Agents of the Demiurge Read online

  Dear Jed Orlin, Hess's identity, had achieved financial independence at forty years of age, which gave him the opportunity to move anywhere Elza desired. And he had precious little in the way of family to wonder where he had gone. Very convenient.

  “Mr. Orlin? Do you still want to meet? The architecture firm sent over the preliminary plans for the warehouse expansion.” The speaker was Gwen Furman, with a job title his identity could never remember, whose nebulous role included serving as an efficiency expert. The misremembering bugged him. Hess never forgot anything he consciously experienced, but the memories he inherited at the start of a world were as fallible as anyone else's, as if at the moment of creation he had been plugged into an established role in place of the true actor.

  Apparently, among the details Jed Orlin had forgotten before Hess inherited his memories was a warehouse expansion meeting. He frowned. He didn't remember anything about plans to expand the warehouse. “Sure,” he said. “We'll meet in my office.”

  While they relocated, Hess probed at his memories, trying to determine if his identity regularly forgot meetings. Every recollection presented evidence to the contrary. Jed had been a master multitasker largely because he didn't miss the little things.

  Gwen sat after him, the movement causing a religious pendant on her necklace to slip free of her shirt. Hess stared. Emblazoned on the surface of the pendant was a raised fist instead of the sacred eagle emblem he expected. Based on his memories, it should have been a sacred eagle.

  Is the Creator messing with me, he wondered. But that made no sense. Jerome had revealed to him last Iteration that the Observers were pieces of the Creator. Why would anyone turn against a part of himself? Of course, another piece of the Creator was Erik, who wanted only the worst for Hess. Did their desires balance out to a net zero? Did the Creator even care about the rivalry among its components?

  “Are you OK, Mr. Orlin?”

  “Oh, sorry, Gwen. I just noticed your pendant.”

  She squinted at him. “What about it?”

  “It just occurred to me that I don't know much about it.”

  Gwen sat up straighter, losing the submissive slouch. Her eyes darted to the door. Lips lifted every so subtly towards the suggestion of a sneer. Hess knew he had said something wrong. Very wrong. If he wasn't mistaken, Gwen planned to sell him out.

  He soon learned that the Church had contracted with TFK Motors to use its logistics network and warehouse facilities – a fact that should be well known by the Director of Logistics. Following their meeting, Gwen scampered off and he brought up a facilities map on his monitor.

  Fully a quarter of the warehouse was dedicated to the Church's use. The inventory list looked better suited to an arms dealer than a religious institution. Nine millimeter handguns, five point seven millimeter rifles, flashbangs, canisters of CS gas, tasers, body armor, and tons of ammunition.

  Hess switched back to the facilities map. The section used by the Church had reinforced walls. An armory occupied a quarter of his warehouse and he remembered nothing about it. Hess sent a message to his assistant letting her know he was taking off early, then snuck out to his car.

  He kept one eye on his rear view mirror until the campus of TFK Motors disappeared into the distance, then hit the gas. His neighborhood sat atop a bluff overlooking the city, which gave it a nice view but made commuting annoying as hell. Hess drove the winding switchback at twice the speed limit, racing around the tight bends that led up the gentler incline at the far side of the bluff. His wheels screeched as he came around the final corner and he pulled off the main road to enter his housing plan.

  The gate opened when it recognized the electronic tag on his dashboard, then closed behind him. Rows of townhouses stretched to either side of the road. Further on, the houses became larger and sat on large lawns. Somewhere in the center was a community center complete with rec room, gym, swimming pool, and a convenience store dedicated to price gouging locals unwilling to drive twenty minutes to the next grocery.

  Hess blew past the community center in his rush, eyes catching on the immense Church building sitting on a site he distinctly recalled being soccer fields and horseshoe pits. “Not funny, Creator,” he said. “Not funny at all.”

  He parked on the curb in front of his townhouse and ran inside. There were two suitcases in the back of his bedroom closet. After locating them, Hess set about the task of packing. Undergarments, pants, shirts, shoes, coat, tablet computer, every bit of spare cash in the house, granola bars, crackers, and a giant tin of almonds went inside.

  A siren from immediately outside interrupted any further packing. A quick glance out the window revealed two SUV's with official Church detailing on the doors. The tension that had built in him ever since he saw the fist on Gwen's pendant faded. Hess studied the people getting out of the vehicles. Paramilitary by dress. Civilian by posture. Only one of them carried himself like he knew his way around a fight.

  Hess seized a broom from the closet, set his hands on the improvised weapon, and opened the door just before the men got there. He stepped out and froze as if in shock, giving himself a moment to fix everyone's position in his mind. Four men, the confident one in front, followed by two weekend warriors eager for some action, and a lone pale man bringing up the rear. Housewives in all directions were poking their heads out of windows and doors to see the excitement.

  Witnesses. He would need to run as soon as the goons were dead. Hess squeezed the broom handle hard, letting every other muscle go slack so that when he struck it would be with the speed of a viper.

  “Jed!”

  Everyone turned to look at the source of the shout. A woman whom Hess recognized as his date for that evening jogged down the street towards the scene. The moment of distraction her arrival provided would have been the perfect time to erupt into violence and destroy his adversaries.

  Instead, Hess watched the woman lope towards them at a pace faster than her curvaceous form looked built to sustain. One of the men mumbled, “Girl's got bounce in all the right places.”

  Everyone waited until the woman arrived and leaned against the house beside Hess, panting. The leader of the Church men cleared his throat. “Jed Orlin, your name has been submitted to the Church of Opposition as a suspicious person. We are here to investigate you.”

  Hess lowered the broom, lining up the head of its shaft for his first strike, which would take the leader directly in the throat. The woman's foot pressed down on the broom's bristles, pinning it to the ground. She shot a fierce frown at him.

  “Really? I'll bet I know who reported me,” he said. “Her name is Gwen Furman and she works for me at TFK Motors. Earlier today, I gave her an informal reprimand that she didn't appreciate. She told me I wouldn't have the opportunity to put my complaint on her record.”

  The lead man stared at him without blinking, maintaining unflinching eye contact. “I can't reveal the identity of the person who submitted your name. If we suspect someone of making false reports, we will handle that ourselves. Right now, we have to follow procedure and check you out. If you cooperate, this won't take much of your time. If not, we will have to escalate our investigation to the next level.”

  The woman spoke up. “Investigator, Jed isn't a suspicious person. He just told me last night about how being successful at work was how he sought dignity. We were discussing the Church and how neither of us were very active in the local congregation. Jed and I thought we might start attending together.”

  Hess managed to keep his face impassive. The lead Church man studied the woman with his unblinking gaze. “What is your name?”

  “Theora Winfield. And you, Investigator?”

  “Investigator Monterey.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Investigator.”

  He swiveled back to Hess, steely eyes locked onto his target. “You have been living in this community for seven years. Why haven't you joined the congregation?”

  Hess spun the story the woman had started, hoping he wouldn
't say anything to contradict her memory. “I intended to join. But I've been busy with work. It's like Theora said – I find a lot of dignity in my work.” The significance of dignity was lost on him, so he decided not to elaborate further on that topic. “I became Director of Logistics this past year. That is a huge achievement for someone my age. TFK Motors is the third largest employer in the city, you know.”

  The man's eyes shifted to the door behind Hess. A search of the house would reveal hastily packed luggage, which would undoubtedly take this conversation in a less friendly direction. Though if they did go inside, he could kill them without the neighbors witnessing the fact. He might get a fifteen minute head start.

  Theora spoke again, bringing everyone's attention back to her. “I can't believe you forgot about our date, Jed! You promised to meet me at the community center at four sharp. I showed up five minutes early and saw you drive past like a maniac. I know you obsess about your job, but this was supposed to be a big date.”

  Something in her expression rang false. There was a hint too much tightness around the eyes. Combined with the tilt to her head, it suggested she was sending him a subtle message of some sort. Whatever it was, Hess didn't get it. Hopefully Theora's words about him being a loyal citizen were accurate. With all the holes in his memory this Iteration, Hess couldn't assume anything.

  He put on his most convincing wince. “I didn't forget. Honest, Theora. Things were happening at work and I stayed a little later than I intended.”

  “Your date has been delayed,” Inspector Monterey said.

  Theora sighed. “I understand, Inspector. We probably missed our match with the Keegers already.”

  The Inspector blinked. “Are you acquainted with the Keeger family?”

  “Yes. Never met the judge, but the kids are into broom hockey.”

  “So I hear,” the Inspector said. “Mr. Orlin, it is somewhat suspicious we don't see you at Church meetings. How about you make yourself less suspicious in the future?”

  “I will, Inspector,” Hess said.

  “Have a good day, then.” The four Church men went to their SUV's, climbed inside, and drove away.

  Theora folded her arms across her chest and fixed him with a look. “Well?” she asked.

  “Well what?”

  “Seriously?”

  Hess tried to think of something to say, but he didn't have any memories of a relationship with this woman to guide him. As far as he recalled, they had never spoken. “I'm not sure what you want me to say.”

  “Maybe you should thank me for intervening before you could make a bigger mess of the situation.” In addition to her voluptuous figure, Theora was a beautiful woman, with deep black skin and kinky hair dangling halfway to her shoulders. Her chocolate eyes were calculating and critical above pouty lips. Something in the way she held herself . . . .

  Elza glared at him. “Do you recognize me now?”

  He cleared his throat. “Of course. I was . . . preoccupied before.”

  “That would be a polite way to put it. Unfortunately, I'm not feeling particularly polite at the moment.”

  Hess glanced at the street. “What do you know of the Church?”

  “Only what I've read in the past two hours.” Her eyes narrowed. “Which no doubt makes me the expert here. If, on the other hand, instead of carefully researching the gaps in my knowledge, I had decided to gallivant around and act suspicious, then I would be as ignorant as you.”

  “I think I deserve a pass on this one, considering the woman I was appreciating was you.”

  “I don't care how attractive you find the female figure. There is an appropriate time and place to appreciate it. The middle of an investigation was not an appropriate time. You're not an animal, Hess. You're not even a person. You're an Observer. There is no excuse for your failure to compartmentalize.”

  Hess folded his arms. “Is this really about me looking at you? Or is something else bothering you?”

  “Knowledge was withheld from us, Hess. That bothers me. You managed to draw the Church to you within hours of this world's start. That bothers me. You nearly proclaimed yourself an Agent of the Demiurge by attacking representatives of the Church of Opposition. That bothers me. The fact that you can't take your eyes off my chest is the tip of a very large iceberg.”

  “Sorry,” he said. “But you know that when I feel threatened, I act.”

  She shook her head. “What if I hadn't been walking to the Church building when you flew past? What if I hadn't recognized your driving style? You would be public enemy number one right now. Every scion of a perverse religion would be hunting you down.”

  “It's fine, Elza. No one is hunting me. We're together and ready to handle whatever mischief this world can throw at us.” He smiled. “The Creator actually set us up on a date. I don't think we've ever started out in the same city, let alone on the same block.”

  Elza didn't relent her steely gaze. “The Creator also edited important facts out of our memories.”

  “He's definitely giving us mixed signals this Iteration.”

  She folded her arms.

  “You can relax now,” he said softly. “This is a new world. One without stockpiles of nukes poised to bring about Hell on Earth. I'm sure we'll see the people ruin their lives in countless ways, but we don't have to worry about witnessing that kind of misery again. If the Creator values my opinion, there will never be another world with the knowledge to crack an atom.”

  Elza stared at him a moment, face blank, before turning away. “We need to research the Church in detail before tomorrow.”

  “Any particular reason for the deadline?”

  “Yes. We're going to Church.”

  Chapter 3 – Erik / Iteration 145

  The Church of Opposition embraced the shameful truth at the heart of the pathetic creatures with a blunt aplomb he appreciated. Erik sauntered towards the local worship center, noting the clean lines and arches of the classical architecture on display. They took pride in their little rebellion.

  His current body was that of a muscular, middle-aged man with a history of tanning his pale skin to pass as one of the upper class. He always appreciated a strong body, though he sometimes missed the challenge of making do with a less capable form. Also, people tended to suspect big men when people started to disappear.

  Erik sauntered into the Church like he owned the building. The place of non-worship looked like the bastard offspring of temple and office space. Entering through the front door brought him face to face with a sour receptionist. To her left were doors leading to public restrooms and the gathering hall. To her right was a hall leading to the offices of the various Church officials.

  “Can I help you?”

  He leaned against the counter and glanced at the computer screen. The card game there looked to be going poorly, which no doubt fueled her disagreeable attitude. “I would like to report suspicious persons.”

  The receptionist sat up, bringing her hands together in a silent clap. “I'll have to ask a few questions first. People are always filing false reports on neighbors they don't like.”

  “Certainly,” Erik said. “I trust the Church knows best how to handle this kind of situation.”

  She smiled, which transformed her plain features in an unflattering manner. No doubt she subscribed to the fallacy that everyone looked better with the corners of their mouths turned up. “First question. How do you know the party in question?”

  “They are my mother and father,” he said.

  The receptionist blinked. “Your parents?”

  “That's right. Though of course I will disown them if the Church investigation confirms my suspicions.”

  “Question two. Why do you suspect them?”

  “Because when I was a child they forbade me from visiting the Church or reading the Book of Grievances. As an adult, I decided to explore the religion myself. I've attended a few gatherings and read the entire Book. Naturally I became suspicious of my parent's attitude towards
the Church. So I set a test for them. I told them I was planning to join the congregation to see what their response would be.” He paused dramatically. “And they tried to forbid it. What possible reason could two people have to prevent an adult from joining a local congregation?”

  The receptionist searched around on her desk before bringing up a standardized form. She placed it and a pen on top of the counter. “Question three. Do you have any disagreements with the suspects we should know about?”

  “My relationship with my parents has only ever had one conflict. They don't want me involved with the Church.”

  The receptionist handed the paperwork to him. “Please fill this out. I'll let the Investigator know someone is here for him.”

  Erik maintained his charade of righteous indignation while the receptionist was gone, working on the assumption that he was under surveillance. He would have to live the lie from now until he changed identities. The Church was an instrument perfectly suited to locate and handle a rogue Observer – no doubt why the Creator had dreamed it up – but it could catch the wrong prey if he got sloppy.

  His parents in this world were private people with few hobbies outside their home. They avoided the Church due to an innocent misunderstanding in their youths which would doubtless be on file somewhere. That, combined with testimony from their son, anecdotes from acquaintances eager for a few moments in the limelight, and circumstantial evidence put together by a zealous investigation team, should be more than enough to convict them of the crime of worshiping.

  The receptionist returned to take the paperwork, then disappeared again. Erik did his best to look conflicted, in case there were cameras watching him. Half an hour passed before the Investigator came to collect Erik and bring him into an impressive office where the man slowly read through the papers.

  “You love your parents?”

  Erik had to think about that one. How would one of these pathetic creatures react to that question? A normal person would be angry at the betrayal. But probably not enough to write a parent out of their life. Indecision would be best. “I'm still working that out. They're my parents, but now I have to question everything.”