Agents of the Demiurge (4 page)

Inspector
Monterey studied their every move as they navigated the cavernous
interior of the Church building. At Elza's urging, Hess had spent
the previous evening looking through hundreds of online photos of
weddings and funerals that had taken place within this building so
that he was superficially familiar with the layout. Hopefully
familiar enough to fake years of casual church attendance.

Hess and Elza chatted with neighbors they
recognized on their way to the meeting room. Hess shook hands with
fellow executives at TFK Motors and introduced Elza as a special
friend. For her part, Elza dragged him around to meet numerous
people a decade younger than his apparent age. None of their social
interactions lasted long. Under the guise of smitten lovers going
public, they managed to escape each conversation without exchanging
more than the most basic pleasantries.

After researching the Church of Opposition
overnight, they knew enough of its theology and traditions to
participate in a meeting. What they lacked was knowledge of how
their identities had participated in the Church previously. They
knew they were not members of the local congregation, but it would
be odd for their identities to have
never
had any
interactions with the dominant religion of the world.

Getting those details wrong would be
suspicious. Thus the new love charade. Hess thought they sold the
act convincingly enough, given the wistful expressions cast their
way by the elderly and the annoyed eyerolls of the young. In fact,
Hess thought he himself was the only person in the room not sold on
their mutual devotion. Every touch of his brought an unwelcome
tension to Elza's shoulders.

She never held grudges long. Yesterday's
events should be forgiven. Yet they still had not made love in
their new bodies. Usually the novelty of becoming intimately
familiar with their latest forms kept them occupied for quite some
time.

It continued to surprise Hess how much
difference there was between bodies. In one like his current, a
formidable libido lurked in the background, subtly sexualizing
every situation so that a bit lip appeared an erotic invitation.
Other bodies seemed keyed to quiet contemplation and required
serious stimulation to elicit any reaction.

And those were only the differences in
his
bodies. Elza could range from nymph to asexual depending
upon the body. Demographics didn't seem to matter much. They had
each been elders with appetites and young adults lacking passion.
Body composition, skin color, and relative attractiveness all
proved unreliable forecasts.

Even the fake history of their identities
failed to predict their responses. Jed Orlin had been far more
interested in salary than sex. But give Hess the body of Jed Orlin
and suddenly he couldn't keep his eyes from wandering all over the
place. Of course, part of his problem may be due to the fact that a
frigid Elza had been inserted into the body of the curvaceous
Theora Winfield.

While people began taking their seats inside
the meeting room, Hess studied his woman. She touched her lips a
lot. Elza tended to do that when her body was wired for pleasure.
But she had dressed in a separate room that morning.

They sat towards the back of the meeting room
in hard pews. Up front, the Deacon of the congregation stood in
front of the podium and raised his right fist into the air. “Damn
the Demiurge!”

Everyone erupted to their feet, punched a
fist into the air, and shouted the profanity back at the Deacon
loud enough that their combined roar echoed in the cavernous space.
“Damn the Demiurge!”

The Deacon was an old, distinguished man with
a hawkish appearance. He glared at his audience. “This world is
flawed!”

“Damn the Demiurge!”

The Deacon slammed a fist on the podium.
“Full of pain!”

“Damn the Demiurge!”

“Our bodies are made to fail!”

“Damn the Demiurge!”

“The nations doomed to war!”

“Damn the Demiurge!”

“Our children can never have the happiness we
want for them!”

“Damn the Demiurge!”

The Deacon paused dramatically, looked around
the room, smiled. “We have been created to suffer and die.
Existence itself is a punishment decreed for us before we ever
became flesh. Pain and humiliation is what the Demiurge gave
us.”

Hess almost shouted out the refrain, but held
back, noticing the crowd waited for something. They held still and
the Deacon's voice became softer. “People of the Opposition, what
we have been given is worse than nothing. But we know the truth. We
know of the world's flaws. We know of the Demiurge's spite. And we
choose to meet spite with spite.”

The Deacon's voice rose. “We will fix the
flaws!”

“Damn the Demiurge!”

“We will overcome the enemies!”

“Damn the Demiurge!”

“We will take the dignity that has been
denied us!”

“Damn the Demiurge!”

After the final, roaring exclamation,
militant music blared from speakers throughout the room. The
members of the local Investigation Team marched up the aisles to
about face and stare at the congregation. Their leader,
Investigator Monterey, stepped to the podium.

“I am pleased to report that this parish
remains clear of all suspicious individuals. This community is a
model of virtue for the entire nation to follow. I want to express
my sincere admiration to each of you for your steadfast Opposition.
You live your lives with true dignity.” Investigator Monterey
brought his hands together in a steady clap that was taken up by
the congregation.

When the Deacon returned to the podium, the
Investigation Team took their seats in the front pew. “As I am sure
everyone is aware, Investigator Monterey has been nominated for
another Medal of Piety. His service to our community has been
exemplary, and we all look forward to the award ceremony.”

There was more clapping, then the Deacon
asked everyone to take a seat. Collection plates were passed
around. Hess and Elza each contributed a generous amount. Next on
the meeting agenda was a musical performance from the children.

As they sat there, listening to young boys
and girls sing their hatred of the Creator, Elza reached one hand
over surreptitiously to tap his elbow. Hess directed a quizzical
expression at her, but at a shake of her head he dutifully returned
his attention to the front of the room.

The tapping and caressing of his elbow
continued. Hess tried to pay attention to the words sung by the
children, but the mystery of Elza's behavior proved more
interesting by far. Was she initiating something
now
? Hess
felt himself reacting to the possibility.

It made no sense for her to become amorous at
the moment. No matter the chemistry of her body, Elza was rational
to a fault. She would not jeopardize their identities for a cheap
thrill. Unfortunately, there was no way to have a frank
conversation with her while surrounded by people . . . .

A memory rose from the depths. An Observer's
perfect recall had limitations. First, they only remembered what
they had consciously experienced. They couldn't flip through a book
and instantly know its contents. They had to read the words one at
a time to permanently capture them. Second, they couldn't remember
all of it at once. Much as a normal person could only hold so much
in short term memory, an Observer could only hold so much in long
term memory. After that, things faded into deep memory.

Some experiences never left his primary
memory – the moments that defined him refused to fade into the
background. The memories that did fade wound up in the depths and
could take some time to rise back to the surface when something
triggered their recall.

Now, Hess remembered the lover's language of
Iteration thirty-two. It had been invented as a means of private
communication between aristocratic couples. After enjoying a few
generations of popularity, the language had gone out of vogue and
been forgotten by everyone except two Observers.

The fact that he had misinterpreted Elza's
communications as foreplay meant he couldn't recall the exact
sequence to translate. He tapped on the back of Elza's hand.
Start again.

Her fingers stopped, then began anew.
The
rituals match the typical profile of those used by popular
religions. They are all based around building communal identity and
reinforcing cognitive biases.

Hess gave two gentle pinches in rapid
succession with his thumb and index finger, the signal for
agreement.
I forgot all about this language.

The children's music ended and a lecturer
pulled from the elders of the congregation went up front to speak
about the threats to human dignity. Apparently, the threats were
religion, atheism, homosexuality, and violent video games.

Elza's fingers tapped at his arm.
Ridiculous. Obvious theological flaws. They oppose the Creator
and any imposed natural order. So why oppose homosexuality? Non
compliance with biology should be a virtue.

Hess waited until her fingers stopped to
reply.
All religions are the same. They pick things they approve
and disapprove and worry about fitting things together later. It's
just people using a platform to get power.

Her fingers pounded a response into his
elbow.
Not all the same. Some allow people to question
assumptions and fix flaws. This one is incompatible with free
thought.

Up front, the Deacon took the pulpit again to
read a series of stories from the news. Each story highlighted
people overcoming challenges in their lives. Throughout the
congregation, people nodded in earnest approval of every word they
heard. Elza's fingers remained still throughout his talk.

Then everyone stood to sing a few hymns of
Opposition. When that was done, the Deacon delivered a benediction
about seizing dignity from the mess of everyday life. Everyone
raised a fist in the air, cursed the Creator a final time, and
filed out of the meeting room to chat in the hallway and make their
way home.

As Hess worked his way outside with Elza,
Inspector Monterey appeared beside them. “I hope the two of you
plan to attend regularly. I've been following up on our
conversation yesterday, and both of you have spotless reputations
in the community.”

Hess plastered a smile to his face. “We
already agreed to attend again next week. Congratulations on your
nomination, Investigator.”

The Investigator gave the slightest
inclination of his head, then slipped away. Elza took his arm,
tapping as they walked out the door together.
He is career man,
not interested in risking his reputation on someone who might not
be found guilty.

As they strolled towards his house, Hess
tapped back.
When are you going to tell me what is bothering
you?

Elza pulled her arm free. “Just give me some
space, Hess.”

He took the name
Cazzel on his way into the village. Cazzel. A man from the previous
world who liked to torment and force himself on those weaker than
himself – typically women and young boys. A man who had the
misfortune to turn his attentions upon the Creator's Observer.

A smile wormed its way onto his face as he
recalled his retribution against the original Cazzel. That man had
not enjoyed having a tent stake driven up his rectum one bit.
Judging by how he had begged and threatened and screamed, having
his tent burnt down on top of him hadn't been a pleasant experience
either. Even as a woman in a man's world, the Creator's Observer
had been superior.

Though if there were more than one Observer,
then he wouldn't truly be
the
Creator's Observer. He would
be
one of
the Observers. The evidence that others existed
was thin, just stories of a man seeking his woman from another
world. But knowledge of the Creator had come from somewhere. If one
of these creatures had puzzled out the world's origins, then that
was a development the Creator would need to know. On the other
hand, if other Observers
were
out there, then he thought it
only right to get familiar.

At the guest pavilion of this village, a man
sat on the ground and tended a small fire in the hearth. Cazzel
squatted beside the man. “Are you the one who greets visitors
around here?”

The man shrugged as he poked at the fire.
“Women's crafts and talking to guests is the only work fit for me
anymore.”

Cazzel frowned. “Why do you say that? You
look young and strong.”

The man's lips twisted into a sneer. “Tens of
days ago I was young and strong. Today I am broken and
worthless.”

“Well,” Cazzel said, “at least you are good
at welcoming visitors.”

The man tossed his fire stick aside. “Welcome
to our village, stranger. Have you come so late in the day to eat
our food without sharing in our work? Will you leave early tomorrow
before anyone can ask you to help us dig a new well? Are you one of
those men who walks from village to village for free meals and
brags of your brave travels? Or do you search for a home with many
beautiful women and little work to go around? Tell me, stranger,
what manner of wanderer are you?”

Cazzel cackled at the outburst. “I like you.
Shame you're broken. We could get into all sorts of mischief
otherwise.”

“I am no friend to you.”

“Oh, I never named you friend. I just enjoy a
little hostility here and there.” Cazzel leaned forward to study
the man. “Why is it you can't work?”

The man spat on the ground between them.
“Entertain yourself.”

“Are there worms in your leavings? Does blood
fill your phlegm? Or are you wrong in your head? What makes you
broken, angry man?”