seemed, the antithesis of life. A mockery of it.
The machine filling the large room below resembled a miniature mountain of blob, its surface broken by ribbed lines that could have been spines of a kind. The entire assembly of fleshy material pulsated like a disfigured heart.
At the very top worked a disturbing sight; an image that told Gannon this machine served a special purpose. At first, his eyes thought he saw a giant spider stuck in the taffy-like top of the machine. Then he came to realize that the struggling, thin appendages that worked up and down were not a separate being, but a part of the greater whole. Those thin appendages might be typing away furiously on a keyboard hidden in the muck; or maybe they weaved some unseen silk inside the mound. Regardless, their fast work made them resemble some kind of big insect drowning in sticky quicksand: up and down, up and down, squirming and tangling then untangling without pause.
Gannon's face twisted in revulsion, despite all he had seen and done before.
'Behold,' the Missionary proclaimed, suggesting that he did so as much to impress the Bishop, 'the greatness of Voggoth has created what others might only imagine. An inspirational testament to his superior status in the universe.'
Gannon's eyes moved from the pumping, churning appendages at the top of the machine and cast down. There he saw a pair of monks standing idly, like robots lacking instruction. Between them, at the base of the giant mound-like machine, lay Trevor Stone.
The former Emperor wore black pants and boots, but his shirt had been removed. A tangle of slimy hoses wrapped around his body. A smaller patch of fibrous tendrils held tight over his eyes like a badly frayed blindfold. Tentacle-straps secured his wrists and ankles. The man screamed a forlorn holler echoing through the chamber. Gannon gasped. 'What…I mean, what are you doing to him? Torturing him?' The Bishop closed his eyes and smiled in appreciation of Stone's agony.
'I attempted to purify Trevor Stone a long time ago. We subjected him to a great deal of physical distress,' Voggoth's Bishop spoke as if visiting a fond memory. 'You see, there is debate within The Order as to the greater weakness of your kind: is it your attachments and emotions, or is it-as I first believed-your physical form? In our first encounter, I subjected Stone to a great deal of physical duress, an attempt to weaken his mind by breaking his spirit with pain. I felt certain we had succeeded, but somehow he overcame the therapy and his mind survived. A failure, and when he escaped, Voggoth was displeased.'
'You did all you could,' the Missionary consoled.
The Bishop went on, 'Do you know what Mr. Stone is? He is a pure strain of what you might call human life, second only to his son. His line can be traced throughout the history of your species, all the way back to the first DNA strand that sparked the growth of men, your animals, your entire ecosystem. As such, he is a symbol of great importance.'
'Um, okay, so what is it you're doing? Studying him?'
As the Bishop replied, his emerald eyes grew wide. Not for the first time, Gannon saw the darkness that existed inside the creatures of The Order. Gannon knew that at any moment, if he did not play his role perfectly, he could be eclipsed by that darkness.
'Yes, studying him, in a fashion. We could not destroy him with physical harm, but now we are destroying him without causing a single injury to his flesh. We are tearing him apart from the inside out, Mr. Gannon. Creating the physical likeness that we left to fool your people was an easy task compared to this magnificent machine. It required weeks to grow.'
The Missionary chimed in, 'How splendid!'
'Years ago, when Stone failed to succumb to physical duress, there were those who suggested his success proved the superiority of your form of life; those who suggested he had earned some kind of victory for your race. But now look at Trevor Stone! He is in agony!'
'How? What?'
'That is the beauty of this machine. We have done nothing but take memories and experiences from his mind and allow him to re-live them, while also warping his perception of time. For you and I, seconds have passed. For Mr. Stone, a day? Two days? These are not phantasms; not deceits. His life. His failures. The times that broke his spirit, or caused him to question his very existence. Voggoth has turned his emotions and attachments against him, and in his brilliance he has illustrated the weakness of your strain of so-called 'life.''
'Why? Why not just kill him? Isn't he a danger to you? I mean, it's just, what's the purpose of putting him through all this?'
The Bishop turned to Gannon. 'There is a point to be made, to others who watch events on this planet. Stone's suffering shows humanity for the frail, undeserving creatures they are.'
The Missionary celebrated, 'Glory to Voggoth!'
Gannon chewed on that idea. In his dealings with The Order, he tried to tell himself they were merely another alien race. Yet there were times when he realized Voggoth and his followers to be something more. Something worse.
Brad Gannon had cut his teeth in the entertainment industry, a progressive world full of gray; nothing simple or absolute. Now Gannon found himself in the company of pure evil. More so, he served that evil.
I am a survivor, nothing else. Nothing else!
The Bishop finished, 'In a short time, Mr. Stone's descent into insanity will prove human life to be fragile. We will show how inferior the thing you call 'life' really is. And by proving you inferior, the superiority of Voggoth will become all the more evident.' Gannon's eyes wavered between the monstrous machine and the grinning Bishop. 'You do not approve, Mr. Gannon?' 'Hey, you know, I'm a team player and all, I just-'
The Bishop lost his grin and warned, 'Your approval is not necessary. In fact, your usefulness has become suspect. You did not stop Stone's forces from invading and conquering California. If not for the ambition of this fool named Godfrey the so-called Empire would be in complete control of North America and in a position to threaten this facility as well as our facilities in the Pacific. Furthermore, we insisted on a fifty-percent decrease in their armed forces and that has not occurred.'
Gannon stumbled as he explained, 'Hey, you know, it's just Godfrey isn't a complete moron. He's a power- hungry politician but he's still going to protect his people. But look, if I go back and tell him Stone is dead for good then maybe he'll listen.'
The Bishop moved his skull-like face full of flaking flesh closer to Gannon and instructed, 'You will return to President Godfrey and tell him to complete the terms of our treaty, immediately. If you cannot accomplish this task then Voggoth might find a capacity in which you might be more useful.'
Gannon whispered, 'Yeah, s-sure.'
The Missionary broke in, 'Your Excellency, transport is on standby for your journey.'
'I will be leaving shortly. But first, I must participate in an important communication on behalf of Voggoth. The components of this machine will serve that duty. You,' the Bishop looked to the Missionary, 'will remain to oversee this facility until your pilgrimage. We are at a critical, vulnerable time. The extra resources spent to arrange for Mr. Stone's assassination and the cleanup operations in Mexico have caused some difficulties. Remain vigilant.'
'Of course, your Excellency.'
The Bishop bowed his head politely to the other two, then walkedglided — from the room. The Missionary watched him go with a hawk's eye. Gannon stepped away, as if to return to his Witiko transport. One of the Missionary's cold hands grabbed his shoulder. 'Wait, Gannon.' 'Yeah?' 'You heard the Bishop. I will be making a pilgrimage to see Voggoth in the near future.' 'Hey, yeah, good for you. I remember when you did that last time.'
'Yes! Yes,' the Missionary remembered better days. 'That was after we secured the end of hostilities in California. My Lord was eager for such good news after Stone had shut down the gateways. I received such glorious gifts!'
'Hey, good for you. Hope it works out well this time.'
'But it won't, Gannon. I have no great deeds to show for my efforts. Landing Stone here, to suffer at the hand of Voggoth, is a great prize that came at a great price. More will come from the seeds we have planted by supporting this Godfrey, but what blooms from those seeds will be credited to his Excellency. My role in this larger plan is far less than I had hoped.'
