Then . . .

 

"Variel . . ."

 

The Giver had a voice that dominated the senses, even when it registered as barely a whisper. To have Her attention and hear Her voice – each of them had ways of making even the most circumspect of Celestial creatures stand a little bit straighter. 

 

"I am here. How may I serve You?" 

 

"You serve Me well even now, Variel. And yet, I sense you would serve Me differently – given your choice in the matter."

 

"I can do no less, and no differently than You wish."

 

Variel had said it, and so it could be nothing less than the truth. And yet, the Giver saw all. She knew all.

 

"Come now, Variel. Our adversaries work their will among the creatures of the Earth. That is the realm where We need to challenge them. And Our agents there must not be constrained by the usual . . . niceties. Others have gone before you, but you can serve Me there best."

 

"Of course. I will do Your will. I exist to serve."

 

It was what he wanted, and not simply because it was what the Giver wanted.

 

"And Variel? Try not to make too much trouble down there." 

 

There were no such things as blank checks for anyone – not even for those of the Hosts. But that was about as close to carte blanche as anyone could hope to receive.

 

 

Now . . .

 

The phone rang in my "office" – actually, it was just a dressing room whose best feature is the couch on which I'd been catching a nap. Of course, that was before I was so rudely returned to the land of the living, and no doubt by some representative of the powers that be. Against my better judgment, I picked it up.

 

"Van Rhyn! What the hell?! Get your overpaid dick on the set! You're fucking putting me behind schedule!" It was surprising to hear a director talk like that, because they're normally so full of sunshine and rainbows. Yeah, right. Full of shit is more like it.

 

"Then ah've accomplished m'goal f'r th' day." I dropped the receiver before he could sputter anything else, and started looking for something to cover myself long enough to walk a few hundred yards. Not that it would have raised eyebrows if I'd gone without.

 

To be honest, I actually hadn't been sleeping when the call came from the set. When I sleep, I think of home – sometimes of South Africa, and sometimes of Paradise. This time, I had been thinking about a run-in I'd had with an old friend not too long ago. These days, she's running an underground fighting ring, and is probably running guns and narcotics to boot. It was a hoot – among other things, she told me that my acting was sorry and my money shot needed work; I told her that I didn't remember her having tits the last time I saw her.

 

You see, in her spare time, my friend is the Giver's manifestation of War.

 

John of Patmos pretty much had the right idea. Most modern interpretations aren't quite as close. Then again, that's to be expected when the Giver's words are involved. For example, Pestilence has actually been with us for a long time, but between the discovery of penicillin and the eradication of smallpox, there were even a few people on our team who figured he'd end up sitting out the Apocalypse. Sheer hubris. AIDS. Ebola. SARS. That's what you call coming back with a vengeance. Hell, humans still haven't cured the common cold. What are they going to do when things really get serious? Pray?

 

I heard from another friend that these days, Pestilence is working at Merck's corporate headquarters out in Jersey. She might have been joking, but whether she was or she wasn't, you can't tell me that the forces of Creation don't have a sense of Cosmic humor.

 

I digress. If people actually knew about the things that went on under the cover of normalcy, then they would bound to be wondering just what the Hell is up with Celestials engaging in immoral and even illegal activities. Never mind the ironic ones. Those people wouldn't understand, but let me take a shot at it.

 

Anyone out there who comes up to you on the street and tells you that he's an all-powerful crusading force for Good or an all-powerful destructive force for Evil is either certifiably insane or failing to toe the party line. The former Morningstar isn't stupid. I know. When the Giver bounced his ass from Paradise back in the day, it cured him of the notion that a frontal assault on the Throne was the best way to achieve his ends. After he got some measure of revenge by causing the fall of Man, and with the exception of that whole Job thing, our two sides have been engaged in something of a Cold War. And who are the heroes of cold wars? The spies. The secret agents. The deep-cover operatives.

 

Once America's Cold War with the Soviet Union went on for long enough, people figured out that some of our "good guys" were doing things that made them look like "bad guys." Who hasn't heard of the Iran-Contra Affair? Now imagine all of the shit you haven't heard about yet. But those people honestly didn't know exactly what "good" and "bad" were. Someone else had seen the plan, and could connect all of the dots. When people talk about the clarity that comes with "seeing the big picture," they're being hackneyed, but they're still telling the truth. When you can't see everything, it's difficult to make sense of what you can see.

 

As an aside, it's worth noting that depending on how it's expressed, the Giver's plan is simple enough that I could rent out a billboard on the Pacific Coast Highway and put up the whole thing with space to spare. I won't though, because evening rush hour would turn into something out of Raiders of the Lost Ark as people drove by and read it. You know which scene I mean.

 

So then. So what if War is running illegal fight clubs? So what if millions of people watch me fuck on DVD or pretend to fuck on Cinemax after 11 pm? Hell, an Infernal might be your green grocer, aerobics instructor, or tax accountant. We're all small parts of two great big plans. Plans that almost no one needs to understand until the Cold War turns hot again, and the shit really hits the fan. Until then, we'll all be watching, and waiting for the phone to ring. So to speak.

 

In any event, I have to hand this director his ass on a platter, and nail this scene in one take. That way I can go back to sleep, because tonight I'll probably be hitting my local fight club with some of my friends from organized crime . . .

 

Seriously, they're great guys. No, really!