Prometheus's Gift XIV - Yemalla and Michael

    Likable, embonpoint Yemalla stood before the $1,000 solid oak door, thinking.  She ran her fingers through her short, dark and curly hair (she preferred it that way, so much easier to maintain).  On the door a gold plate, 24 Karats, reading:1

    Dirk Diggernash, President, Genius, AAAG (All Around Awesome Guy)2

    She, the bubbly elementary school teacher, took the whole day off to be here.  This was something she didn't want to but had to do.  Like the others she didn't have to work, but that never seemed to be right, not when she had so many positive things to contribute.  Actually, it was more than that: working with children is what she does and what she loves to do.  A memorandum circulated the tops of the ivory desks, covert but not to her or her kind.  All the same it compelled her to be here.  It stated that, as of the beginning of the month, Evolution was to be dropped from the curriculum and Creationism was to be taught at all grade and high school levels.
    Alone and as fact.
    Yes, facts are in a way amorphous.  Each creed has its own reasons for the sun and the stars and the rains and the winds.  Not the least of which be the gods with no form yet the hardest to slay:  Evolution, Big Bang, Biology, Relativity...  The list goes on.  Mortals and their genius cannot be denied, she had learnt to live with this decades ago.
    But Creationism alone and as fact?
    She knew who was doing this and why.  And it made her furious.
    She opened the door then strode in, huffy but controlled.  An attractive blonde in a thin, slinky dress stopped typing and turned, clacking her gum.  Yemalla could see the black bra uppushing silicone D-cups, the brainless bimbo this crowd loved so much.  The sterile office stank of bleach and money, the secretary's desk alone would pay her rent for a year.  A sign:3

    HELLO!  MY NAME IS KITTY.4

    "Can I help you?" Kitty asked, as if bored.
    "I am here," Yemalla said, chin up and with conviction, "to discuss something with your boss."
    Kitty turned to the computer screen.  She clacked her gum, extra loud.  "Name-?"
    "Yemalla."
    Kitty hunted and pecked the keyboard.  Click clack click.  A moment passed, then:  "Sorry, toots.  I don't see your name on Mister Diggernash's appointment roster."
    "I make no appointments.  You go and tell him Yemalla is here and wishes to discuss something important."
    "Perhaps you didn't hear me," Kitty said, nasally and with snide.  She stood and crossed her arms, hips out and in no way actually intimidating (but, at least, very sexy).  "Capiche, toots?  You don't have an appointment and Mister Diggernash will not see ANYBODY, NO EXCEPTIONS.  And he told me he don't care if you're Jesus Fucking Christ himself.  You will leave right now or I will call security and have you thrown out on your fat, flabby ass."
    Yemalla huffed past the desk then opened the $1,000 solid oak door, breaking the lock and handle.  A spacious office met her, sleek and modern and with a spectacular view of the city.  Expensive leather furniture was everywhere, the real kind animals died for.  Front and centre a darkly handsome man in a dark suit talked on the phone.  With her noisy entrance he stopped in mid-sentence.
    "I'm so sorry, Dirk," Kitty said, marching between.  She crossed her arms then clacked her gum.  "The bitch just barged on past.  I've already called security, I'll have her-"
    "And you," Yemalla gripped her arm, "are getting on my nerves." 
    Yemalla blinked, Kitty's skin ringed as it turned bright red.  Her breathing slowed as she shrank, quickly, scales forming...  Two seconds later a serpent coiled on the floor.  Kitty slithered out from under her clothes, lidless eyes and probing tongue, exploring her strange new surroundings with a primitive mind...
    "The likes of us," Yemalla said, turning, "do not need appointments."  She crossed her arms with wide eyes.  "I speak true do I not, Michael?"
    "She was a sexy one," Michael sighed, hanging up the phone.  "Always spread her legs, fantastic blow-jobs.  Horrible at her job but oh so nice on the eyes.  I do hope you change her back before you leave."
    "It is temporary," Yemalla said, strolling around the office casually.  "A spell's hold is limited by the power of belief.  Neither you nor I are exceptions to this."  She noted the largest painting in the office: a painting of Michael himself, his smile as eerie as The Mona Lisa (an immortal, she knew, was well).  She turned around in mock admiration.  "Beautiful office, Michael.  So this is the tip of the New Empire, the new fulcrum of belief.  You and Raphael and Gabriel have done extremely well for yourselves.  Money.  Power.  Followers."  She sneered:  "Control."
    "The mortals gave us all that," he corrected, sitting back.  "And more.  We just...  Encourage the assumptions, if you will.  But I'm sorry, I'm at a disadvantage here.  You are-?"
    "Yemalla."
    "Ah."  He looked up, searching.  "Let me see.  I have read the file, but there are some many others.  So many, many threats...  Voodoo.  Vodou.  Am I getting warm?  You're a god, sorry, a Loa in transition, yes?"
    "What does it matter?"  she aked, sitting in the soft chair opposite.
    "A great deal."  He smirked.  "To us."  He opened a drawer then placed a white powder on the desk.  He grinned as he formed several lines.  "So where's the cool accent, mon?"
    "With your thous and your thys.  When it suits."
    "Ah.  Naturally.  A masque for when or where it be in need.  Care for a snort-?"
    "No."
    "Pot then.  Best in town."
    "No."
    "Okay.  I have liquor in the cabinet.  Help yourself."
    "I do not do any of that, thank you."
    "Whatever."  Micheal shrugged his very wide shoulders.  "I'm just trying to be the gracious host.  And dare I say I'm doing a stand-up job given you just broke my door and changed my favorite secretary into a snake.  To say nothing of the fact that because of you I'm about to miss an important lunch date.  And WOW, does Uzza hate to be stood up."
    He put a straw to his nose.  He inhaled.  Again.  And again.  Potentially fatal to a mortal, sickening to an immortal if no resistance had built up.  The more of this stuff he did the more he wanted.  The inventions of mortals, the gods of well being.  He smiled to himself, knowing in a way he sells this expensive stuff to himself.  At hyper-inflated prices, of course, an ironic fact that allowed him to afford it in the first place.
    "Okay," he said, pupils dilated and rubbing his nose.  "Enough of this horseshit.  What the fuck do you want?"
    "Equal time."
    Michael wiped his desk clean then adjusted his suit.  "Pardon?"
    "Equal time.  I want equal time for Voodoo in the classrooms."
    "Ah."  He raised a finger.  "I get it."
    Yemalla sat up straight with her hands on her lap.  "And why not?  Teach the children the many facets of knowledge and let them make up their own minds."
    Michael crossed his fingers and studied her.  Then:  "Our existence is not about letting them make up their own minds, Yemalla.  Our existence depends on their blind belief, one that must be hammered in as hard and as early as possible.  Too many questions are already asked; the situation grows worse with each decade."  He looked away.  He looked back with harder features and a stronger tone:  "Do you have any idea what it took to get into the classrooms in the first place?  The bullying and the bribes and the legal battles?  We're already up against this...  Beast.  This juggernaut called Evolution that has given a hard answer for every hard question we asked.  It has defied every single attempt to discredit it, it's a god unto itself that just won't go away."  He hands clenched, his tone louder yet:  "Even Earth herself fuels the flames by churning up 'hard evidence' of bones and teeth and skeletons every hour of every day.  Getting Evolution out and Creationism in is a coupe of epic measures, Yemalla."  He stood, his eyes went black and his claws grew long.   He echoed:  "And it cost us millions in money and lives.  And you dare to march in here and demand equal time in the classrooms?  Give me a GOD DAMNED break!"
    "Voodoo," Yemalla countered, calm and unintimidated, "is equal to your Creationism, Michael."
    He closed his eyes then took in several deep breaths.  A few seconds passed, his claws retracted.  Finally, he sat, adjusting his suit.  "True."  He looked around, clacking his fingers.  "Yes.  I cannot deny that.  Native.  Egyptian.  Buddhist.  Each and every one falls apart with the first stinging question, with the application of this thing the mortals call logic.  The only thing any of us can do is try to stay ahead of The Race."  He leaned forward with a smirk.  "A race you've already lost.  It's about business, it has to be.  The mortal's faith is so fickle it's all we have left."
    Yemalla kept still, silently grinding her teeth.  In this climate she knew there was little hope.  Corporate and religious hacks have but one goal, the rest be damned.  Still, she had to try, she was the only one Michael couldn't destroy for simply asking questions he didn't like or couldn't answer.  Creationism wasn't so much an affront to her sensibilities but her wider thought.  She thought back to the lobby downstairs, the guards and the doormen, the limos and the women in miniskirts.  A sign on the building that read:
   
    ANGELS REINCORPORATED.5

    There was no point in a battle, for Michael was notoriously tough.  Perhaps it would take down the building, costing the sleazy little snakes a pile of their precious money to rebuild.  But that is all.  She sighed, then:
    "So that is it?  No concern for the rest of us?  No concern for the children and their scope of thought?  Do not open a mind but close it off?  What you have just told me, Michael, is that it is all about you."
    Michael reclined in his soft leather chair.  He turned to the beautiful view of the city.  His view, his city, bought and paid for.  "Goodbye Yemalla."
    Yemalla stood and read the digital clock.  Just past noon, she could still catch the bus to the city and be back at the school within the hour.  She thought several moments, then:
    "I will not be dismissed, Michael.  Not by the likes of you or your kind.  Remember this:  I am going to defy you and your vile little memorandum.  I will not teach them your Creationism.  Or Voodoo or Islam or Wicca or Yin and Yang.  I will teach them the greatest enemy that is yours but not mine:  Evolution.  I will teach them the power of science and the glories of the thinking that comes with it, one small class forever beyond your groping, cancerous reach.  And if you do not like it you can go straight to Guinee."
    With defiance she turned then exited, splintering that last of door.  Just because.  She left Michael to ponder just where things were going.
    10 seconds later he forgot.