Misserfolg made no attempt to rise, staring miserably up at the god he failed, eyes filling with tears. Morgen knew a moment of pity and crushed it. Konig would never allow himself to be swayed by such weak emotion and the Theocrat was the most effective ruler he ever met.
That’s not true, said Nacht, flickering into existence in an oil-slick puddle.
Who, then?
Erbrechen, the Slaver.
I don’t want to— But Nacht was gone again.
Erbrechen Gedanke, the Slaver-type Gefahrgeist who enslaved Gehirn—once Konig’s Hassebrand and now Morgen’s. The bilious slug ruled his swarm of near-mindless followers with his unshakable need for worship. Morgen didn’t share that need, but saw the appeal. If the Geborene obeyed every command perfectly, weren’t left to misinterpret his words, he could achieve a world of perfection much faster. Morgen frowned as he wrestled with the idea. People were clearly flawed and regularly made flawed decisions. Would removing the possibility of making imperfect choices move people closer to perfection?
Who then would make decisions? I am not yet perfect. And he needed his followers to believe in his perfection to achieve it. Did that require more free will than a Slaver-like level of control would allow? Would mindless devotion be a flaw? His mind chased the idea in circles.
He glanced down at Misserfolg still whimpering and sobbing in the mud. A powerful Slaver, Erbrechen wasn’t particularly good at leading. He tended to forget his followers, allowing them to starve or go months without bathing. Morgen could do better.
Practice makes perfect, said Nacht, once again watching Morgen from his mud puddle.
I thought you were gone, said Morgen, disappointed.
Keeping an eye on Wichtig. He’s having a rough time.
Why do you care? Morgen asked.
Nacht shrugged, sending ripples through the murky puddle. I like him. But that’s not why I returned. I want you to think about what I said.
Morgen thought back. Practice makes perfect?
Yes.
So you returned to spew clichés at me.
Nacht laughed, showing stained teeth. Think about it.
I was thinking about how I would be a better leader than Erbrechen.
You were thinking about how you’d be a better Slaver than Erbrechen.
I wasn’t… He stared at Misserfolg sprawled in the mud at his feet. The former General did not dare to remove himself from Morgen’s presence without express permission. Even Bulle still stood rooted, axe ready, unwilling to move or act or interrupt his god’s thoughts. How long had Morgen stood here, staring at Misserfolg? It didn’t matter. He was their god and they would wait.
Misserfolg is already not far from one of Erbrechen’s drones, said Nacht.
Morgen bit his bottom lip, tempted and torn. Erbrechen was evil.
Is slavery bad if it’s for the better good? Nacht asked. Anyway, you are no Erbrechen. You’re nothing like him, could never be like him.
That was true. Morgen had no interest in ruling a civilization of mindless slaves. He remembered his earlier thoughts, back when he sat in the Leichtes Haus talking with Wichtig: Reasons mattered. If he stole the will of his people he took their reasons. Much as he hated to admit it, he must leave his people their flaws. At least until he had the power to make them perfect while still leaving them choice.
Morgen glanced at his Reflection. I will not enslave my— Of course not. But a cadre of people you control utterly, who you could trust because they were absolutely loyal…that would be useful.
Morgen hesitated.
No one needs to know, said Nacht. They’ll be your spies within your own priesthood.
Why would you suggest this? Morgen eyed his Reflection. Don’t trust him. The idea seemed sound on the surface, but what did Nacht get out of it?
My desires are not what you think, said Nacht.
You want to replace me, to be the original.
Morgen’s Reflection laughed, a boyish giggle. Okay, they are what you think. It’s my method you don’t understand. Won’t until it’s too late.
More manipulation, growled Morgen.
No. Honesty. I’m not going to take control, you’re going to give it to me.
Why?
You’ll see. But you need to retain control of our church— My church.
—until it’s time. Konig and Failure plot against you.
Of course they did. Sometimes it seemed like the whole world wanted him to fail.