Good Omens

"God does not play games with His loyal servants," said the Meta­tron, but in a worried tone of voice.

"Whoop‑eee," said Crowley. "Where have you been?"

Everyone found their eyes turning towardAdam. He seemed to be thinking very carefully.

Then he said: "I don't see why it matters what is written. Not when it's about people. It can always be crossed out."

A breeze swept across the airfield. Overhead, the assembled hosts rippled, like a mirage.

There was the kind of silence there might have been on the day before Creation.

Adam stood smiling at the two of them, a small figure perfectly poised exactly between Heaven and Hell.

Crowley grabbed Aziraphale's arm. "You know what happened?" he hissed excitedly. "He was left alone! He grew up human! He's not Evil Incarnate or Good Incarnate, he's just . . . a human incarnate‑"

Then:

"I think," said the Metatron, "that I shall need to seek further instructions."

"I alzzo," said Beelzebub. His raging face turned to Crowley. "And I shall report of your part in thizz, thou hast better believe it." He glared at Adam. "And I do not know what thy Father will say . . ."

There was a thundering explosion. Shadwell, who had been fidget­ing with horrified excitement for some minutes, had finally got enough control of his trembling fingers to pull the trigger.

The pellets passed through the space where Beelzebub had been. Shadwell never knew how lucky he had been that he'd missed.

The sky wavered, and then became just sky. Around the horizon, the clouds began to unravel.

– – -

Madame Tracy broke the silence.

"Weren't they odd," she said.

She didn't mean "weren't they odd"; what she did mean she proba­bly could never hope to express, except by screaming, but the human brain has amazing recuperative powers and saying "weren't they odd" was part of the rapid healing process. Within half an hour, she'd be thinking she'd just had too much to drink.

"Is it over, do you think?" said Aziraphale.

Crowley shrugged. "Not for us, I'm afraid."

"I don't think you need to go worryin'," said Adam gnomically. "I know all about you two. Don't you worry."

He looked at the rest of the Them, who tried not to back away. He seemed to think for a while, and then he said, "There's been too much messin' around anyway. But it seems to me everyone's goin' to be a lot happier if they forget about this. Not actually forget, just not remember exactly. An' then we can go home."

"But you can't just leave it at that!" said Anathema, pushing for­ward. "Think of all things you could do! Good things."

"Like what?" said Adam suspiciously.

"Well . . . you could bring all the whales back, to start with."

He put his head on one side. "An' that'd stop people killing them?"

She hesitated. It would have been nice to say yes.

"An' if people do start killing 'em, what would you ask me to do about 'em?" said Adam. "No. I reckon I'm getting the hang of this now. Once I start messing around like that, there'd be no stoppin' it. Seems to me, the only sensible thing is for people to know if they kill a whale, they've got a dead whale."

"That shows a very responsible attitude," said Newt.

Adam raised an eyebrow.

"It's just sense," he said.

Aziraphale patted Crowley on the back. "We seem to have sur­vived," he said. "Just imagine how terrible it might have been if we'd been at all competent."

"Um," said Crowley.

"Is your car operational?"

"I think it might need a bit of work," Crowley admitted.

"I was thinking that we might take these good people into town," said Aziraphale. "I owe Madame Tracy a meal, I'm sure. And her young man, of course."

Shadwell looked over his shoulder, and then up at Madame Tracy.

"Who's he talking about?" he asked her triumphant expression.

Adam rejoined the Them.

"I reckon we'll just be gettin' home," he said.

"But what actually happened?" said Pepper. "I mean, there was all this‑"

"It doesn't matter any more," said Adam.

"But you could help so much‑" Anathema began, as they wan­dered back to their bikes. Newt took her gently by the arm.

"That's not a good idea," he said. "Tomorrow is the first day of the rest of our lives."

"Do you know," she said, "of all the trite sayings I've ever really hated, that comes top?"

"Amazing, isn't it," said Newt happily.

"Why've you got 'Dick Turpin' painted on the door of your car?"

"It's a joke, really," said Newt.

"Hmm?"

"Because everywhere I go, I hold up traffic," he mumbled wretchedly.

Crowley looked glumly at the controls of the jeep.

"I'm sorry about the car," Aziraphale was saying. "I know how much you liked it. Perhaps if you concentrated really hard‑"

"It wouldn't be the same," said Crowley.

"I suppose not."

"I had it from new, you know. It wasn't a car, it was more a sort of whole body glove."

He sniffed.

"What's burning?" he said.

A breeze swept up the dust and dropped it again. The air became hot and heavy, imprisoning those within it like flies in syrup.

He turned his head, and looked into Aziraphale's horrified expression.

"But it's over, " he said. "It can't happen now! The‑the thing, the correct moment or whatever‑it's gone past! It's over!"

The ground began to shake. The noise was like a subway train, but not one passing under. It was more like the sound of one coming up.

Crowley fumbled madly with the gear shift.

"That's not Beelzebub!" he shouted, above the noise of the wind. "That's Him. His Father! This isn't Armageddon, this is personal. Start, you bloody thing!"

The ground moved under Anathema and Newt, flinging them onto the dancing concrete. Yellow smoke gushed from between the cracks.

"It feels like a volcano!" shouted Newt. "What is it?"

"Whatever it is, it's pretty angry," said Anathema.

In the jeep, Crowley was cursing. Aziraphale laid a hand on his shoulder.

"There are humans here," he said.

"Yes," said Crowley. "And me."

"I mean we shouldn't let this happen to them."

"Well, what‑" Crowley began, and stopped.

"I mean, when you think about it, we've got them into enough trouble as it is. You and me. Over the years. What with one thing and another."

"We were only doing our jobs," muttered Crowley.

"Yes. So what? Lots of people in history have only done their jobs and look at the trouble they caused."

"You don't mean we should actually try to stop Him?"

"What have you got to lose?"