California Rulin'

These fries were an affront to the gods. Every last one of them.

Axle, god of redwood forests, beer, motorcycles, firearms, the American flag, and eagles (but only the bald variety) leveled a stern glare at Jared. Axle was lumberjack perfection, and his glacier blue eyes and corded muscles made even the manliest of men quake with fear and envy. But Jared, the god of fast food, gig apps, plus size clothing, and cardiologists, didn’t pay him a moment of attention. He was busy wolfing down a burger piled precariously high with four patties and four slices of cheese, large fries, and a strawberry milkshake. Orange sauce dripped onto the oversized red t-shirt and yellow apron stretched across his jiggling middle, but he didn’t notice that either. Axle shook his head disapprovingly. Jared had been in charge of picking the meeting location for tonight, but he’d clearly procrastinated. Instead of a private yacht or an exclusive club, they were packed into red chairs around a local fast food chain’s greasy table. 

Axle swept the offending fries to the side and raised his voice slightly, “Time to begin.”

His voice was deep and stern, like wind whipping over a frozen alpine lake. His eagle, Freedom, further enhanced the image by giving a high-pitched chitter from her perch on his shoulder. The assembled gods went silent, and Axle dipped his head, “Thank you for coming. I-”

A cell phone rang. Mark, god of tech, AI, 80-hour workweeks, casual Fridays, and extreme sports, pulled his phone from the pocket of his jeans. He looked at the caller ID on the screen, adjusting smart glasses as he did so, and winced, “Sorry, Axle, but I need to take this. It’s for a new startup, and it can’t wait. Start without me.”

Axle let disapproval fill his eyes like a thundercloud, and Freedom gave a judgemental screech, “At 3am?”

Mark was already answering the phone, and neither Axle nor Freedom’s displeasure registered, “Talk to me. They did? Absolutely not-”

He hurried out of earshot, and Axle gave a displeased rumble. Then he returned his focus to the rest of the group, “As I was saying, thank you for coming to our quarterly-”

The door to the restaurant burst open as Mercedes, goddess of traffic, road rage, smog, sports cars, paintball, and podcasts sprinted in. She was dressed like a punk rocker, all black leather and chains. She stopped short and made a theatrical show of looking at her chunky neon yellow watch, “Damn it! Am I late?”

“Once again, yes,” Axle said coldly.

“Sorry! The interstate was hell and I got stuck behind this grandma who would not move her ass out of the fast-”

Axle glared at her, and she quieted and hastily took a seat. Mark, pocketing his cell phone, returned as well, “Thank you for attending our California Pantheon quarterly meeting,” Axle said, “I trust you all reviewed the agenda?”

There was a series of unconvincing mumbles and averted glances, but Axle let it pass. He’d given up hoping anyone would read his agendas approximately a decade back, but he continued to see them via Peregrine Falcon anyway. Mostly for the image, and because his falcon had a nasty habit of nipping if he got bored, “Our first discussion point tonight is traffic. Mercedes, the average highway transit time has gone up 7.2 minutes this quarter. Explain.”

“Not my fault,” Mercedes irritably tossed back asphalt-black hair streaked with yellow highlights, “Tell techie over there to figure out how to get humans off their damn phones. I swear we don’t go a minute without some idiot plowing into another idiot because they’re playing the week’s newest distraction.”

“Entertainment isn’t my specialty,” Mark defended, “I just oversee the tech, not the content.”

“That is true,” Axle intoned thoughtfully, “Brittany, any thoughts?”

“Hmm?” The goddess of Hollywood films, social media, music, botox, diet pills, and all dogs small enough to fit in a purse looked up from the pink lipstick she was applying. Her blonde hair was coated with at least five products, her face another ten, and she wore a hot pink garment that was only possibly long enough to qualify as a dress. She was on the younger end of the group, only about 115 years old, but Axle still thought she needed to step down and let someone younger take over her position. Behind her, an equally blonde demigod assistant was eagerly livestreaming the meeting on a rhinestone-studded phone.

Axle narrowed his eyes slightly, and all internet within fifty miles suddenly ceased to exist. The assistant placed her phone down with a pout, but that withered under Axle’s glare. The point of a secret pantheon meeting was that it stay secret. With a shake of his head, Axle refocused on Brittany, “We’re discussing ways to get humans off their phones while driving.”

“Oh,” Brittany looked puzzled, “Why?”

“Because it’s causing them to get into car accidents and slow traffic. Could you make the phones less entertaining?”

“No!” Brittany sounded horrified, “I’m the goddess of entertainment. I can’t make something boring!”

She spoke it with such finality that Axle knew arguing was pointless, “Fine. Mercedes, work on highway improvements to help speed traffic during jams. And Mark, see if you can introduce software that makes phones impossible to use while driving.”

Mercedes grumbled something about blonde bimbos and extra work, while Mark was on his phone again and wasn’t paying attention. Axle narrowed his eyes, wondering how Mark was able to get past his internet blackout, but decided he didn’t want to know, “Right. Next order of business. Almendra has some concerns about the recent uptick in AI usage she wants to discuss. Almendra, please proceed.”

“Thank you, Axle,” Almendra, goddess of agriculture, home gardens, farm to table restaurants, and all yoga involving farm animals nodded graciously. Her dark hair was pulled into a bun, and her sensible tan pantsuit was neatly pressed. A small almond flower brooch was pinned to her blouse, but she otherwise wore no accessories, “We’re concerned about crop yields. Water is a challenging enough resource already, and AI data centers use a lot of water.”

“And global warming isn’t helping,” Almendra’s son Stefano, god of wine, prestige TV, charcuterie, designer watches, and opera, flicked an imaginary speck of dust from his suit lapel as he spoke, “Napa and Sonoma are both at risk with the changing climate.”

“Global warming isn’t real,” Jared grunted through a mouthful of french fries.

“That’s true,” Brittany chimed in, “I saw it on Instagram.”

Stefano looked at Jared scornfully, “Why don’t you look into how much water all that beef takes to produce, yes? Then maybe you will share our concerns.”

“I’ve got no problem with AI,” Jared retorted, spitting a few chunks of french fry as he did so, “It’s improving the efficiency of our restaurants. Soon we’re barely going to need humans at all.”

“And it’s so fun!” Brittany said brightly, “Here, let me take a picture of you two, and then I’ll show you what you would look like as action figures-”

“Enough,” Axle interrupted, “Mark, AI is your jurisdiction. Any thoughts?”

Mark looked up from his phone, startled, “What?”

“Your AI. It’s using too much water.”

“Oh, I…” Mark looked caught off guard, “I’m not sure what you want me to do. We need the data centers.”

Almendra’s voice was equal parts firm and non-confrontational, “Is there a way to make the center’s water usage more efficient?”

“I…probably.”

“Then you should spearhead an effort to adopt it. Humans love companies that care about the environment.”

Mark brightened a little, “That’s an excellent point, actually. We could do a whole PR campaign, and it’ll improve public opinion surrounding AI. I’ll get a team to look into it.”

Almendra’s eyes flickered at the irony, but she didn’t protest, “Thank you.”

Axle nodded, “Next we need to circle back to the sewage issue from last time. Mitch, were you able to make any headway?”

“You bet I did,” Mitch, god of beaches, surfing, cold water, bonfires, and California burritos, spoke languidly. He had his flip-flop shod feet up on the table, chair leaned back against his surfboard. A seagull was perched on one of his perfectly tanned shoulders, and he seemed to have misplaced his shirt, “I sent a message to Chalchiuhtlicue. She’ll sort it out.”

Axle frowned, “You sent a message? Did you hear back?”

“Not yet, but I’m sure she’ll get around to it.”

“Mitch, sewage is actively seeping into the ocean from Mexico. Humans have to close the beaches all the time due to health concerns. You need to do more than send a text to Mexico’s ocean goddess.”

Mitch rolled his eyes, “Fine. I’ll send her another text.”

“You’re just up the road. Go talk face-to-face.”

“I don’t have time for a trip to Mexico, man. The swell’s supposed to be awesome this month.”

“And the humans won’t get to enjoy it, because the beaches will be closed.”

Mitch rolled his eyes, “Fine. I’ll call her this time.”

Axle decided that was good enough, “And finally, we have a request from the Second Tier.”

That got everyone’s attention. Brittany put down the compact she was using to touch up her mascara, Jared stopped chewing, Mark put away his cell phone, and Mitch took his feet off the table and sat up. Modern pantheons were organized into three tiers. The First Tier, composed of a single pantheon, handled global affairs that affected all humans. Religion, international politics, food, and more abstract concepts like health, love, and relationships all fell under their purview. Second Tier pantheons handled affairs on a country scale, one pantheon per country. After the United States’ founding, it initially had a single Second Tier pantheon. But as the country, its issues, and its diversity of opinions grew, the infighting in the Second Tier reached inoperable levels. They decided to add a Third Tier for issues at the state level, which is where Axle and his fellow gods fell. They almost never heard anything from the First Tier, but occasionally the Second Tier contacted them if something in California was impacting the country as a whole, “It’s about cost of living,” Axle explained, “The Second Tier has noted an increase in complaints, both from humans and other gods. They want us to discuss ideas to make California cheaper.”

“Why do the other gods give a damn if our state’s expensive?” Mercedes asked.

“Because humans are moving to surrounding states, driving up their cost of living,” Axle said, “I got a call from Sandy, one of the Arizona goddesses, the other day. She said they’re being inundated with California refugees.”

Brittany sniffed, “If they don’t have the money to stay here, Arizona can have them.”

Axle glared at her, “This affects everyone, Brittany. All industries suffer when humans leave.”

“Especially the essential ones,” Almendra looked concerned, “Professions like teaching and healthcare don’t provide a liveable wage here anymore.”

Brittany waved a hand dismissively, “Have Mark figure out some robots to replace them.”

Mark looked intrigued, “That’s not a bad-”

“The Second Tier will not be pleased if our solution is robots,” Axle interrupted, “What else?”

“We need more housing,” Almendra said, “There’s not enough to go around, so that makes the houses we do have too expensive.”

“If you do that, more people will just move here,” Jared countered.

“Yeah,” Mitch agreed, “Who doesn’t want to live here? Then we’ll just have the same problem in a few years, but it’ll be even more crowded.”

“I’ve got an idea,” Mercedes said, jerking a thumb toward Mark, “How about we tell tech companies to stop buying up all the damn houses? In fact, let’s ban all corporate purchases of private real estate entirely.”

There was instant protest from Mark, Jared, and Brittany, and Axle held up a hand to silence them, “That’s too extreme, Mercedes.”

“Clearly,” Mercedes huffed and crossed her arms, “Comforting to know that half of you are in corporate pockets.”

“We aren’t in their pockets,” Brittany said loftily, “We are the pockets.”

“Even better,” Mercedes snorted, “Then I don’t see why we’re bothering with this conversation. We’re not going to agree on any significant changes if they hurt someone’s precious bottom line.”

“We could discuss lowering taxes?” Almendra was clearly trying to help and just as clearly aware that it was a lost cause.

“Too challenging,” Mark countered, “We have politicians on both sides and even we can’t get them to do anything. Any bill to lower taxes will take years, if it even passes into law at all.”

There was a moment of silence, and Axle let the tension build a few extra seconds before he spoke, “I’ve been thinking,” He said ponderously, feeding a piece of burger patty to Freedom, “That it’s time for another gold rush.”

There was a beat, “Like that one in 1910?” Brittany finally asked, wrinkling her nose.

“1848,” Axle corrected, “Most of you weren’t here yet, so you don’t remember. But it brought hundreds of thousands of people to California. Boosted the local economy. We could do it again.”

“It’s not 1848 anymore,” In spite of the words, Mark’s tone was thoughtful, “If you found gold, someone almost inevitably owns the land it’s on. It’s not up for anyone to take.”

“What if you put it in the ocean?” Mitch suggested, “Buried a vein of gold along La Jolla shores or something.”

Mark considered, “That would definitely be more of a gray area as far as ownership.”

“I’m sure both we and the Second Tier could convince some politicians to turn a blind eye to golddiggers,” Mitch said.

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” Almendra looked worried, “A rapid influx of people would bring a whole host of problems. Housing issues, increased healthcare burden, that sort of thing. And if they’re all competing for the same gold, there’s likely to be an increase in crime as well.”

“Not to mention that if they stay long-term, there’ll be more people competing for the same limited number of houses,” Stefano added, “We’ll be having this same conversation in a few years, only the problem will be worse.”

“I really think we should try more conservative approaches,” Almendra pleaded, “Try to get to the root of some of the problems without adding more.”

There was a pause, “No, a gold rush sounds way more fun!” Brittany exclaimed, “Think of all the content it’ll create!”

There were murmurs of agreement from everyone except Almendra and Stefano, “Excellent,” Axle approved, “I’ll talk to Second Tier tomorrow and see what they think. If they agree, we’ll meet again next month to start planning.”

“Expect a Peregrine Falcon within the week. Dismissed.”

Almendra and Stefano left immediately, but the others stuck around. Jared went back to the counter to order a second milkshake. Mercedes, who hadn’t had time to order a first round, tagged along. Brittany and Mark scooted their chairs together, heads bent, eagerly murmuring about investment schemes and market manipulation. Mitch put his feet back up and tried to feed his seagull a french fry, but even the bird turned up its beak at the soggy mess. 

Axle leaned back in his chair and stroked Freedom’s head. He allowed a bit of pride to wash over him. He was pleased with their solution, especially given that it was his idea.

California was in good hands.