Existentially Challenged, page 16
Shgshthx wobbled with faint concern. He appeared to be doing the fluidic equivalent of exchanging glances with the offscreen producer. It was his responsibility to rein in the guests when they started saying things that might upset a general audience, but on the other hand, this, like a six-lane pileup, had the makings of great television. “Why do they do it?”
“Because they’re afraid of us. And that’s why I wanted to come on here: to show you why they should be.” He reached behind him and pulled a rather damp and crinkled wad of papers out of the back of his waistband. “This is the lawsuit Modern Miracle filed today against them.”
“Against the people who chuck bricks at your house?” asked Shgshthx uncertainly.
“Nope,” said Miracle Dad triumphantly, holding up the papers for all to see. “This is the lawsuit Modern Miracle and the British government will be filing together against the Christian Church.”
Nita, who was still leaning against a wall near the catering table with her arms folded, froze. Her arms tightened around her own chest so hard it felt like her lungs were being pushed into her stomach. On the other side of London, a small quantity of tea that had, up until this moment, been inside Sean Anderson’s mouth arced attractively across his living room.
“The government is filing this?” said Shgshthx, giving voice to the wall of disbelief that now filled the entire room.
“They have to,” said Miracle Dad smugly, pulling a specific piece of paper out of the wad. “See this? This is the X-Appropriation Act.” He read out loud from the page like a messenger at a medieval court getting way too into their role. “ ‘It is an offense for any person to attempt to profit from any false claim that they or any entity they claim to own or associate with are in possession of extradimensional capabilities.’ Now, is there anyone you can think of who’s been going around saying they know someone who walked on water and knows when we’re touching ourselves? It’s not even a civil case. The church is breaking the law, and the government has to come down on them.”
Shgshthx formed their “mouth” into a sidelong smirk. “I think the government could very easily just . . . not come down on them.”
“You might be right,” said Miracle Dad, with a sudden grave seriousness. “But there’s a lot of magically infused kids on the Modern Miracle forums who are scared about what’s happening to them and their futures, and not a lot of them have much confidence in the Department of Extradimensional Affairs, not when their policy up to now was to kill them and brainwash them and stuff. So I’d say the government needs to take a look at this new generation of wizards holding the power of the Ancients and a sizable chunk of the votes, and then look at this pack of old fogies in dresses who’ve done nothing but hold us all back for centuries, and at some point they’re going to have to figure out which side they’re on.”
Nita’s phone was ringing. She trotted quickly toward the exit door as if going to answer it, but declined the call without even looking at the screen. Immediately, her phone rang again, and she declined that one as well, quickening her pace. By the time of the fifth call, she was sprinting.
THE NEXT MORNING
26
Richard Danvers didn’t have much time for late-night television, and had a policy of only turning on his phone when he was safely behind his desk and ready to face the day, so he arrived at the Department without having heard anything about the night’s events. Still, he could sense that something was off. The civil servants in the Administration department were eerily quiet, all sitting hunched forward over their work with the tight mouths and moist eyes of people who had recently been shouted at.
Richard glanced through the open door of the main meeting room on the way to his office and stopped in his tracks. The meeting table was absolutely groaning with food. There was a fruit platter, a cheese board, a pile of croissants and Danishes, a row of dispensers filled with a variety of breakfast cereals that must have been borrowed from a hotel, a stack of unopened pizza boxes, and more besides. Having only had his usual breakfast—a muesli bar and a mug of strong tea large enough to drown a ferret—Richard could feel his stomach falling in moaning love at first sight.
Elizabeth Lawrence and Nita Pavani were sitting on opposite ends of the table, both with arms folded as if afraid to touch anything. Spurred by hunger and curiosity, Richard took a step into the room. “Good morning,” he said. “What’s the occasion?”
The door slammed shut behind him. Richard spun around. Sean Anderson was there with a manic smile and eyes that couldn’t have had much sleep. “I’m glad you asked,” he said, in a dangerously quiet voice. “The occasion is, no one gets to leave this room until we figure out the plan of action against these Modern Miracle twerps. I’ve canceled all your meetings and laid on breakfast, lunch, and dinner. No one has any excuse to leave.”
“And what if someone needs to use the toilet, Sean?” asked Nita.
Anderson threw out his massive hands. “There’s four perfectly good corners in this room, aren’t there?”
“What happened?” asked Danvers, resigning himself to a seat.
“Modern Miracle are pressuring the government to apply the X-Appropriation Act to the popular religions,” summarized Elizabeth.
“The prime minister called me this morning,” said Anderson, leaning forward and planting his hands on the table, deftly positioning them either side of a large basket of Wagon Wheels. “He’d just had his meeting with the queen. She asked him if she should be concerned about being handcuffed and arrested in her capacity as head of the Church of England. She showed her characteristic grace and good humor, for which she is beloved, and everyone had a good laugh about it. The PM is sodding livid.”
“Anderson . . .” said Elizabeth patiently.
“He also took a call from the American president,” continued Anderson, not pausing. “Who, in turn, has been getting calls from several Christian groups over there. Certain phrases came up. Phrases like ‘complete boycott of British products.’ Just as soon as they figure out what this country even exports anymore . . .”
“Anderson,” repeated Elizabeth sharply. “It was not us who passed the X-Appropriation Act.”
Anderson sagged as if the string holding up his head had been cut. “Yes. I know.”
“I recall advising against passing it.” Elizabeth recrossed her legs. “Citing concerns with ambiguity in the wording that could be used against—”
“all right!” barked Anderson, head still bowed. “I’m not saying this is DEDA’s fault. I am saying that a department that, let’s face it, hasn’t inched terribly far out of the toilet bowl in estimation since its last big cock-up might like to see this as a wonderful opportunity to get back in the PM’s good graces and prove to him that this department is a professional and efficient part of the government team, deserving of all respect and dignity.” He let his point sink in for a moment, then looked up. “Right. What dirt have we got on this Miracle Dad prick?”
Danvers, having been raised in a strict upper-class household that had drilled into him the importance of not wasting food, was resignedly buttering a croissant. He sighed. “For whatever it’s worth, we have a double murder case in Worcester at the moment that one of my investigators seems to believe might be linked.”
“All right, good start,” said Anderson, nodding. “How concrete a link?”
“I sincerely doubt that anything at present could stick to Miracle Dad himself,” admitted Danvers.
“No worries,” said Anderson. “Shit like that, doesn’t matter if it sticks. If you can chuck it and at least get him in the splatter zone, it might leave enough of a stink to put people off. Anything else?”
“Miracle Dad isn’t your problem,” said Elizabeth.
Anderson stared at her, mouth sarcastically agape. “Sorry, was there some other bugger on last night telling the world that Her Majesty’s government is about to piss all over the corn flakes of the entire religious voting bloc?”
“I had Alison look over the Modern Miracle forums,” continued Elizabeth nonchalantly, staring straight ahead. “She tells me there was a thread posted by Miracle Dad relating to his television interview, asking what he should say. Every line he delivered last night was fed to him from a different member of the forum.”
“What are you saying to me?” asked Anderson.
“That Miracle Dad is just a willing mouthpiece for what you’re actually up against—what may well be the entire online extradimensional community.”
“Mm,” murmured Danvers agreeably, through a mouthful of croissant. “I wouldn’t be surprised if Miracle Dad himself is only in this for the publicity it brings his streaming channel. And then if you try to take him down . . .”
“We’d just be making a martyr,” said Anderson gloomily. He halfheartedly punched the tabletop a couple of times. “All right then, what’ve we got on the rest of these internet twats?”
“Before you invest in a new fleet of unmarked vans,” said Elizabeth, “it might be easier to simply amend the X-Appropriation Act. Include a clause that permits religious activities?”
Anderson had settled into a chair and was attempting to open the wrapper on a Wagon Wheel. He eventually resorted to pulling it apart with his teeth. “Ngh! Maybe. It was enough of a bastard getting it through in the first place. And anyway, no. Stupid. ’Cos half the buggers the act was supposed to target will just turn around and claim religious practice. All them crystal therapy and spirit medium shits. They’ll just say it’s Wiccan or something.” He took a bite and proceeded to talk through his mouthful of Wagon Wheel, spraying biscuit crumbs. “Nita, don’t just sit there like a plastic fanny. Contribute. Throw an idea out!”
“Well, I did have one idea,” said Nita, slowly leaning back and folding her arms. “Give the extradimensional community what they want. Find a representative of the Church of England. Put them in front of a panel. Get them to publicly explain why Christian doctrine doesn’t contravene the X-Appropriation Act.”
Anderson rubbed his chin, creating a sound like leather being dragged up and down a washboard. “Right. I see what you’re saying. Put it out in the open like that, so the public can see how stupid Modern Miracle is being. Still, the right message might not—”
“Message?!” interrupted Nita sharply. “Has it even occurred to you that Modern Miracle might be completely in the right?”
Elizabeth rolled her eyes toward the ceiling, and Danvers took a lively interest in the interior of his croissant. Finding absolutely no support, Anderson was forced to meet Nita’s piercing glare. “You what?”
“This might be just what the human race has had a long time coming,” said Nita, eyes manically wide. “Miracle Dad’s absolutely right. Why do we let old religions hog so much power and influence? Why does God get a free ride? Worshiping the Ancients makes some sense! We know the Ancients exist, for one thing!”
“It’s never been about whether God exists,” said Anderson patiently, holding out one hand like a flesh-colored serving tray. “The fact that He doesn’t just hang around on earth messing with people is one of the things we find most agreeable about Him.”
“Are you a Christian, Anderson?” asked Danvers.
“What?” Anderson straightened up defensively. “No. Parents were pretty big into it, but I don’t really . . .”
“This isn’t going to just go away, Sean, no matter how people vote, no matter how many media outlets you manipulate,” said Nita. “Religion has been offering make-believe magic for centuries. Now real magic is here. This was going to come to blows at some point.”
“Look, don’t be stupid, Nita,” said Anderson. “The church is an institution.”
Nita had picked up a single grape from the nearby fruit platter. “Slavery was an institution,” she said, before crunching down on the grape as a devastating punctuation mark.
Anderson hissed in frustration, then turned to the other end of the table. “Look, could one of you sodding goldfish stop eyeballing us and get back in this debate?”
Danvers and Elizabeth, having worked together for years, had become adept at communicating nonverbally. Throughout the discussion they had been having an intense debate of their own entirely through subtle movements of the eyes and facial muscles. With one last nod of the head, Elizabeth nominated Danvers, the diplomat, to announce their conclusions.
“Anderson, I’m sorry,” he said, clasping his hands in front of him. “This department’s duty is to support the extradimensional community. And it appears that that’s essentially what Modern Miracle is, at least online.”
“Exactly!” said Nita, with a triumphant snap of the fingers.
“At the same time, Nita,” said Danvers quickly, “we also realize that we are part of the government of England, and as such cannot reasonably be expected to participate in prosecuting the Church of England. If nothing else, it’s a conflict of interest.”
“Yeah!” said Anderson. “And you can bet your twisted-up knickers the Ministry of Justice will say the same. So let’s have a bit less of this edgelord atheist shite.”
“Edgelord?!” snapped Nita. “What’s ‘edgelord’ about wanting . . .” She stopped suddenly, clamping her lips shut, and physically recoiled into a demure sitting position, like a dog being hauled back on the leash. She smiled at Danvers pleasantly. “You’re saying, Richard, that the Department is officially declaring neutrality?”
“We have to,” said Danvers firmly. “We cannot choose a side on this. I don’t believe we should.”
“That is completely fair, I understand, and I will not ask you to say anything more.” Nita rose from her seat, still smiling beatifically. “I think we’ve all made our positions perfectly clear. I don’t think there’s any reason for me to stick around. I have things to get on with.”
“Nita, I do hope you’re not planning on going rogue on us,” said Anderson, trying to look casual and unconcerned with his face still the color of a warning light on a nuclear reactor. “ ’Cos I don’t know if you realize how easy a thing it would be to just not renew your contract.”
Nita smiled even wider at him, pinching her eyes with a sarcastic sympathy that unsettled Anderson enormously. “Don’t worry, Sean, from this point forward I swear I will do nothing but my job and stop trying to escalate events.” She turned to leave, then stopped and peered coquettishly over her shoulder. “After all, I have a feeling I won’t need to.”
Anderson glared silently at the door for some time after Nita left, only snapping out of it when Richard and Elizabeth both tactfully stood up. “Hey!” he yelled. “Where d’you think you’re—”
“Anderson,” said Elizabeth. “She was right. Our positions have all been made perfectly clear.”
“We already said, the Department can’t take sides on this,” said Danvers, politely holding the door open for Elizabeth. “As in, we legally cannot. No amount of threatening or cajoling us is going to change that now.”
“Fine,” said Anderson, sulkily folding his arms as he was left alone in the meeting room. “All the more breakfast, lunch, and dinner for me.”
He sat there for some time, stewing on the problem and what options were available. Central to his thoughts, like the eye of a particularly violent hurricane, was Nita Pavani, and that suspiciously placid expression she had had while leaving. To Anderson, that gleam in her eye had been the playful sparkle that gives away the position of a concealed sniper. He needed to make a move before she made her next one. And it would make things difficult if cajoling and threatening had been ruled out, as that accounted for about sixty percent of his playbook.
The meeting room door had been left open, and as he sat lost in thought, several civil servants on their various errands drifted past. Each one in turn slowed their pace to eye the buffet hungrily, noticed Anderson sitting behind it with a face like thunder, and swiftly moved on.
Eventually, Adam Hesketh walked past and hesitated to stare at the food for slightly longer than the rest. As the two of them made accidental eye contact, a little light bulb came on in Anderson’s head. Perhaps, he thought, it was more a matter of cajoling and threatening the right person.
“Oi! Wait a tick!” he called as Adam made to keep walking. “You were the one looking into Modern Miracle, weren’t you? Andrew, right?”
“Erm. Adam.” Adam’s body was already trying to move him on, so by this point only his head was peering around the door frame.
Anderson put on what he thought was his “approachable” face. “How would you like to make some very powerful friends, Adam?”
“Erm. I. I’m supposed to be . . . I can’t.”
Adam was pointing meaningfully in the direction by which he was planning to exit but was still lingering. Anderson swiftly deduced what his gaze was drifting to. “All right, shorter term,” he said. “How would you like to eat some of these pastries?”
News Plus article:
DEDA TO CHURCH: YOU’RE ON YOUR OWN
The Department of Extradimensional Affairs has announced that it will do nothing to stand in the way of the proposed legal action by the online extradimensional religion Modern Miracle against the Christian Church.
DEDA’s head of field operations, Richard Danvers, is quoted by sources close to the agency as saying, “This department’s duty is to support the extradimensional community . . . we cannot choose a side on this.”
Many commenters are already seeing this as a significant legitimization of Modern Miracle’s campaign. “A branch of government not coming out in support of the religious establishment is certainly a watershed moment,” said Devin Purcell, a professor of political theory at the University of Leeds.
Many are seeing this as a pivotal event in the ongoing debate over what role, if any, established religion has in a modern . . .
