With the help of Miral, the beautiful Princess of Bluewater, Jules Kincaid gained entrance into the plane where . . . God? . . . existed. To his amazement, he saw a vast and button-filled panel that seemed to extend forever, with tendrils rising to tap the buttons. An apparently infinite computer? After viewing it for a few moments, Jules asked to return to Bluewater.
Even tho he'd seen the infinite computer and was certain, he felt that he wanted or perhaps even needed more 
in the way of proof -- most particularly, proof that he could actually tap into the infinite power via his prayers. So Jules made a little experimental prayer of his own, without telling Miral about it -- one that, even if it worked, he felt he probably wouldn't tell her about. He would make certain to ask, in this prayer, that no one else should notice the change he was asking for other than himself.
The very next day, he noted that it had worked -- and that gave him all the proof he needed.
He and Miral were near the garrison when Scurch appeared. “Milady Miral," he said with a slight bow. Then, with bright blue eyes and smiling at Jules he added, "And greetings to you, Jules Kincaid. I hope you rested well, milord?"
“I rested quite well, thank you friend Scurch," he said with satisfaction. He was very satisfied indeed -- his prayer had been answered. Scurch now respected him and no longer felt or showed resentment, and this was reflected in his bright (rather than pale) blue eyes! Jules Kincaid had so wanted him to, again, be a loyal follower of Miral, with no resentment for the marriage relationship between them clouding Scurch's loyalty. The pale eyes had been replaced -- he was now trustworthy!
He could control at least some things via prayer thru the infinite computer! He wasn't certain why it worked, unless his guess about the sudden and totally unexpected surge in faith caused some kind of celestial glitch in the massive 'computer' that seemed to stretch out forever. . .but it worked!
It was an exultant conclusion . . . but also a rather scary one.
That night, as they lay in bed, Miral took one of Kincaid's hands and put it on her flat stomach. “We have a very active baby boy down there,” she said.
“Huh!” Jules replied in shock. “But it hasn’t been-- I mean, we just . . . .”
A soft laugh from Miral. “No, lover -- babies aren’t born any faster here than in your world. He is ‘active’ in that the cells are rapidly merging and growing." She held his hand and added, "The baby is definitely male.”
Jules relaxed and said, “I guess every man wants a son.”
“You will get to see him grow up,” Miral continued.
“If only I could,” Jules said regretfully. “But I must take care of the problems on Earth.”
“As I told you, darling husband, whenever you go back -- now, next year, ten years from now -- you will arrive on your home world at the very instant you left. The length of your stay here will not affect the time of your return.”
“What you say is logical enough -- but … there are other reasons I feel I cannot delay any further. I’ve taken care of the Idge. I’ve visited the place of God. I love you very much, you know, and want to stay, and live a life of joy and bill here with you and see our son grow up -- but … I’ve got to return, and soon.”
"My husband, you need not explain -- I would accept your judgment without quest--"
"No, Miral -- I do need to explain, if nothing else, my sense of urgency. It has to do with reflections I've been having about one of the books I read back on Earth."
She nodded. "I will listen, then."
"It wasn't marketed as a fantasy, but it could've been. It was called THE LAST TEMPTATION OF CHRIST and its fictional notions got its author excommunicated. It was recently made a movie, but I never saw it. In the book, Satan manages to tempt Christ to come down off the cross by offering him a taste of a long, fulfilling and joyful human life. For 20 years, Christ lives as a prosperous carpenter, marries Mary Magdalene, with whom he lives in connubial bliss and fathers several children, and becomes a well-respected pillar of his community. After which, Satan tells him he can have it all and that it will go on for many more years -- all he has to do is give up this silly 'son of God' nonsense and spare himself the agony of crucifixion. Christ is tempted, because it is such a sweet and delightful life he's being offered -- but while he sees that life would be better for him, it would be at the expense of making things worse for the rest of humanity. So he climbs back up on the cross, allows the crucifixion to continued and follows his destiny."
Thru most of this, the _expression Miral's eyes conveyed was one of perplexity. "I am confused," she said at last. "I thot you said that while you are a theist, you no longer in good faith considered yourself to be a Christian--"
"Oh, I'm not. I just recognize that the temptation of spending time on Bluewater as your husband would put me in an analogous position with that vision of Christ. I'm not a bad or evil person, Miral, but as a man who's written rather extensively about heroes and heroism, I recognize my own shortcomings. I don't have Christ's purity or resolve; it would be presumptuous and self-deceptive to pretend otherwise. I just know if I let myself experience the joy of living with you here on Bluewater that, year after year, I would keep giving myself the excuse that the timing of my return didn't really matter. Every day I would pledge to step back up on the cross -- perhaps tomorrow, or maybe the week after next -- but despite my best intentions I would never develop the strength of will to return to Earth until I was too old and feeble to do any good. Miral, I need to go back to Earth now, to get it over with while my resolve is still strong enough for me to be effective."
Miral, after a thoughtful pause, nodded and said, “I understand. I wish it were different, but that would mean you were different, and I do not want that. Will you at least spend the night?”
Jules smiled. “I wouldn’t be in bed with you if I was going immediately.” He leaned over and kissed her again. “There is nothing unheroic about wishing to spend the night with my beautiful wife. On the contrary.”
Miral snuggled her warm body against his. “That is good. I know how we can spend part of the night.” + + + +
The following morning, after they finished their breakfast, Jules Kincaid noticed that Miral was looking at him with a particularly serious _expression on her face.
“Husband," she said, "there is much I need to tell you before you go. We have spoken much about the power of prayer -- and its weaknesses. Belief alone can sometimes be sufficient for a prayer to be answered. Belief and faith give one a better chance. Belief, faith and knowledge makes an answer almost assured.”
“Even then it depends on the one who prays,” Kincaid said. “That person’s inner conflicts can still affect the outcome.”
“That is just the point I was getting to,” Miral said with a nod that sent a ripple through her long hair. “Husband, you are not a prideful man. In fact, you have a strong tendency toward self-deprecation, since you do not wish to appear braggadocios. So, as your wife, I can tell you this and only hope that you do not take it as mere flattery: You are a unique individual in that you have both a clear mind and conscience. You are as free of inner conflict as a person can be -- far more clear than most of humanity.”
As Jules opened his mouth to respond, Miral put a finger to his lips and said with a slight smile on her own, “Now, no self-deprecating humbleness if you please, my darling. What I say is true -- and inside you know it. But what you possibly don’t realize is just what your virtual uniqueness means.
“Your prayers will always be answered -- and your belief, your faith, your knowledge, your unique clarity of mind and conscience will ensure that the answer to your prayers will always be 'Yes!' You, my dear one, have the strongest possible direct connection to that computer. Your prayers will be like an order!”
“Oh, but--"
“Hush! You surely know this is true by now -- and I know that you know it! You have prayed and your prayer has been answered!”
“Not if you know about it,” Jules objected. “I asked that--"
Her finger was on his lips again. “No! I am not aware of what you prayed for.”
“Then how--"
"Because I know my husband! I suggested a prayer as a test and I am certain that you prayed. You have had that ‘cat-who-ate-the-canary’ look about you for a while now, which convinces me that you are satisfied with the outcome.”
Jules sighed. “Okay, so my prayer worked. That doesn’t prove anything!”
“But it does, my husband! Remember, I am a master of magic. I know what I am talking about.”
“We’re speaking of prayers, not magic!”
Miral sighed and shook her head. “After all you’ve been thru, after all you’ve seen, after all you’ve done, how can you say that?”
“All I’ve done? What are you talking about?”
“Your adventure with the Idge,” Miral said patiently. “You told me there were times when you wished you were invisible -- and then the Idge didn’t see you! And when you wanted that old scaling knife to be sharp enough to cut your bonds, it was. Don’t you see? You were not conscious of it at the time, but you were exercising your powers even then!”
“Coincidence!” Kincaid snorted. “I was just lucky, that’s all!”
Miral sighed. “You are going to be difficult. It was not coincidence that the scaling knife turned sharp! There is no logical reason for a scaling knife to be sharp -- and you know it!”
Jules Kincaid looked at his wife for a moment as he let her statement sink it, slowly coming to the realization that she was right, that he did know it. “But . . . invisible?” he asked, still trying to find a tiny straw of disbelief to cling to.
“A minor bit of magic, really,” Miral replied. “Yes, I said ‘magic’. You speak of all gods using the same power source. What power source do you think magic uses, my dear-but-befuddled husband? There is but one source of power. Remember?”
"But look," he objected, "even if that's the case, even if I get whatever I pray for, don't you think the fact that this has all happened on Bluewater could be a contributing factor? After all, back on my world, before any of this occurred, I didn't need prayer -- I could make whatever I wanted to happen on Bluewater happen simply by writing it down. If my being the author whose imagination shaped this world is any part of the equation, it means I would be powerless anywhere else."
"No, husband," she replied. "Your argument is not without logic, but consider it well, because it is flawed. If you learn how to do a thing here on Bluewater -- put a sword in a scabbard without cutting yourself, adjust a sail to catch the wind -- would you forget how when you return to your world?"
"No, but--"
"Are these things done some different way on your home world? Do swords go into the side rather than the end of a scabbard? Do you want the wind in your sails to be blowing in the opposite direction from the direction you wish to go?"
"No, but--"
"And this 'infinite power at the heart of all things' we've been speaking of -- does it exist only on Bluewater? Or on all worlds in all dimensions?"
"All worlds, all dimensions," Kincaid conceded, shaking his head as if still in disbelief but actually with underlying and growing acceptance. “It . . . makes sense, I guess,” he said at last.
“You must always accept it!” Miral insisted. “Any doubt and--" She stopped. “I’m going with you. I must be with you to ensure that your confidence does not lag.”
"As much as I would love that, wife, recall that visitors to Earth don’t stay there very long.”
“Oh, I don’t mean physically,” Miral said. “I will be in your mind. I have been there before." When he gave her a puzzled look, she added, “I was born there, remember? I remember your mind very well. It is a comfortable place for me to be.”
“Well, yes -- you were created and brought to life in my mind. But can you get back in it now?”
“Close your eyes.”
When he did as told, Jules Kincaid felt a warmth inside. Still quite comfortable, husband, Miral’s voice said – not aloud but in his mind.
“That’s . . . wonderful!” he exclaimed. “Can I open my eyes now?”
Yes.
He opened his eyes and smiled at Miral. “Ready for a journey?”
Miral returned his smile. “I have everything I’ll ever need!”
So now Jules Kincaid was back on his home world, in his apartment, preparing for battle.
Alone.
Against the gods, and alone.
Well, no -- not entirely. Miral had said that she would be with him, inside him, supporting him.
And she was.
There is other help, Miral's voice told him in his mind.
"The belief of my fans?" Jules asked, and there must have been something skeptical in how he asked that, since Miral responded scornfully, Don't underestimate that belief! Among other things it has done, it's that very belief which brought me to life!
"Point taken," he said. "I stand corrected."
There's more, Miral's inside-his-head voice continued. White Buffalo Woman and Gaia might well consent to merging with you.
“‘Merging'?" he asked, not sure he understood.
Merging, Miral repeated. If they merge themselves into your body, they will multiply your strength far better than if they merely joined you in the fight. Once done, it cannot be undone, but coordinating your combined effort would be far easier and better that way.
He nodded. “I guess I can see that. But their power--"
--will greatly increase yours, Miral cut in, heading off my intended objection. There are many gods and goddesses out there whom you might use, but I feel those two are the most selfless and least ego-driven of the lot. That alone greatly increases their benefit to you. White Buffalo Woman believes in the power of both man and woman. Gaia would want to protect her Earth and all its creatures.
. . . but . . . 'merging'?, he found himself thinking. I don’t like the idea of long-term houseguests -- and yet now we’re talking about two avatars merging with me, two god-beings who would be there inside me until the end of time? Yeah, I grant you the world needs saving, but -- merging??? Having them with me forever?
Miral, of course, sensed and understood his hesitation -- and also saw his underlying error. Think of how you feel when you are writing, she said to him. You have elements of the stories in your head that you keep there for long periods of time -- including the characters you create to populate them. Having Gaia and White Buffalo Woman merged with you would not be the intrusion you appear to be imagining here -- it would be more like having a story you were in the process of building up, where the characters and the things they might say and do are always in your mind, ready to come out whenever you prime them for your use. Gaia and White Buffalo Woman will be much like that -- only alive, there and waiting, but not intruding when you are doing other things.
She was right, as always. Still, it would take some getting used to. "And how about Buddha?" he asked. "From my limited understanding of it, a good deal of the religion surrounding him involves attaining a kind of selflessness."
I am not certain, but I feel that Buddha probably would not merge, Miral said. In ways, he is . . . isolated. Besides, altho he has many followers, he is not a god.
"Nor am I! But as you've pointed out, it is my followers who give me whatever power I have -- and Buddha has millions of followers."
Yes, he does. But what has happened has been particular bad for him, you know -- he's been brought back here, which is to say down from the higher plane he had moved on to -- something he voluntarily denied himself for many years, you realize, so that he could teach his followers the Way. . . . Miral paused. Yet, she added, he is, as you say, quite selfless. I just feel . . . well, it is asking so much of him.
"Perhaps. But if we win, he can return to the higher plane in the realization that he will not be brought back again. It is also asking much of Gaia and White Buffalo Woman," Kincaid said. "Not to mention myself! If we lose this battle. . . ."
Yes, dear, Miral said. This time it was her turn to be contrite. Sometimes I feel I am at times too. . .empathetic. I will ask. But, Miral insisted, you are the only one who can direct this battle. You need to be in control."
He considered that and nodded. "Check with Buddha -- ask him."
Besides, Miral added, and Jules could not only 'see' her smile in his mind but feel the teasing, tongue-in-cheek intent behind words as they sounded there, is it perhaps that you're so concerned about the possibility of having two females inside of you that you feel you need to balance it out with some male companionship?
He let himself chuckle at the idea. "What -- is my male vanity that transparent? But no, that hadn't occurred to me -- and I'm old enough not to be insecure about by own sexuality, so the notion of having something feminine inside me isn't really a factor, either."
In seconds Miral announced, Buddha agrees.
"All right," Kincaid said, taking a deep resigned breach and concentrating. "Gaia!"
Slowly, a mist began to form in front of him. It had the aroma of a forest in the moments just before dawn. Then, as it solidified and became more opaque, the mist transformed itself into a white, filmy gown flowing from and clinging to Gaia's statuesque body. Her face was oval, dark hair hung down to her waist, and a green wreath crowned her head. Her wide eyes were the green of new leaves, her lips the color of ripe peaches.
"Yes, Jules Kincaid?" Her voice was like the soft night winds of the desert.
"You know my name. Possibly you also know why I called for you here."
She nodded, and her hair rippled. "I know," she said.
A young white buffalo took shape beside her. "As do I," it said in a feminine voice. "You did not need to call. We were here."
A plump Buddha was beside her; he saw no need to speak but smiled his beatific smile.
I contacted them all, Miral's voice inside Jules' mind explained. I feel there is need for great urgency.
So he explained to them what the plan was, and why they all had to merge for it to be successful.
Gaia asked the key question: "Can we separate after it is all over?"
“No, most probably not,” he said, deciding the simple, straightforward and truthful way was best. “The purpose of our doing this is ultimately to return most of the gods and goddesses to legend, where they belong. You will, of course, still live on in the hearts of many -- but only in their hearts. Yet,” he added quickly, “you will still exist within me. Thru me, your people and your world may continue to be protected.”
Pause.
White Buffalo Woman, who had now assumed the shape of a young Indian maiden, verified to the other two, “He speaks honestly."
“A question,” Jules said. “White Buffalo Woman and Gaia: You do realize, don’t you, that you both get your power from the same source? While there are many gods and goddesses, there is only one ultimate source of power. You realize that, don’t you?”
They both paused. White Buffalo Woman closed her eyes in contemplation; Gaia looked upwards. Then she sighed and looked at Kincaid, eyes wide with comprehension. “You are right!” she said softly but with emphasis and understanding.
White Buffalo Woman opened her eyes and knowledge was there with her as well. “I feel I always knew it, but only inside. Yes, Jules Kincaid. That is the power we use.”
“As do even normal people,” he said. “In that way, we are all one, even now. But it will be different, if we merge.”
Buddha, addressing White Buffalo Woman and Gaia, calmly intoned, “Long ago I found the elevated plane thru Enlightenment, which enabled me to leave the wheel of life. In our merging, this Way will be open to you. Either or both of you could join me when our task is at an end here.”
"No," Gaia said. "My duty is to protect the world; I cannot willingly leave it."
“Nor could I leave my people,” White Buffalo Woman said to him. She looked at Jules. “But neither can I leave them to the way the earth will become if we do not lend our aid! I will gladly merge with you, Jules Kincaid, to save my people from that.”
"And to protect the world," Gaia said, "I will also merge with you."
Buddha smiled and bowed. "I understand. How could I not, since I also once stayed in this world to teach the people bound to it how to reach the Path to Enlightenment? But when we merge, you will know the Way -- and it will remain open to you after our task is done. When you choose to use of this knowledge, or if you do, will be for you to decide should there ever be a change in what holds you here."
And then they were One.
It was . . . different. At first, Jules Kincaid was overwhelmed by everything the three of them were or had ever been -- he had all their memories, all their knowledge, all their emotions, all their pain – and all their joy. He was Jules Kincaid, he was Gaia, he was Buddha, he was White Buffalo Woman -- and he was drowning in the overwhelming and overpowering ocean the combined experience and sensation had all become.
But then Buddha reached out to the singular multiplicity and multiple singularity that was them all individually and together and he imbued their totality with an unshakeable serenity and acceptance.
The merging was taking place in the body of Jules Kincaid, and at this point Miral’s love washed over him, the Jules Kincaid part of him, giving him the focus he needed to help them all join in the effort to make everything fit, to expand their capacity to blend, to join, to merge into one being.
He was they and he and they took a deep breath, as everything slid into place.
You know my plans, Jules said to them all. Any objections? Any suggestions?
Their only answer was, in one voice, We are one.
Very good.
He sent an urgent focused request to the infinite computer. He was absolutely certain that the strand which reached it flicked rapidly between different buttons. Then they were whisked to a vast and deserted desert.
That was where he willed them to be, because he wanted no innocent bystanders to be injured by any fallout from the battle that was about to occur. Gaia, understanding the intent, had actually selected the spot, a place with few animals or even insects -- and to those few who were there, she sent a command to leave quickly.
They -- he -- stood and looked around. Across the desert there were a few flicks of motion as the emergency evacuation ordered by Gaia occurred. The sun was high overhead; there were few clouds, mostly blue sky.
Perfect day -- and a perfect place -- for Armageddon.
Taking a deep breath, Jules Kincaid composed himself and assumed a stern face. "People of Earth!" he said.
Every TV program would be interrupted. Every radio program would be interrupted. Every loudspeaker on Earth would carry his voice. Everyone would hear his message in his or her own language.
"As many of you -- no, most of you -- know, I am Jules Kincaid. I come to you now with a message of vital importance to your survival:
"There is only One True God! You know him by many names, you have different ways of worshiping him and different beliefs as to how he wants you to live, but, in all cases, it is the same god! There are many facets to this god, and some mistakenly worship only one facet, but -- it is the same god!
"There are also many splinter gods! These are all distortions of the power of the one true infinitely powerful being. I come here today to destroy these splinter gods! I will return them to God, where they will stay!"
He looked skyward. "Do you hear me, splinter gods? Will you come to fight me, or are you afraid? Let us do battle!"
Flute music came on the wind. A fog appeared before Kincaid, then it turned into Pan, flute to his mouth.
Pan? Kincaid wondered, with a feeling of both disappointment and disdain.
Disappointment in that this, Pan, was all the gods felt was necessary to defeat him.
Pan stood there with cloven hooves, small horns on his head and a sparkle in his eye as he looked at the writer.
"You are little more than a demigod, Pan," he said. "Can all you gods send me no better?"
Pan blew a quick trill and then smiled. “For a mere mortal like you, Jules Kincaid, there is no need for more.”
He started another tune, and it washed over Kincaid. The music filled his ears and then his entire body and he felt an incredible urge to dance. He was overwhelmed with a wild desire to run naked thru a forest and it was all he could do to restrain himself from trying to swoop and soar and fly with the birds!
But mostly, he wanted to -- and did! -- slap the flute out of Pan’s hand.
That surprised Pan but he quickly lashed out with a hoof aimed at Kincaid’s groin. The kick never landed; he stepped aside, grabbed Pan’s leg and held on to it as it swung by. Using the momentum of Pan’s kick, Jules spun around, still holding the hooved limb, picked up speed in the spin and then released Pan to fly off into the blue.
“Goodbye forever, Pan!” Jules Kincaid said as Pan dwindled into nothingness.
"I told the other gods that Pan was the wrong choice," said a voice from behind Kincaid. With the voice there was a background of sensuous music, and sounds of merriment.
When the writer turned, billowing purple drapes were pulled aside by two girls dressed in harem costume, to reveal a rotund man, a wreath on his head and a golden goblet of wine in one hand. He was reclining on purple satin pillows. Around him danced other scantily clad young women, smiling and giving exquisite and wanton looks of invitation.
This, of course, would be Bacchus -- the god of wine and pleasure. The ancient gods, it was obvious, had been returned to power.
"You are a civilized man, Jules Kincaid.” Bacchus held out the goblet. “You have civilized tastes and know the pleasure of good wine. Here, have a hearty drink!”
Without any thought, Jules’ hand accepted the cup and he breathed the fumes of the wine. It was, indeed, a good wine with a good bouquet. It would be impolite to refuse. He tipped the golden vessel to his lips and sipped.
Lust washed thru his body, lust and longing for diversion, for the gratification of, and satiation with demands of the flesh. After all the worries of the world weighing me down, he thought, it’s time for rewards! It’s time for Jules Kincaid to truly enjoy life! The dancing girls swayed, their hips and legs moved suggestively, and passion began to take control. The writer’s arms reached out. His feet started to move with the rhythm of the music, and then--
“Jules Kincaid!” Miral’s voice echoed in his mind. The tone was firm, but loving and kind. “Wake up! Those feelings are not your own!”
His feet stopped. A cold feeling enveloped him, cold to cleanse the passion, but backed with the warmth of Miral’s personality. His arms dropped to his sides, hands balled into fists. He took a deep breath.
"NO!" he thundered.
A startled look appeared on Bacchus’ round face. The girls vanished. The music stilled. “You may finish your wine, Bacchus!” he said, returning the goblet. “It is the only boon I can grant you, but it is also your bane -- since it is the last you will ever drink!”
Frantically, Bacchus brought the goblet to his lips. When it was emptied, the writer snapped his fingers and said: "Begone!"
The desert was again empty.
Then, seeing that he was serious, they brought out the heavy artillery. Swinging his hammer at his skull, a grim 10-foot-tall Thor appeared before him with a vengeance. As the hammer Thor wielded came whistling thru the air in his direction, Jules shrank his own size until he was only one foot in height. As a result, the hammer whooshed over his head -- by a considerable distance.
“Now!” Jules said, growing abruptly to Thor’s height, while simultaneously causing a white shield to appear on his left arm and a gleaming sword to appear in his right hand.
He sliced with his sword at the massive Thor but, almost effortlessly, Thor whirled his hammer and slammed the sword aside. Jules Kincaid brought the shield up as Thor changed direction and arced his hammer back toward at his head.
Lightning flashed and sparks flew as hammer and shield -- unstoppable force and unmovable objected -- came together. Jules swung his sword again, putting all his weight behind it – and this time cut thru the handle of Thor’s great hammer.
"You are a valiant warrior, Thor, but this time you are fighting on the wrong side,” Jules said. There was a stunned look on Thor's face. “Return to God and your Valhalla!” Jules commanded – and Thor was gone.
“Never send a boy to do a man’s work!”
The desert vibrated to those words. Even the sky above Jules Kincaid seemed to tremble as a great shadow fell across him. He looked up -- and there, towering over him, at least one hundred feet tall, was a god who could only be Zeus.
I must grow! Jules thought. I need help!
Within him, voices said, We are with you! Thru that came Miral's message: All your fans are behind you! Now you can call on their massed power!
He took a deep breath, reached out and touched the powers of massive belief -- and then, standing face to face, looked Zeus straight in the eyes! Zeus reached out with a lightning bolt, which he held in his bare hand, but Jules deflected it with his white shield.
“Mortal, I will turn you into a toad!” Zeus declared.
As the power of Zeus began to flood over Jules, Gaia -- goddess of Earth and all things on it, including toads -- reached out and absorbed the magic which would have transformed them and simply added it to her own powers. Instead of turning into a toad, he soared up, larger and ever larger, until Zeus was small enough to seem like a small and harmless toy at his feet. He reached down and easily scooped up the old God, then effortlessly tossed him back up into the sky. “Join Pan!” Kincaid said and Zeus' tiny form dwindled into the dark distance of space and disappeared.
Jules settled back to normal size. "Thank you, fans of Bluewater!" he said to the world. "Your belief is helping me to defeat the splinter gods!"
Was it just his imagination, or did he actually hear the sound of cheering?
Then there was the vibration of the striking of a massive gong.
"When all the gods gathered to plan how to defeat you, I felt that the ancient gods of the West were worthless," said a decidedly Oriental voice, with a slight singsong rhythm. "Fight now one of the real gods, puny being!"
Shiva floated in the air above Jules, legs crossed in lotus position, four arms akimbo and with fiery eyes gleaming with malice and hatred in his direction.
Above the two of them a gigantic thundercloud billowed. It took less than a second for Jules to form a lightning rod and ram it into the ground. As he took his hand from it, the greatest lightning bolt in history struck. The lightning rod absorbed the entire bolt, but even so the rod melted and the desert sand around it fused with the heat and turned to glass. Jules was shaken but essentially unharmed.
"Impressive," Shiva commented. "But now--"
Shiva was suddenly a giant bull, thundering toward Jules and snorting flames of fire like a dragon.
Jules Kincaid grew in height to match the bull's proportions and out of the air plucked the red cape known as the capote. As the beast snorted and charged, Jules held out the capote, only to swing it aside at the last instant, in proper matador fashion, so that the raging bull rushed past without contact. As it passed, he struck out with the sharp espada, putting his shoulder behind it, but hit only thin air as the bull vanished.
It was at this point that the dragon appeared . . . .
. . . . Well, that was certainly . . . interesting, Kincaid said to the others within himself.
Jules got back to his feet, sword having reappeared, and saw--
Shiva floating above him.
"You wish to fight with knives?" Shiva sneered. "Then try these!"
Each of her four hands held a ceremonial knife or scimitar, all exceedingly sharp and shiny.
Abruptly Shiva stood in front of him, arms and the blades they held whirling, seeking a weakness or opening to exploit. In turn, Jules held up his white shield to protect himself and then, as Shiva drew back, he launched a karate kick. It connected with two of Shiva's arms, driving them against her chest, and he heard her grunt as she stumbled back. He plunged forward to take advantage of her loss of balance and suddenly she was gigantic!
Everybody! Jules called. All of me! All of the followers of Buddha! All fans of Bluewater! Let's do it again!
He expanded. He soared. He grew! He was as big as Shiva, and then so huge and continuing to grow at such a rate that, like Zeus, Shiva dwindled before him. Scooping her up on his white shield, Kincaid lifted her aloft and then flung the shield like a giant frisbee. It soared into the stratosphere. "Goodbye, Shiva! It was a good fight," he said. "Now be gone forever!"
But as Shiva dwindled away and vanished into the distance, Jules found himself suddenly besieged by a teaming host of little gods all over his body -- trying to stab him, bite him, stun him with comparatively small blades and flames and bolts of lightning. Tho it was easy enough to brush them away, every time he did so more came to take their place. Finally, Jules caused a shower nozzle to appear in the air over him and used it to wash them all away -- with blue water. They screamed, hissed, cursed, and . . . melted into nothingness.
Jules returned to normal size. Shiva's thundercloud was gone and the sun was shining.
It looked like a great day for more things than just Armageddon.
When no more gods appeared, he proclaimed to the entire world, "Control of our planet now rests with us again! There will be no splintered gods to plague us! Earth is once more safe for us all."
Again, he seemed to sense cheers.
Afterwards, a thought occurred to him. "Miral?" Jules asked. "Are you still with me?"
I am here, darling husband.
"I would like to return to Bluewater so that I might truly be your husband in every sense," he said. "But … I am no longer the same! Now I am One!"
Gaia, sensing his meaning, said with a sense of humor in the mental voice she pitched at him, Fear not, Jules Kincaid. Buddha has left his wisdom behind for all of us but his essence has returned to a higher plane, while White Buffalo Woman and I have other things to concern us. Provided you do not consciously seek our aid, you will have your privacy while we rest.
He felt Miral's voice ask, Does that answer your question, dear one?
"Indeed it does," Jules said. Lifting the hand on which he still had the blue ring she had sent him and turning the stone one more to face him, he said, "Miral!"
If anyone had asked him, he would have told them that, in his opinion at least, their combined task had been completed and everything on Earth was pretty much now back in order and about as good as could be expected.
Due to the way time passed differently on Earth and on Bluewater, however, it would be a matter of several years spent on Bluewater before he discovered just how wrong he had been.
Bluewater was wonderful -- but, of course, it had always been something of an idealized and utopian vision of the kind of world Jules Kincaid thought he would like to live in.
When he came to it, after he thought the battles were over, it also provided him with a great and joyful surprise.
Jules had assumed that, as Miral had been with him all during the battles, she had not also been on Bluewater. Boy, was he ever wrong!
When he returned, he found himself in front of Miral's -- which is to say, their -- house. A bouncing Rittle, bubbling over with enthusiasm, immediately greeted him. "You’re back, Jules Kincaid! You are back -- and just at the right time! Miral will be so glad to see you. As will the midwife!"
"Midwife???"
"Yes. She says the birthing always goes much better when the father is present!"
"Birthing. -- Birthing?" Could he do nothing but repeat what Rittle said? "You mean--?"
"Yes! Indeed! It is time for your son to be born," Rittle burbled and bounced away into the house. "Come, come!"
A handsome plump aproned lady who had her hair tied up neatly in a bun met them on their entrance.
"Milord!" she exclaimed, dropping Jules a curtsey. "Oh, I am so glad you made it in time! Come in and see milady Miral -- she is extremely close!"
Kincaid followed her into the bedroom. Miral was lying on the bed, beautiful as ever, swollen stomach and all. There was a light film of sweat on her lovely brow, but relief in her eyes. "Hello, husband -- and soon-to-be father!" she said.
"But how-- I didn't know-- You were with me . . . and you never told me--" he stopped, realizing he was at a loss and floundering about for words.
Miral smiled thru her exhaustion. "You never asked, husband," she said. "You did, however, know that we were to have a child. You do recall your part in that?"
"Yes," he said with a self-deprecating laugh, "but my love, it's supposed to take nine months -- even here on Bluewater!" Then he stopped and finally mumbled until his words trailed off ineffectually, "The time differential! But you were with me, and I didn't think . . . didn't know-- You never said anything. . . ."
"There were, you may recall, more important things on your mind, dear husband," she said, reaching out a hand in his direction. "It didn't seem to me that you needed any distraction while you were busy saving your world and ours."
"But . . . how could you have been with me, while months were passing here?"
"Only part of me was with you, love," she explained. Then, abruptly, she squeezed my hand hard and gasped. "I . . . think it is time!"
"Out! Out, milord!" the midwife insisted. "You have done your part in siring this child and have comforted your wife while waiting for the birthing to being. Now wait outside!"
"Well. . . well. . . On my world, the husband is often present at the birth of his child."
"This is not your world," the midwife said, pushing Jules away.
"Um, well, actually, it is."
His argument, tho without logical fault, could not sway her, however. "What is coming now is woman's work -- no man is needed! Out!"
He was obviously not the authority figure in this scenario.
The midwife delivered them a fine, healthy baby boy.
After much deliberation, he was named Asa. There was no reason for the choice that Jules could remember, except that Miral liked the name and he had no objection. It felt right. He had feared that she might want to name him after him -- and, considering what he felt about his actual name, Jules was not going to let that happen. But fortunately the idea was never broached.
Asa grew rapidly and happily, as children are prone to do. One minute Miral and Jules were wondering if Asa would ever learn to talk -- and the next if he would ever stop. He was a toddling infant and then, it seemed like overnight, he was six and Jules was taking him fishing and exploring. The way he asked Jules things and told Jules things was ever a source of wonder and delight.
And then, on his twelfth birthday, the joy of Jules Kincaid was ended abruptly.
While birthday cards had not been a custom he had imported for use on Bluewater, it was the practice to write notes of congratulations -- folded notes, with the name on the outside. Many were piled on the table, beside the cake; Miral and Asa went thru them all, and then--
"This is strange, beloved," Miral said. "This one -- it's addressed to you!"
Jules unfolded the note.
"It is time we met, Jules Kincaid. Return to your home world if you dare face me."
There was no signature, but the paper carried with it the scent of brimstone.
When Miral returned Jules Kincaid to the apartment, it was, of course, only a split second after the last great battle in the desert. The laws of magic, according to Miral, ensured that no actual time had passed on his home world since he had left it.
Quite some time back subjectively, he -- the ‘he’ that existed after Gaia, White Buffalo Woman and Buddha had agreed to join his battles by literally becoming part of him -- had fought and conquered gods such as Bacchus, Zeus, Shiva, dragons, many forms of magic wielded by gods up to one hundred feet tall. But now he -- the same 'he' -- was to face the most dangerous enemy of all.
Satan.
(There he went again, with the leftovers of his former Christianity hanging over his edges. For the sake of brevity, again, he elected to call his opponent Satan, for all that in actual fact he was just the manifestation of the god of evil, the ultimate tempter and deceiver, the Bad as opposed to Good -- present under a variety of different names in many different forms of religion.)
As per the instructions left in his apartment, Jules Kincaid walked to Central Park. It seemed a strange place for the conflict, but he didn't question it. People followed him -- at a distance -- as he entered the park. And then--
Jules was abruptly surrounded by a TV studio set, so the park was gone. Satan, smiling, was waiting for him.
Satan didn't look particularly dangerous -- but that was almost totally because he didn't look like Satan. Not the traditional Pan-like horned Satan of Christian myth, that is. He had assumed 
human form and was now someone who looked like a young Johnny Carson, seated behind the usual desk fiddling with a pencil.
Jules Kincaid, on the other hand, was seated on the guest sofa while the human form he knew to be Satan smiled at him.
No more titanic battles, Jules thought. Satan is too clever for that! This will be even tougher – a battle of wills! And then, unbidden, the thought . . . For my soul? crept into his mind.
Jules knew what was going on; it was as if he had been dropped there with a complete collection of memories. It was the expected TV studio, the Tonight Show set, with the difference being that every television in the world -- broken, turned off, whatever -- would be showing this encounter.
Of course Satan would choose Johnny Carson; Johnny had been very popular and, most important, his viewers had loved and trusted him, just as Satan would want Jules to love and trust him.
Even tho Satan had provided the arena, Jules had to agree to participate. No choice in that. Not only did he have to beat Satan on his own terms, Jules had to beat him decisively, dramatically, while the whole world watched! Only in that way could he finally slam the door on the mess that supercomputer's statement had caused; only that way could he close the lid on Pandora's Box.
"So you're the big, bad, self-appointed Defender of Earth, Julius -- oh, excuse me, Jules -- Kincaid?" It was Johnny Carson's voice, but Satan's words, dripping with mocking sarcasm. He smirked at the studio audience with the ' excuse me!' bit and they snickered as if on cue -- they were, after all, Satan's people.
Of course, the 'mistake' in his remark was no accident -- Satan knew very well that Jules had always despised the name Julius, which was why he'd changed his name to less offensive (to his ears) derivative, Jules. Only three other people knew that Julius was his real given name; he had changed it when his parents, now dead, had moved them to another town and many years had passed before his fame overtook him.
"We are defenders," Kincaid corrected him.
The Johnny Carson eyebrows rose. "'We'?" Satan asked. "Oh, yes; you and ones you killed by absorbing them!"
"They aren't dead," Jules contradicted him. "We are alive as one unit."
Johnny Carson clapped his hands, a sarcastic smile on his face. "Bravo, Kincaid," he said, his voice toned with irony. "You not only kill living entities -- entities which many people consider holy -- but then are heartless enough to brag about it on national television!"
Inside, Jules heard Gaia's concerned voice saying, He speaks the truth! We are no longer who we used to be!
That, of course, was recognizable as part of Satan's plan -- he wanted to weaken their power by dividing them.
Not so, White Buffalo Woman's calm voice said. Now, as one unit, we are greater -- not less -- than we used to be.
Thank you, White Buffalo Woman, Jules said to his own innermost self. You surely know I could not have succeeded without you all.
He speaks true, White Buffalo Woman said.
Multiple tiny voices of Gaia's elementals said as if in a small echo chamber, But we are no longer ourselves! We are bound!
No, my small ones, Gaia's voice explained. No more than you were reduced in stature by being one with me!
That reassured Jules. All of Jules, the innermost part of his soul and being, his totality.
Of course, there was no response from Buddha. From his perspective, none was called for.
All of this exchange took less than a second of real time, and could not be heard by the world. "Gaia," Jules said aloud, "tell Satan the truth."
Gaia's voice came from his mouth. "We are one, and we are many, O Evil One. We are combined for strength, to defeat you as we have defeated others."
Satan pulled back, hands to Johnny Carson's face, and in mock fear said, "Horrors! I am doomed! Poor, poor me." The laugh track was one of delighted and unrestrained hilarity.
Johnny Carson's face sobered, and Satan looked at Jules. "Gaia -- if you really are Gaia, and not a clever bit of voice mimicry -- you are not the same. You will never be the same again! How can you hope to be around to tend to your Earth after having undergone such a change?"
Kincaid waited, with a feeling bordering on concern, for Gaia to respond. Satan seemed to think Gaia was the weakest link. Was he right?
Gaia's fervent voice replied at last, "There would be no Earth to protect if we did not join together in battle against you! Afterwards, thru Jules Kincaid, I can still take care of the world!"
The elementals' tiny voices reverberated, "The Earth! The trees!"
"So long as it doesn't interfere with Jules Kincaid's plans!" Satan sneered. He paused to let that sink in, and then continued, "White Buffalo Woman, I know you are there as well. You have mated with a non-Indian -- with Jules Kincaid!"
A brilliant flash of lightning, followed by thunder truly heard 'round the world, smashed down. Both Johnny Carson and his desk were blasted into ashes, revealing a very Satan-looking Satan in his place. The horned beast flicked an ash, looked back at Jules, and then Johnny Carson and his desk flickered back into existence.
"Temper, temper, White Buffalo Woman!" Johnny's voice chided. He clucked and stuck his tongue in his cheek, but this could not conceal that his lips had been a split second out of sync with the words he had spoken.
The Johnny Carson head shook, but Satan's forked tongue darted out to lick his lips. Then, with a smile, Satan said, "But, really now, don't you think that blast have been better if you had directed it at your captor?" By the time of this speech, both lips and voice matched again and the forked tongue was not evident visually.
Now Satan's eyes were looking into Jules Kincaid's. "Jules! You have no real interest in Earth -- and you cannot deny it! Why should you strive so, putting all you hold dear at risk, to protect this universe -- when you know in your hear that what you really want, all you really want, is back on Bluewater and the loves you've left behind there? You aren't really concerned about anything but getting back to Miral and your son -- admit it!"
There was Bluewater -- it seemed to be in front of Jules, with Miral standing in the water, seemingly beckoning to him with her smile and arms held wide, while beside her was Asa, his eyes filled with a son's love. Jules Kincaid's heart yearned.
"Bluewater is the only world you really want, Jules! Forget all about your Eve and this world, both riddled with human imperfections. You know that -- I am certain of it, certain that there is no slight shred of doubt in your mind about this!"
Desire and intense longing washed over him, undeniably strong. Bluewater was his world! Never had he doubted it. Bluewater and Miral were his life! Passion and longing filled his being, as he looked on the full color three-dimensional depiction of Bluewater.
Miral still stood there, but also, in an overlay of realities, her blue expressive eyes were between them, between Jules and Satan's projected representation of Miral. The real blue eyes stern as Kincaid heard Miral's voice telling him, Satan has reached into you, Jules Kincaid -- just as you feared he might. He is playing with your mind, tempting you as you said he did to Christ in THE LAST TEMPTATION.
She was right! The feelings he had experienced were real enough but they were not the total of his true feelings. Satan had managed to sow a seed of despair into the fertile soil of his thoughts; the Prince of Guile was thereby trying to rule his emotions, and thru them rule Jules.
He shook his head. "No, Satan," he said, perhaps not as strongly as he might have liked.
"Forget the rest of the universe!" Satan purred persuasively. "Bluewater is yours! You shall have it forever! Simply stand down and never will I bother you or anything of Bluewater."
The suspended blue eyes now, those Jules Kincaid knew in his heart to be the real eyes of Miral, somehow expressed anger. It was actually both love and anger simultaneously -- and it was love for him, anger for Satan, he could tell.
Still Jules felt a strong tug of doubt. Could he resist the Evil One? Could he best the Master of Temptation?
Well, Jules wasn't Christ -- he'd already admitted as much to Miral. But, like any other fallible human being, he could still try.
"Bluewater is not yours to bargain with, Satan," he said with forced calmness. "It is not a piece in a game of chess. These, now, are real people, not game pieces!"
"You are so wrong," Satan oozed as his Johnny Carson lips smiled an evil smile. "All of you are mine to play with. I play with all the souls in the universe, as I have from the beginning. You are the king and Miral is the queen -- but this is my chess game and it is played by my rules on the board of Life! Like it or not, you are in my game, Jules Kincaid. You are good at it, I will admit -- but I am the Master! I have, after all, played this game for eternity!"
Oh, God, of course he's right! , Jules Kincaid thought. How could I, a mere mortal, hope to defeat him -- even with all the help I've had?
Jules Kincaid! echoed strongly in his mind, the echo itself reverberating with strong reproach but at the same time supplying him with a renewal of strength -- the voices of the two goddesses and Miral, with the tiny voices of the elementals vibrating in the background. Even the non-judgmental Buddha was sending Jules calmness.
Their multiple response was so strong that it freed his thoughts of the despair which had begun to characterize them -- and a plan of defense started to form in his mind. As the details of this idea fell quickly into place, he became increasingly certainty that the plan would work. But it had serious -- very serious -- consequences. The personal cost would be so high that his heart wanted to rebel against it. To say that he was reluctant to carry it out would be a very severe and extreme understatement -- but at the same time he knew, in the very heart that wanted to rebel, that it was the only way.
Taking a deep breath and with grim determination, Jules Kincaid rose to his feet. "The game's over, Satan," he said, "and I'm not the loser -- you are!" Jules held up his right hand, the one with the Bluewater ring on still it, and turned the ring inward, so that the blue crystal faced Satan.
Miral's astonishing blue eyes appeared above Satan's head, and Jules Kincaid could not help but see the _expression of genuine puzzlement in them. They were and had always been so expressive, those eyes.
"That ring has no power over me!" Satan laughed.
Did Jules detect a little uncertainty there?
"Oh, but it does! Christ gave up his life to bring you down." Sudden understanding flared in Miral's eyes. The understanding was mixed for an instant with horror but then with sad but willing acceptance -- and she nodded at Jules. "I give up more than my life!" he continued. "To rid the world of you, and all splinter gods, to return us to One God -- a god of many names but One God -- I give up my love, my family and all of my world of Bluewater!"
The horror that had been in Miral's eyes had been brief, while Jules knew that the horror he now observed on Satan's face would last thru the rest of eternity as Jules stepped up on his own personal cross and brought his hand sharply down, smashing the ring of Bluewater -- his only door to Miral, their son and their shared world -- against the edge of the desk.
When it shattered, a blue mist erupted from it and enveloped virtually everything that Jules could see. When it was gone--
So was Miral, Satan, the TV studio. Everything that had been there. All gone.
Jules Kincaid was back in Central Park again.
He sent several final commands to the eternal computer. All religious leaders -- shamans, priests, preachers, missionaries, all who had followers who would listen to them -- would preach that the gods of each faith were but different versions of one unified god. No matter what their name for it, it was only a different face of one god. And only fanciful children and the three who had known him as Julius (and two of them, his parents, had already died) could remember any of the apocalyptic stuff that had occurred.
In this modified new reality, the supercomputer had never confirmed that an infinite power was at the base of everything; it had been only a failed experiment -- a few elements had been input incorrectly, there was an undetectable glitch in a minor program and as a result the supercomputer had been unable to successfully crunch the numbers. All knowledge of what it had done and how it had affected the world would be erased. But the power of what Kincaid had sacrificed and the reason it had been done would remain in peoples' subconscious. Totally buried, but the impetus of it would always be there.
He also requested that he should no longer have such a strong connection to the infinite computer, that his prayers hereafter would be handled the same as any other -- something that might be answered "Yes" or might be answered "No" or might seem not to be answered at all.
Was it just his imagination or did the world seem to settle down just a little, to solidify -- to get back, as they used to say, into the groove? It felt as if a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders.
But such a great hole was in his heart. Miral! His son! All gone and all of Bluewater with them. Jules now felt he knew the answer to the question he'd earlier posed to himself: There would be no more Bluewater books.
Had it been worth it? Jules Kincaid knew that Miral had believed it had been, and thus that her sacrifice had been a willing one. They'd both known, at the fateful moment, that she could have stopped him from doing what he felt he had to do with just a few words -- Please stop, my love. But she'd demonstrated both her love and her recognition of what needed to be sacrificed by not doing that.
Jules walked thru the subdued crowd. Some of them turned away, a puzzled look on their faces; others just stood numbly, waiting, even tho not entirely certain of what they were waiting for.
A boy reached out to him; Jules smiled at him, touched his shoulder.
As he walked on, another thought rose unbidden. Was that really the end of it? Had he locked the lid on Pandora's box or only closed it where it could be easily opened again? In the beginning, he had recalled how mankind had a way of trying to turn every new discovery to its advantage. While the main thrust of the power unleashed came from the minds of many, there had been a few individuals in history who had tapped into that source.
What if science subsequently found some way to use a computer to reopen the box and magnify the power faith gives a person in that situation? What if, doing that, one person could access and control the full source of infinite power?
They could change the world -- even the universe! The magics which had been practiced by all the gods combined would pale beside the power such an individual would have. The fully unleashed power of thought could, in an instant, wipe out all extant natural laws, and chaos would ensue. Chaos controlled by one person.
Maybe that's what will prevent it from happening, tho, Jules thot. No one would want to assist in elevating one individual into something exceeding godhood.
Maybe.
And what would happen when the eternal power that had made the computer returned, woke up, and saw what had happened? That thought nudged a part of his mind that had been dormant for too long.
Yes, he thought, what would happen if God awoke? What would become of the world then? Would Our Hero be on God’s side or against Him? Or, maybe, fighting beside God but, as things developed.... And there’d be a beautiful maiden, of course, plus (with any luck at all) someone for comic relief....
In his final powered prayer, Jules Kincaid had ordered his own power erased. He had tasted that kind of power and, overall, could tell himself he'd done reasonably well. But he'd held it briefly and realized his own limitations; he didn't want to have to constantly be on guard against making idle "wishes" that he might regret. As things stood, he could commend himself because he'd managed to put some things right that needed righting and had willingly made what the writer in him recognized as a heroic sacrifice to do it.
Besides which, the age-old adage about power was precise: It corrupts and in its purest form corrupts absolutely. He hadn't murdered anyone in the strictest sense but he'd changed Scurch pretty much for his own convenience, eliminating a conflict that would have made his own life with Miral more difficult, because he'd had the power to do it. Oh, he'd given himself an excuse at the time -- he'd wanted to "test" his ability to use the infinite power -- but with more time to consider it, he recognized it for what it had been. On some unconscious level, that was why he'd never told Miral about it -- because he knew she would recognize it too. He'd been corrupted; if he'd kept the power, it would only be a matter of time before he was corrupted absolutely, changing things at the drop of a hat for his own convenience no matter what the consequences to others. He'd rather liked what Miral had said about his "clear" conscience, but he had to give up the power if he wanted to keep it that way.
Jules Kincaid’s blue funk disappeared like mist on a summer morning. A new road has revealed itself, he thought. Again, I’ve got a path to follow . . . even tho, this time, I’ll follow it alone.
His mind was in such an oblivious turmoil that he was surprised to realize he had reached the elevator to his apartment.
Maybe, he found himself thinking, I could do one more Bluewater book -- one in which Scurch, wily and tricky but ever loyal, finally wins the love he deserves. Jules reflected that it was only in his own mind and in the hearts of Bluewater fans everywhere that Miral, Scurch and Rittle could continue to exist. Well, I'll have to think about it.
He took a deep breath and tried to calm down as he punched the button for his floor. After he'd unplugged himself from the source of infinite power, he'd made one more prayer -- one of those that could be answered yes or no or not be answered at all. Let me have a chance. Just a chance. He'd kept it simple, knowing there was no need to explain.
By the time he exited the plush elevator cage, he was more in control of his thoughts. He opened the apartment door.
Eve was waiting for him.