“And…there.”
There was a brief burst of light, which drew in on itself until it became a pinprick in a field of otherwise total darkness. The angel, called Urim, studied this for a moment, and finally nodded in satisfaction.
“What happened this time?” asked the angel’s partner, who was called Pistis Sophia.
“They opened a wormhole to itself,” said Urim.
“Again? Why?”
“Oh, curiosity. This is the fourth time it’s happened, actually.”
“Well, over to me, I suppose.”
Pistis Sophia leaned over the bowl of darkness. An intense expression of concentration crossed her face, and the pinpoint of light flared again. It spread outward, breaking into smaller individual lights until the bowl sparkled like a night sky—which was, in fact, very close to what it was.
“How long did they last this time?” she asked with only mild curiosity.
“Nearly fourteen billion—what did they call them? Years. Yes, years.”
“Is that long?”
Urim shrugged. “I’m sure it was to them.”
Pistis Sophia leaned back, resting on her wings. “How many times have they destroyed their universe, anyway? I’ve lost track.”
Urim frowned. “Nearly as many billion, since I was assigned to this task. Before that? Well, you would have to ask Him.”
“I think not. He would give me an honest answer, and I’ve never fully understood His thoughts.”
“I do remember some interesting incidents,” said Urim. “One time they were getting along perfectly fine, and suddenly one of them dreamed that he was awake. Really awake—and when he did wake up, everyone else did too. That caused a commotion. And one time all of the stars suddenly imploded because—oh, look, there it goes again.”
There was a commotion in the bowl. The infinite night sky boiled with light, and suddenly it drew in on itself again until only one point remained.
Pistis Sophia leaned over the bowl again, frowned fiercely, and the lights spread out once more. “That was quick.”
“Only a few billion years. This time they formed some sort of early-evolution group consciousness,” said Urim. “Powerful, but not very bright. They got cold and tried to pull the sun down from the sky, and not surprisingly obliterated every form of life on their planet. Not much to keep it all together if there are no witnesses, you know.”
“Of course. You were saying about the stars?”
“Oh? Yes. Couldn’t blame them for that one—just freak coincidence, every star becoming unstable and falling in on itself at the same time. It happens, you know.”
“Must have been before my time.”
“Probably. Then there was the time they all evolved beyond the need for rational thought. Some sort of hyper-awareness, becoming one with the cosmos. Boy were they surprised.”
“I imagine so. Have they ever—oh—”
She leaned over the bowl again. Light focused, then swirled. A small bang, so soft that it could have been put to imagination—if either Urim or Pistas Sophia could be said to have an imagination, which they did not—echoed from the bowl.
“Doomsday device,” said Urim. “Mad scientist. You wouldn’t believe how many times that one’s happened.”
“Possibly I would,” Pistas Sophia said glumly. “As I was saying—have they ever come close to making it all the way through?”
Urim pursed his lips in thought. “Once, in my time. Something odd happened, right at the end. The center was pulling everything in on itself, naturally and as it was designed to do, and suddenly it just…stopped.”
“Is that odd?”
“Very. It just wouldn’t respond—wouldn’t go forward or backward, or even sideways. We had to reset it manually, and you have no idea how complicated things got then.”
“Did you ever find out why?”
“No. I couldn’t see any fault on their side, and He told us not to worry about it, so I didn’t. Otherwise…no. Recently, the best attempts only make it halfway.”
“Those seem like bad odds.”
Urim shrugged. “They keep blowing it up, or freezing it, or shattering it into an infinite number of pieces, or compressing it into an unacceptable singularity. They’re rather clumsy about it, I’m afraid.”
“Why do they keep doing things they don’t understand?” asked Pistas Sophia.
“Simple impatience, as far as I can tell. They are incapable of waiting to see what is next—they must know now. It’s how they’re designed, I suppose. I don’t understand it myself. Of course, He made them that way, so I imagine there is a purpose.”
“What happens when they make it to the end? When the system winds down naturally?”
Urim looked at her blankly. “You know…I never wondered. I suppose…they get to move on to what comes next? No more tests—no more explosions, no more beginnings…”
They both looked at the bowl for a long moment. Miniscule stars glittered, waiting to be destroyed again.
“And we would no longer be required to monitor them,” said Pistas Sophia, very casually.
“I imagine not,” said Urim in a similar tone.
“I’m certain that there are many other important tasks waiting for us.”
“Oh, absolutely. Tasks that do not involve staring at this bowl for countless millennia, for example.”
“Not that I mind watching.”
“No, of course not!” Urim said hurriedly.
“Still…tasks that don’t involve concentrating on—oh, just a moment.” When the stars had swirled back into existence, Pistas Sophia continued, “Concentrating on a nearly infinite number of particles, focusing and releasing them again and again and…”
“Again,” Urim supplied when her expression became distant.
“Yes, and again.”
“I should think that you’re right.”
They stared at the bowl for another long moment. Stars swirled.
“Not that I don’t appreciate the excellent job you’re doing,” said Urim.
“Oh, absolutely!” said Pistas Sophia hastily. “It’s just…”
“Yes?”
“It’s just…that they’ve come so very close,” said Pistas Sophia.
“Only once,” Urim pointed out.
“Once is all it takes.”
“True. Very true.”
“And it wasn’t necessarily their fault that they didn’t make it.”
“Not definably so, no,” said Urim. “More of a solar system-error, really.”
“It’s not fair, when you think about it,” Pistas Sophia said slowly. “On them, I mean. They came that close, and—oh, just a moment—and they had to start over for something like that?”
“I’ve always felt it was a bit unfair myself,” said Urim.
Another moment of thoughtful, busy silence. Stars twinkled.
“Have you ever considered…?” said Pistas Sophia.
“No,” said Urim. “Not until now, anyway.”
“Could we do it?”
“I don’t see why not.”
“Would it be…breaking the rules?” There was open discomfort in Pistas Sophia’s voice.
“Bending them, maybe,” said Urim. “And…really, maybe not. Were you given any instructions about it?”
“No. I was just told to bring everything back into existence when they destroyed it all. And, if possible, not to break anything.”
“That last bit always seemed odd to me. And I was told to keep track of everything they did,” said Urim. “And I have.”
“I wasn’t told that I couldn’t…help them along.”
“Nor was I.”
“Well, then.”
“Well, indeed.”
They both thought about this. Perhaps they did not think for as long as they should have.
“Do you know how?” asked Pistas Sophia.
“Not as such, no,” said Urim. “But I shouldn’t think it would be very hard to figure out. A gentle nudge here, a moment of concentration there…that should keep them going right along until the end.”
“Then…?”
“Yes,” Urim nodded. “Let’s do it. For them.”
“For them, of course.”
They both leaned over the bowl. Urim reached a finger toward the surface...
* * *
There was a lot of noise and excitement for a time, which could have been infinite. Then a sigh, also heavy with infinity, and Words:
—AND THEY WERE SO CLOSE THAT TIME. WELL, NOTHING TO BE DONE FOR IT—
Particles were pulled from the void, and they slowly resolved into a room with a shattered bowl. The bowl forged itself together piece by piece, and filled with an endless darkness. Two figures appeared next to the bowl. Both stood at polite attention.
—WATCH, AND CORRECT—
said the voice,
—AND THIS TIME, DO TRY NOT TO BLOW IT ALL UP—