She bypassed the guards and went straight to where Ragnal was enjoying felatio as performed by a creature of indeterminate genetics. When Heralda grabbed the giver of head and pulled her away, the sudden loss of suction – which had apparently been sincere – resulted in a wet pop and the lolling of a Council member’s rapidly deflating penis.
Ragnal stood, making a noise that resembled a howl, raised his hand to Heralda, but thought better of it just before he struck. His brain reengaged in time to remember that she had a reputation for holding a grudge and fighting dirty. He lowered his hand.
“What do you want, Heralda?”
She deliberately looked down at his flaccid godhood. “Let’s start small. Cover that up and we’ll talk about bigger issues.”
He sneered as he pulled a robe over his head. “Better?”
“Will you join me at Council willingly, Ragnal?” He hesitated one beat too long for her patience. “Or…”
“Oh all right.”
Within the blink of an eye they were in the Council room and he was being apprised of the situation.
“What makes you think he’s one of mine?”
Huber snorted.
Ragnal looked at him like he’d farted instead of snorted.
Heralda more or less strutted to her rococo chair and made a show of sitting down. “Comparing his qualities to yours, there can be little doubt.”
Ragnal’s eyes roved over the Council members present before fastening on Heralda. “And what is it you want me to do about it?”
“Your child. Your problem. Figure it out.”
He glared at her for a bit before saying, “Where is he from?”
She looked at Huber, who answered, “An inconsequential little cell of a layer on the fringe of the ellipse.”
Ragnal let out a long sigh managing to communicate without words that he was perturbed, put out, and prickly.
“And where is he now?”
“Saturnia,” Huber answered again.
“Show me.”
CHAPTER 5
Shamayim
It seemed to Sol that he’d spent an eternity in Hel. The caretakers on Saturnia had tried everything imaginable to calm the soul who insisted his identity remained that of Solomon Nememiah, even though he’d left his physical body behind. Since he hadn’t forgotten the details of his former life, he was not adapting well to his spirit’s vacation between incarnations.
He was supposed to be basking in the sensory perfection of Saturnia’s Summerland and rejoicing in the initial stages of Phase One, but what he was doing instead was trying to incite other sojourners to riot. He’d demanded to be told what the caretakers were talking about when they repeatedly referred to Phase One. When they refused to answer, his response could only be described as a fit – a display the caretakers were not accustomed to seeing in a passively pleasant dimension like Saturnia.
The caretakers’ reply was always the same. Sol’s response to that was always the same. They would stare at him as he demanded to see the person in charge and blink slowly when he threatened them with a sound throttling.
During brief periods when he would take a regrouping break from his full on assault of the status quo, he would return to the grassy knoll where he first awoke to find himself trapped in a nightmare that, to him, made Dante look like Disney. He was perpetually pissed off by the oversupply of pristine and pastoral. How he longed to hear someone, other than himself, object to something! Anything!
He swore that, if he ever escaped the madhouse, he would never complain about complainers again.
The grassy knoll, which he had come to think of as his personal space, was replete with aggravating birdsong, but at least he didn’t have to look at the serene beatific and creepily robotic expressions of humanoids whom, he concluded, must have been lobotomized.
The biggest drawback to his retreat was not birds that never slept, but a sheep that hadn’t anything better to do than stare. Sol began to wonder if it was a robot spy, equipped with camera and sound, observing and recording everything he did. The thought sounded paranoid even to him, but that thought was always followed by the admonition that all conspiracies are not imaginary.
Sol was sitting on his knoll studying the sheep, envisioning ways to dismember it, wondering how the legs would look Frenched and how it would taste with mint sauce. That led him to the realization that he hadn’t either eaten or been hungry since arriving. Nor had he consumed liquids of any sort. Because he was lost in that thought and because he didn’t anticipate company, he was startled by a nearby voice.