Lucifer's Lottery

because God told me.”

Krilid was hard-pressed not to laugh. “Oh, God did, huh? God—what?—he called you up on a hectophone personally and told you the intel was on the level?”

“He did it spiritually, Krilid. Calm your worries—believe me, I understand them —”

“You want to know the truth, Ezoriel? Half the time I feel like I’m on a suicide mission. Otherwise there’d be a hundred more insurgents in the Nectoport with me. For a mission like this? But, no, just little old me and no one else. Almost like someone said, ‘Well, if the intel turns out to be bad, then it’s better to lose just one guy than a whole company.’ ”

When Ezoriel laughed, there came a sensation like one’s reaction to sudden lightning.

“It’s not that funny—”

“Krilid, please. You worry too much. Best to think only of God’s glory and the entails of your mission. You’re in God’s hands; therefore . . . you’ll do fine.”

Yeah . . .

“So your reconnaissance at the Reservoir went well,” the higher being said rather than asked.

“Sure. I mean, I found the landmark and the pickup point. But the Reservoir’s still empty. Once it’s filled, it’ll be harder to relocate the extraction point—”

“Just use your sextant, and you’ll have no trouble—”

More gripes came to the Troll. “And I don’t know when they’re going to fill it, or with what. I feel like I’m standing at home plate in a headball game but I’m blindfolded . . .”

More illuminating chuckles issued from the Fallen Angel. “I’m happy to impart to you, Krilid, that I have been permitted to answer those questions now, as your particular need to know has been sparked.”

Krilid sat up stiff, keenly and suddenly attentive.

Ezoriel’s voice seemed to lower to a glittering whisper. “The time will be very soon. And just exactly what the massive Reservoir will be filled with . . . is this: six billion gallons of the Gulf of Cagliostro . . .”

“What!”

“It’s true,” Ezoriel said. “That Pipeway is impressive—hundreds of miles long and quite a feat for Lucifer’s Engineers. Oh, we might’ve been able to bomb it but then . . .” The refulgent Angel seemed to smile. “Powers far more lofty than I insisted that that not happen . . .”

Krilid refrained from sarcastic comment.

“All things for a purpose, yes? It’s all part of God’s plan, and we are tiny yet essential pieces of that plan. Expendable? Yes. But loved by God as well, even in our Damnation.”

Oh, that makes me feel MUCH better, Krilid’s thoughts sputtered.

“Have faith, in this place of the faithless.”

“Fine, fine,” Krilid interjected, “but . . . why does Lucifer want to fill that ridiculous Reservoir with six billion gallons of disgusting Bloodwater from the Gulf?”

Ezoriel’s undetectable gaze fixed on Krilid.

“All right, I get it,” Krilid droned. “I don’t have a need to know yet. You’re afraid if I get captured, I’ll spill the beans.”

The illumined presence seemed to nod. “God’s work calls me to depart. The coordinates for your next reconnaissance will be delivered telepathically very soon.” The Angel raised a finger. “Rest assured that, just as Daniel had no fear of the lion’s pit, you need not have fear of what awaits you.” Ezoriel passed Krilid a small cloth sack. “Until we meet again . . . go with God.” And then—

Sssssssssssssssss-ONK!

—the Fallen Angel’s Nectoport was gone.

Krilid opened the sack and withdrew—

“Oh, wow! What a great guy!”

—a big chunk of Ghor-Hound sausage.

(II)

What an ass I am, Gerold thought. A male intern who looked like he hadn’t slept in days wheeled him through the hospital lobby and out into blazing sun. Once outside, the stubbled assistant lit a cigarette and frowned right at Gerold.

“What?” Gerold asked.

“I’m supposed to be off now, that’s what,” the guy said. “I’ve been up thirty-six hours but now I’ve got to do this.”

“Sorry.” Gerold felt sheepish. “So . . . where am I going?”

“VA.” The guy rubbed his sandpapery chin. “You’re what we call a ‘punt.’ ”

“A . . . what?”

“A punt. We’re punting you. It’s tax dollars paying for this stunt of yours—”

Gerold’s well-developed arms tensed. “It’s wasn’t a stunt—”

“Yeah, it was. We get ‘em all the time. Look, I’m sorry you can’t walk but—shit. My brother can’t walk either—he got hit by a drunk. And you know what? He’s never pulled a stunt like this. Clogging up a busy hospital with bullshit is no way to vent your need for attention.”

Gerold winced. “You’re worse than that lady upstairs! I wasn’t trying to get attention! I was just trying to kill myself, but I fucked up!” His tempered sizzled. “And I wish to God I hadn’t.”

“You and me both . . .”

Gerold rolled his eyes.

“Anyway, we’re punting you.” The guy tapped ashes disgustedly. “See, we gotta file for the damn money we burned on you last night. We have to send in a bill, and then wait months for the provider to pay—”

“I didn’t burn any money,” Gerold spat.

“Sure, you did. Every square inch of this place costs money, pal. And us having to give you a bed in the precaution ward last night is a big ticket, probably a couple of grand—”

“Bullshit.”

“Yeah, see, you don’t even give a shit. Typical. You think everything should be free while guys like me gotta work our asses off catering to you. The fact is, caregivers—like me—love to help people in need. It’s our duty. But what we hate is having to help people who pretend to be fucked up in the head.”

“This is some real compassionate care, man . . .”

“Fuck off. Let VA have your ass. You can burn their tax dollars.”

“I was fuckin’ fighting for my country!” Gerold bellowed.

The guy expectorated loudly. “You were fighting for a bunch of political war pigs, man. If you want to be a patriot, you protest the war, you don’t fight in it.”

Gerold groaned. “Your political views are your business, but I sure as shit—”

“What?” snapped the intern. “You don’t want to hear it, G.I. Joe? Well, tough.”

Gerold dared to laugh. “I’d love to see you on a bivouac. You wouldn’t last a day, you’d be cryin’ like a baby, cryin’ for your mother with your thumb in your mouth.”

The intern lurched forward, gnashed his teeth, then pulled back.

“Yeah, go ahead, tough guy,” Gerold said. “Punch a guy in a wheelchair. Shit, I’d still kick your ass.”

“In your dreams.”

The hits just keep on comin’, Gerold thought. “We’re sitting out here in the hot sun for what reason?”

“Waiting for your transport, and I have to go with you,” the intern seethed. “I have to check you in.”