Ori and Prajapati talked for a long time. At least, Prajapati talked, and Ori mostly listened, occasionally interjecting comments like, 'Oh, wow!' and 'Wait a minute, how does that work?' Mostly, Ori just nodded.

Ori was any deity's ideal audience.

Of course, the 'long time' business was relative, too. There weren't any clocks where they were. Water wasn't flowing. Sand wasn't running. Suns weren't casting shadows. Even atoms weren't oscillating. Just two friends talking, mind to mind, about the problems nobody else was thinking about, but should have been because, let's face it, those problems were the ones causing spacetime to collapse all over the place.

And when you considered that spacetime was the only place most of the sentient beings in the universe had to live in – in fact, all of the sentient beings in the universe other than Prajapati and Ori – it was kind of an urgent problem. Of course, Prajapati could have just started over: wrapped the whole mess into a ball of pre-causal dough and tossed it out in a big bang of reinvention. But Prajapati wasn't willing to do that – and neither was Ori. So with the two friends in agreement, the only thing left to do was rescue the other x-billion sentient beings from the consequences of their own hapless folly.

That, as Prajapati explained, would involve getting them extricated from the collapsing spacetime matrices in which they were entangled – so that he could relocate them to models based on a saner rationale.

'Hopefully without Nimrods,' was Ori's comment.

Prajapati chuckled. 'Totally without Nimrods. Or better put, with Nimrods in their proper places. You'll see. At least, I hope you will. But that's where you come in.'

There followed another round of explanation and more nodding, coupled with a lot of 'you don't say' and 'seriously?'

Prajapati's voice grew wistful, almost sad. 'I can't make this decision for you, my friend. You'll have to work it out for yourself. So I'm going to leave you alone for a bit. Take all the time you need: the universe isn't going anywhere until you do.'

And Ori sat at the doorway to the Paternoster for what seemed a long time, and studied the worlds.

As Ori sat thinking, sounds drifted upwards (outwards? inwards?) from the various muddled spheres.

'Μολων λαβε'

'Veni, vidi, vici!'

'Deus vult!'

'L'Etat, c'est moi!'

'Liberté, egalité, fraternité!'

'Gott strafe England!'

'Hell no, we won't go!'

Plus a discordant chorus of conflicting music, from 'We Shall Overcome' to 'I'm Proud to Be an American', mixed in with cannon fire on the beat. It made Ori's head hurt.

How can I deal with it all? Ori thought.

A new sound reached Ori's ears, and a new sight appeared: another Paternoster. And standing in it, another angel. Ori stared.

It had never occurred to Ori to look in a mirror – not since the unfortunate snake incident. But there was something eerily familiar about this new angel. It looked a lot like Ori: two wings, thin build, red hair. But the new angel carried itself (himself? There was something rather human/masculine about the figure) with a bit of a swagger. And the face…bore a definite sneer. Overall, this person demonstrated a sort of knowingness that proclaimed, 'I am cool. I am the very definition of cool. Also, I know all your secrets. And I'm not impressed.'

Ori took an instant dislike to this person.

'Hi, there,' said the newcomer. The voice grated on Ori's ear. There was an unpleasant edge to it. The kind of edge that warned Ori: Do not buy a used chariot from this guy.

'Hello yourself,' replied Ori sharply. 'Just who in the universe are you?'

The figure in the other Paternoster gave a bow, at once more elegant than anything Ori could have managed, and at the same time mocking. Ori frowned.

'My name,' said the newcomer as if making a stage pronouncement, 'is Noiro. I am the Crown Prince of the Multitude of Worlds. I know, you're pleased to meet me.'

In a pig's eye, thought Ori, but said aloud, 'Hi. Just who made you a prince of anything? The only princes I know of are in Sumeria, and they aren't terribly useful.'

'I am worshipped throughout these worlds,' claimed Noiro with a sweeping gesture that took in the vista of planets before them. 'I am compounded of all their desires – peace through conquest, safety through paranoia, plenty through greed, knowledge through espionage, popularity through gossip… You name it. I know all their little tricks, you see, and yet…' he winked, 'unlike you and that stick-in-the-mud Prajapati, I accept them for who they are. In fact, I encourage them. You see, I want them to be happy. And they are. So…' he spread his hands in an expansive gesture, 'I am their prince.'

Ori's eyes narrowed. 'I'm sure you're very popular. But I've got a boatload of problems to solve and I don't think you're helping.'

The response was a big, booming laugh from Noiro. The sinister-but-handsome angel (even Ori had to admit he was handsome) stepped boldly out of his Paternoster, wings spread. Looking around, he whistled to a small passing asteroid, which obediently scuttled over so that he could sit on it, which he did, rather regally.

'Here, have one yourself,' offered Noiro. With a sigh, Ori stepped out of the Paternoster (the original!), and reluctantly sat down on the proffered space rock. It wasn't soft, but Ori wasn't fussy.

'What do you want?' asked Ori, ready to hear this strange creature out.

Noiro smiled. It was not a really nice smile: more a 'have-I-got-a-deal-for-you' smile. Ori was reminded again of the used chariot dealers in Warka.

'I want to offer you a deal,' Noiro said in a voice obviously intended to be persuasive.

Can't read my mind, anyway, thought Ori and said aloud, 'Go ahead.'

'First of all, you want to solve the problem of these collapsing worlds, right?' Noiro gestured at the worlds. 'I know what these people want: enough to eat, shelter, consumer goods, plenty of plenty of.' He leaned forward as if imparting a great secret. 'Just give them what they want. They'll be happy!'

'And the spacetime will collapse the following Tuesday!' snorted Ori. 'What one wants in order to be happy makes ten others utterly miserable. And when they have what they want today, tomorrow they want more. Some can't be happy unless they're making somebody else miserable. And all this getting tears great gaping holes in the spacetime continuum. Try again.'

Noiro sighed dramatically. 'I can see you're a sharp customer. Well-reasoned, that! Tell you what I'm going to do: I'll let you in on some inside dope. The big secret to spacetime management is – power! You gotta have it. You gotta use it. Make 'em fear you. Make 'em do what you want. Need to curb their acquisitiveness? Just set up some boundaries…and penalties. Enforce your will.'

Noiro's eyes lit up as he leaned forward confidentially, 'Between you and me? An angel can run these places with one wing tied behind their back. Fella, we've got superpowers! Compared to these puny mortal nitwits, we are gods! The genuine article. That's why they're always trying to find us. Name us. Make statues of us – okay, not very good ones, I've never seen an angel with the head of a fish, have you?' At Ori's involuntary headshake, Noiro went on, encouraged, 'See? Show 'em what's what. Do some flying around. I recommend a very public place, like the city's main square. Leap off a temple, or something. You'll have them eating out of your hand. What do you say?'

Ori's eyeroll would have been the envy of every teenager in Warka. 'You're a nincompoop, is what I say. We don't want to micromanage spacetime. We want to participate in it. The name of the game is interactivity. This being-a-god-and-setting-rules stuff is completely useless. As long as people can't work with each other, as long as they think of life as 'us-versus-them' rather than 'us-all-together', they aren't ready for their world to be self-tutorial. And they aren't ready for Prajapati to come live with them and make it a forever world.'

Noiro nodded in pretended comprehension. 'You're a tough sell, Ori. I can tell you know what you want. And you drive a hard bargain. So I'll tell you what I'm gonna do. I can't believe I'm saying this – I'm crazy for making this offer – but here goes…'

He leaned so close Ori could feel his breath. It smelled like mint. I'll bet he sucked on a lozenge before he showed up, thought Ori.

Noiro grinned, showing pearly teeth. 'The real secret, of course, isn't power. You were right to be suspicious of that. That's just what we tell the punters. The real key to manipulating humans is…desire. They all want. Constantly. That's all they ever do. They want, and want, and want some more. And nothing is ever enough. They get what they want, tomorrow there's a new want. They get a house? Great, they want a bigger one. A better one. One that's more imposing than the neighbour's. You get me.' He clapped Ori on the shoulder.

'The way we can interface with them is to grant their wishes,' he said, 'but only once they do what we want. It's a win/win, really. So, so simple. And here's my offer, friend, today only and a real bargain.'

Once again the mint breath as Noiro whispered in Ori's ear, 'Let me take over. You let me do the steering. You don't want to be their god? No problem! Let me take over the job. I'll hand them over to you, signed, sealed, and delivered. Just let us have our fun first.' He'd finally finished talking, had Noiro, but he didn't sit back on his rock. Instead, he pressed his advantage, squeezing Ori's shoulder harder, hoping to 'close the deal.'

Ori could hear Prajapati, who whispered something in Ori's ear. Ori nodded, and turned to Noiro.

'You're right about desire, you know,' Ori said quietly. 'And about power, and need and appetite, too. But you're wrong about how to use these things to fix the problem.'

Ori stood up, grasping Noiro's arm with a strength that seemed to surprise the other angel. 'What I really need from you, friend, is knowledge. An understanding of how humans act and react. Of what's going on in their noggins. That's what Prajapati and I need to help them out of the dilemma they're in. We know what to do once we stop reacting to all these counterintuitive bits of mass drama. We just need the map. And…'

It was Ori's turn to grin. 'You are the answer to our prayers, you overinflated mass thought form!'

Noiro's eyes grew wide as he sensed danger. He tried to pull away, but Ori held him fast. And then Ori did a very surprising thing.

Ori sang.

The song wasn't terribly long – about a three-minute record's worth. It was loud enough to be heard from one end of creation to the other. And the notes were very, very pure, as if rendered by the purest quadriphonic equipment in all the universe.

The notes caused the worlds to dance, changing places with each other. The song made the stars twinkle and shine brighter. The melody drew the two Paternosters together, where they whirled in their own private dance and morphed through 42 dimensions at once – which would have made even an angel's eyes water, if any angel had been looking.

Instead, the angels – the real one and the fake construct with the sick grin – were staring at each other. As Ori sang, Noiro seemed to shrink, and then expand – like a balloon, growing thinner and thinner until he became completely transparent and almost totally round. As Ori sang the last, lingering note, Noiro simply went poof! In his place, in Ori's hand, there was a small, round thing, like a pill. Or a piece of candy.

Ori tasted it. Chocolate, Ori thought, and swallowed.

Dmitri Gheorgheni

27.03.23 Front Page

Back Issue Page