by Tom Holt
He opened his desk drawer, pulled out a crumpled sheet of paper and scribbled down the words on the screen. Then he leaned back in his chair (which stuck awkwardly at about fifteen degrees from the vertical; he’d asked Maintenance to do something about it; when we’ve got five minutes, they’d promised him faithfully) and contemplated what he’d recorded so far, the collected literary works of the merry prankster.
There was a theme to it all, he felt sure, if only he could figure out what it was. Not the obvious one, the religious-nut angle, which he felt sure was a pose or a front. No, the point of the messages lay in the subtext: what you see with your peripheral vision, not what you’re focusing on. Certain turns of phrase in the bits that weren’t direct quotes from the Procedures Manual—hints, nothing more. He sighed. It wasn’t his job—they had security guys for this sort of thing—and he had plenty of work of his own to be getting on with. Even so, the tiny end of string poking up out of the vast roiling tangle intrigued him, and he couldn’t help it. Ever since he was a boy, he’d been obsessive about knots and tangles. He even owned a Rubik’s cube, buried in a cardboard box somewhere.
A new Heaven. No other god but me. Ho ho ho. Crazy.
Duty called. He restored the green phone to its cradle. Immediately it burst into raucous song. He picked it up, said, “Lachuk here,” then held the receiver at arm’s length for ten seconds.
8
“i caught a retrospective gudgeon this big,” Jay said, throwing his arms wide, “and Dad got a record Schrodinger’s catfish, and there’s something he wants to tell you. Great to see you again, bro. We missed you. Bye.”
Jay dashed past him, up the steps into the house. Kevin frowned. The Way, the Truth and the Life can’t lie, obviously, but since linear time didn’t apply within the boundaries of the compound, he was under no obligation to give you all the facts right now. I’m not going to like this, Kevin decided and advanced to meet his father.
Dad looked up. “Hi, son.”
“Hi, Dad. Have a good trip?”
“Fantastic. You’ve got to try Sinteraan one of these days, son. You’d love it. It’s so relaxing.”
Kevin had often speculated that if he relaxed any more, he’d drift apart to the point where his molecules no longer collided, and he’d gently evaporate. “That’s great, Dad. Jay said you caught a big Schrodinger’s.”
Dad grinned. “You should’ve seen the one that got away.”
Kevin knew just enough about fishing on Sinteraan to recognise that that was a joke, so he smiled dutifully. “He said there’s something you want to talk about.”
His father’s face fell, just for a moment. “Later, son; we just got back. So, everything going OK? No disasters?”
“Everything’s fine now,” Kevin replied, which was perfectly true. Of course Dad would get the grisly details from Uncle Mike in due course. And besides, he wasn’t responsible for the unscheduled earth tremors. Properly speaking, they were all Saint Andreas’ fault. “Want me to carry your bags for you?”
Dad gave him one of his special smiles. “Thanks, son. I’d like that.”
With Dad it was the little things that mattered. As Kevin hefted the three kitbags, he decided that whatever the bad news was, it couldn’t be anything he’d done. A relief but at the same time rather more worrying. Anything he’d done, Dad would inevitably forgive, but from the way he’d been acting, Dad was the one who was feeling guilty about something.
Jay met him in the doorway. “I’ve got coffee brewing on the stove,” he said. “Unless you’d prefer a Coke.”
Ominouser and ominouser. “What’s going on, Jay?”
“What? Oh, Dad’ll tell you later. Looks like you kept everything ticking over nicely while we were gone.”
“You haven’t been talking to Uncle Nick, have you? Only, I wasn’t really going behind Dad’s back. I just thought—”
Jay smiled at him. Maybe the understanding and compassion was just force of habit, or maybe it was more case-specific. “We kept our phones turned off the whole time, bro. How about I fix you a vanilla latte? Your favourite.”
Beyond ominous and nudging up against terrifying. “Sure, Jay. Thanks. I’ll be in directly.”
He paused on the threshold and looked back. The sun was setting—yes, he’d remembered to wind it up, admittedly because Uncle Mike had stuck a Post-it note on the switch of his bedside lamp, so it couldn’t be that. He was so used to everything being his fault that it was hard to think outside the confines of that particular box. But if it’s not me, what is it?
Only one way to find out. He slouched into the kitchen.
Jay was frothing the milk for his latte. Dad was in his usual place at the head of the table. “Sit down, son,” he said. Jay handed him his coffee then left quickly. Kevin sat down.
“Got some news for you, son.” Dad was looking past him, at a spot on the wall just above his head. “Your brother and I. We’ve had an offer for the business.”
There had been that time, back in the Beginning, when they were wiring up the Firmament. Jay was seeing to the Earth, Dad was up a ladder fixing a loose connection in Heaven, Kevin holding the ladder steady for him. Whatever you do, son, don’t touch that cable—it’s hot. So, what had he done? He’d prodded the cable with the tip of his finger, just to see what would happen. What happened, ultimately, was leap years, but the immediate effect was Kevin sailing through the as-yet-undifferentiated void and bashing his head against a drifting shoal of dark matter. Déjà vu. The same sensation of stunned bewilderment.
“Dad?”
“We’re selling up, son. Jay and I have given it a lot of thought, and we figure it’d be the best thing all round. We reckon we’ve done our fair share, and now it’s time to take it easy and enjoy life.”
The words you can’t froze on his lips like a sneeze in Antarctica. Of course Dad could; the very phrase was tautologous. But … Playing for time, he said, “Where will you go?”
Dad shrugged. “Well, Sinteraan is nice. Or Astrovegas. Or we could head over to the Lesser Magellanic Cloud for dove season. We figured we could just, you know, roam around for a bit. Get ourselves one of those big RVs and cruise the cosmos. It’ll be fun. You’ll enjoy it.”
“Me?” It wasn’t the word he’d expected to say, but it came out before he could even think about it. “You want me to leave Earth?”
“Well, yes. Naturally we’ll stick together. We’re a family.”
“But this is my home.”
Dad frowned. “Home is where the heart is, son. You know that.”
“Exactly,” Kevin said. There was something in his eye. He wiped it away and his finger got wet. “Really, that’s fine. If you and Jay want to go trekking through the stars in a camper van, you go ahead. I’m staying here. I like it here. It’s my home.”
Dad was giving him what Kevin always thought of as his business look: profound, compassionate, infinitely wise. “Sorry you feel that way, son. Would you like to talk about it?”
“What’s to talk about? You already made up your minds.”
The faintest of sighs. “It’s for the best, son. It’s not just us, your brother and me. Those folks down there, they need someone up here who’s firing on all cylinders, giving it 210 per cent, all day every day. Your brother and I feel … well, that’s not us any more. It’s time we stood aside. New ideas, new categorical imperatives. Every day like the first day, remember?”
Kevin stared at him. “But you’re Dad, Dad. I mean, you’re the greatest. By definition. Are you trying to say you’re handing over to someone better than you?”
Maybe Dad winced a little. “Not better, maybe. Different. Fresh and new. Change, Kevin, that’s what this world needs. Real, genuine change.”
Kevin frowned. “Why?”
Dad opened his mouth and closed it again. He took a deep breath. “Sorry, son, but our minds are made up. We’re leaving. And we’d really like for you to come with us.”
“Really? And do what?”
> Maybe just a slight hardening around the mouth. “What you always do, son. What you’re best at.”
It had been bad enough coming from Uncle Mike—just go and do whatever it is you do all day—from Dad it was unbearable. “No thanks,” he said. “If you can make decisions, so can I. And I’ve decided. I’m through with just loafing around. I’m going to go out there and …”
“What?”
“Do something.”
“Ah.”
“And I’m going to do it here,” Kevin said defiantly. “On Earth, where I belong. You can send me a postcard. Keep me updated about what you just caught.”
Dad sighed. “The thing is,” he said, “when we hand over to the new people, they’re going to want, well, vacant possession. They may not want one of us hanging around.”
Kevin looked at him. You’re not supposed to, not without sunglasses, but he didn’t care. “Since when was I one of you?”
He’d done it now. Sure, Dad would forgive him, in due course. But not straight away. “You do what you like, Kevin—it’s up to you. But I want you out of this house by the time the sale goes through. Is that understood?”
Kevin knew better than to answer back when Dad was in one of his where-were-you-when-I-laid-the-foundations-of-the-Earth moods. He drained his latte, spilling a bit of froth down his chin, and left the kitchen, slamming the door behind him.
A moment or so later, Jay stepped in from the stoop. “How’d it go?”
Dad shrugged. “He’s upset, naturally.”
“He’ll come round. He always does.”
“I guess.” Dad got up and dumped Kevin’s empty cup in the sink. “He reckons he wants to stay on when we leave.”
“What, here?”
“On Earth, yes.”
“The Venturi boys aren’t going to like that.”
“It won’t happen,” Dad said. “He’ll come round. He just needed to blow off steam, that’s all. Even so.” He ran the tap and rinsed the cup. “Jay, are you sure we’re doing the right thing?”
“Sure, Dad. You convinced me.” Jay laid an arm across his father’s shoulders. “And don’t worry about Kevin, all right? It’ll be hard on him, for sure, but it’s the best thing for all of us in the long run. You’ll see.”
Dad smiled. “You’re right, of course. It’s just I don’t like to think of him being unhappy.”
“He’ll be fine,” Jay said firmly. “Cruising the starways, seeing the sights, chilling on multidimensional beaches: what’s not to like? He’ll be fine. Trust me.”
9
Ab and Snib Venturi started out among the harsh dunes of Mars. Theirs is a classic rags-to-riches story. Beginning with a few scattered adherents among the rock-pool-dwellers of Hostjj, they spread their unique brand of Word across the entire planet in less than seventy Martian years before selling the Red Planet to a local consortium and transferring their operations to the Andromeda galaxy. Now, although the Corporation reigns undisputed over a billion Andromedan suns, their origins are still proudly commemorated in the company logo: two sun-gold arches (representing the Founders, fraternally sharing the central pillar) set against a stark red background. It’s the most universally recognisable symbol in the Multiverse. Wherever you go, there it is.
The unfortunate events that led to the total extinction of life on Mars were not the Venturis’ fault. As Snib Venturi said in an interview for Galactic Investors magazine, “It was a going concern when we handed it over; we had no reason to believe those guys weren’t properly funded and fully competent. It’s a tragedy, but what can you do?” Nevertheless, the destruction of their first enterprise has always rankled with the Venturi twins, and it’s highly probable that a desire to clear any hint of tarnish from their reputation in the Milky Way was one of the factors that made them so anxious to acquire Terra, Mars’ undistinguished neighbour in the Sol system. “I guess you could say we’re going home,” Snib Venturi told a stockholders’ rally on Atrevati IV, shortly after the purchase was announced. “Sometimes you just gotta buy with your heart, you know?”
The Venturis arrived on Earth for the final round of negotiations in a sleek black helicopter full of lawyers. Dad hadn’t been happy about that. Supposing someone sees you? he objected, whereupon Snib Venturi grinned. So they see us, so what? They’ll be seeing an awful lot of us in the near future. It’s the way we do things. Dad nodded glumly and cut the Skype link. Different approaches. Change. Well, too late now.
The helicopter was the size of Sumatra and did nasty things to the weather on the way to the meeting. “What do you need one of those things for?” Dad asked as soon as they’d landed.
“What does God need with a starship, as one of your great Earth philosophers put it?”* Snib Venturi shrugged. “We’re not like you. We like to put on a show. It’s kind of a trademark. Say, is there anywhere here we can get warm? I’m frozen.”
“This way,” Dad said. “There’s coffee on the stove.”
The Venturis’ lawyers filled the kitchen. Five of them had to stand out in the porch with the door open, which vexed the warmth-craving Venturis. “There’s just a couple of loose ends we want to tie up,” Snib Venturi said, pulling his collar around his necks. “Then we can all sign on the dotted line, and we’re done.”
Dad and Jay exchanged glances. “Shoot,” said Jay.
Ab Venturi pulled a thick legal pad from his briefcase. “Point one,” he said. “I see you’ve got a number of key administrative functions contracted out to indigenous labour.”
Jay nodded. “We had to,” he said. “With the fall-off in attendances, we had to rationalise. They’re doing a good job, actually. Efficiency is up seven point six three …”
Snib shook his heads. “Not the way we do things,” he said. “They’ll have to go. Full severance pay, naturally. OK, moving on—”
“Just a moment,” Dad said. “You’re going to fire all those people, even though they’re doing a good job?”
Ab grinned at him. “Don’t worry about them,” he said. “Soon there’ll be great new employment opportunities for everybody, you’ll see. Meanwhile, they’ve got to go. Time for the saints to go marching out. If you’d let Greb and the boys have copies of all the relevant contracts.”
Dad scowled, but Jay said, “Sure, I’ll see to it. What else?”
The Venturi twins exchanged a glance. “This Flipside facility of yours,” he said. “Now that could be a real problem.”
Dad took a deep breath. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I know it’s not how you do things, but Flipside’s what you might call fundamental. It’s at the very root of our moral code.”
Snib Venturi smiled that smile that always put Dad in mind of a fraught encounter in a garden, long ago, under an apple tree. “Look, we’re not here to argue about our different takes on ethical systems. You’ve always been Good/Evil, we respect that, and we know you’ve made binding commitments that you have to honour. Kinda like God making a rock so heavy he can’t lift it, but hey, that’s your choice, you had every right. On the other hand, we have no use for anything of that kind, and quite frankly we don’t do Eternity. It’s not our way.”
Jay said, “You can’t close down Flipside. That’s a deal-breaker.”
A moment of silence, broken only by a few of the lawyers rattling their wings. “I don’t think anybody suggested closing it down,” Ab said. “We didn’t, that’s for sure. What we’re proposing is, all new admissions are to cease from midnight tonight, Greenwich time. After that Flipside is effectively sealed off. We allow it an adequate budget to keep it running, build a wall round it, leave your guys there to get on with it. For ever and ever, world without end. It’ll be a separate jurisdiction. We leave them alone; they don’t bother us. It’s not an ideal solution, but it’s practical.”
Jay turned to his father. “Uncle Nick’s not going to like that.”
Dad made a vague gesture with his hands. “I don’t know,” he said. “It all seems a bit arbitrary to me. How are we going
to explain to the mortals that if you commit a deadly sin before twelve midnight tonight, you’re going to burn in fire and brimstone for all eternity, while if you wait an extra minute …”
Snib gave him a cold look. “With respect, we’ve never done Good/Evil, so we’ve never had to deal with this kind of issue. I’m afraid you’re going to have to sort that out; it’s outside our area of expertise.” He softened his voice just a little. “Guys, it’d be an awful shame if this whole deal fell through on account of a few no-goods among the livestock. We think we’ve been pretty damn accommodating. We’ve promised open-ended funding and complete autonomy for your people running the show down there. What more could you reasonably expect?”
Jay’s lips were set in a tight, thin line. Dad sighed. “Fair enough,” he said. “You’ve got a deal.” He turned to his son and added, “You leave your uncle Nick to me. I’ll talk to him. It’ll be fine.”
“Splendid,” Ab said. “Right, so that just leaves one small issue. I couldn’t help noticing, there’s this box in the Requisitions on Title form you left blank. I take it that was just an oversight.”
He pushed a sheet of paper across the table. Dad didn’t need to look at it. “Actually, no,” he said. “I was meaning to talk to you about that. Sort of a grey area.”
“Really?” Ab rested a foreclaw on the wording just above the empty box. “Please certify that your chosen people have no other gods but you. Looks pretty open and shut to me.”
Dad and Jay looked at each other. “It’s like this,” he said.
He told them all about the Old Gods, and the thousand years they’d spent rounding them up and persuading them to retire to Sunnyvoid, a comfortable and well-appointed retirement home with magnificent views out over the Portals of the Sunset, where they could spend the autumn of their everlasting lives enjoying a wide range of properly structured leisure activities—