The man tottered to the wingback chair next to his king-sized bed and sank into it. He pulled the handkerchief from his breast pocket and mopped his sweaty face.
The angel knelt beside him and looked up into his face pleadingly. “I don’t want to frighten you into a premature heart seizure, but your soul really is in great peril.”
“But I haven’t done anything wrong! I’m not a crook. I haven’t killed anyone or stolen anything. I’ve been faithful to my wife.”
The angel gave him a skeptical smile.
“Well . . .” He wiped perspiration from his upper lip. “Nothing serious. I’ve always honored my mother and father.”
Gently, the angel asked, “You’ve never told a lie?”
“Uh, well . . . nothing big enough to . . .”
“You’ve never cheated anyone?”
“Um.”
“What about that actor’s wife in California? And the money you accepted to swing certain deals. And all the promises you’ve broken?”
“You mean things like that—they count?”
“Everything counts,” the angel said firmly. “Don’t you realize that the enemy has your soul almost in his very hands?”
“No. I never thought—”
“All those deals you’ve made. All those corners you’ve cut.” The angel suddenly shot him a piercing glance. “You haven’t signed any documents in blood, have you?”
“No!” His heart twitched. “Certainly not!”
“Well, that’s something, at least.”
“I’ll behave,” he promised. “I’ll be good. I’ll be a model of virtue.”
“Not enough,” the angel said, shaking his golden locks. “Not nearly enough. Things have gone much too far.”
His eyes widened with fear. He wanted to argue, to refute, to debate the point with his guardian angel, but the words simply would not force their way through his constricted throat.
“No, it is not enough merely to promise to reform,” the angel repeated. “Much stronger action is needed.”
“Such as . . . what?”
The angel got to his feet, paced across the room a few steps, then turned back to face him. His youthful visage brightened. “Why not? If they can make a deal for a soul, why can’t we?”
“What do you mean?”
“Hush!” The angel seemed to be listening to another voice, one that the man could not hear. Finally, the angel nodded and smiled. “Yes. I see. Thank you.”
“What?”
Turning back to the man, the angel said, “I’ve just been empowered to make you an offer for your soul. If you accept the terms, your salvation is assured.”
The man instantly grew wary. “Oh, no you don’t. I’ve heard about deals for souls. Some of my best friends—”
“But this is a deal to save your soul!”
“How do I know that?” the man demanded. “How do I know you’re really what you say you are? The devil has power to assume pleasing shapes, doesn’t he?”
The angel smiled joyfully. “Good for you! You remember some of your childhood teachings.”
“Don’t try to put me off. I’ve negotiated a few tricky deals in my day. How do I know you’re really are an angel, and you want to save my soul?”
“By their fruits ye shall know them,” the angel replied.
“What are you talking about?”
Still smiling, the angel replied, “When the devil makes a deal for a soul, what does he promise? Temporal gifts, such as power, wealth, respect, women, fame.”
“I have all that,” the man said. “I’m on top of the world, everyone knows that.”
“Indeed.”
“And I didn’t sign any deals with the devil to get there, either,” he added smugly.
“None that you know of,” the angel warned. “A man in your position delegates many decisions to his staff, does he not?”
The man’s face went gray. “Oh my God, you don’t think . . .”
With a shrug, the angel said, “It doesn’t matter. The deal that I offer guarantees your soul’s salvation, if you meet the terms.”
“How? What do I have to do?”
“You have power, wealth, respect, women, fame.” The angel ticked each point off on his slender, graceful fingers.
“Yes, yes, I know.”
“You must give them up.”
The man lurched forward in the wingchair. “Huh?”
“Give them up.”
“I can’t!”
“You must, if you are to attain the Kingdom of Heaven.”
“But you don’t understand! I just can’t drop everything! The world doesn’t work that way. I can’t just . . . walk away from all this.”
“That’s the deal,” the angel said. “Give it up. All of it. Or spend eternity in hell.”
“But you can’t expect me to—” He gaped. The angel was no longer in the room with him. For several minutes he stared into empty air. Then, knees shaking, he arose and walked to the closet. It, too, was empty of strange personages.
He looked down at his hands. They were trembling.
“I must he going crazy,” he muttered to himself. “Too much strain. Too much tension.” But even as he said it, he made his way to the telephone on the bedside table. He hesitated a moment, then grabbed up the phone and punched a number he had memorized months earlier.
“Hello. Chuck? Yes, this is me. Yes, yes, everything went fine tonight. Up to a point.”
He listened to his underling babbling flattery into the phone, wondering how many times he had given his power of attorney to this weakling and to equally venal deputies.
“Listen, Chuck,” he said at last. “I have a job for you. And it’s got to be done right, understand? Okay, here’s the deal—” He winced inwardly at the word. But, taking a deep, manly breath, he plunged ahead.
“You know the Democrats are setting up their campaign quarters in that new apartment building—what’s it called, Watergate? Yeah. Okay. Now, I think it would serve our purposes very well if we bugged the place before the campaign really starts to warm up . . .”
There were tears in his eyes as he spoke. But from far, far away, he could hear a heavenly chorus singing.
Introduction to
“Waterbot”
But when it comes to slaughter
You will do your work on water,
An’ you’ll lick the bloomin’ boots of ’im
that’s got it.
—Rudyard Kipling, Gunga Din
Water is essential, and not only to the soldier’s bloody business.
As humankind expands beyond the limits of Earth, water will be just as important a
