The Prime was a creature in the grips of dynamic opposition. The forces that worked upon him tugged at his mind, threatening to tear it apart. One moment, he was ecstatic. When the mood took him he moved his bulky body along the hall to his office as though he were about to take flight. Triumph! Triumph! Fucking Triumph! The tactical nuclear strike had reduced some eighty thousand corpses to burning dust-those farther from ground zero caught fire and spread the flames through the ranks-turned it into a holocaust.
During the moment of ecstasy the Prime allowed himself to imagine the hobbled army of renegades, tramping north through the wilderness, holing up in abandoned towns, doing whatever it was dead people did, and the next minute, a rocket whistling toward them, then a bright light turns them to vapor.
The Prime giggled. He nickered like a newborn mare. It was just a pity that the process was so quick! Drop and roll. Drop and roll. He would have enjoyed drawing out their molecular unbinding. Nonetheless, the Prime was caught up in the desire to do it again immediately. And thus the oscillation began.
The moment he thought of doing it again, he was gripped with killing anger. When that mood took him his movements condensed to the weight of a black hole, and his features darkened, as though the concentrated hatred that boiled in his veins would cause him to implode and drag the rest of the Tower to Limbo with him. That bastard Updike had forced him to show his hand. He was willing to use nuclear weapons.
It was a good and bad thing.
In the grips of a mood swing to dark, he stormed past his secretary’s pleading look without so much as a snarl. The Prime crashed through the door to his office. He plowed across the room, rage making clubs of his hands, and spun his large chair to sit in it.
A man sat there.
The Prime leapt away. “What the…”
The intruder stood. Smiled. The Prime was astounded by the man’s height. He was almost seven feet tall.
“Forgive my unannounced arrival,” he said, the Prime now noticed the lack of pigment in his skin. This gave his black eyes the appearance of holes. He was dressed in white cotton; he wore a wide-brimmed Panama hat. “But I couldn’t risk the regular channels.”
“Get the FUCK out of my office!” The Prime was already moving away. All of his weapons were in the desk. The leader of Westprime was dumbfounded. How the Hell?
“Before you consider calling your security, I wish to inform you that the people I work for have full knowledge of the Union.” Long yellow teeth leaned out of a smile.
The Union? The Prime’s mind raced with the idea of being burned at the stake while an ignorant mob howled like apes. No one knew about the Union.
“Who are you?” Knowledge of the Union could undo all of his work. Then he realized using of the nuke was already flushing competitors out of the woodwork. Fucking Updike!
“I am Passport, assistant to the Demon.” The white man bent at the waste like a wet bread stick.
“Demon?” The Prime’s thoughts raced. His Ally had never mentioned having servants?
“Oh, I see where your thoughts are running,” Passport said matter-of-factly. “The Demon for whom I work is invested with a magnitude of Powers far above that of your Ally’s.”
More powerful than my Ally? The Prime knew that there were other Demons. He suspected there’d be a confrontation like this one day. But he wasn’t ready-or was he?
“And, who is this Demon?” The Prime needed information. He took a step toward his desk.
“I work for Baron Balg. He resides in the Sunken City.” Passport moved his hands on many jointed arms. They bent every which way. “He offers you something.”
“Offer?” The Prime’s insulted ego growled, “I’m the leader of Westprime. I don’t need gifts.”
Mischief played at Passport’s strange, thin lips. “Of course, Prime. You have no need of gifts. Neither do you need suggestions. This is simply an offering.” He smiled. “You’re acquainted with offerings?”
“Offerings?” The Prime glared into the interloper’s eyes. As he remembered the Sending Room: the pentangle of blood, the weeping sacrifice. Dark father hear me!
“Great leaders achieve their prowess with two things chiefly: wisdom and strength. Your strength, like my master’s, is great. And yet, it may now be time to apply wisdom to its use.” Passport pursed his lips. He moved across the room toward the window. The sunlight burned on his white skin.
“What are you talking about?” The Prime had moved closer to the desk and the guns in its drawers.
Passport turned to him. “I am speaking of those who will lead.” He took a couple of steps. “ You are the leader of the New Age.”
The Prime was ready for that. He had even fantasized about such an offer. His Ally had informed him of a vast hierarchy in the Pit that consisted of thousands of Dukes, and Barons and Princes. In reality, the Prime had always expected a visit from Lucifer himself.
“There are hundreds of Barons!” the Prime said finally. “Is Balg the best you can do?”
The intruder smiled. He tilted his head as though thinking or listening. “It is the Baron’s assurance that he will be King of Demons on Earth. He has need of an ally among the humans.”
So that was it. The Apocalypse was here. The Demons were going to war. Let’s do it!
“And I’d be his puppet?” The Prime knew the Demons had been banished to the Pit with the coming of the One God-they wanted out.
“Balg is too practical to think that either of you could share power outright.” Passport wrung his long-fingered hands together. “And yet, the world is changing.” The stranger smoothed his pants leg with the back of a hand. “And as the world changes, it moves farther from what you know.” He paused. “The Baron wishes to rule his Demons on earth, and you rule your humans.”
“Rule.” The Prime’s Demon organ slid between his legs, writhing like a snake.
“There are forces converging on the City of Light that will plunge it into darkness.” Passport sauntered toward the desk, dragged fingertips along its edge. “These forces must be stopped.”
“You think I’m afraid of a pack of corpses?” the Prime growled. “I just cremated a bunch of them.”
“Indeed you have. And yet, is this a style of warfare that is safe for the people that you hope to govern?” False concern colored his voice. “Your power would be decreased with too reckless an application of these devices of yours, would it not?” Passport reached up, removed his hat. “Power is meaningless without adoration.”
The Prime didn’t speak; he was thinking feverishly. That was a good point. He’d always imagined some survivors. He’d need slaves. And it was more exciting to control the unwilling. Maybe he’d just take out the other Primes. Then he shook off the line of thought. That was his plan. His Final Solution was in place just in case the worst happened.
“It is Baron Balg’s wish to assist you in the repulsion of this band of rabble. He offers troops. It is my master’s belief that your City would be better defended with such aid.” Again the assistant to the Demon showed teeth. “It has been foreseen that your ground forces will be no match for the dead and their allies. The dead bear the memories of the old world with them, and they wear the faces of those who are gone. It will terrify the living forces under your command. And the dead are hardy, for they need nothing, nor do they fear death. Your forces will fail without the help of Balg.” He smiled. “And the dead have allies-those who would come to whom both Demons and humans pay homage.”
Angels? Fallen? If the Divine and Infernal ranks were coming, humanity and Demonkind both had everything to lose. And if he didn’t accept the Demon’s help, then he’d have another army attacking his flank. Perhaps his captive could shed some light.
“What does Baron Balg want in return?” The Prime had to know his options.
“He wants to share the earth when the battle is over. You will rule yours, and he will rule his. Together you can repel the One God’s forces.” Passport straightened his shoulders. “Demons and humans evolved on this planet together before the coming of the one.”
“I need to think,” the Prime started but Passport cut him off.
“You don’t have time,” the Demon’s servant said. “Your show of strength has forced all hands. Powers greater than the Army of the Dead are on the move.”
The Prime knew his Final Solution could still rule the day. Topp had the coordinates and the weaponry to burn it all if there was a double cross. “If I accept this premise in theory I have a question. My forces are unlikely to see the inclusion of a Demonic horde as a good thing.” The Prime thought this over. “Is it possible for the Baron’s soldiers to approach in some other form or fashion, either separate from mine, or in an appearance that would not provoke a negative reaction in my people.” The Prime enjoyed the phrase my people. He was too realistic to believe the line, but it had a ring to it that appealed to his messianic egotism. What if the Prime could lead humanity to a better place? So long as they obeyed him, what did he care? And, what about the other Primes? With a Demon army behind him, he could bomb them all back to the Stone Age, or better, relocate the Demons to lands now occupied by his enemies.
“Demons are consummate shape shifters, and darkness has always been their ally.” Passport replaced his hat. “But there is little time for debate. The Army of the Dead moves toward its first victory.”
“Not that I buy one word of what you’re saying.” The Prime slid along the wall toward the window. “But let’s just look at it in theory. This theory that you propose, I will need time to study its ramifications.”
“Very well.” Passport straightened. Passport began to walk toward the door; he paused and turned. “I will contact you in twelve hours. Perhaps by then, events will have demonstrated what I have tried to convince you of in words. Good day, Prime.” Passport pulled the door open, froze there a moment and walked out.
The Prime was across the floor in a flash. He swept the door aside. His secretary looked up at him. “Yes, Prime?” The leader of Westprime looked up the long hallway that led to an elevator. It was empty. He looked to either side of the door.
“Miss-” The Prime could not remember her name. “Whatever… Has there been anyone here to see me, today?”
“No, Prime.” The secretary’s round blue eyes reflected the overhead light and glinted like sadness. “Is there someone I should…”
“No, nothing!” the Prime said and pulled the door shut after him. His office was empty. Of course, if Passport were a Demon’s assistant, then he would have knowledge of Infernal powers-if he wasn’t a Demon himself. Suddenly, the Prime became aware of the dampness on the back of his jacket. He had sweated it right through.