Good Omens

"Huh."

WE GO IN,WE DO THE JOB,WE GO OUT,WE LETHU­MAN NATURE TAKE ITS COURSE, said Death.

"This isn't how I imagined it, chaps," said War. "I haven't been waiting for thousands of years just to fiddle around with bits of wire. It's not what you'd call dramatic. Albrecht Durer didn't waste his time doing woodcuts of the Four Button‑Pressers of the Apocalypse, I do know that."

"I thought there'd be trumpets," said Pollution.

"Look at it like this," said Famine. "It's just groundwork. We get to do the riding forth afterwards. The proper riding forth. Wings of the storm and so on. You've got to be flexible."

"Weren't we supposed to meet . . . someone?" said War.

There was no sound but the metallic noises of cooling motorbike engines.

Then Pollution said, slowly, "You know, I can't say I imagined it'd be somewhere like this, either. I thought it'd be, well, a big city. Or a big country. New York, perhaps. Or Moscow. Or Armageddon itself."

There was another pause.

Then War said, "Where is Armageddon, anyway?"

"Fu

"There's an Armageddon, Pe

"Nah," said Famine. "It's somewhere in Israel, I think."

MOUNT CARMEL.

"I thought that was where they grow avocados."

AND THE END OF THE WORLD.

"Is that right? That's one big avocado."

"I think I went there once," said Pollution. "The old city of Me­giddo. Just before it fell down. Nice place. Interesting royal gateway."

War looked at the gree

"Boy," she said, "did we take a wrong turning."

THE GEOGRAPHY IS IMMATERIAL.

"Sorry, lord?"

IF ARMAGEDDON IS ANYWHERE, IT IS EVERYWHERE.

"That's right," said Famine, "we're not talking about a few square miles of scrub and goats anymore."

There was another pause.

LET US GO.

War coughed. "It's just that I thought that . . . he'd be coming with us . . . ?"

Death adjusted his gauntlets.

THIS, he said firmly, IS A JOB FOR THE PROFESSIONALS.

– – -

Afterwards, Sgt. Thomas A. Deisenburger recalled events at the gate as having happened like this:

A large staff car drew up by the gate. It was sleek and official­-looking although, afterwards, he wasn't entirely sure why he had thought this, or why it sounded momentarily as though it were powered by motor­bike engines.

Four generals got out. Again, the sergeant was a little uncertain of why he had thought this. They had proper identification. What kind of identification, admittedly, he couldn't quite recall, but it was proper. He saluted.

And one of them said, "Surprise inspection, soldier."

To which Sgt. Thomas A. Deisenburger replied, "Sir, I have not been informated as to the incidence of a surprise inspection at this time, sir."

"Of course not," said one of the generals. "That's because it's a surprise."

The sergeant saluted again.

"Sir, permission to confirmate this intelligence with base command, sir," he said, uneasily.

The tallest and thi

One of the others put a friendly arm around the sergeant's shoul­ders and leaned forward in a conspiratorial way.

"Now see here‑" he squinted at the sergeant's name tag"‑Deisenburger, maybe I'll give you a break. It's a surprise inspection, got that? Surprise. That means no getting on the horn the moment we've gone through, understand? And no leaving your post. Career soldier like you'll understand, am I right?" he added. He winked. "Otherwise you'll find yourself busted so low you'll have to say 'sir' to an imp."

Sgt. Thomas A. Deisenburger stared at him.

"Private," hissed one of the other generals. According to her tag, her name was Waugh. Sgt. Deisenburger had never seen a female general like her before, but she was certainly an improvement.

"What?"

"Private. Not imp."

"Yeah. That's what I meant. Yeah. Private. Okay, soldier?"

The sergeant considered the very limited number of options at his disposal.

"Sir, surprise inspection, sir?" he said.

"Provisionatedly classificisioned at this time," said Famine, who had spent years learning how to sell to the federal government and could feel the language coming back to him.

"Sir, affirmative, sir," said the sergeant.

"Good man," said Famine, as the barrier was raised. "You'll go a long way." He glanced at his watch. "Very shortly."

– – -

Sometimes human beings are very much like bees. Bees are fiercely protective of their hive, provided you are outside it. Once you're in, the workers sort of assume that it must have been cleared by management and take no notice; various freeloading insects have evolved a mellifluous exis­tence because of this very fact. Humans act the same way.

No one stopped the four as they purposefully made their way into one of the long, low buildings under the forest of radio masts. No one paid any attention to them. Perhaps they saw nothing at all. Perhaps they saw what their minds were instructed to see, because the human brain is not equipped to see War, Famine, Pollution, and Death when they don't want to be seen, and has got so good at not seeing that it often manages not to see them even when they abound on every side.

The alarms were totally brainless and thought they saw four people where people shouldn't be, and went off like anything.

– – -

Newt did not smoke, because he did not allow nicotine to gain entry to the temple of his body or, more accurately, the small Welsh Meth­odist tin tabernacle of his body. If he had been a smoker, he would have choked on the cigarette that he would have been smoking at this time in order to steady his nerves.

Anathema stood up purposefully and smoothed the creases in her skirt.

"Don't worry," she said. "They don't apply to us. Something's probably happening inside."

She smiled at his pale face. "Come on," she said, "It's not the O.K. Corral."

"No. They've got better guns, for one thing," said Newt.

She helped him up. "Never mind," she said. "I'm sure you'll think of a way."

– – -

It was inevitable that all four of them couldn't contribute equally, War thought. She'd been surprised at her natural affinity for modern weap­ons systems, which were so much more efficient than bits of sharp metal, and of course Pollution laughed at absolutely foolproof, fail‑safe devices. Even Famine at least knew what computers were. Whereas . . . well, he didn't do anything much except hang around, although he did it with a certain style. It had occurred to War that there might one day be an end to War, an end to Famine, possibly even an end to Pollution, and perhaps this was why the fourth and greatest horseman was never exactly what you might call one of the lads. It was like having a tax inspector in your football team. Great to have him on your side, of course, but not the kind of person you wanted to have a drink and a chat with in the bar after­wards. You couldn't be one hundred percent at your ease.