In The Lap Of The Gods

by John B. Hendricks

  He never explained what exactly would happen when I blew the horn. I’ve examined it closely and there doesn’t appear to be anything unusual about its functions. There was no manual in the box and Jehovah never mentioned the horn again. I guess we’ll find out eventually.

  Thanks for listening, dear reader, whoever you are. As always, I am Raphael, the apparent herald of the end of the world.

  Chapter 13[13]

  The Remusian captain coughed loudly and spat a wad of phlegm on the deck. His name was Lane, and even by the lowest common denominator standards of the Remusian High Command, he could truly be described as low-life scum. He had many of the virtues so important in the Remusian way of life; treachery, dishonesty, with a generous swatch of sadism and despicability. Unfortunately, he had one major fault.

  He loved to dance.

  As a child, his parents, teachers, and classmates taunted him. Music would play, and it would be like his feet taking on a mind of their own. The Shuffle, the Fontana, the Jibber, all the popular dances of the time would erupt from his feet.

  But after beating after beating after beating, he finally took the hint.

  Dancing was for girls.

  So he switched his passions to food.

  Lane was one of the best-known trencherman in the galaxy. He could put away enough food in one sitting to force his flight engineers to refigure weight displacement on the ship so as not alter their trajectory. His lumpy physique made him quite popular with the ladies, or at least the ones that got a thrill over almost being crushed during coitus.

  Currently, sweat-drenched fat-boy sex was the furthest thing from Lane’s mind. He was staring angrily at the vid-screen.

  “What the hell is going on out there?” Lane shouted.

  His intelligence chief flinched visibly, as was customary in the hierarchy of command. The second mate pissed down his leg. The intelligence chief glared at the second mate. “Don’t piss on me,” he said. “It is not customary.”

  “May I continue?” Lane asked. “Idiots?”

  “Sorry, Captain. Please continue with your ranting.”

  “These images,” Lane continued. “Have they been verified?” He tapped his ear where the standard-issue translator resided. “You’ve updated our translators for all Earth languages?”

  “All updates are current so there are no mistranslations,” the Chief answered. “The images are of Earth origin in the current time period. This excerpt is from a video transmission known as a “cartoon,” which is an animated representation of actual humans. However, we’re not quite sure why the dog, Mr. Peabody, talks.”

  Lane was thunderstruck. “Time travel is a commodity on Earth? Why the hell didn’t that smarmy bastard tell us this?”

  He paced around his station, muttering to himself. His crew looked at each other, trying not to smirk openly. Lane caught himself and exploded with a litany of curses from choice locations in the galaxy. I must watch myself. Muttering to yourself shows weakness. I must try to curse aloud more often. He slammed his fist against the arm pad of his chair for effect and kicked his navigator in the back of the head squarely, knocking him to the floor. Lane stomped his boots onto the prone figure’s face for several minutes, stopping only when he had gotten a couple of teeth caught in the soles.

  He eased back into his chair and put on his worst scowl while the cleaning crew mopped up the mess that was once the navigator. I wonder what else he didn’t tell us.

  “Bring me a cup of tea,” he told the ensign. He hoped it would calm his jangling nerves. Left foot out, right foot back, and then spin, he thought, smiling, but only inwardly, in his Happy Place.

  Chapter 14[14]

  Mukali stood impatiently outside of Lucifer’s cabana. The demon that usually watched the door was off somewhere, and Mukali wasn’t motivated enough to knock on the door himself. “From great general to gopher,” he muttered. This would have been an appropriate time for suicidal thoughts, but he pushed them out of his mind.

  He remembered a couple of hundred years ago when he had finally given up and killed himself. He had woken up in the exact same place that he had awoken originally. Two demons had helped him to his feet, bent him over, and poked a giant iron spike up his ass a dozen times. When the screaming was over, they patted him on the back, gave him a receipt and directions back to camp.

  He never did it again.

  The door swung open and Lucifer motioned him in. Mukali looked around the front room of the cabana. Someone had redone the art in the room and the works of M.C. Escher surrounded him. It was official. This place really was hell.

  Lucifer looked worn and tired. He nodded at Mukali to sit down, which he did reluctantly. The last time he sat down with Lucifer, he had been forced to listen to a long, rambling discourse about the wonders of book called Vanity Fair written by someone with the odd name of Thackeray. After a couple of hours and a quart of tequila, Lucifer had ordered him to track down the author and bring him back to the cabana. He also wanted someone named George Eliot, Charles Dickens, and Anthony Trollope so they could have a roundtable discussion on 19th century British literature. Mukali had spent the better part of a year looking for Eliot before he found out Lucifer had failed to mention that the author was a woman. “Jeez, everybody knows that,” Lucifer had rolled his eyes at him. He gave Mukali a copy of Middlemarch to read. After a few chapters, he wished for the giant iron spike again.

  “Mukali, my faithful servant. Times are getting ready to change and I need your help,” Lucifer said.

  The Everlasting Blue Sky, Mukali cursed to himself. Not another author roundup.

  “I am leaving this place forever.” Lucifer said, and poured them both a shot of tequila. He offered the glass to Mukali, who tipped it back quickly.

  “This change of management is going to cause quite a stir. You know Lilith, my one-time wife, don’t you?”

  “Yes. She’s a total bitch.”

  “Indeed she is, Mukali. Indeed she is. I’m gathering a few of my faithful and making them an offer that I hope they can’t refuse. How would you and your Kabtaut like a chance to go home?”

  Mukali sucked in his breath. “Home?” he breathed.

  “Things are happening quickly, so we’ll talk more in depth shortly. In the meantime, however, we’re a little short on beer. Can you pick us up a few cases?”

  This time, Mukali didn’t mind.

  Chapter 15[15]

  Eve cradled her belly. It was still upset and she had felt nauseous for months since being kicked out of the Garden. She had attributed it to the bad food, grubs, and berries that they had been forced to live on. Adam was still figuring out the vagaries of actually producing their own food and was having limited success. Radish and turnip soup was not the fare she her stomach was accustomed to.

  Today was different. Adam was gone at dawn, as usual, and Eve had tossed and turned for an hour. Lucifer’s face hung above her, full of the passion and fire that she never saw in Adam’s indifferent eyes. She kept trying to blink out the vision and did a few menial tasks of cleaning and washing clothes, but the glowing face still lingered at the edges of her mind.

  Her belly gurgled and she felt a hot, burning sensation jabbing her from the inside, a smoldering poker. She doubled over and screamed, toppling to the floor and watching dancing flickers of light fill her eyes until she passed out in agony.

  When she awoke, she was still laying on the hard dirt floor of their crude shack. There was no pain. She rubbed at her stomach and touched herself all over. Intact, she thought. She sat up and screamed. A tall blonde woman laughed at her and covered Eve’s mouth with her hand.

  “Don’t” the blonde-haired woman said. “We mustn’t alert the man upstairs.” She pointed her finger up into the air. “He would not be pleased with my unexpected presence.” She giggled warmly. “He is still smarting from you and Adam disobeying in the Garden, from all-knowing to all-maybe in one day. I don’t think he’s up for any more surprises.” She pulled Eve to her
feet and helped her straighten her clothes.

  “But,” Eve said. “You’re not a child. We were told horrible stories filled with pain, blood, and eighteen hours of pushing. Thou shall make your kin in agony, the seeds sewn to bring you pain for the rest of your life.” Jehovah told us that.

  “Ouch,” the blonde answered. She put her arm around Eve and squeezed. “There’s really nothing I can do about that. However, I have the feeling our paths will cross again someday.” She squeezed her again. “Mother,” she smiled and was quickly gone, leaving Eve alone, an empty shell, but somehow, feeling a slight bit of hope.

  Chapter 16[16]

  “You know, I’m really going to miss you.” Lilith smiled sardonically. “I mean that,” she said. “Despite the misunderstandings and the inner weakness that I deplore in a man, you’re not too bad.”

  Lucifer shrugged. She must want something. Ah, yes. She needs the pitchfork. The infamous Pitchfork of Satan. The main symbol of his infernal office. Lilith was big on the symbolism. She didn’t know that he had won it from Poseidon in a beer-drinking contest. “It’s a trident, not a pitchfork,” Poseidon was prone to remind him. “It’s a symbol of mastery, not something to toss manure with!” Lucifer still liked to call it a pitchfork. In the terror-inducing business, it just sounded better.

  He motioned to Mukali who signaled to one of the Mongols to bring the box. Lucifer had kept it stored in a closet for centuries. His long red cape, the pitchfork, and the uncomfortable shoes he had worn for years to give the impression that he had cloven hooves. He much preferred the Birkenstocks he wore now. The right shoes for this long trek.

  The Mongol warrior dropped the box at Lucifer’s feet loudly and shuffled off. Lucifer had a brief urge to pick up the trident and poke it through the grunt’s liver, but the feeling faded quickly. It’s funny how good spirits can do that, he thought.

  Lilith was rummaging through the box, picking out rings and bracelets of power. She lifted the luxurious red cape out of the box and laughed, wrapping it around her, twirling like a little girl rummaging through her mother’s old clothes.

  Lucifer waited with a growing impatience.

  Lilith gasped, pulling out the item she was really looking for.

  Satan’s jeweled crown. Encrusted with emeralds stolen from Heaven, it pulsed with hate and despair. Lucifer looked at it in distaste. That was I, he thought, but no more. I’m getting back to my roots. Well, at least I will be after I destroy Mankind.

  Lilith had placed the crown on her head and looked at Lucifer, beaming. Regally, she turned to the demonic crowd, who were murmuring appreciatively. When she thrust the pitchfork to the sky, thunder erupted and lightning scattered through the gathering black clouds. The crowd erupted, shouting her name.

  Lucifer walked off toward the exit. His crew of Mongols, assorted demons, and hangers-on following him, in some cases stumbling over each other to get away from the scene. There was a seriously bad vibe occurring here that none of them wanted to be anywhere near.

  They trudged for a couple of miles until Lucifer held his hand up and indicated that they should halt. He ran his finger over the page he was looking at, double-checking. This was it. He smiled and shout out the entry word.

  “Applejack!” he screamed.

  The air between the trees shimmered briefly, and a rift started opening, dilating. Lucifer peered into it. He could see a peaceful brook among a stand of trees. In the distance, he could hear geese and the smell of wildflowers wafted toward him. Less than a mile from this spot, he knew, was the portal straight to the City Of God. They would storm right in, snatch up Eve, and bail out quickly before anyone in Heaven realized what was happening. There were no people anywhere in sight, so they would not have to come up with any explanations for their sudden appearance.

  It’s time to do it, he thought, patting the Golden Book gently with his hand. He could feel the triumph welling in his chest, and he majestically turned toward his unruly mob of followers.

  However, right in his face was the new Queen of Hell, Lilith.

  “Oops,” she said, and swatted the book from his hand like a school bully in a crowded hallway. He stumbled backwards in surprise and felt the blunt force of the pitchfork strike him dead center in his chest, sending him toppling through the portal. He flayed, thrashing his arms and landing on the lush, green grass of Earth. Lilith waved the book at him and laughed.

  Lucifer quickly rose to his feet. He could see the stunned looks on the faces of his loyal followers as the portal started shrinking. He could feel a definitely non-masculine shriek building in his throat, so he countered it with a loud straight-to-the-face curse.

  “Go to Hell!”

  After the portal closed and he sat shell-shocked on the grass, he realized the inanity of his parting shot, and as always happens in such cases, came up with a hundred better things he could have said.

  Chapter 17[17]

  The first days were the worst.

  Lucifer was still sitting in the grove, mulling things over when it started to rain. Not the gentle sprinkle of a tepid pop song, but the downpour of a wide-open hose hooked to nature’s giant spigot.

  Drenched, with teeth chattering a bit, Lucifer made his way across the soggy fields until he came to a country road. After only a few minutes of waiting, a van full of bluegrass musicians gave him a lift to the nearest town where they were playing a gig.

  Lucifer’s hasty cover story, that he was a college student named Sam trekking across the country searching for the American dream, was met with minor skepticism by all, but since Lucifer had no weapons (as was determined with a quick frisk before he had gotten into the van), he was deemed okay by the Tennessee good ol’ boys. There was an extra room at the Budget Inn where they were staying and Sam was more than welcome to hang out with them.

  Slim, the banjo player and defacto leader of the Green Valley Grasscutters, explained the reason for the empty room. “Old Jimmy Green, one of the founders of the band, balked at their new musical direction.”

  “What direction is that?” Lucifer asked.

  “Well,” Slim said. “We want to get in on this New England style contra music that’s hot right now. Hell, you can’t spit a plug of tobacco without hitting a bluegrass band these days.” Slim paused and spit, hitting Shorty the bass player. “We figured we could learn a few jigs, a couple o’ reels, and really pull in some crowds. Calling and dancing.” Slim took a pull from his Pabst beer. “But Old Jimmy, he wouldn’t have nothin’ to do with it. ‘It ain’t traditional,’ he said. ‘It ain’t front porch, sun goin’ down, grandma ain’t got no teeth but can still blow a jug style music.’ He was pretty adamant.”

  “Deliverance style?” Lucifer asked.

  “Yeah. Slim just loved that damned movie. He’d get drunk and yell out “squeal like a pig for me” at the top of his lungs. Needless to say, the finer hotels were less than inclined to accommodate us.”

  “No doubt,” Lucifer agreed.

  “Anywho,” Slim continued, “the old man bailed on us in West Virginia and kinda left us in the lurch.” He paused contemplatively. “Sam, you know how to play any instruments?”

  Lucifer thought back. In his younger days, when he was in a meddling mood, he had walked the Earth a bit, exploring different aspects of culture. Nero had taught him how to play the lyre. Lucifer smiled. Nero had a rule that during one his horrifically long theater performances, no one could leave. Women gave birth and men feigned death just to get out of there. Even Lucifer wished for a touch of the fiery pit to relieve the tedium of the bombastic performances, but it paid off when Nero had a bunch of Christians tortured and killed to take the blame for a fire in Rome. Lucifer winced a bit. Funny how a couple of thousand of years could change your perspective.

  On his own, Lucifer realized he was stuck. He had no money, no transportation, and no place to stay. Without all of that, there was way he had any chance to complete his project, his dream, his Eve, his Garden of Eden.

  He ne
eded a job.

  “Hey buddy,” Slim said. “You still with me? What do you say? You want to be our new accordion player?”

  “Yup,” Lucifer answered. “I shore do.”

  Chapter 18[18]

  For a fallen angel, Lucifer was a decent accordion player. He took to it like a dehydrated dog in a roomful of toilets, or so he was told by Dinky the drummer. “Percussionist is what I prefer,” Dinky had said in his actual Birmingham accent. Not Alabama, mind you, but the Mother Country herself. “You seem a bit more of an urban sophisticate than these blokes,” Dinky laughed. “So I can be meself a bit. It’s hard to talk about Arsenal’s chances for the trophy during a horseshoe tournament.”

  Slim had worked some new gigs up the Atlantic Coast, so the band would be hitting the road in a week or so. “You fellows relax,” he told them. “But we’re low on bail money so relax in a fashion closer to the actual Webster’s definition, as opposed to the stereotypical musician on the road version. “

  “Slim,” Lucifer said. “You are one eloquent shitkicker.”

  Slim grinned in his usual aw shucks way.

  Lucifer was enjoying small-town life in Ahoskie, North Carolina. There weren’t too many people, a slow pace, and plenty of time to think. He had buddied up with Nate of Nate’s Fish & Chip fame and was enjoying the non-minion or non-dead guy companionship that Lucifer realized that he had been missing.

  “So, Sam,” Nate said. “I was reading Bucky’s column in the News-Herald about you boys. A corporate CEO, bitten by the music bug, that gave up the rat race to follow his musical dreams?”

  Lucifer made a face. The reporter had clearly been unimpressed with Lucifer’s original story, one of mid-level management and getting the ax due to oversea job transfers, so Lucifer had kept rambling on until the guy had finally sidled off. It was that damned moonshine the boys so reverently called ‘The Holy Spirit in a Jar’ that did it. That stuff sure loosened the tongue. And the bowels.