Mercury Begins (Mercury Trilogy)

Mercury Begins

A story b
y Robert Kroese

The Apocalyp
se is generally thought of as relatively short-term event,
occurring over the course of days or weeks, at the end of which the just are rewarde
d, the unjust are punished, and the universe displays the Cosmic Test Pattern for all of eternity.

In fact, the Greek word
apocálypsis
, a synonym of
revelation
, means “uncovering,” and refers to the gradual unfolding of the Divine Plane on the temporal plane. Sure, things speed up a bit toward the end, but the process of
apocálypsis
happens over the course of thousands of years.
So, contrary to popular belief, the Heavenly Apocalypse Bureau isn’t some sort of ad hoc task force thrown together to make sure the doors are all locked and the lights are switched off; it’s been around since the Beginning, to make sure events unfold according to plan – no easy feat when you consider the fickle nature of human beings, not to mention the incessant bungling of the idiots in Prophecy Division.
[1]

Consider the founding of Rome – an essential event in the unfolding of the Plan if there ever was one. Without Rome there would have been no Roman Empire, no Pontius Pilate, no
C
rucifixion,
n
o persecution, no Constantine,
no Charlemagne, no Holy Roman Empire, no
Renaissance
, no Reformation. Yet the city of Rome almost wasn’t – and never would have been, were it not for a nudge from the Apocalypse Bureau.
Observe:

Mercury awoke on a rocky plateau at the apex of an a
toll somewhere in the Aegean Sea
. His head felt like it had been stuffed with thistles and his mouth tasted like something had died in it.
He stretched a
nd
sat up,
winc
ing
as
the thist
les caught fire.
Next to him stood a seagull, cocking its head at him.

“
Keeyaah
,” said the gull.

“
Geeyurgh
,” said Mercury.

“
Keeyaah
,” corrected the gull.

“
Keeyaah
?” asked Mercury.

“
Keeyaah
,” the gull confirmed.

“
W
hatever it is, it feels like hell,” said Mercury.
He hadn’t felt this lousy since the time he was beheaded by Etruscans over a misunderstanding involving a sacred ceremonial fountain and a bidet. “I think it was the beer,” he said to the seagull, whose silence he took as agreement.

It was the first time Mercury had tried beer and, having been informed it was an acquired taste,
he
did
his best to acquire it over the course of
twenty
-fo
ur bottles. He remembered thinking he was making real progress around number eighteen, but everything after that was a blur. How had he gotten from the party in
Athens
to an atoll off the coast of
Asia Minor
? Presumably he had flown, but he couldn’t
be
certain
. Some small part of his brain not short-circuited by alcohol must have had the sense to remove his inebriated self from the presence of mortals whom he might
otherwise
have
accidentally injured or killed
.
He remembered hearing
once
about an angel who had been severely reprimanded by the Heavenly authorities for accidentally dismembering
two
dozen Chaldeans in a wine-addled attempt at Three Card Monte.
Drunk
angels were all fun and games until somebody los
t
a couple of limbs.

Mercury smacked his lips together,
shielding his eyes from the rising sun.
“Probably why they don’t let us drink,” o
bserved Mercury to the seagull.

“
Keeyaah
,” said the seagull
.

“Yeah, and the
keeyaah
,” said Mercury
, holding his head
. “The
keeyaah
is a bitch too.”

Mercury had never been one for following rules, but he was starting to see the rationale for this one. He could have gotten in serious trouble if anybody from
the
Apocalypse Bureau had been around to see him
indulging in
the local spirits
.
Fortunately, he was fairly certain he was the only angel assigned to this area.
At least, he didn’t remember
Uzziel
mentioning anyone else in his briefing for that
“extremely important assignment.” What had ever happened with that, anyway?

Mercury felt in his pockets, pulling out a wrinkled scrap of parchment. At the top was written, in
his own
handwriting:

EXTREMELY IMPORTANT ASSIGNMENT

Founding of ROME

Critical historical event

So far, so good.
He remembered writing that stuff during
Uzziel’s
briefing
.
But as he worked his way down the page, Mercury’s limited attention span began to show itself in increased use of abbreviation, incomplete ideas and illegible smudges of ink
:

Determinism, Divine Plan, etc.

Syncretism – East/West

Nec
. For
Renn
.,
Ref., et al.

The note culminated with:

Talk to Dave

Help Greeks find back door

Get Trojans to Italy

Anus???

At the very bottom was a
crude
drawing of a horse.
Mercury thought what
it lacked in
verisimilitude
it made up for
in charming naiveté
:

“Well,” said Mercury to
the seagull
, “that isn’t helpful at all.”

“
Keeyaah
,” said the seagull.

Mercury shook his head. “Can’t blame this on the
keeyaah
, I’m afraid. I was dead sober when I wrote this.”
He regarded the note dubiously. He w
as supposed to make sure Rome was fo
unded, that much was clear. Or
was he supposed to make sure Rome
wasn’t
founded? But why would
the
Apocalypse Bureau have a name for a city that was never supposed to exist? That didn’t make much sense. And it seemed like that
Renn
./
Ref. stuff couldn’t happen if Rome wasn’t founded. The
Renn
./
Ref. stuff was pretty important, as he recalled. He could always put a call through to
Uzziel
in Heaven, but that would mean admitting he hadn’t been paying attention during the briefing. Besides, the way
Uzziel
droned on, he’d probably miss all the same important parts again.

Mercury studied the note some more. Who were the Trojans again?
People who live in the city of Troy
, he thought
.
Weren’t they at war with somebody?
The Greeks
.
That was
it,
the Trojans were fighting the Greeks. But the Greeks couldn’t penetrate the giant wall the Trojans had erected around the city. “Help the Greeks find a back door” must mean help them get through the wall. At least he hoped that’s what it meant.

The seagull cocked its head at Mercury, shrugging its wings.

But who was Dave? That one didn’t ring any bells. Oh well, he’d just have to wing it. Mercury leaped into the air, soaring in a great
north
easterly arc toward the city of Troy.

The seagull watched him go with interest. “
Keeyaah
?” it asked.

***
*
*

Troy wasn’t a particularly impressive city, other than the thirty foot wall that ringed the city proper. If the Greeks could have seen the nondescript mud and stone structures that made up most of the
town
, they might have decided it wasn’t worth the trouble. But the grass is always greener inside the perimeter of a thirty foot wall, and the Greeks had been trying to get in for
ten
years now.
Their ships were anchored a half mile or so down the coast, and a sizable contingent of foot soldiers was encamped around the city. Occasionally skirmishes would break out, with Greeks attempting to scale the walls or Trojans attempting to open a corridor through the Greeks for supplies to travel through, but lately neither side had put much effort into it. The stalemate seemed destined to go on forever.

Mercury landed on a hilltop not far from the Greek ships and made his way down to the main camp.

“Halt!” cried a sentry. “Who goes there?”

Mercury, who had the foresight to alter his dress to that of a Greek foot soldier, was nevertheless caught off guard by the sentry’s challenge.

“
Er
, me,” said Mercury dimly.

“Hermes?” asked the sentry.

“Sure,” replied Mercury. “Hermes.” It was a good a name as any.

“I don’t recognize you,” said the sentry suspiciously.

“Yeah, I don’t, ah, spend much time in camp,” replied Mercury. “I’m a scout.
Been keeping my
eye
out for
those filthy
Trojans.
So, anyway, I’m looking for… Dave?
”

The sentry frowned. “You’re looking for
who
?”

“Dave,” said Mercury, trying to sound
more sure
of himself.

“What kind of name is ‘Dave’?” asked the sentry.

Mercury pulled the parchment out of his pocket and peered at the paper.
“Dean, maybe?”

“I don’t know any Dean either,” said the sentry. “Hey, Virgil,” he called over his shoulder, keeping an eye on Mercury, “You know anybody named Dean or Dave?”
A higher ranking soldier, evidently named Virgil, glared down from a knoll a stone’s throw closer to the beach. He shook his head.

“Who’s your commander?” demanded the sentry.

But Mercury had become distracted by the sight of a man standing on a rocky outcropping a hundred yards or so in the opposite direction. The man had a long white beard and he was pacing back and forth and muttering, as if trying to psych himself up to jump into a cold lake.
Except there was no lake, cold or otherwise.
The man was going to jump forty feet down onto jagged rocks.

“Um, what is that guy doing?” Mercury asked.

The sentry glanced up at the man. “Old Daedalus?” he said. “Who knows?
Probably testing out some crazy invention of his.
I don’t know why they keep that lunatic around.”

“Daedalus!”
Mercury exclaimed, looking at the note. A smudge obscured the second half of the name. “That’s who I’m supposed to talk to!”

The sentry laughed. “You’d better hurry, then.”
As he said this, the old man made a running start and jumped off the cliff.

“Son of a –” Mercury gasped, running toward the cliff. He held out his hand, trying to harness some of the mysterious
interplanar
energy that angels use to perform miracles. He had just enough time to counteract the pull of gravity in the old man’s immediate vicinity. In his haste, though, he overcompensated, and a moment after Daedalus disappeared amongst the rocks, he shot
some twenty feet into the air
.