as well
have been a thousand miles away.

“Not
again!” he hollered, the wind whipping his hair.

The
bridge dwindled to a stripe, dark against the sky, and the billowing folds of
the clouds welcomed him with their cool embrace.