Michael-Lan saw the cloud of doubt replace the adamantine clarity of dogma on Salaphael’s face. You poor dumb cluck. You still believe in omnipotence and omniscience. You still think that such attributes are possible or even plausible. Can’t you see that it is your belief in such things that holds us all from learning? Humans broke out of their cage and leaped into their future the day they rejected belief of omniscience and asked the one simple question Yah-Yah fears more than any other. Why? Now, I must ask that question. “Salaphael, there are some questions I must ask before your interrogation is handed over to others. Why did your organization try to kill my friend Lemuel?”
“Lemuel? Because he was falling into the way of sin. He was becoming corrupted and sliding away from the True Path. His position at the League of Holy Court should have made him immune to temptation. The fact that he was not meant that he had to die.”
Michael nodded. Framed in Salaphael’s terms of reference, that made sense. “And my other question. What possessed you to make the humans use their weapons against each other. With the failure and death of Uriel, that was a maneuver of great skill. I would applaud it.” And do intend to take credit for it. I just want to find out how it was done.
Salaphael looked at him in amazement. “That was not your doing? It was certainly none of ours.”
Michael’s Palace, Aukumea, Heaven
“Distributed Axonic Brain Damage.” Doctor David Gunn rolled the words around as if they were a death sentence. Which was precisely what they were.
“Say again?” Michael-Lan was bemused, distracted. The last six words spoken to him by Salaphael had been rolling around his mind ever since he had started the flight home. Did they mean there was yet another conspiracy aimed at supplanting Yahweh? Or was this Yahweh himself with a deeper plan than Michael had given him credit for? Michael-Lan had to know the answer to that question.
“Dumah and Fluffy both have massive, irreversible brain damage. Fluffy can’t recover, he’s dying and we can’t save him. Dumah, well, she might survive but she’ll be a vegetable. Her brain is decaying hourly. Just a question now of whether the damage will stop spreading before her vital functions are compromised. I won’t hold out many hopes there.”
“How did this happen? They were both badly wounded I know, but she was speaking and seemed rational. What went wrong?”
Gunn sighed and waved to Shannon Lowney. She brought a great plate over, one that bore a life-sized copy of an angelic brain made out of Michael-Lan’s favorite strawberry Jello. “This is her brain right? Well, she got caught in a pattern of bomb explosions, big ones. They threw her backwards and forwards, side to side, with incredible violence. They literally shook her brain apart.” Gunn shook the plate hard. “Look at the Jello. See all the cracks running through it now? Well, her brain is like that, there are fractures all through it. Now, the brain is linked up by something called axons. When her brain fractured, those axons were torn apart. Some severed completely, others just damaged. Now, they’re all dying and as they die, so too do parts of her brain. We can’t go in there to fix it, its her whole brain that’s affected. Fluffy’s been hit as well, just as badly, but his brain is smaller and simpler. It’s gone. He’s got a few hours more at the outside.”
Michael-Lan looked over at the mass of the Scarlet Beast, sprawled across his garden. It was barely moving now, its tongue sagging out of his mouth, its chest moving in irregular pants. Its eyes were already dimming and the intelligence that had once been in them was gone. “Isn’t there anything you can do for Dumah?” He’d wanted her dead, not left alive as a mindless hulk.
Gunn shook his head. “Get a modern doctor, that might help. When I was killed, knowledge of the brain and how these axionic injuries worked was at a very early stage, quite primitive. More than twenty years have passed since then, in medical terms that makes me hopelessly out of date. You can bet a modern doctor knows a lot more than I do. But, to be honest, I don’t think it will help. The only hope I can give you is that I don’t think any Angel has ever had an injury like this before. You heal so much better than we do, its just possible her brain will regenerate. We’ll just have to watch and see. Even if it does regenerate though, it might connect up quite differently. That’ll make her a wholly different person. We just don’t know.”
Michael appeared to be thinking hard, as indeed he was. The subject wasn’t quite what Gunn imagined through. To Michael, Gunn’s words epitomized the whole mind-set that had brought down Hell and threatened Heaven with destruction. More than twenty years have passed since then, in medical terms that makes me hopelessly out of date. To an Angel, twenty years were nothing, inconsequential, a flicker of an eyelid. Yet human knowledge was now advancing so fast that the same time period on Earth meant that what had been the peak of modernity at its start was dated and obsolescent by its end. All because of that one question. Why?
“Do what you can for her, David. Fight for her as hard as you can.”
“I always fight as hard as I can for all my patients.” Gunn’s voice was cold.
Michael-Lan noted that and was sorely tempted to blast him where he stood for his insolence. Then he brought his anger back under control. Displays of anger didn’t work any more, they just made the person delivering them look foolish. And that often meant that whoever it was had missed something important. “As you should David. Now, make sure your team has everything it needs. If there are things you do not have or are in short supply, let me know immediately. I will arrange them somehow.”
Gunn nodded and decided to inventory his supplies. He would find some shortages somewhere, he was sure of that. Because he was convinced that every time Michael-Lan went to Earth was another chance for him to make the mistake that would open up Heaven to a human invasion.
Street of Angelic Beatitude, Eternal City, Heaven.
The streets of purest jasper, kerbed with opals and surrounded by palaces and temples that were clad with precious and semi-precious stones in quantities that were beyond comprehension went unnoticed by Lemuel-Lan-Michael. He walked along those streets, staring downwards, but lost in mystified contemplation of his personal situation. Today should have been a triumph for him. His weeks of work in carefully investigating the First Conspiracy, identifying its members and establishing the links between them had finally been put to good use. All that were known of the First Conspiracy had been rounded up and taken into custody. The chambers of the interrogation center rang with their screams as they were probed for the information that would identify the rest of their foul clique. Today was a day that should have filled him with righteous pride.
Yet it did not. One reason was the attitude that surrounded him on the street. He had expected a reaction from the Angelic Host when news of the arrests broke and spread. He had certainly seen that, only it had not been the reaction he had anticipated. He had expected rejoicing, a massive display of exultation that the threat to Yahweh had been eliminated. Instead he sensed only fear, the Host stepping into the light cautiously, peering around them, wondering who would be the next to see the League of Holy Court on their doorstep. Would they be the ones placed in golden shackles and led away for questioning? They were silent, not trusting their neighbors or their friends since any one of them could be the informer that would send them away to the detention centers.
For all that, Lemuel knew that the depression that filled him had little to do with the unexpected reaction to all the arrests. His home situation had continued to deteriorate and there was little there now to give him the peace and tranquility that he so badly needed. His mate, Onniel, refused to speak to him. She had not said a word to him for weeks now. She lived in silence, his attempts to address her ended by her walking away. His home was a cold and lonely place, unwelcoming and hostile. He had tried, he had tried hard. He had even stayed away from the Temple of Ceaseless Compliance for a few days in an effort to reconcile Onniel but the gesture had been ignored. The effort had actually made him ill and his return to the Temple had been the only thing that had calmed his spirit. Almost unconsciously, what had started as random wandering through the streets of the Eternal City was taking him there now.