The Transmigration of Souls by Barton William

Author:Barton, William [Barton, William]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: science fiction, the Multiverse, William Barton, God
Publisher: William Barton Enterprises
Published: 2011-09-04T04:00:00+00:00

Eight. The Hound of Heaven.

The first conjecture, then: Where did it all come from? No problem. The records are here, well kept, well organized, for all to see. No problem at all.

Level One.

Once upon a time, through my own stupidity and greed, I fell into the Multiverse and, being who/what I seem to be, was seized by the minions of Archangel Bob and thrown into the maw of God’s Machine, the Great Universal Soul Sorting Algorithm. And this universal Turning machine of infinitely mutable pathways decided I fit the job description of God Almighty.

Well, that’s nice.

Reminds me of a political action plan I conceived not long after the turn of the millennium, when I was a young man and so thoroughly disgusted with the twists and turns of American politics. Let’s do away with electoral office, I said. Instead, let’s make a pool of all eligible citizens. Let’s hold a lottery and fill the offices that way.

What, you don’t want to be President of the United States of America? Too bad. Four years, buddy. Do a bad job, did you? As punishment, we’ll make you serve another term.

Imagine the howls of dismay I heard. But... but... what if some retarded janitor were to become president? Assholes. What if? First, most janitors are bright people who’ve suffered social discrimination and experienced a little bad luck. Second, what makes you think a retarded janitor, or anyone else for that matter, could conceivably do a worse job than the Bozos we’ve been electing for the past two centuries?

Bozos? Er, sorry. I mean Bonzos.

So. I get to be God because there exists a finite, calculable probability, that I actually am God. Simple as that.

Level Two.

Once upon a time, there was an aching, empty Heaven, as if the Multiverse were without form, and void, and darkness lay upon the face of the deep. God’s Machine continued to function. But, as machines will without their Master, the Machine began to wind down. Slowly. Very slowly, but wind down it did.

Once day, into this darkness fell a man of two minds. Kepler, I think his name was. Laws of planetary motion. Somnium. Not the first of his kind. Not the last. But surely a definitive man of his type. Ties to the coming age of science, still mired in the preceding age of superstition. This is the same Kepler who had to defend his mother against charges of witchcraft after publishing a scientific fantasy in which he is transported to the Moon by demons old Mom conveniently conjures.

Looks around his empty Heaven and recognizes it for what it seems to be. That’s the age of superstition speaking. And thinks, This is serious business. I bet I can help... the coming age of science. In due course, he summoned others of his type, one, then two, then four, then eight... Turn the Crank, men. Without us... we few... we stalwart... we brave... the End?

In due course, this Band of Angels, renewing the essential force of God’s Machine, summoned the Archangel Bob, who thought he ought to be running the whole shebang.

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