The Lost Goats, 42

(In fact, the caravan had simply embarked on fulfilling the first of many obligations incurred by Soren and Zander in the process of asking directions, which they had done with embarrassing profligacy. It was no part of the operating principles of the What You Want Man to let people assume that effort would be rewarded; they had believed that for nearly two millennia under the Empire, and had been severely disillusioned. Tat, decreed Palinurus, must have its tit, or other small woodland fowl: so Oswald, or whatever his name, was kept from his schedule for nearly a week re-balancing the scales. But in fairness, there was no way Soren or Zander could know that, and no real reason why they might be interested...)

The smallship, still reasonably intact despite the determined efforts of various scavenging entities, both human and mechanical, duly arrived, and Zander took a cursory look and pronounced it spaceworthy. To what degree his cursoriness was inspired by the imminent proximity of the sonic shower to which allusion has already been made, history does not relate; but the directional antenna (a fairly unimportant and anonymous component) remained on Oisenfeld III, and Soren was forced to watch the syndicated reruns of Zip McPherson through an intense snowstorm.

"Oh, sweet Essence of trickery and deception," Zander sighed, as focussed sound waves delicately pummelled his skin and removed from it the last traces of the grime of Oisenfeld. And, in due course, he began to sing; at first snatches of random ditties, and then, as his voice recovered something of what kind people had called its "unique" quality, a coherent song took shape.

"Now down in the great big garden of Eden,
God saw what old Adam was needin',
He needed to grow some gumption
For the big bad world outside;

God knew it would hurt like a sock from a skillet,
So he couldn't do it--Adam had to will it
So God he dosed an apple
And he took that man aside.

And he said
Don't eat the apple, or you will regret it
I'm givin' you an order, don't you forget it
You can have the pear or the oranges there
But the apple is no go;

Don't eat the apple, hear what I'm saying,
Don't even think about disobeyin'!"
God is a Nyrond
And that is how we know.

Now Noah--"

"Are you going to be in there caterwauling all week?" came a testy voice from outside the shower cubicle. Zander mumbled an apology, and hastened to complete his toilette. How, therefore, his impromptu ditty would have coped, theologically speaking, with the wholesale loss of life involved in the Flood, we shall never know.

**********

"This is An," Probity Morgenstern said. "She's going to take sketches while we talk. I hope you don't mind."

"Are you an angel?" said the little girl in an awestruck voice.

"No," Probity answered before An could speak. "Angels are mythical. An is just a member of an as yet untaxonomised humanoid species whose superficial appearance is coincidentally similar to some representations of angels in prespace human culture. I don't know why everyone says that. It's very annoying."

She busied herself with her notes; and An, catching the little girl's eye, smiled, winked, and put a finger to her lips.

"Now," Probity said briskly, "tell me about what happened to your daddy."

"Well," the little girl began, "he went out yesterday morning to get his Poppo tickets like he always does--"

The story emerged bit by bit; the Poppo stand had been out of tickets, so the little girl's father had resorted to trying to buy them from passers-by who looked as if they might have some. One passer-by had objected, a scuffle had ensued, and the father had fallen into the path of a groundtruck. Death had been instantaneous, and the other man filled with remorse.

On the other side of the one-way window, Galen and Imbiss watched.

"That girl should be in hysterics by now." Imbiss said. "I mean, her father just died in a horrifying accident."

"I know," Galen agreed.

"And Doctor Morgenstern never gets it?"

"All she knows is I asked her to have An with her when she interviews people." Galen looked squarely at Imbiss. "You can't tell her."

"Trust me," Imbiss said, shaking his head. "I don't even believe it myself."