Fried Brains and Sam

After three weeks of being treated like some kind of criminal, I was finally allowed to work without the supervision of guardian angels. But even as they watched, not a day went by where I didn’t think about black holes and my dear, sweet Gena. Someday, someway, I would try to escape again. Only then, I’d have a plan.

“Someday, someway, I’ll be free,” I often mumbled.

Since the angels left, I’d managed to secure several documents concerning the guy who controls the suckage of black holes. His official title appears to be “Lead Engineer of the Trans-Reality Travel System,” and he’s had the job for over 84 billion years. According to Tiddo, my Communication Directory Specialist, that’s six times longer than the universe has even existed, which doesn’t make a lot of sense. But what the hell does Tiddo know; he was executed for illegally scalping tickets to a Gladiator game in 63 BC, for god sakes.

Anyway, a lot of the documents were classified, and therefore couldn’t be viewed without eyes that have “Omega Sight” status. In other words, only God and his best Archangels could read most of these documents.

Fortunately, I’d recently processed a world-class hacker named Carla Reed.

If Carla had been in a legitimate business, she’d have been the poster gal for the American dream. Real rags to riches, and she didn’t even have to sell her talents to anyone. Except to me, as it would turn out.

“Look, you’ve done some terrible things.”

“Relative to what?” She asked, keeping calm and cool.

“You hacked into a UNICEF database and stole credit card numbers in order to offset your gambling debts.”

“UNICEF has been accused of funding sterilizations and abortions.”

“I’ve never heard that.”

“Trust me, no one is innocent. No one who tries to accomplish something, at least. Besides, it’s not gambling if it ain’t your money. Ask a banker.”

She was one of those smart, smooth, intellectual types who did whatever they wanted in life. She hedged her bets that if Heaven did exist, she’d be able to debate her way back to the luxuries she was used to. Her strategy was to appeal to moral relativism. You get that a lot with the rich and famous. Celebrities, business tycoons and bankers. It’s not their fault really; it’s how they’re brought up.

“Look, I don’t want to fight. I want to cut you a deal.”

She laughed, until I explained that I had the power to set her up with five star accommodations for eternity, or deny them.

“Wait. You! I die, and my judge and jury is some fucking guy in dirty slacks with a bad hairdo.”

“I did watch a training video when I first got this job, if that helps.”

“Why in God’s name would that help?”

I shrugged.

Confused by the fact that the creator of the universe couldn’t take time out of what I assume to be his busy schedule to interview her, Carla’s energy sank.

“Look,” I told her gently. “Things are as morally dicey here as they were in life. The reason most people like you get piss-poor accommodations is because we judge your intentions, not your argumentation.”

“Alright then,” she sighed roughly. “How’d I do?”

“Well to be honest, these forms are fairly incomplete. But from what I’ve got here, it doesn’t look good.”

She arched her head back as if searching for the god she’s never likely to know.

“What type of deal?”

“Well I learned something about physical reality recently, while studying the Migen of Morg. They’re the most intelligent living creatures in the universe. Anyway, what the Migen discovered that all other living species fail to fully realize, is that all of reality is merely information. If you’re able to understand the code that contains all this information, at a subatomic level, you’re able to reprogram it. So I thought, if what they’ve discovered is true for physical reality, maybe it’s true here.”

It was a lot for her to take in all at once.

“Why don’t you just get help from the soul of one of those Mygeen then?”

“They’re not in my division.”

“I don’t know anything about subatomic particles,” she declared, tossing up her hands.

“You don’t need to. I’ll place you among the top tiers of heaven. You’ll have libraries, and lots of brilliant neighbors who won’t suspect a thing, since you’re being there assumes you’re morally righteous.”

She still didn’t really get it, but it didn’t really matter at that point. She seemed smart, and capable of catching on fast. So we made our little arrangement. She was to do anything she could to figure out the code that made the spiritual world tick, and use that knowledge to hack my eye’s security clearance. Then I’d be able to see what I was not allowed to see.

“What if I can’t do it? I’m already in Heaven. Already given great accommodations. What could you do to make sure I hold up my end?”

“If you fail, I could place all of your descendants where you should have gone.”

She took that to heart, and promised to do her best. So I pressed the big red button, and she vanished.

Perhaps granting a criminal the delights of heaven for my own gain is immoral, but I’ve already been given my place here, and I’m not too fond of it.

Besides, it’s all relative, really.