Get Lucky

likes Chess.’

  ‘Chess! You play chess with the Creator?’ shouted Im, verging on open hostility. ‘And we can’t even get him to answer his door.

  Bb’s blush deepened. ‘He’s lined the inside of his door with sound-proofing. Your knocking was disturbing his concentration, and he couldn’t hear the game-timer ticking.’ he explained. ‘He can’t hear you anymore.’

  ‘Oh wonderful!’ said Im. ‘We’re stuck with budget deficits, over-work and all kinds of related problems. Heavens going to Hell….and he’s playing chess. Just great!’

  ‘But how do you find the time to play with him?’ asked Shylock.

  ‘Oh, I don’t need much time. The Creator likes to work out all the permutations before hand, so he and Jonah spend a virtual-eternity planning the next move in no time at all,’ Bb explained.

  ‘Jonah helps?’ asked Permission.

  ‘Oh, yes. And between you and me, I think the Creator has won the lottery just a few too many times. If I didn’t know better…’ said Bb.

  ‘He fiddles with the lottery numbers?’ asked Um.

  ‘Well, that’s a little strong,’ replied Bb. ‘Lets just say that sometimes the lottery number is remarkably similar to the chess-move option he selects.’

  ‘You mean Jonah creates the winning lottery number at the same time as he helps the Creator figure out his next move?’ asked Shylock.

  ‘A much better way of putting it,’ agreed Bb. ‘Exactly right!’

  ‘Well, your sales of Exchange & Mart just went down one copy,’ said the Devil to Bb.

  ‘Make it two,’ said Im and Um together.

  ‘Three,’ added Aunt Agatha.

  Checkmate

  Shylock and Permission both gasped their surprise when next they saw Bb. No longer obloid and hovering, he had become a tall, well built bipedal humanoid male, and Shylock was immediately aware of the effect his new friend’s appearance was having on Permission. She did everything but drool on this handsome apparition’s feet.

  ‘Bb?’ she asked, hesitantly.

  ‘Yes, it’s non other than me, myself, and if you should consider my new form unusual, you should try it from the inside. These legs are surely the most cumbersome of vehicles ever invented,’ replied Bb.

  ‘But, Bb…your so…’ said Permission.

  ‘Ordinary!’ finished Shylock, jealously. ‘Why are you changing Bb? Why do you want to look human?’

  ‘Oh, it’s just a fad,’ explained Bb. ‘Over the millennia I’ve been just about everything at one time or another, although as I say, my previous method of locomotion was much preferable to these,’ he said, shaking one leg, then the other.

  ‘How did you change?’ asked Permission.

  ‘Checkmate!’ replied Bb.

  ‘You beat the First-Creator?’ she asked, astonished.

  ‘And Jonah?’ added Shylock.

  ‘Well, yes,’ blushed Bb. ‘They are both so boringly predictable, it was really quite simple.’

  ‘And The First-Creator gave you a new body?’ asked Shylock.

  ‘Yes. So, what do you think?’ he asked, whirling around.

  ‘I think it’s wonderful,’ said Permission, locking arms.

  Shylock said nothing.

  ‘So,’ said Bb. ‘I told the Creator about your ideas and he approves, so I stopped in Purgatory on the way here and told everyone.’

  ‘And, we’ve spoken with Infinite Resources Inc.,’ said Permission. They are already working on how to build a new centre to replace Purgatory and the white-light. Apparently, they intend to use cloud formations as a basic raw material in Heaven, and are busily creating new construction methods. The Elements told us that they have already developed corona-welding, acid-raid etching, thunder-bolting, and they are busy developing aurora-lighting – although they’re a bit in the dark about that one right now.’

  ‘They’ve done all that already?’ asked Bb. Amazed.

  ‘Yes,’ said Shylock, shrugging off his jealousy. ‘Have you started soul-grading yet?’

  ‘Even better,’ smiled Bb. ‘I’ve supplied the perfect person for the job. Someone I met at the University of Thought.’

  ‘You’ve studied at the University of Thought?’ asked Shylock.

  ‘Not exactly,’ said Bb, evasively.

  ‘Well, what were you doing there?’ asked Shylock, not giving up.

  ‘Attending a board-meeting,’ Bb replied, sheepishly.

  ‘You’re on the board of the University?’ asked Shylock, mockingly.

  ‘Well, they asked me!!’ Bb shot back, defensively.

  ‘But, why you?!’ Shylock almost shouted.

  ‘Because he invented thought-congruency,’ explained Permission.

  ‘You, did that,’ said Shylock, incredulously. ‘You invented thought-congruency?’

  Bb nodded.

  ‘But that’s incredible,’ said Shylock, now truly impressed.

  ‘He donated the intellectual-property rights to the University,’ explained Permission.

  ‘Hold on now,’ interrupted Bb. ‘That’s going too far. I did retain a few royalty rights.’

  ‘So, when the University teach students your technique, they pay you a royalty?’ asked Shylock.

  ‘Em, no. It’s not quite like that,’ replied Bb. ‘The University doesn’t pay anything, it’s the end-users who pay.’

  ‘The end-users?’ said Shylock. ‘You mean whenever anyone, anywhere, constructs a congruent-thought environment, you take a couple of percent of the value?’

  ‘Ten actually,’ corrected Bb. ‘But it doesn’t work like that, either.’

  ‘So, tell me, how does it work?’ asked Shylock.

  ‘I collect an auto-toll from visitors,’ explained Bb. But, seeing a puzzled expression of both faces, he explained a little further. ‘I don’t charge the person who created the structure, I auto-charge all others who visit thereafter.’

  ‘But that must generate a fortune!’ whispered Shylock. ‘An absolute fortune. Your tax return must be a nightmare!’

  ‘Ah, yes, well…’ began Bb, only to be interrupted by Permission.

  ‘All very interesting I’m sure,’ said Permission. ‘But we’ve got to get to Earth. Do we know how to do that now?’

  ‘Oh, yes. Indeed we do,’ replied Bb, pulling three fluorescent-orange coloured tickets from his back pocket, like a white rabbit from a magician’s hat. ‘We’ve even been given transport!’

  Transportstation

  Together the three travellers, led by Bb, thought-transferred themselves to another of Bb’s congruent-thought virtual places - Transportstation. Shylock couldn’t help but wonder whether Bb would pay auto-fees for using somewhere which he had first created, and whether or not as an end-user his own bank account was being debited back home on Earth.

  Upon arrival at what appeared to be their destination, there were multitudes of people and soul-forms of all shapes and sizes, formed roughly into three long and winding lines, all patiently waiting for something to happen somewhere up ahead in the distance.

  ‘Oh, dear,’ said Bb. ‘Rather busy, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Can’t we travel first class?’ Shylock suggested.

  ‘Fraid not,’ replied Bb. ‘The tickets are actually pre-purchased Apex specials.’

  ‘The First Creator’s given us Apex tickets?’ asked Shylock.

  ‘Very difficult to get these, you know,’ said Bb. ‘He must have bought them well in advance.’

  ‘Great!’ muttered Shylock, sitting himself down on a nearby wall and preparing for a long wait. ‘So much for travelling in comfort.’

  ‘Exactly where are we?’ asked Permission.

  ‘We’re in Transportstation,’ said Bb, as if that explained everything.

  ‘So, where’s that?’ Permission persisted.

  ‘Hmm,’ said Bb, struggling to explain. ‘You see those gates over there? The tall golden ones, with the angels on top?’

  Permission nodded.

  ‘Well, that’s the entrance to
heaven, and we’re just inside. This is the place from where Aunt Agatha’s manager sends out his recycled souls.’

  ‘So all these…people…souls…whatever, are waiting to travel, just as we are?’ asked Permission.

  ‘I’m afraid so,’ agreed Bb.

  ‘But the lines are virtually infinite!’ complained Shylock. ‘We’ll be here forever!’

  ‘Don’t worry, have faith. Just you stand in this first line here and I’ll be right back. I’ve an idea,’ said Bb, disappearing into the disorderly line.

  ‘What do you think he’s going to do?’ asked Permission.

  ‘How on Earth would I know?’ replied Shylock, with a disconsolate shrug.

  Surprisingly, even before Permission could reply, Bb was back. ‘Ta ra!’ he declared. ‘We should start moving any instant now…yes, here we go.’

  Shylock and Permission shuffled forward as the person in front of them turned, waved them through then silently fell in behind them, taking a small lemon ticket from Bb as he did so. The next person in front then did the same, and so on until the three companions were walking at ease through the line, each person in turn standing aside, letting them pass and taking a lemon ticket.

  ‘Bb,’ whispered Shylock. ‘How are you doing this?’

  ‘Oh, it’s easy,’ replied Bb. ‘I gave the person in the line ahead of us a note which he had to read and then pass on to the person in front.’

  ‘But what did the note say?’ asked Permission.

  ‘It offered him a free lottery ticket if he would let the three people immediately behind him in the line, pass through,’ explained Bb.

  ‘So, each person is only moving back three spaces in the line, and as the line is virtually-infinitely long anyway, why not?’ said Shylock, speaking his thoughts out loud.

  ‘Exactly!’ smiled Bb. ‘Nothing much to lose, and something to gain. Simple