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In The Lap Of The Gods
By Rob
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God was standing at the window of his office looking down on the Earth and
feeling quite omnipotent when the door opened and his supervisor walked in.
"Thought I'd just pop my head round and see how you're getting on,"
said the supervisor. "How are your dinosaurs?"
"Oh," said God, "to be honest I became bored with them so I wiped
them out a few million years ago. Couldn't be bothered to evolve them much
further. Developed some of them into birds though, just for a bit of
practice."
"Ooh, that's a nice twist, dinosaurs to birds. Can they fly?"
"Most of them," grinned God, "but I thought I'd mix things up a
bit. I've got birds that fly, birds that walk, fish that fly and birds that
swim."
The supervisor rolled his eyes. "Listen, don't go playing silly beggars
just for the sake of it. It's all right to experiment a little but you mustn't
pull any stunts like that in your final exam. What took over after the dinosaurs
then, insects?"
"No, not exactly. I've got insects in abundance. They're a touch on the
small side but evolving nicely. I thought I'd throw in a few mammals and see how
they get on. I've got some pretty cool primates at the moment if you're
interested."
The supervisor peered down at the Earth. "Good grief, look at all those
funny little primates running around wearing clothes. They look like men and
women. Are they intelligent?"
"Well, they know about the Big Bang but they haven't figured how we did it
yet."
"Very good. You sure you can handle them?"
"Of course, I made them in my own image!" said God proudly.
The supervisor rolled his eyes again. God was a star pupil, but it wouldn't do
to let him get too big headed. "So, what do you call them?"
"Man," said God, with a tinge of embarrassment.
The supervisor laughed, "How original! What, even the women?"
"That's a sore point." God frowned. "It was ok for thousands of
years but the last lot have been really bitching about it, what they call
Political Correctness."
"Ooh, Political Correctness?" said the supervisor, with more than a
hint of sarcasm. "Fancy name for bitching!" He peered down a
little closer, then turned to face God. "So why all the different colours,
hmm? You know the rules about that sort of thing."
"Oh that," spluttered God, rubbing his hands together, "well, I
had them all in one place to start with, all looking and sounding the same, but
it got a little dull. So I migrated them, separated them for a while, let them
diversify. Ended up with mostly whites and browns and a few shades in between.
Now they're pretty well everywhere."
"And? Any problems?"
God crossed his fingers behind his back. "Umm, a few minor ones, nothing I
can't handle."
"Such as?"
"You know what these advanced primates are like. Always fornicating or
fighting."
"Tell me about it," said the supervisor, increasingly concerned that
God was getting more than a little ahead of himself.
"Well, religion mostly," said God, waiting for the slap on the back of
the head.
Thwack! The supervisor slapped God on the back of the head.
"Don't stop now, you can't be in any more trouble than you are already so
you'd better tell me everything."
God wasn't sure where to start. He decided to get the worst of it over with.
"I know how this will sound, but it's not as bad as all that. I mean, I'm
not saying it's all running smoothly but I can fix it, I know I can."
The supervisor's eyes almost double-rolled at this point, fearing the worst.
"You haven't been down there, have you?" he grimaced.
"Only a couple of times, really."
Thwack!
"OK, let me see, well once as Jesus..."
Thwack!
"...and then there was Muhammad..."
Thwack!
"I think that's about it."
"Keep talking," said the supervisor.
"I'm having a little trouble with the Arabs and the Jews, can't seem to
stop them fighting. Just when I think I've calmed them down they start fighting
again."
"And how do you propose to solve that one?"
"Well," God took a deep breath, "I thought if I just popped down
there..."
Swish! (God ducked.)
Thwack! (The supervisor caught him on the way up.)
"OK, well, I suppose I could wipe one of them out?"
"Can't you think of anything more constructive? We are talking advanced
primates here, not dinosaurs."
"No, not really. I'm open to ideas."
"You know I can't just give you a solution, you have to try to work it out
for yourself. Have a think about it. Give them a few hundred years and see what
you can come up with. If they're still giving you trouble after that come and
see me. What else have you got?"
"Umm, you remember what I said about them fornicating?"
"Go on."
"The primate population is a little ... out of control right now."
"How out of control?"
"Six billion and rising."
Swish! Thwack!
"And just how fast is it rising?"
"Estimated to hit 9 billion in about 50 years," said God, taking a
slap mid-sentence without moving. "Those are their figures, not mine."
"Good grief, how do you propose to feed and water them all on a
small-to-medium sized planet like Earth?"
"I'm working on that one."
"Listen, I know you're progressing well for your age, but you really must
learn to be patient. It's not me you need to worry about, it's the director. If
he finds out you're in this mess we'll both be back to playing harps for a
while."
God swallowed hard.
"It's almost lunchtime," said the supervisor, "still another few
million years before the end of the shift. Plenty of time to turn things around.
How long since the last catastrophe?"
"About 65 million years."
"In that case they're about due one. Have a think about it. Kick one off
before lunch and see how they're doing when you get back. Try pestilence, a
natural disaster, or a well placed asteroid. Or if you think you can handle it,
experiment with an extraterrestrial invasion to reduce the population and get
them all working together. The guy in the
next room has some pretty lethal aliens you can use."
"Thanks, I really appreciate the suggestions," said God.
"Just don't overdo it," said the supervisor over his shoulder as he
was leaving. "I'll pop back and see what you're up to this afternoon."
God pulled a lunch box out of his desk and picked up his coat. Stopping by his
terminal on the way out, he ran his finger across the buttons marked
'Pestilence', 'Asteroid', 'Alien Invasion' and 'Natural Disaster'. He hesitated,
unsure which to select. Discounting them all, he pressed 'Global Terrorism' and
strode out to lunch.
____________________
Rob is a blind, one-legged treefrog living deep
in a forest in Papua New Guinea. When not climbing trees, playing the mandolin,
chasing newts, or holding an umbrella, Rob enjoys hopping up and down on a
keyboard to see what it spawns. In his spare time, Rob likes to lie motionless
on his back, whistling, and staring at clouds. Rob is also a keen campaigner for
amphibian rights. If Rob were a person he would lead a mysterious life somewhere
in England with his wife and kids and Sony Vaio, close to some trees.
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