God's Factory

by Terry Morgan

Godley's office. Crickets and other nocturnal insects chirped from the undergrowth that had once been his carpet. Then they, too receded and the darkness became total. Godley could see nothing. It was as if he had been in the deepest, darkest cave when the light on his helmet went out.

  It was as he stared into the total blackness that he heard the man's voice.

  "Arthur Smedley Godley," the clear, baritone voice said, "Listen to me."

  Godley, his knees shaking, tried to listen above the rattling of the empty whisky bottle and his own teeth.

  "Arthur Smedley Godley. Are you listening?"

  "Yes?" whimpered Godley, hating the fact that the Voice seemed to know his middle name.

  "Arthur Godley. Do you know how much money you have made out of Godley Investments?"

  Godley thought it was a strange question but, nevertheless, he groped for his calculator but failed to locate it.

  "Arthur Godley. I repeat. "Do you know how much money you have made out of Godley Investments?"

  "A few thousand quid I think," Godley answered in a voice that was strange to him. It was a voice that seemed embarrassed.

  "Arthur Godley. Please don't tell lies."

  "Well, maybe a million quid," said Godley.

  "Are you sure that's all?"

  "Well, maybe two million."

  "Let's call it three million, shall we?" The Voice said.

  "Well, nearly," Godley admitted.

  "Do you have your cheque book handy?"

  "I don't normally use cheques."

  "Then are you familiar with online banking?"

  "Yeh, I do a bit of that," Godley said to the darkness.

  "Arthur Godley. Your computer screen will now light up."

  And immediately Godley's world was suddenly lit by a blue haze from his computer screen.

  "Log in," said the Voice

  "OK," said Godley meekly. hoping the sticky zero key was still playing up.

  "Log in now," commanded the Voice with just a touch of impatience.

  Godley tapped at a few keys in the light from the screen.

  "Go into favourites, find your online banking facility and click on it."

  "OK," said Godley. "But I've forgotten my membership number," he tried.

  "It's 37689014896," said the Voice, "Don't try my patience."

  "Sorry," said Godley for the first time since he was nine years old but still hoping something would go wrong.

  "It now wants my PIN," he said, "But I think I've forgotten it."

  "It's 9186," said the Voice.

  "How the fuck.........." said Godley.

  "Key it in. Now go to 'make a payment'" said the Voice

  "OK," said Godley

  "No, Godley, not 'cancel standing order'. I said go to 'make a payment'"

  "Oh, yes," Godley said, "I forgot. What next?"

  "Tap in three million pounds’ sterling in the amount section."

  "Three fucking million quid?" shrieked Godley into the total darkness that still surrounded his bright computer screen. "Bloody hell."

  "I told you, Godley, I dislike swearing. Make it four million."

  "Christ almighty!"

  "Godley, this your very last chance. Make it five million or I bring back T Rex."

  "Shi.....Sorry, what the f.......sorry, I forgot, no swearing, but It's a bad habit."

  "Like many other weaknesses, Godley."

  "What next?" mumbled Godley.

  "You will now see a name on the screen showing the account that the money is to be paid to," said the Voice. "What does it say, Godley?"

  Godley stared at the screen but he'd lost his glasses somewhere. He squinted. "It says Godly Investments."

  "Correct," said the Voice.

  "But that's me," Godley said, with a tiny ray of hope returning.

  "No longer," said the Voice, "It's my own, private account. Did no-one ever teach you to check things properly, Godley?"

  "But you can't just steal my fucking trade name and money from my bank account." Godley shouted.

  "Oh, yes I can," said the Voice. "You'd already stolen it from someone else."

  "No I never," said Godley, "I checked."

  "You didn't check with me, Godley."

  "Then who the hell are you, you invisible bastard."

  "Language, Godley, language. I'm your Chief Executive. Now, click on 'complete transaction'.

  "But you can't just come in here and take me over," shouted Godley in desperation.

  "Complete transaction - NOW." The Voice said more loudly than before.

  Godley's finger trembled, but he clicked and, as he did so, his computer screen went blank. Total darkness surrounded him once more. "What the fuck!" he shouted. But a total silence now enveloped him and Godley decided he hated total silence more than T Rex's roaring. He shouted "What the fuck," into the pitch blackness again, but as the silence prevailed he panicked, tried to stand up with a vague plan of groping his way towards where he thought the door might be.

  "Don't move, Godley," the Voice said from the darkness. "Listen to me."

  Godley listened.

  "Thank you for inviting me to your office today, Mr Godley. It was enlightening if not educational. I'm sorry if my suit wasn't quite to your taste and, as for the stubble on my face, I've been so busy I haven't had a chance to shave. But, as I always, say appearances are so superficial. No what I mean, mate? Neither do I work for the local Council, although I had received some reports on you and your businesses from other sources so nothing was unexpected. I have to say, though, that I am getting just a little fed up with having to come down here to deal with people like you. I've got enough to do back in my own office. But, now and again, I have to go out and do my own bit of trouble shooting just like you do. But I don't delegate trouble shooting, Mr Godley. I prefer a hands-on approach and so I do it myself whenever I have a free slot in my diary."

  "So, who the fuck are you?" repeated a desperate and, now, sweating Arthur Godley. And then he added, "And where the fuck are you?"

  The Voice didn't answer the question, but went on: "You called your organisation Godley Investments, Mr Godley."

  Godley waited, wondering if it was a question or a statement. "Yes," he said, "So what?"

  "Your presentation, Godley, was far too long as a sales and marketing pitch. Some of us have far more important things to do with our time than listen to what we already know. Despite its interminable length, I regret it wasn't at all clear to me, even by the end, who or what you are investing in, Mr Godley?"

  "The bloody customers of course," replied Godley, annoyed to think that anyone could consider his presentations too long. "They want money and I lend it."

  "That's not investing, Godley."

  "Of course, it is. Give a bit, take a lot. I need to make a profit on my investments."

  "So, Godley Investments is a misnomer. It is not your customers who are investing in their future, as one might imagine from the company name. It is actually Arthur Godley investing in himself."

  Godley wondered what a misnomer was. He normally Googled things like that. "What do you mean?" he asked. But there was another deathly silence. Godley listened to his own heavy breathing, his own heart pumping in the pain of silence in his ears. Then he heard the Voice sigh.

  "Did you like meeting the dinosaurs, Godley? Did they remind you of anything?"

  "My book," said Godley feeling like a boy of six.

  "Yes," the Voice went on. "When you mentioned your picture book earlier I thought it might be a good way to get my message through. As you know, Godley, in business we must always find a way to get our sales message across, spot an opening, seize an opportunity. Would you say you are a bit of a dinosaur, Godley? Would you say you do your own bit of circling around people looking for a way to take a bite out of them? Do you ever look on your profits as similar to the blood squeezed from victims?

  "Do you feel satisfied with only one meal a day or do you start looking for new prey just as soon as you'
ve finished lapping up the last few drops of blood from the previous one? Are you being just a little greedy, Godley?

  "Would you say you fly around scattering goodwill and charity or do you mostly drop shit from a great height? What happened to the dinosaurs in your book, Godley?

  In the darkness, Godley scratched his head. "They got taken over," he said.

  "That is a good expression, Godley, and a very apt one although it probably understates the facts. But, nevertheless, well done. Dinosaurs were taken over by better, more efficient creatures far better suited to changing circumstances and climate. They are now, as we call it, extinct. Extinction was a management decision of mine, Godley. It was part of the long-term business plan. I oversaw the extinction."

  "What are you talking about?" asked Godley.

  "They were not good enough. Didn't match up. Couldn't cope. Too slow. Too big for their boots. They took out far more than they put back. They thought they ruled the world and always would, but they had inherent weaknesses. I dislike weaknesses in others, don't you? In a nutshell, as you say, they were just not a very good investment. Do you understand, Godley?"

  "Yeh, but what are you trying to say?"

  "Just accept they don't exist anymore, Godley. Unfortunately, a few fragments of their DNA still linger in the chromosomes of those who survived. Those DNA fragments are usually dormant but occasionally they become dominant and the creature harbouring them starts behaving like a dinosaur. I'm just a bit worried that you are one of those, Godley. I'd hate you to become extinct as there's usually a bit of good DNA lurking somewhere in everyone. Even you, Godley."

  "What in God's name are you prattling on about," said Godley. "My book never said anything about this."

  "I'm still talking about trouble shooting, Godley. You see my sort of trouble shooting requires me to show a tender,