Excerpt
Thirteen hours late, my
cross-galaxy voyage to the All-Souls Transit Center ends in a puff of soft
lunar dirt on Mare Tranquillitatis. I expect to meet the legendary God of
planet Earth in his office but as I deplane he’s shuffling down the concourse
toward his departure gate. He’s easy to spot – inside this small, sparse four
gate terminal we are the only life forms in sight.
With his stooped posture and unkempt shoulder length gray hair,
God reminds me of the mythical Atlas. His tremors underscore the physical and
emotional toll he has had to bear. Did his mental state also degrade? He spent
two millennia managing a planet populated by quarrelsome headstrong
terrestrials. Over that much time any deity posted to such a world would
succumb to the effects of prolonged stress.
I quicken my pace, catch up to him and extend a hand. “Good day,
Lord.”
“This is how you address your superiors?” The decibel level of
his gruff voice implies impaired hearing. “Where are your manners? A bow is in
order.”
Though I have not yet fully
adapted to the musculature of this adult male body I inhabit, my flawless
execution of a deep obeisance brings a quick smile to my
face.
God gives me a brusque
signal to rise. “You’re my replacement, are you?”
“Correct, Lord. I am humbled and honored to take your place.” I
bow again, less fully.
“Call me NTG if
you wish. I prefer answering to that nickname.”
So the rumor is true. That he calls himself the New Testament
God instead of his given name means he has indeed gone native. This explains a
lot.
We sink into a ‘maximum
comfort’ couch – or so the attached tag boasts – stuffed full of condensed
nimbostratus cloud threads imported from Earth. An ugly green tarp spread over
the cushions prevents our clothes from getting soaked by residual
moisture.
God adjusts his overcoat
and leans toward me. “I trust you had an enjoyable
flight?”
“I would like to say yes,
but what a hellacious trip.” That’s an understatement. “We flew through several
cosmic storms, circumvented an unmapped black hole and limped here on back-up
power after the anti-matter fuel engine failed. I will never fly by chartered
spaceship again.”
“Now that you’ve
arrived, what makes you think you can take on a tough job like
this?”
“This is my fourth assignment,
though the first for Milky Way Galaxy, Inc.” I place my carry-on bag on the tan
moonrock table and open a side pocket. “I have a résumé, if you want to peruse
it. In each previous posting, the planets I shepherded returned to optimal
status. Whilst this assignment is more complex, I assure you my record shall
remain unsullied.”
“Humph.” He spits
into the thin puddle created by the leaky couch and waves off my résumé. “I
thought those spineless MWGI decision-makers would send a rank amateur. After
only three postings, you expect to fix this mess? You’re still wet around the
ears, sonny. Have you even hung your precious university degrees on a wall
yet?” He points at the nearby picture window. “On Earth they say you learn more
through failure than success.”
“Elder, I did not travel here to fail. MWGI reached out because
of my extensive training as a planetary turnaround specialist. They are
confident I am the best available deity for this
job.”
“And you agree with that
assessment, do you?” He fidgets, as though trying to stand and walk away, but
can’t get off the couch.
“I would not otherwise have taken the job, Lord. Once I did, I
undertook considerable research. The travel delays afforded me extra
preparation time. I have learned everything a new deity should know about Earth
and its inhabitants. I am ready to take the reins.”
“Your extensive reading helped you form opinions regarding the
humans, did it?”
I disregard the
sarcasm implicit in the question. If I ever reach his wizened old age, young
deities will receive better treatment from me than this. His attitude is understandable,
though. Forced retirement is a difficult pill for anyone to swallow, supreme
beings included.
“Lord, these
sentient beings do have many laudable qualities. However, whilst I prefer not
to focus on the negative, on the whole humans strike me as a rather
unpredictable species.”
NTG spits again
and rummages through the pockets of his black overcoat, pants and vest.
“Where’s the damn thing? Did I forget it? Ah, here. Since you’re not dead,
you’ll need this to get into heaven.”
He hands me a Holyday Inn card key with “NTG” stenciled on the
back side. I stare at the card whilst mulling over my research, which
characterized heaven as an imaginary afterlife sanctuary. With a shrug, I
deposit the card in the pocket of my blue denim
shirt.
“Many humans call it
heaven, but I consider it home.” God’s melancholic smile comes and goes in
seconds. “Souls get over the false advertising once they adjust to their newly
deceased status. Follow the overhead signs to the tram that’ll take you to the
complex. My office is by the main gate so I can greet arrivals on St. Peter’s
days off. Ask for Angie, my chief of staff. She’s a real angel in every sense
of the word.”
Identity by Nora Roberts
