The Management Style of the Supreme Beings

by Tom Holt

  “Sure,” Ab interrupted. “You boys did a fine job; I remember reading about it at the time in the trade papers. So what? You got them all, and they’re safely kettled up in this Sunnyvoid joint. No problem, surely.”

  Dad lowered his head. Jay said, “Actually, there was one who got away.”

  The Venturis looked at each other. “That’s not good,” Snib said. “It’s a fundamental term of the agreement. Vacant possession.”

  “He’s no bother to anyone,” Dad said quickly. “Just let him be, and he won’t cause you any trouble.”

  The laywers hissed. Ab held up his hand and they fell silent. “You’re telling me,” he said, “you’re omnipotent supreme beings and you couldn’t catch this one renegade and bring him in. I find that hard to accept.”

  Dad waved his hand. “I guess we could’ve, if we’d set our minds to it. It’s more a case of collateral damage, if you know what I mean. Really, trust me. He’s no bother. Nobody believes in him anyhow.”

  Jay glanced down and noted that under the table Dad had the fingers of his right hand crossed.

  The Venturis whispered to their chief lawyers in Martian for a while, then Ab said, “Well, if nobody believes in him, he doesn’t count, so that’s not a problem.” He peered at Dad and added, “You’re sure about that. Nobody believes.”

  Dad nodded. “For legal purposes, yes. I can give you an absolute assurance on that.”

  If the Venturis noticed the slightly odd form of words, they didn’t comment. Instead, Snib Venturi reached his hand out across the table. “In that case,” he said, “we got ourselves a deal.”

  After the helicopter had gone, scattering dead leaves and wisps of cloud in its slipstream, Dad and Jay didn’t say anything to each other for a long time. They washed up the coffee cups and put them away, straightened the kitchen. Dad gazed sadly at the deep scratch-marks left by some lawyer’s claws in the polished top of a cherished table, then reflected that it no longer mattered. They’d resolved to leave with nothing more than they could fit comfortably into the RV—no thought for the morrow, consider the lilies of the field, all that. As one of humanity’s great philosophers nearly said, what does God want with a Louis Quinze coffee table, anyway?

  “You didn’t tell them,” Jay said.

  “What?”

  “About Kevin.”

  “What about him?”

  “You didn’t tell them about him staying on.”

  Dad made a slightly impatient gesture. “Won’t happen,” he said. “Kevin’s coming with us. Got to let the boy do his bit of melodrama, and then he’ll see sense. He’s not a bad kid, really.”

  “All right then,” Jay said doubtfully. “But if he does stay behind, they won’t be happy.”

  “Like I said, it won’t happen. Besides, Kevin wouldn’t be a problem for them. Even if he did stay, he’d just mooch around. There’d be nothing for him here.”

  “OK, Dad. I’d better look in on him, don’t you think? He’s been acting awful depressed.”

  Jay climbed the stairs, knocked on Kevin’s door and waited. Knocked again, waited some more. Then he tried the handle.

  The room was empty. The drawers of the bedside table were open, certain key things missing. A lighter patch on the wall showed where Kevin’s Map of Middle Earth poster should have been but wasn’t. Some of his clothes were gone too. And, on the pillow, a yellow Post-it note.

  Jay read it and frowned. Then he went back downstairs.

  “Read this,” he said.

  Dear Dad and Jay

  I thought it’d be best if I just went. Don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine. Have a great time. Hope you catch lots of fish.

  Love, Kevin.

  “He can’t have got far,” Jay said. “I’ll find him.”

  “No.” Dad looked away. “No, it’s OK. He’s a big boy now.”

  “But you said he—”

  “I know.” Dad carefully folded the note and put it in his glasses case. “He can look after himself. He’ll be just fine.”

  10

  “Sorry I’m late, I got held up. Now, I know this great little place on Pushkin Street where they do a wicked asparagus goluptsi.”

  He was shorter than she’d expected, maybe a year older, considerably better-looking. He was wearing dark trousers and a black parka, and his hands were covered in engine grease.

  “Have you got any money?” she asked.

  “Um.”

  “My treat.”

  He smiled. Nice smile. “I’ll pay you back,” he said, “as soon as I can find an all-night jeweller’s.”

  She frowned. Then: “Let me guess. You only carry uncut diamonds.”

  He nodded, pulled a grubby handkerchief from his pocket, unfolded it to reveal a cluster of what looked for all the world like upmarket coffee sugar, but which wasn’t. “Long story.”

  “Let’s eat. I’m starving.”

  Goluptsi turned out to be mostly cabbage leaves, and he kept looking over her shoulder towards the door. “Expecting someone?” she asked.

  “Expecting isn’t quite the word. Dreading, maybe.”

  “Did you really steal a jet fighter?”

  “Didn’t want to keep you waiting. Trouble is, it was an American jet fighter. Sort of a tactless place to leave it lying about, if you follow me. Still, I’m here and you’re here, and that’s all that matters. Have some more smetana.”

  “Is that the rancid cream?”

  “Yup.”

  “No, thanks. Look, Mr … I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”

  “Jersey. Jersey Thorpe.”

  “Interesting. You don’t strike me as one of Nature’s Jerseys.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “You’re very perceptive,” he said. “It’s not what my parents chose for me. I changed it.”

  “Ah.”

  “Originally I was called New Jersey. My mother’s an Egyptologist, my dad’s a film critic.”

  “Parents have a lot to answer for.”

  He grinned. He’d got a blob of smetana on his chin. She mentioned it.

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. Look, Jersey Thorpe, I know perfectly well that you only asked me out because I worked for the helpli—”

  He frowned. “Excuse me. Worked?”

  She nodded. “I got fired this evening.”

  “For talking to me?”

  “Sweet of you to be concerned, but no. Everyone in my department—well, all the …”

  He looked at her. “All the humans?”

  “Yes. No warning, nothing. Just a round-robin email and three weeks’ pay in lieu. So, if you were paying for this, you’d be wasting your money. Not to mention the F-16 and all that expensive fuel.”

  “You got sacked? Just like that?”

  “Yes. Bit of a surprise, actually. I thought, you know, working for the Big Guy …”

  “You’d anticipated something a bit more ethical.”

  She shrugged. “Bosses are bosses,” she said. “Presumably they found a cheaper deal somewhere. They were always on about increased efficiency, keeping costs down. What do you expect, working on a public-sector contract?”

  “What’s outsource for the goose, and all that. Quite.” He was peering over her shoulder again. “That’s a shame, it really is.”

  “Absolutely. You go to all this trouble, and your only lead goes cold.”

  “I didn’t mean that; I meant—”

  He broke off and dived under the table. She sighed. “Would it be better,” she said to the empty space where he’d been sitting, “if we went somewhere else?”

  “Mphm.”

  “Right. It just so happens, my travel warrant is valid till midnight. Can I drop you off somewhere?”

  “Yes, please.”

  “Where?”

  “Anywhere but here?”

  Two men in fur hats with machine guns were standing in the doorway. A waitress was directing their attention to the specials board. “How about Amsterdam? They reall
y do have all-night jewellers’ there.”

  Her last chance to use the travel warrant. Ah well. She reached under the table and connected with his outstretched hand, then closed her eyes and made a wish. When she opened them again—

  “What happened?”

  She smiled. Early evening on Middenweg. “I know this great little place where you can get a wicked rookworst,” she said. “After we’ve cashed in a diamond.”

  “You know,” he said, some time later, with his mouth full, “this has turned out better than I expected.”

  “Really?”

  “Mphm. I guessed rookworst was sausage made from rooks. Do you live here?”

  She smiled. “No.”

  “But your travel warrant—”

  “Is valid till midnight. Local time.”

  He nodded. “So,” he said, “there really is a Big Guy.”

  “Yup.”

  “Excuse me a moment.” He put down his knife and fork, clasped his hands together and gazed at the ceiling. “I’m sorry,” he said, “really, really sorry. And I promise not to do it again. I mean it too,” he added, picking up his fork and spearing a strand of pickled cabbage. “I mean, it’s just common sense, isn’t it? If you know there genuinely is Someone up there, and he doesn’t take kindly to certain sorts of behaviour.”

  “Indeed.” She considered him for a moment. He looked like a rather short Greek god, but if she had to sum him up in one adjective, it would probably be ‘businesslike.’ “So that’s it, is it? Mission accomplished.”

  “I guess so.” He grinned. “All my adult life I’ve spent chasing round investigating cryptic clues, figuring out abstruse codes embedded in centuries-old manuscripts, getting chased by bad guys and damaging scheduled monuments, and where’s it got me? Yes, there’s Someone up there. So, I’ve made my peace, and I now know more than all the rest of the human race. Nearly all,” he amended. “That’s great. Fantastic. This is the point at which the camera pans out and the credits start to roll. Only, that doesn’t seem to be happening. Ah well.”

  She crumbled a bread roll. “So,” she said. “What are you going to do with your amazing newly won secret knowledge?”

  He shrugged. “Get a job, work hard, retire and die. While taking great pains to be very, very good. Not much else I can do, really. I mean, it’s the ultimate secret, for which Mankind has been searching ever since they figured out that mountains with holes in them made for good shelter. But it’s not actually very …”

  “Useful?”

  He pointed his fork at her. “Exactly. Like a first-class honours degree in literature.”

  She nodded. “I’ve got one of those.”

  “Plus you share in the ultimate secret.” He drummed his fingers on the tablecloth. “So, what will you do next?”

  “I have considerable experience working in call centres. I might go and work for Amazon. They pay slightly better than my last job, and they only think they rule the planet. How about you?”

  “Good question. I have a lot of very specialised skills, but my CV would get me locked up for a very long time. I might open a health-food shop somewhere.”

  “With all those diamonds?”

  He pulled a sad face. “They’re not strictly speaking mine,” he said. “And knowing what I do, I guess I really ought to give them back.”

  “Pity.”

  “For a substantial finder’s fee. The labourer is worthy of his hire—1 Timothy 5.18,” he said to the ceiling. “My mother’s father was a lawyer,” he explained. “I inherited a flair for memorising section numbers.”

  She glanced at her watch. “So where do you live?”

  “The last twelve years? Here and there. Wherever the trail took me. I have American, British, French, Swiss and Guatemalan passports, some of which I’m entitled to. My net assets are what I’m wearing and a hanky full of coal derivatives. You?”

  “Saffron Walden. It’s a small town in East Anglia. That’s in—”

  “There’s a coincidence. My grandmother lives in Bishop’s Stortford.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

  “Cross my heart. From now on, the truth and nothing but the truth. For obvious reasons.”

  She hesitated for a moment, then scribbled a number in the margin of the menu card. “Next time you’re visiting Grandma, give me a call. If you want to, that is. Sorry, but I’ve really got to go. I’m glad it worked out for you.”

  He smiled. She stood up. Then she sat down again, buffeted into her seat by a mighty rushing wind.

  In the middle of the room a patch of empty air began to sparkle and then coalesced into a shining silver screen. A deafening voice said, “People of Earth, your attention, please.”

  11

  Kevin Godson looked up from his hamburger at the flickering image and frowned. He knew why it was flickering: the idiots hadn’t allowed for signal decay when calculating the Heisenberg variables. But then, if they were struggling to come to terms with the hardware they’d inherited from the previous management, they had his sincere sympathy.

  “People of Earth, your attention, please.”

  He shovelled a few fries into his mouth. The Venturis didn’t muck about. One minute past twelve, by his watch.

  He recognised the speaker as Snib Venturi, whom he’d never met but whose face was a familiar sight to anyone who lit the kitchen stove with back numbers of the trade papers. All around Kevin, people (my fellow humans, he thought, and winced) were staring, struck dumb, transfixed. He dipped a fry in the little paper pot of ketchup and nibbled the end off.

  “There is no cause for alarm. This is not, I repeat not, an alien invasion. You are in no danger. On the contrary. Those who have dwelt in darkness are about to see a great light.”

  Kevin frowned. Steady on, he thought, and besides, isn’t that breach of copyright? Or was the intellectual property included in the deal?

  “For thousands of years Mankind has tortured itself with the fundamental, unanswered question, is there a god? People of Earth, the doubt and the darkness are over. Here is the answer. The answer is yes.”

  At the next table a fat man made that uniquely rude noise that happens when you try and suck up the last quarter-inch of a milk shake through a straw. His neighbours glared at him angrily, but Kevin thought, fair comment.

  “Yes, people of Earth, there is a Supreme Being. Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Snib Venturi, and this is my twin brother Ab.”

  Big smile from Ab Venturi. A few tables away a thin man with a beard stood up and said, “Hey, what’s all this shit?” then vanished in a puff of smoke.

  Dead silence. Then Snib Venturi said, “Quite possibly you’ve just witnessed someone in your local area expressing doubt. Please don’t be concerned, especially if the person in question was a friend or loved one. That was just a demonstration to prove the truth of what we’re telling you. Be assured, no harm will come to them; they’ll be back, good as new, around about … now.”

  The thin man reappeared. He was wearing a dunce’s cap, and he had an apple wedged in his mouth. He sat down, looking confused.

  “The Venturi Corporation of Andromeda, which we have the honour to represent, has taken over the running of your world from the previous administration. We are now your Supreme Beings. Now, the question you’re all longing to ask is, how does this affect me?”

  The other customers were starting to mutter. One had fallen to her knees and was saying her rosary. Another one had taken off his shoe and was hefting it, ready to throw. Kevin slid off his stool, went quietly across and caught his wrist. “I wouldn’t,” he whispered. “I know these people.” The man gave him a horrified look and dropped the shoe on the floor.

  “The answer is, it’s going to affect you a lot, in a whole load of wonderful, exciting ways. First—no disrespect for the previous regime, they meant well and they sincerely believed they had your best interests at heart; fair play to them—but we see things differently. They reckoned that in order to be s
aved, you had to believe—but on the flimsiest of evidence, it has to be said. The way we do things, you’d have to be crazy not to believe, because—hey, here we are. You can see us, plain as day, and you’ll be seeing a whole lot more of us in the years to come. Doubt is at an end. The age of total certainty has arrived.”

  Show-off, Kevin thought. Even so, he’d often wondered why Dad and Jay made it so difficult for people. The occasional manifestation, from time to time a well-publicised miracle costs next to nothing and does wonders for getting bums on pews. But Dad didn’t see it that way.

  And neither, apparently, did the Venturi Corporation. “Next,” said the sparkling apparition, “there’s the whole question of morality. And this is another area where we have to agree to differ from the previous administration …”

  12

  “Turn it off, for crying out loud. It’s giving me a headache.”

  Duke Ashtaroth shot the Father of Lies a sheepish grin and stabbed a claw at the remote. The voice fell silent and the hologram floating in mid-air shrank to the size of a playing card: two tiny Venturi twins, smiling and waving their arms. “Best I can do, I’m afraid,” Ashtaroth said. “The signal’s just too strong.”

  “That’s not fair,” said Kevin’s Uncle Nick. “We’re supposed to be entirely autonomous. Surely that means we can keep those two—” he used a rude word in the Infernal dialect which literally translated means lawyer specialising in divorce settlements “—out of here.”

  “Apparently not.”

  “Marvellous.” Uncle Nick frowned then pulled the neatly folded handkerchief from his top pocket and looped it over the hologram, obscuring it completely. It fluttered a bit whenever Snib Venturi made a sweeping gesture, but otherwise it was fine.

  “End of an era,” Ashtaroth said.