The
TWILIGHT OF THE GODS -- Chap. 7
A
story of Mantra and Black September
By
Aladdin and Christopher Leeson
Posted 9-07-2022
Revised 10-07-22
THE IMPOSTOR
And the way you treat them is what they become.
Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
"Shouldn't we be deciding how we’re going to subdue Amber Hunt whenever she drops in?" I asked.
"I’m preparing for that.”
"Another thing: how in the hell are we going to handle her? After all, she’s a powerhouse who's able to go toe to toe with Nemesis herself!"
“Granted. Do you have anything to suggest in that regard?”
“No. I was just hoping that you did.”
“I’ve reviewing options. By the way, we’ve already used up a quarter hour of the time we have left to work with,” he said.
“So why didn’t you put us into attenuated time so we can settle down and have a conversation once in a while?"
“Because this entire universe already exists in attenuated time. The Time Gem has done more to modify time here than I could ever do.”
“Then why didn’t we go father back in time at the outset?”
“Waste not, want not, as they say. I calculated that the allotted time will be sufficient.”
“I just hope you’re right."
I was less confident than I had been before that Gabriel knew what he was doing. But in truth, I didn’t know how I could better him in this crazy environment of modified time. I certainly didn't know how to go toe to toe with Amber Hunt. A year and a half before, in the skies above L.A., she had stood out dozens of ultras, myself included. To switch off her planet-destroying attack some of us had to fly to the moon and shut down her source of power there.
“Before we commit ourselves to any definite plan,” the Timekeeper said, “we need to know more about this reality. Living minds are wildcards. Our sensors can’t get into people’s thoughts and motivations. To get that kind of intelligence, we need to put boots on the ground.”
“I suppose you're talking about my boots. I was beginning to think that your sensors could pull off just about anything.”
“They can do much, but not everything.”
“I've been wondering. Is the Time Gem operating on its own, or is someone is controlling it."
“I believe it’s being controlled, but only the way that it wants to be controlled. The Infinity Gems will actually seek out controllers and manipulate them to attain their own ends because what they are able do independently is very limited. Or, at least that was before they connected with the Ego Gem, which is the operating program for the united array. But as for who the present controller may be, your scouting may solve that mystery.”
“Oh, sure, put it all on my shoulders!" I said. Then, taking another gander outside, I saw that the view hadn’t improved on whit since my last look. "I’d feel safer out there if I were carrying a heavy gauge machine gun.”
"This locality has had more than its share of violence, Eden. Among your many admirable talents is a flare for diplomacy. A clever mind can move mountains. I’ll remain here and try to coordinate our resources; what goes on outside is is rightly a warrior's business.”
"So, I’m a warrior who has to make a charm offensive? The faith you’re putting in my versatility is touching,” I remarked.
I really was feeling sarcastic just then but, in all fairness, I didn’t want Gabriel going out like and exposing himself to danger. If something went amiss, I could never get home without him. Also, he thought he knew how to save the Multiverse, and I sure as hell didn't.
"But what happens if I’m killed?” I asked. “Would you be able to replace me using some Timeline clone of me?"
“In better circumstances, I wouldn’t be risking your safety at all. I’d the clone do the dangerous work. But this is very unusual terrain. This universe exists in an unprecedented time-paradox, and so that option isn’t available. As matters stand, everything depends on you. So, make every second count and take good care of yourself!”
I shrugged. "Okay. I guess I've gone into worse places than the one outside.” Turning to leave, I suddenly realized that I couldn’t’ see the hatch to the exterior. "Did the exit door disappear," I asked.
In a blink, a hatch materialized, probably at the Timekeeper’s mental command. I flashed into my Mantra gear before leaving the Time Sphere – to shore up my chances for survival, not because I like showing off a lot of skin.
The little man called after me, "We'll be able to stay in communication through our nano-technological link. I might even be able to intervene usefully if…if something goes awry."
"Thanks," I said, but only to be polite.
I took the short leap to the ground and then turned to take in an exterior view of the Time Sphere. Amazing. To anyone inside it, the thing didn’t look spherical at all. But aesthetics aside, I had a job to do. The subject of “trans-dimensional physics" had to wait.
Volcanic ash crunched under my boots. I didn’t like this environment, but this wasn’t the first time that I'd had to stride across ash beds. I'd explored whole cities well dusted by volcanic fallout. To be perfectly honest, there wasn’t much that I hadn’t done over the last fifteen hundred years -- except successfully heal a broken heart.
Before leaving the vicinity, I magically scanned the area, making sure that there were no hidden surprises. I picked up traces of human lifeforms, confirming that the city wasn’t quite dead. But while some of the buildings checked out for being inhabited, the sparsity of the life overall made clear that the great majority of ruined L.A. had been abandoned.
"Eden – Mantra…" said a voice inside my head.
"Gabriel? I can see that you weren't kidding about the two of us mentally communicating."
"No indeed. I wanted to clarify a few points. At the time of our arrival, we were approximately six years, nine months, four days, and fourteen hours ahead of Zero Point time as per the Main Bough when you joined me. You will find this universe to be a very close replica of your own.”
“This place?”
“It's true. Events here hadn’t departed significantly from the flow of events known to you prior to the super volcano’s eruption."
"My God! Does that mean that we're seeing Earth's own feature -- that my home planet is going to suffer the same catastrophe?"
"The odds are strongly – though not astronomically – against that possibility. But, for better or ill, be prepared to meet with persons whom you will know on sight. You may even encounter a time-clone of yourself.”
“Been there, done that,” I said. “By your data, though, this would be the month of June. For June, it’s kind of chilly."
"The world climate was changed the super volcano. It will be decades before the climate returns to normal.”
“Yeah. I was there for the 536 A.D. volcanic winter. The weather didn't get right until the 550’s.”
“That was mild disruption in comparison to this one. The destruction has been much worse farther east. Due to the prevailing winds, the bulk of the ash was carried in that direction. The ash here in Los Angeles actually arrived after it circled the globe eastward -- crossing Eurasia and the Pacific Ocean.”
“The world missed getting Global Warming, I guess. But while I’m looking things over, please do something useful toward saving the universe. I mean, the ‘Multiverse.’"
"I shall do my very best."
"That’s what I want to hear.”
I was beginning to like the little fellow, even as my confidence in his genius slipped. Was this a man who could come up with a plan for capturing what had to be one of the most powerful ultras in the universe?
Resuming my walk, the worry came to mind that a version of Gus and Evie might have been born into this awful place. Maybe they had already died, along with most of the world’s population. But I didn't want to go looking for them. Out of sight, out of mind. I might find them suffering in terrible circumstances and I couldn’t stand to have my heart sliced and diced again. Sure, I had some impressive ultra powers, but I'm no match for a world of trouble. I’d be an emotional wreck if I had to hold myself responsible for every clone of the Blake family that existed across the Multiverse. I had a critical mission and I could be blamed for the extinction of all life unless I stayed focused on it.
I sensed human auras lurking in the wreckage ahead. Rather get bushwhacked on the ground, I took to the air wrapped in a protective force field. In a devastated area with few resources, people would be desperate. There was probably starvation in L.A. and – maybe – even cannibalism. Some hungry marksman might even decide that I’d make a tastier meal than his usual diet of rats and cockroaches.
From aloft, I saw that the city was even more of a wreck than my first impression. The least damaged building on my flight pattern was the L.A. armory building. It mimicked the look of a medieval bastion, and that served to remind me of a world that was better than this one. Truly, there truly was a lot to be said for the Middle Ages. Alas, this city existing on life support had not a thing to make me nostalgic.
There were pendants with unfamiliar symbols flapping over the military installation and I wondered whether a local strongman was ruling the ruins. The armory would have been a good place for a pirate king to set up shop. As bad as he might be, he could be the only force of order the people had. It would be a miracle had any trace of the United States government survived. Maybe some military units could have kept things together in their own locations, but as for politicians and bureaucrats – never!
#
Gazing earthward, I spotted a squad of thuggish guys and decided to set down and say hello. Parleying with armed strangers is a high-risk operation, so I maintained my force field while making my approach.
"Hello," I said from a little way off. "I'm a visitor from out of town. I'd like to see the – the local boss."
A shaggy-haired individual, the squad’s leader probably, raised a hunting rifle. "Stay where you are, impostor!" he shouted.
My forehead crinkled. Mantra has been called a lot of different things, but not an impostor until now.
Why had he said that? Was it possible that there was a local Mantra whom he knew of? Why would these men so quickly guess that I wasn’t her? Was their Mantra’s cape so tattered by now that it had obvious dog-hide patches on it?
"I don't like people pointing guns at me." I told him. "Who' s your commander?"
"Watch out; she may be an ultra," the sergeant-type alerted his teammates. “If she's got half the power of the real Mantra, we'll need plenty of backup. Connect with His Majesty’s master-at-arms."
Accordingly, one raised a walky-talky and started jabbering into it. Oftentimes, old tech is best; I could be pretty sure that none of the world’s cell towers would still be functioning.
I didn't overhear much of the conversation, except that the guard repeated the name Mantra. I hoped he was talking to Mantra on the other end. It would probably be easier for me to reach some sort of rapport with a clone of my own rather than win over anyone else. Though talking to oneself is usually a bad sign, on this occasion I was very much looking forward to it.
"If you guys don't like me, I can go elsewhere," I called out. Then I sent a mental communique to Gabriel. "Are you getting this, Partner?"
"Yes, Eden. Please seek to secure needed intelligence from this fortuitous meeting with authority."
"I don’t have very high expectations about these ‘authorities,’” I said. “If this armory doesn't house an out and out bandit gang, it’ll probably hold the local Fearless Leader. Petty dictators can be the hardest people in the world to do business with. I mean, they’re very long in the nasty and dumb department."
"Proceed at your own recognizance, Eden. This is no doubt a situation that is very familiar to you."
“It is,” I agreed. “But it’s also the sort of situation that’s gotten me killed a good many times. Remember, this cat is on his last life.”
To the squad leader I said, “Is everything okay or do you want me to beat it?”
"Stay where you are or we'll open fire," the sergeant clarified.
"I wouldn’t want that to happen," I replied, projecting my brightest smile.
Just then a man-mountain came stomping out of the armory building. Deja vu! I remembered this guy’s mug shot from one of Aladdin's persons-of-interest files. He was a minor ultra who possessed a major power and went by the name of Rubble. The man was a powerhouse, capable of beating a forty-story building into – well, rubble.
"Is your name Rubble?” I asked. “You're very famous. Do you command around here, or do you report to someone else?"
The ultra gave me back a scowl.
"Watch out; she may be an ultra," the squad sergeant informed him.
“Get His Majesty on line,” Rubble directed them.
Majesty? Did some local gang leader have visions of grandeur? Well, I might as well try the dope. Talking to these yard dogs wasn’t going to get me anywhere.
And at that instant everything went black.
#
I woke up with a pounding headache. Had I been hit? If so, with what? – and why hadn’t my force field stopped it?
“She’s already waking up. I should have hit her harder," said a woman.
My sight clearing, I made out a female type a dusty wear-worn costume – one whom I recognized as a cut-and-dried villain. Villainess, I mean. It was Neuronne – a member of TNTNT – an ultra outlaw gang.
According to her Aladdin file, the maid of mayhem could sling a mental whammy. If feeling extra nasty, she could really scramble a person's thinking power. Dumb me! The appearance of Rubble had only been a distraction. While I was looking his way, Neuronne had crept up to back-shoot me using a mental attack. I usually don’t add psionic attack filters to my standard shield because it’s such a hassle. Also, the squad confronting me hadn’t looked like it could muster enough brain power to make a good a match for a hamster.
So, by one little act of carelessness, I'd been knocked down and tied up. Being at the mercy of criminals wasn’t a good spot to be in, so I immediately tried to contact Gabriel. Unfortunately, I got back only silence. Had Neuronne’s attack upset the link we’d established?
If that was the case, I was on my own.
"Back off!” barked someone coming up behind me. “I want to interrogate to her personally."
“Yes, sir, King Warstrike," replied Rubble.
Had I heard him say, King Warstrike?
I blinked away the remaining fuzz from my eyes and saw a looming shape dressed in red and blue spandex.
"B-Brandon?" I muttered.
"The spy is being offensively familiar, my liege," said someone in the squad. “Should I strike her?"
"I’ll hit her myself, if I have to," Tark rumbled.
This was loopy. Back home, my friend Brandon Tark had been a billionaire. Was this version of him really a petty king running a mostly-dead city? If that was the case, I wasn’t sure that the job change was any sort of rise in status.
I could only hope that this clown was enough like the man I knew to have a good opinion of Mantra.
If I could convince him that I really was a bona-fide Mantra.
TO BE CONTINUED IN CHAPTER 8
