Mercury Falls

by Robert Kroese

  “My first inclination,” said Uzziel, “was to hit you with a Class Four, but I have to admit you piqued my curiosity with the snowstorm. I thought maybe you were up to something. I should have known you were just entertaining yourself. It’s what you’re best at. And you, Christine. I believe I made it very clear that you were to remain…”

  “Listen, Uzziel,” said Christine. “I know you have your orders, but there are things happening here that you don’t understand. I overheard a demon named Malphas….”

  “Malphas!” spat Uzziel. “Figures that you’d have gotten mixed up with that troublemaker. I need to take you both into custody before you complicate things even further.”

  “We’re not ‘mixed up’ with Malphas,” said Christine. “I accidentally transported myself to a place called the Floor, where he and a guy by the name of Nybbas were plotting to send a horde of demons through a portal in my condo tonight.”

  “Nonsense,” said Uzziel. The Apocalypse Accord clearly states that Megiddo will be the beachhead for the demonic onslaught. In any case, it would be impossible to create a portal anywhere else, except from the planeport. And I’d like to see Lucifer try to smuggle a horde of armed demons through the planeport. Now I’ve had enough of your freewheeling nonsense. There are dates that have to be met, plans that need to be seen through. Enough!”

  And as he spoke, a pillar of fire shot through the clouds, striking the massive snowball. It exploded into great sloppy globs of snow and water. The flakes stopped falling and the snow on the ground suddenly began melting away. As Timmy’s castle too began to melt, he once again began to sob uncontrollably.

  A circular area of the ground in front of Uzziel began to glow in a strange, intricate pattern.

  “All aboard,” said Uzziel. It was not a request.

  Mercury, Christine and Uzziel filed onto the portal, disappearing into thin air. Timmy, long trails of snot hanging from his nose, sat alone in the mud.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  The Apocalypse Accord is a long and mind-numbingly detailed document, hashed out by seraphic lawyers over the course of several thousand years to cover every conceivable aspect of the Apocalypse. Regarding the Antichrist it reads, in part:

  The Antichrist is to be the official representative of Lucifer on earth. The Antichrist must be a human being of Semitic descent (at least one sixteenth on the father’s side), and is to be selected by Lucifer (or his designated representatives) a minimum of forty days prior to the commencement of Phase One of the Apocalypse. Once selected, the Antichrist’s name must be submitted to the Seraphic Senate for approval. Upon having his or her name submitted to the Senate, the Antichrist comes under legal protection of the Senate’s Committee on Persons of Apocalyptic Interest, and may not be physically harmed or coerced in any way by any parties to this agreement (See “When Are Agents of Heaven Permitted to Attempt to Kill the Antichrist?” in Appendix L). The Senate then has seven days to ratify or veto the selection. If the candidate is vetoed, the Senate must also provide a written rationale for their veto (For a detailed list of Antichrist qualifications, see Appendix F: “So You Think You’ve Got a Candidate for the Position of Antichrist?”). If the Senate does not veto or ratify the candidate’s selection within seven days, the candidate’s selection is assumed to be ratified by default. Once a candidate is ratified, the Side of Heaven has forty days to publicly denounce the candidate as the Antichrist and an agent of Lucifer. Failure to adequately denounce the candidate within forty days of his or her ratification will cause the Hosts of Heaven to be held In Breach of this Accord, and to be ascribed penalties as detailed in Appendix H (“Denunciation: Why It Matters”). Once the candidate is denounced, he or she shall be considered to be the Antichrist and will be accorded various Powers and Principalities (see “Legal and Tax Ramifications of Being Classified as the Antichrist” in Appendix P).

  The entire document is some seven hundred pages long, and was the work of nearly three hundred angelic lawyers, nearly half of whom work on a plane known as the Courts of the Most High. The Courts of the Most High are the crown jewel of the Heavenly Bureaucracy, employing a bewildering quantity and variety of civil servants all commissioned with the same task: to prevent anything from happening in the Universe that has not gone through the appropriate channels and had the requisite paperwork signed off by the appropriate authorities, at least one of whom is always at lunch. No actual productive work is done on the Courts of Most High, but the staff of the Courts have the proud distinction of having prevented more work from being done on more planes than any other entity outside the United States Congress.

  As Christine and Mercury had gotten it into their heads to Do Something, it was inevitable that they would wind up in the Courts of the Most High. Doing Something was frowned on by the Courts, at least if one did not have the appropriate licenses and certifications. The only hope for someone planning to Do Something who ran afoul of the Courts was a phenomenon known as the Bureaucratic Inertia Paradox.

  The Bureaucratic Inertia Paradox occurs when one arm of the bureaucracy charged with preventing someone from Doing Something cannot prevent that thing without running afoul of another arm of the bureaucracy. Getting around this other arm of the bureaucracy requires the first arm to Do Something, which it is constitutionally incapable of doing. The bureaucracy is therefore faced with an impossible choice: Either (1) Let Someone Do Something, or (2) Do Something to prevent Someone from Doing Something. Either way, Something happens, which the bureaucracy cannot tolerate. The machinery of the bureaucracy grinds to a halt, spewing forth a noxious cloud of smoke, and is unable to function again until the foreign object – in this case, the party attempting to Do Something – is removed. Observe:

  After a brief stopover at the planeport, Christine and Mercury found themselves in a massive glittering metropolis that seemed to be nestled in a bank of clouds. Angels darted to and fro over their heads. Uzziel was leading them down a path that appeared to be paved with gold bricks. Two humorless cherubim bearing flaming swords followed behind.

  “Is this... Heaven?” Christine whispered to Mercury.

  “Yes,” said Mercury. “Er, no. That is, this plane is part of the Heavenly sphere of influence. It’s known as the Courts of the Most High. This is where most of the business of Heaven gets done. Or is prevented from being done, rather.”

  “Uzziel told me that Heaven is where God is.”

  “Well, yes, technically that’s true. On the other hand, God is not limited by time and space and therefore is everywhere. Or nowhere. The point is, calling Heaven the presence of God is like defining the Universe as the place where all the stuff is.”

  “Huh?”

  “It’s not a very useful definition, practically speaking. If you’re an angel on the side of Good, you’ve got to draw a line somewhere, so you know where we end and they begin.”

  “So Heaven and Hell are just arbitrary, meaningless terms,” said Christine.

  “I wouldn’t go quite that far....”

  “But you said yourself that you angels define Heaven and Hell using criteria that have nothing to do with the actual meaning of the terms.”

  “True,” admitted Mercury. “We’ve essentially redefined the terms to make them more useful.”

  “But you can’t do that. You can’t take a word, strip it of its meaning, smuggle in some other meaning, and then keep using the word as if nothing had happened. It’s like North Korea calling itself the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea.”

  “What’s wrong with the ‘Democratic People’s Republic of Korea?’”

  “Other than the fact that the only accurate word in that name is ‘Korea?’”

  “What about ‘of’?’” said Mercury. “I think ‘of’ is okay.”

  “Quiet!” snapped Uzziel. “We’re entering the court.”

  “What are we doing here?” Christine whispered. “What’s going to happen to us?”

  “Uzziel’s taking us to his bosses,” Mercury said.
“Some of his bosses, anyway. One of the panels he reports to. Uzziel has a lot of bosses. He actually has a whole staff of people dedicated to keeping track of who his bosses are.”

  “Are we in trouble?” asked Christine.

  “Well, I don’t think we’re getting medals,” replied Mercury. “Are we, Uzziel?”

  Uzziel shot him a murderous look.

  “No medals,” whispered Mercury.

  Uzziel led them into a building that would have been unremarkable had it not been plated with gold and encrusted with rubies. They made their way through a maze of marble hallways, eventually ending up in a semicircular room with a definite judicial feel to it. At the front of the room, facing the three of them, sat seven angels wearing white robes. They did not look pleased.

  “Behold!” exclaimed Uzziel. “The Arbitration Panel of the Subcommittee for Adjudication of Matters of Alleged Violations of the Apocalypse Accord, the honorable seraph Cravutius presiding!”

  He turned to the seven angels. “Your Holinesses, I present to you the renegade cherub Ophiel A.K.A Mercury and his accomplice Christine Temetri. These two have been the ones causing all of the trouble of late.”

  “All of the trouble!” exclaimed Mercury. “That’s overstating it a bit. Sure, we were tangentially involved in some of the trouble….”

  “Silence!” proclaimed the seraph in the middle of the table, who was evidently named Cravutius. He wore a crimson sash that Christine assumed was meant to indicate his position as the head of the court. Either that or he was the only angel who hadn’t gotten the “no sashes” memo.

  The crimson-sashed angel went on, “You are in serious trouble, Ophiel. You had better start offering some explanations for your behavior if you expect any leniency at all. Now what exactly is your involvement with the renegade faction?”

  “What renegade faction?” asked Mercury.

  Uzziel hissed, “Playing dumb isn’t going to help you, Mercury. I suggest you tell them everything you know.”

  “We know Izbazel and Gamaliel are involved,” said another seraph. “We also know that you have not had close ties with either of them in the past. If you tell us everything, we may be disposed to believe that you are not directly involved in the rebellion.”

  “Izbazel and Gamaliel are idiots,” Mercury said. “I would never have anything to do with those two.”

  “That’s a good start,” said Cravutius. “Now what can you tell me about the renegades?”

  “Renegade,” said Mercury.

  “Excuse me?”

  “As far as I can tell,” Mercury said, “there is only one renegade angel.”

  “Only one? Are you saying that Gamaliel is not in on the plot? That Izbazel is somehow using him for his own ends? Because we have some reason to believe….”

  “No,” said Mercury. “I mean neither of them is a renegade. They’re both just following orders.”

  “I can say with certainty that they are not,” said Cravutius. “We have assurances from representatives of Michael himself that his ministry is not running any covert operations involving either of them.”

  “You misunderstand me,” said Mercury. “I didn’t say whose orders they are following.”

  “Careful, Mercury,” warned the other angel who had spoken up. “If you are making accusations, you had better be able to back them up.”

  Mercury shrugged. “I’m making no accusations. You asked me about the renegades, and I’m telling you that as far as I can tell, every angel I know is just following orders. Every angel, that is, but one. He’s your renegade.”

  “And that angel would be…?”

  “Well, me, of course,” said Mercury. “I mean, ‘I’. That angel would be I. That’s right, isn’t it?” He turned to Christine.

  “I think so,” said Christine. “The question is whether I is the subject or the direct object in that sentence. I believe that the consensus is that the correct statement would be ‘That angel is I.’ To be more precise, if you assume that ‘would be’ is a linking verb, you would use the –”

  “Are you being coy with this court?” seethed Cravutius.

  “Not at all,” said Mercury. “I should be the subject of this inquiry. Or the direct object. Whichever. I’m your renegade.”

  “Meaning what?” demanded Cravutius.

  “Meaning,” said Mercury, “that all of the angels I have encountered are following somebody’s orders. All except for me. I’m acting autonomously. Ergo, I’m your renegade.”

  “You,” hissed Cravutius, “are a joke. A laughingstock among angels. Do you realize that?”

  “Well,” said Mercury, “My philosophy has always been that if you can make one person laugh, you’re already doing better than John Calvin.”

  You don’t even rise to the level of a renegade,” said the other vocal angel. “You’re just a spoiled child, doing his best to make the adults angry.”

  “Wow,” said Christine. Suddenly all eyes were on her.

  “I mean, you’re totally right,” she said to the angel who had spoken last. “He is like a spoiled child.”

  “So you disapprove of his behavior,” said the center angel.

  “To the contrary,” said Christine. “I finally understand why he’s such a pain in the ass. You self-righteous baboons are enough to make Job rethink his allegiances.”

  “See?” said Mercury to Christine. “It’s not just me, right?”

  “You DARE?!” growled Cravutius. “Speak to me in this manner again, and I will–”

  “You’ll what?” snapped Christine. “What are you going to do to me that trumps the Apocalypse that you’re planning for my planet? You’ve played that card already, Clarence.”

  “‘Clarence’?” asked Mercury.

  Christine shrugged apologetically. “He’s the angel from ‘It’s a Wonderful Life.’ I was trying to think of a more insulting angel name, but I’ve got nothing.”

  “Christine Temetri,” hissed Cravutius, “The Mundane Apocalypse is part of a much larger plan, one that would boggle your mind with its far-reaching consequences. It is not given to a lone mortal such as yourself to understand the….”

  “Yeah, I get it,” said Christine. “You are the great and powerful wizard, and I’m not in Kansas any more. Look, you people need to get your heads out of your asses and recognize that your vaunted plan isn’t worth the lambskin it’s written on. I know this is going to come as a big shock to you, but Lucifer is not cool with your plan. See, he evidently read the whole thing, down to the part where he gets thrown in a pit to rot for a thousand years, and he’s decided to pursue other options.”

  “Nonsense,” said Uzziel. “The Apocalypse Accord is completely binding on both sides. Heaven’s lawyers have been poring over it for centuries, looking for any possible loophole. It’s as airtight as contracts get. Hermetically sealed.”

  “I did no such thing,” said Mercury.

  Uzziel looked puzzled. “What does that mean? You did no such thing.”

  “It’s a joke,” Mercury explained patiently. “‘Mercury’ is the Roman name for –”

  “Silence!” growled Cravutius again. “We are not here to discuss any supposed violation of the Accord. The only threat to the balance at present is the activities of this rogue group of angels with which, I am increasingly beginning to suspect, you are both complicit. If the forces of destruction triumph in the upcoming struggle, it will only be because of the irresponsible actions of these angels.”

  “Forces of destruction,” mused Mercury. “That’s an interesting way to characterize your enemy. You know what I was doing before Uzziel here hauled me in front of this court? I was making a snowman.”

  No one seemed to know quite what to make of this remark.

  “A snowman,” repeated Mercury. “Do you know who is threatened by a snowman?”

  They still stared at Mercury, puzzled.

  “No one!” Mercury declared. “A snowman is no threat to anyone. All it does is stand there and make
people feel warm inside, with its big trash can nose and bowling ball eyes.”

  “You’re supposed to use a carrot and lumps of coal,” said Christine.

  “I had to improvise,” Mercury said. “Problems of scale. The point is,” he said, turning back to the panel, “there is never any reason to wreck a snowman. Wrecking a snowman is just pointless destruction.”

  “Mercury,” said Cravutius. “I’ve had about enough of this. If you don’t start telling me what you know about this rebellion, I may decide that you are of no more use to us.”

  Mercury went on, unfazed. “That’s what I’m telling you,” he said. “I’ve figured it out. I’m the rebellion. I’m the one you want. I realized it when Uzziel wrecked my snowman. I realized what side I’m on.”

  “And that side is?”

  “The one that doesn’t wreck snowmen. I’m on the pro-snowman side.”

  “Alright,” said Cravutius. “That’s enough. Take Mercury away. Perhaps the woman –”

  “Listen,” said Mercury. “I’ll tell you want you want to know. I will. But I want some assurances first.”

  “Assurances of what?”

  “Assurances that you won’t harm any more snowmen.”

  Even Christine was now ready to desert him. “Mercury, are you sure that’s the condition that you want to make?”

  “Absolutely,” said Mercury. “There’s no reason to destroy a snowman. I want assurance that you won’t hurt any more snowmen.”

  “Fine,” said Cravutius impatiently. “Now tell us….”

  “Nor, through inaction, will you cause any snowmen to be harmed.”

  “I can’t possibly make such assurances. The Apocalypse is nigh. Some snowmen are inevitably going to be harmed.”

  “I’m afraid I can’t accept that,” said Mercury.

  “Mercury,” said Uzziel. “Enough of this silliness. Get a grip on yourself. This is a real conflict, with real consequences. Are you really willing to allow your fellow angels to come to harm in order to protect fake people made out of snow?