Daisy thought it over and decided not to use Oshtur's name for this. If she found a few million believers who, with nothing better to do after eating their fill every day, called upon Oshtur, and kept it up for decades or even centuries, perhaps they really could free this Elder God from the Vishanti system and make her independent once more.
But would that really be a good thing? Would Oshtur thank her? And how would she thank her? Daisy figured there was a fifty-percent chance Oshtur would use her to fill the vacancy in the Vishanti. Three short of one, eternal life and immortality—what were all you young men and women still hesitating for? Get on board already!
How selfless would she have to be to go out of her way to help someone else take the blame?
Even if there was no blame to take, and they exchanged pleasantries and gained Oshtur's friendship, what then? Would the big shot who had forced Oshtur into joining the Vishanti thank her? Daisy thought that big shot was nine times out of ten the Living Tribunal. Trade the Living Tribunal's favor for Oshtur's?
No matter how she looked at it, it was a bad deal. Better not mention either black or white and maintain the status quo.
Maybe that idiot Adam would do something like this, but she wasn't Adam.
She did not use Oshtur's name, nor did she use her own.
A bunch of white-bearded old men hiding in a little dark room and loudly chanting, "Daisy Johnson, my Lord, please grant me power!" The image was far too awkward. She had no need for faith, nor did she want a whole crowd drooling over her portraits and statues. If a few fanatics appeared and started thinking about things