“Who knows?” the other replied. “We’ll just have to get there and find out.”

No more was the thought complete than the pair appeared before their Father.

“Hello, boys,” God said. “How was the vacation?”

“Fine,” said number one.

“It was OK,” number two grumbled.

Their father was not interested, precisely, in their break from the tasks he eternally gave them. He had other issues in mind. “Was the planet coming along as planned?”

Both angels did an approximation of head-hanging. They said nothing. “Michael?” God probed.

Michael glanced at his twin. “Louie?” “Go ahead, Mike? You have the gift of gab. I don’t.”

“Well, things are progressing bit by bit,” Mike said unhurriedly. “More or less, according to plan.”

“Is the place ready for life, Louie?”

Lucifer shrugged. “It’s hard to tell.”

“Well,” the Father growled, “have you kids done your chemistry work?

Again, the angels glanced at one another. “Your turn,” Mike signaled to Louie.

“Um,” Lucifer started. “We tried, Dad, we really did, but everything that moved on that wet piece of Junk went belly-up. They died. It was very unpleasant.”

“Unpleasant!” God roared. He brought the volume down to the collision of a couple of galaxies, if such a thing could be heard in Mother’s airless spaces. “This project is for Mother Universe. You both know that. That third planet from that stable star means a lot to her.”

“Yes, Father,” they both murmured.

“Now I want you to see something,” God informed them. “Look here.”

He had created an appendage that held something completely alien to the angels. God beamed at them. “These are my infants. You are to sow them on the planet so they will evolve and become almost as smart as you guys. But no before the atmosphere is decent.”

Mike gazed at what amounted to a handful of microbes morphing into amoebae and crawling over each other in their hunt for nourishment. Michael breathed a sound like, “Oooo.” Then a glazed glance came over his patrician features. If I had to give it a name, I’d call it a “coochie-coo” look.

On the other hand, Lucifer stared at the squirming mess of matter and gave a shudder. For a moment he appeared slightly green. While God gazed fondly at his most recent innovation he spoke gently and hopefully. “These creatures are going to do so many wonders even they won’t believe it themselves. When they’ve reached their physical and possibly mental epitome, they will create the most amazing things. One of their creations will be what they will call WD40. I like that a lot. Something else they will come up with is Duct Tape. It will repair all kinds of broken possessions. Another concoction they will originate appears to be a sort of foodstuff. They will call it Cool Whip and no one will know exactly what it’s made of.” He smiled broadly and changed the subject.

“OK, boys,” he said, his equanimity fully restored. “You bustle on down to . . . What are we calling that planet?”

“Nothing,” said Lucifer.

Michael jumped in, saying, “We haven’t made a formal decision yet, Father. And, of course we wouldn’t name anything without your advice. And Mother’s opinion too, of course.”

“Of course,” said God. “That reminds me, I’m due in the next universe. Mother says she’s finished birthing it, but she wants my input.”

“Has she named this new cosmos?” Mike asked the question even though he knew the new universe was going to be called Eden. Father, however, rarely remembered the universes’ names.

“I call it 4408,” God admitted sheepishly. “I like the math of two 4s a zero and one 8. They flow. And, they add up superbly.”

“What number do you have for the universe with that blue planet in the perfect third slot beyond its star?” Lucifer asked, just being polite.

“Honestly? I haven’t come up with any yet. I thought about giving it three threes, but that didn’t seem to fit. Do you know what Mother calls it?”

The boys could tell that Father didn’t have a clue about what name Mother had denominated the universe in question.

“The last I heard,” Lucifer said quietly, “was Hell. She calls it Hell.”

Michael tossed a glare Lucifer’s way. Louie signaled him to hush. Both peered at their Father to determine his response. He was frowning and muttering. “Mother wouldn’t give anything a bad name. Are you boys sure about this?”

Lucifer shrugged. “Hell’s not bad,” he said. “Misunderstood, but not bad.” Michael turned aside.

“Well,” said God, “Get on with your chemistry assignment and give us a really topnotch planet. Something we can love whole-heartedly and make the family proud. Be sure it is a proper place where my infants can thrive and become wise.”

“Yes, Father,” said Michael. “We’ll do our very best.”

“We’ll work like demons,” Lucifer assured God the Father.

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About the author Cate Lane: Born in Minnesota and raised a temperate progressive, I was carried off to Texas 10 years ago by the tsunami that was my husband's retirement. Texas is not Minnesota, not by a long shot. However, I hear that Minnesota isn't Minnesota anymore either.

Writing was always my first choice in life. I began writing at the age of 8, small books about pioneers heading west. Little did I know then that I would be living in the most "western" of all the states, Texas. No one told the Texans that they are simply Southerners who, like Bugs Bunny, took a wrong turn at Albuquerque and wound up here.

I am sneaking up on 70 years of age and now own a vast store of useless knowledge. Happy to share any or all of it with you all.

Email: CthlnLn@aol.com

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