The leader of Westprime was shocked to see a tear on the dead man’s cheek. I’ll give you something to cry about.
“Of course, Reverend Stoneworthy, you have every right to be proud. Archangel Tower not only represents one of the greatest architectural feats in human history, it has come to be a beacon of hope for people the world over.”
“And so it is. So it has become.” The dead minister glanced at the Prime, and then locked stares with him. “And so you can understand how terrible it would be to see it destroyed in needless conflict.”
The Prime masked his dismay at this pointed turn of conversation. So the zombie had more on the ball than he was letting on. Okay, Jelly Bean…you want to get tough? The leader of Westprime had perhaps incorrectly written the man off as an absentminded theologian. Gawky. Blushing at girls. True, the man had built the Tower, but he had lots of help. It was possible his strength was in talking a good talk-he was a preacher. Now he was showing off his mental dexterity. The Prime had met thousands like him over the years, and buried hundreds. And the Prime was no slouch when it came to talking either.
“Agreed,” the Prime announced. He had long ago realized the power of agreement. “And this is exactly why I cannot understand your actions, Reverend Stoneworthy. You disappear under strange circumstances then reappear later-dead and in the presence of the rebel Updike, making incredible demands of Mayor Barnstable and the good people of this city. Frankly, posing the greatest threat that your Tower has ever faced.” The Prime paused, he had to work up the strength to say: “Redistribute wealth?” He resisted the urge to pound the table. Instead, he traced its edge. “Do you know how ridiculous that sounds?”
“We must distribute things of value in such an equitable fashion so people can be as equal in life as they become in death.” The minister’s face made quiet crackling sounds as he spoke. “So that it does not matter whether you live on Zero or occupy a penthouse on Level Seven. All citizens have equal value.” The minister got up and took two hesitant steps across the deep pile carpet. “Power is equated with wealth and people are deluded into believing that equation. It is our mission. It is God’s mission to clear away that illusion. The only power is God’s. You have it in you.” He clawed at his chest. “It is in me.”
“Reverend Stoneworthy, you are an idealist, and I am as always impressed. Idealism is fool’s gold polished by the poor-and the overly educated.” The Prime almost snickered. “Truth is wealth. It is no illusion-and once truth is realized, idealism falls to the wayside.”
“Truth is love.” The minister’s eyes gleamed. “Wealth is corruption”
“But how can you say that Reverend Stoneworthy when occupying Sunsight offices that were constructed by your church, using wealth collected through donations from the poor. Or is some wealth good?”
“It is not wealth that builds a church.” Stoneworthy’s face was blank. “Or a monument to faith. It is a gift of faith. It is a need to belong. It is belief.” The minister had crossed the floor, and now stood directly opposite the Prime’s desk. “But, you are right. I feel in hindsight that the Tower was a mistake. The funds could have been better used. And I believe we are all close to punishment for our errors.”
Dead man, you have no idea! The Prime drifted a moment, caught on a wave of pleasurable power. He had agreed to the deal with Balg. The Demon’s legions were preparing for the coming conflict. The Prime’s second organ flexed snakelike between his legs at the prospect. But he turned back to Stoneworthy; caution was necessary when an opponent surrendered a point. Something else was coming. He sat quietly before the dead man bleeding away the impact of his statement by ignoring it.
“As judgment draws near, “ Stoneworthy said, pushing the point. His voice had an unpleasant, reedy quality that would bother the Prime if he had more than one conversation to endure. “We should not compound our errors. The wealth I speak of is the richness of the human spirit. The separation between the living and the dead has come back to haunt us, now the division between the rich and the poor returns to exact justice.” His eyes held the Prime’s unblinking. “Have you read the Bible, sir?”
“Uh, yes, Reverend, I have a passing knowledge. I could hardly occupy offices in Archangel Tower without giving it a glance.” The Prime knew the Bible very well, in fact. But he knew that feigned ignorance caused others to show their own.
“Wickedness proceeds from the wicked,” Stoneworthy pronounced. “Greed today will be answered by greed in the future.” He looked up, sadness in his eyes. “And Prime, I feel our future is ending.”
The Prime was way ahead of Stoneworthy on that one. He could quote from memory coordinates that he had ordered fed into nuclear missiles-coordinates that would explode those devices a quarter mile above their heads-collapse the City’s Levels like some gargantuan house of cards. He knew all about Judgment Day; he was a major player in it now. Not like this grimy little foot soldier-this tattered marionette. “Reverend, are you familiar with the International Credit Company?”
The minister nodded. Revulsion pinched his eyes and nose.
“The International Credit Company owns Westprime, and I own the corporation.” The Prime could feel passion growing rigid in him like sex. “The City of Light, your city leases property and services from my corporation. These are paid for with various taxes-just like a government, except for one important thing. This municipal land, like so much land in Westprime, is my land.” A red wave swam over the Prime’s vision. “Your zombies are trespassing. I have already dealt with one group of traitors, and stand poised to do the same to those that remain.” The Prime walked around his desk. The minister stood there like a broken puppet. The leader of Westprime loomed over him. He thrust his face close enough to the dead man to smell preservatives. Creosote?
“Listen to me, you arrogant little corpse. I thank you for the Tower. I will enjoy its many conveniences. But, you have your nerve coming here and giving ultimatums still!” His tone was suddenly volcanic-spit flew from him like magma. “Here’s an ultimatum. Get those rotting piles of bones off my property or I will burn them utterly with every destructive technology at my disposal!” Primitive lust flickered along the Prime’s nerves. He could tear the dead preacher limb from limb if he wanted. “Now this offer expires in…oh, the hell with it. It’s already expired!” He laughed grimly. “I’m sorry Reverend, that you were unable to comply with my demands. But, I do thank you for supplying me with a climate of dialogue from which I can launch a surprise attack!”
Stoneworthy’s eyes widened, his shoulders sagged. He stepped back and almost lost his balance.
“You know.” The Prime couldn’t resist pressing the issue. “I think the Bible errs in this. Rather than speak in terms of good and evil-it should break the argument down the middle between losers and winners. Let me tell you something.” His teeth flared reflexively in a snarl. “I’m only interested in things winners have to say.”
“May God have mercy on your soul,” Stoneworthy said, defeated.
“And may I have mercy on yours.” He turned away, momentarily sickened by the dead man’s resignation-then a thought: “Stoneworthy, since you’ll be my guest until the end, I wonder if you could help? Someone’s trying to sell me a nun and you might be able to identify her for me.”
78 – Dealmaker
Tiny was nervous enough to sweat cats and dogs. At least that was the way Driver would have put it. He felt naked after the grim-faced Central Authority Operatives took his. 38 snub nose.
The salesman was taken to the top floor of Archangel Tower and shown into a luxurious boardroom. They barely got the doors open when the whole building shook. The Prime’s men looked at each other, told him to fix a drink, then left in a hurry. Tiny sauntered up to the enormous lacquered bar. Stools topped with shiny red leather marched along its face beneath an oak valance that held every kind of glass.