GODS OF RIVERWORLD by Philip Jose Farmer

Alice could be very stubborn. But she was very fond of Li Po, even if she did think that he drank too much and was altogether too lecherous. Also, he was entertaining, and he seemed determined to be accompanied by his friends. In the end, she gave in and extended a blanket invitation to the Chinese.

Frigate said that he and Sophie would be very happy to attend. However, Sophie, who was very gregarious, had by now resurrected ten men and ten women, with his permission, of course. They were very good friends she had known in New York City, Los Angeles, and, believe it or not, please restrain your laughter, Kalamazoo, Michigan.

Puzzled, Alice asked why he thought she would laugh. Frigate sighed and said, “Kalamazoo was, like some other American place-names, Peoria, Podunk, and downtown Burbank, a risible word, a poke in the ribs and a snigger. Like the English Gotham of the later Middle Ages, the German Schildburg, the town of Chelm in Yiddish stories, the Boeotia of the ancient Greeks. Well, Kalamazoo and the other American cities are not quite like the others I mentioned. The difference is …”

Alice listened politely, then said, “You intended to ask me if I would invite Sophie’s friends, but you wandered off. Yes, they are welcome, since there are only twenty of them.”

Frigate thanked her, but she could detect some hesitancy in his voice. Whereas Sophie was gregarious, he was, not anti-gregarious, but non-gregarious. No doubt he had been glad that he and Sophie now had some companions. On the other hand, he was beginning to feel a little crowded and put upon. The world would never have enough elbow room for him.

De Marbot and Behn also wanted to bring the people they had resurrected recently. Alice said that they could come, but when she had cut off their screens, she sighed. Originally, she had planned for around thirty. Now she had one hundred and three. So far.

Burton, at least, was no problem in terms of numbers. He and Star Spoon had not as yet brought anybody else in.

“Oh, yes,” she said. “I have a surprise.”

“For all of us or just for me?” he said.

“Oh, for everybody, though it may affect you more than the others.”

“I know you, Alice,” he said, smiling and, as so often, looking like Mephistopheles himself when he did so. “I know your expressions. You have just regretted adding that last phrase. You’re ashamed that you did so. What is the surprise, another man?”

“Go to hell,” Alice said, and she told the Computer to cut them off. She had changed in many ways. Never, never on Earth, no matter how angered, would she have said that to anyone. Not even her husband.

After pacing back and forth a while to allow herself to settle down, she called Nur. He said, “Greetings, Alice. It’s a pleasure to see you. Could I call you back in a moment? I’m talking to Tom Turpin. There’s …” He hesitated, then said, “Never mind that.”

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” she said. “But I just … that’s all right. I’ll call back within the half-hour.”

She bit her lip as she wondered if she should invite William Gull and his fellow Dowists. He had been, after all, physician in ordinary to Queen Victoria and a baronet. Yet she had long ago rid herself of the class distinctions that had governed her on Earth and for quite a while on the Riverworld, so his high connections should not be considered. Also, he had been a murderer-mutilator. Yet he had repented and was a deacon of the Dowist Church. And she, as one who was no longer a believer in Christianity but still tried to act like a Christian, should not permit his renounced past to bother her. He could be an entertaining conversationalist as long as he refrained from proselytizing. Then he became a nuisance and a bore. But she would insist that the Dowists not push their religion if they attended the party.

Finally, she called him. He was pleased to be asked, almost pathetically so.

“I’m also inviting Annie Crook, Elizabeth Stride and Marie Kelly,” she said, “if that makes a difference to you.”