“Stir things?”
“A war or two. Some killings. We could take sides. You
could command the Southern Hemisphere, and I the
North. And the winner—yes, I’ve got it! The winner will
be permitted to expend enough energy to create a new
race of beings on some far-flung world!”
“Marvelous!” she said, clasping her perfect hands across
the full, rounded breasts I had come to know so well.
We had long ago learned that the energy required to
create a race of beings or to form a new planet was too
much of a drain on us. We required five centuries of
recuperation from such a task, and recuperation meant
boredom—which we could not afford.
It was a grand prize, then.
And the wars began. They still rage, for she is a
formidable opponent, though I do believe I will eventually
whip her Hemisphere with a contingent of laser-weaponed
soldiers I have been concealing in a state of suspended
animation beneath the North Pole. They are members of
the Canadian army, well-trained and deadly. She does not
know of them.
We have a fine time.
We play our games, battling for the grand prize, both
of us already imagining what interesting and grotesque
race we could create if permitted the use of the power.
We have a fine time.
On earth, men die, thrown at each other by our machi-
nations. Some fleeting moments, when I am waiting for
her to make her move, I consider my origins: made of
men. I consider my life and Harry Kelly and Morsfagen
and the lot of them. And then I consider what I am
doing, and the old darkness in my soul returns. But not
for long, of course. I am no fool. Morsfagen is dead. The
society we knew has fallen to newer ones. Harry is long
ago gone. I barely remember what he looked like. So we
play our games and forget our doubts. Gods can have no
doubts, as I said once before.
We play our games.
We have a fine time.