Agents of the Demiurge (8 page)

“Your point?”

“I use torture to gauge how strongly people
wish to live. The quicker they ask for death, the less they value
their lives. With me so far?”

Simone squinted again, silently studying
him.

“I'll assume I haven't lost you yet. My point
in explaining my test method is that the empirical evidence ain't
in your favor. People living in a paradise will embrace death to
avoid a hang-nail. But take some miserable smuck from a world like
this and you need to put in a bit of effort to get the same result.
And then there are the crazy worlds. The people from one of those
require serious convincing.

“You seeing my point yet? Your thought
experiment don't match the data. People aren't happiest in worlds
full of roses and bubblegum. They need contrast. A little tragedy
to bring out the sweetness.”

She shook her head. “I reject your
'test'.”

“Well, you would know best, considering you
have hundreds of thousands of years of life experience. Wait a
minute. That's me. You're only four months old.”

“Did it ever occur to you that people from
better worlds might not have the coping mechanisms to deal with
your hideous experiments?”

“What the hell is a coping mechanism in the
first place? A way to survive trauma. Why don't supposedly happy
people develop these wonderful coping skills when they have need of
them? You know, like all the other people do all the time?”

“Coping skills are developed over time. You
can't throw someone who has never been challenged into a trial and
expect a miracle.”

Erik sighed. “You have no idea what you're
talking about.”

“Belittling me doesn't make my argument
wrong.”

“Coping mechanisms pop up fully formed. A
mind pushed past its limits invents something to keep the urge for
self-destruction at bay. I've played with enough people to know the
process more intimately than you know the contours of your
vibrator. People subconsciously decide when their lives are worth
protecting with psychological barriers. It's all choice.”

Simone's eyes bored into him. “Do not insult
me again.”

“You gonna hit me if I do? Didn't work out
too well for the last guy.”

“I won't come back for tomorrow's
conversation. You represent the antithesis of everything I stand
for, yet I am willing to treat you with dignity. All I ask in
return is for a modicum of respect. I can ignore your base
language, but the crude jokes at my expense end or our association
ends.”

“Mutual respect? I'm hanging naked from the
ceiling after weeks of excruciating torture and you take issue with
colorful language? This is exactly the kind of attitude I expect
from you people. Everything has to be your way all the time or the
world ain't fair.”

Simone folded her arms. “I have nothing to do
with your circumstances. I can and do choose to speak to you
civilly. In return, I expect the same.”

“Do you blame the Creator for making you an
unattractive woman? Is that the source of your personal opposition?
You are rich, famous, and powerful, but you hate the Creator cause
you ain't pretty enough?”

“Respect,” Simon said.

“Fine. I won't insult your looks or your sex
life. If you feel like returning the respect, you could adjust my
bindings.”

“Out of the question.”

“Why? Afraid to come closer?”

“I believe your boasts to the Punishers that
you will eventually escape. You are far more cunning than I.”

Erik grunted. His eyes drifted closed.

“Do you really plan to sleep through the rest
of our interview?”

“Ssssh. I'm mutual respecting.”

“We have another Observer in custody.”

“So I hear.”

“Don't you want to know who it is?”

“Unless his name is Hess, I don't care.”

“This Hess character comes up a lot when I
talk to your kind. He's a rebel of sorts, as I understand.”

“He would eat up your blasphemous
religion.”

“So one of your own kind hates the
Demiurge?”

“Don't flatter yourself, chica. Hess doesn't
hate the Creator. He suffers from a messiah complex that interferes
with our mission.”

“He tried to improve a world for the benefit
of its people and you buried him alive in punishment.”

Erik opened his eyes. “That world didn't need
any improving.”

“What about this one?”

“Watch the next sunset. Really watch it.
Consider the phenomenon. Hydrogen atoms fuse into helium atoms
millions of miles away, release photons to rush through space,
diffract in the atmosphere, pass through the lens of your eye to
strike your retina, where a series of chemical reactions passes the
message to a network of neurons that perceives a fucking sunset.
Think about the complexity of that. Marvel at it. Recognize that
every moment you exist is unique and will never happen again. Feel
the significance of a universe capable of hosting billions just
like you, all of them walking around having their own unique
moments. You do that, then come tell me you think the Creator
shouldn't have brought this world into existence. Explain how much
better an empty, unobserved void would be. Try to convince me.”

Simone frowned, then dismissed whatever
thought troubled her with a firm shake of her head. “Nothing you
say can justify the state of this world.”

“Do you see me cursing the Creator? I've been
tortured for two weeks by a religion perfectly designed to catch
and torment Observers. A religion made by the Creator, mind you.
Likely it will be years of the same before I get my chance to
escape. I got legitimate reasons to get pissy. But I'm not crying
foul. Why is that?”

“You tell me.”

“No. You figure out the answer for
yourself.”

“Do you want to know the name of the other
Observer?”

“Who is it?”

Simone raised her chin. “I want your name
first.”

“Erik.”

“I thought as much.”

“Who is it?”

“A man by the name of Ingrid.”

Erik grunted. “Do me a favor? Pass a message
along to my good friend. Tell him 'I know it was you who released
the prisoner last Iteration'.”

Simone nodded. “I'll let him know that.”

Hess stared at
Jerome. “Die?”

“Well, have our memories erased. It's the
same as dying. The Creator will abide by the majority decision of
our vote.”

Elza brushed her hair back out of her eyes.
“Are we the first ones you've approached?”

“About that,” Jerome said. “I barely found
the two of you. If Hess hadn't left messages all over the internet
from a device owned by Jed Orlin, I would still be out there
looking for you.”

“I thought you knew our identities at the
start of every iteration,” Elza said.

Jerome nodded her head so vigorously that her
spindly neck looked in danger of snapping. “My head is full of all
the usual details. Names, locations, appearances. All of it. But
according to my memories, Hess is a white man named Carl Lindenburg
and Elza is on the other side of the planet.

“When the Creator added the Church to the
history of this world, your identities must have changed. For the
first time in my existence, I have a reason to find the eleven of
you. And for the first time in my existence, I don't have the means
to do so.

“Something is wrong with the Creator. The war
between you two and the others has had serious consequences.”

“Wait a minute,” Hess said. “How much of this
is knowledge supplied by the Creator and how much is guesses?”

Jerome grimaced. “All I know for sure is my
mission and the fact that everything I knew about this world at the
moment of creation is wrong.” She stared at Hess with her deep-set
eyes. “I think that's enough to know something is wrong.”

Hess crossed his arms. “What is wrong is the
fact that Erik gets his rocks off by torturing the people. And the
fact that Ingrid feels entitled to punish us. Those two deserve the
very worst this world has to offer. I hope the Church of Opposition
gets its hands on those two Agents.”

Jerome's jaw dropped. “Why?”

“Because,” Hess snapped, “
they
are
what is wrong with every world. They want suffering to exist. Erik
just for the fun of it. Ingrid because of her obsession with
consequences. Their spite has sabotaged every world I have ever
walked, Jerome. They deserve the enmity of the people.”

For a moment, Jerome was silent. “If that is
how you feel, then I don't think the current batch of Observers can
be effective any longer. I vote to wipe our memories and end
us.”

“What?”

Jerome sagged against the kitchen counter.
“The rules provided by the Creator are simple. Everyone gets to
vote. There is no changing a vote once cast. A refusal to vote
counts in favor of wiping. I must conduct the vote as quickly as
possible and open the sky once I have the final vote.”

“And you think we are unfit to Observe
because I don't approve of my coworkers?”

Jerome shook her head. “Because you hate
them. And they probably hate you. We serve something greater than
ourselves, Hess.”

“No,” Hess said, “we serve ourselves.”

“Our consciousnesses join together to form
the Creator's. Our memories inform the Creator. But we aren't the
Creator any more than your hand is the sum total of you.”

Hess forced a smile. “Thanks for your
opinion, Jerome. But we like our lives just fine, so we'll be
voting against proposition suicide.”

“I get to make my own choice, Hess.” Elza met
his eyes. “And I'm tired.” She looked away. “I vote in favor of
ending the Observers.”

Hess stared. He opened his mouth, then shut
it when no words came to him. Finally, he stumbled forward to
collapse into one of the bar stools in his kitchen. Hess shook his
head emphatically and avoided eye contact with the two women.

Jerome cleared her throat. “You despise Erik.
Voting to wipe our memories would destroy him. It would let the
Observers start over with fresh personalities. Likely the worlds
would improve as a result.”

Hess ran a hand through his hair. “So you
want to forget
us
? Forget we ever happened? That doesn't
make sense, Elza. Last Iteration you made me promise to never
forget you. Now you vote to erase everything we are from existence.
Everything we ever were.”

“I am
tired
, Hess. Eternity is too
long.”

“Too long to spend with me?”

Elza turned to look out the window. “You know
I love you.”

“Really? Because I just heard you give up on
us.”

“I tired of life before we ever met, Hess.
Way back in Iteration one. Back then, the only thing that kept me
going was a sense of duty. When we ran into each other in Kallig's
tribe, you hated the world, but I hated my life.

“It's funny to look back on, but I actually
thought I'd seen everything existence had to offer. Then we met and
I forgot how miserable I was. For a while. But love can't fix
everything.”

Hess struck a fist on the table. “Where the
hell is this coming from? Are you still upset about the nuclear war
last Iteration?”

Elza grimaced. “No, Hess, that has nothing to
do with anything.”

He stabbed a finger at her. “You made me
swear to never forget you!”

“Because I couldn't live without you. That's
the difference here, Hess. I'm not asking you to live without me.
What I want is the same mercy the people are granted every world. I
want to cease being.”

“Why?”

Elza stared at him.

“Why, Elza? What possible reason could you
have for wanting to die?”

“Didn't you want to die when you were
Zack?”

“I wasn't myself.”

“But you remember it. That's how I feel,
Hess. Don't you remember what I told you after I abducted you last
Iteration?”

Hess hated remembering the five years he had
spent suppressing his deep memories, the time he had lived under
the identity of Zack Vernon. After he had escaped from Erik, he had
gone back to his trailer and encountered Elza. During their initial
conversation, after he revealed he wanted to die, she had responded
by saying “We don't die, Zack. Not ever. Not even when it's the
only thing we want.”

“We were happy,” he said.

Elza's eyes misted. “Happier than I thought
possible.”

“I suppose I should thank you for pretending
I was more than a distraction.” Hess got to his feet. “On second
thought, never mind. None of it matters because we're being
killed.”

He slammed the door on his way out of the
house.

He took the name
Mott as he entered the village. Mott. The name of a man who had
been mauled by a lion and survived . . . for a time. It had been an
entertaining, if short, show. He had watched the man named Mott beg
for help, then try to drag his mangled body to safety when he
realized the only witness intended to do no more than watch.

Mott readied his usual questions. Had they
seen a pale man traveling with a beautiful woman? Which of the
nearby villages was largest? Had anyone heard talk of someone
creating the world?

While trying to find someone to answer his
questions, Mott stumbled upon an interesting scene. A dozen women
swarmed over one of their number, shrieking a strident chorus of
“no, Beeta, no!” as they restrained her. Even as the events
unfolded, the village elders emerged from the guest pavilion to
make ineffective soothing motions with their hands.

His questions died unasked. Something much
more interesting than following cold trails was happening here.
Dark memories stirred. A world ago, he had been a shapely woman in
the midst of a swarm of men, beaten and taken with wild force. He
had taken his vengeance upon each of those men after, striking from
the dark and planting evidence to frame their own brothers of the
deed.