“Of course, there are many of them. The Angels use them as menial servants.”
Baylor sighed. If Lugasharmanaska could be believed, and that was always open to question, everything in the Second Life was very different from the pictures that had been presented. “Right Luga, today, I’d like to talk about the wars here on Earth. Particularly about the other beings, ones we think of as gods.”
“Why do you want to know about that bunch of losers?” Luga was openly scornful.
“They existed then?”
“Certainly. They probably still do. We ran them off Earth, Yahweh and Satan together did. They had a good-cop, bad-cop act going for them.”
“I wonder who the Bad Cop was?” The stenographer got another angry glance from Baylor.
“Usually Satan. But we converted their followers and deprived them of power. By the time we’d finished they had so few followers it wasn’t worth them staying. Only one of the groups really put up a fight and we had to strike a deal. If they went, their followers wouldn’t be tormented in Hell.”
“So that’s what Gaius Julius Caesar meant when he said he and his friends were protected by powerful gods.” Baylor spoke thoughtfully. “There always were rumors that he and some other Romans were part of a mystical cult. Whatever it was, it must have saved their necks.”
“You’ll have to talk to him about that.’ Luga was dismissive. “There were quite a few others as well. I think they were the first ones out of the Hell-pit.”
“Hardly surprising. So there are other beings from other bubble-worlds in Universe-Two.”
Luga took a moment to work that one out. “Certainly. But they haven’t been seen on Earth for millennia. We saw the last of them off at least three thousand years ago.”
Luga spoke for a couple of hours, describing the battle for control of Earth. “So, you see, most of the religions are based on memories of those other groups. That’s all I know really.”
Baylor relaxed and the stenographer signed off on the transcript she’d created. Then, he leaned forward again. “Do you really want to become a lawyer Luga?”
“No, but I want to understand the law. These laws you have are a new concept to me. My television show makes me too much money for me to give it up.”
Baylor couldn’t resist asking. “How much do you make on that show Luga.”
She grinned exposing her long yellow fangs. “When we broadcast, one thousand dollars per day. Or, as my bank manager says, ‘how now, green thou’.”
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.”