Day’s Work
Two of the gods had been arguing all morning. A galactic morning, that is—one sixth of the time it took Betelgeuse to complete its orbit around the circumference of a cross-section of the spiral whorl of the sprawling IX Galaxy—some four hundred and twenty thousand years.
And the fury of the last nova explosion indicated that Mogar, ranking member of the IX Galactic Council, was becoming annoyed over his failure to browbeat Dalen, who had come up from the LIII Constellation Committee only a few eons before.
But finally, just before noon, Mogar’s tremendous thought-force thundered at the younger god out of the Lesser Magellanic Cloud and rolled across ninety thought light-years of space to the constellation Bootes, where Dalen was trying to settle a territorial dispute between two solar system deputies who had been involved for eighteen centuries over the jurisdiction of a newly formed binary system.
Mogar’s thought-force said: “Your theories are preposterous and repellent. No entity in physical shape can ever learn to live a useful life. For one thing, they seldom evolve the quality of infinite age. And records will show that in all the II Supergalaxy no species of biped with an opposed thumb has ever been able to live peacefully with itself. All such species are self-destructive.”
A great rumbling came from the Cloud, accompanied by trillion mile streams of sullen fire, and then Mogar’s thought-force, muttered but still understandable at that distance, came again: “When you have been in the Council long enough to become oriented, you will see that these ideas of yours are nothing but sentiment, and have no place in a council of the gods.”
The energy-nucleus that was Dalen absorbed these thoughts, and at length sent his answer back to the Cloud:
“Sire, your venerable age and your seniority on the Galactic Council cause me to answer you with deep respect, but I find it impossible to agree.”
Mogar’s thought returned like cosmic lightning: “Then you will, I suppose, appeal to the Supergalactic Conference.”
Dalen evaded this trap. His answer swept back across the light-years of the galaxy’s length quietly but strongly:
“Sire, I do not think that is necessary.”
And of course it was not necessary. While all the nine gods in the Galactic Council had authority in any part of the galaxy, and even certain rights anywhere in the Milky Way Supergalaxy, in practice each member of the council ruled a particular sphere of the galaxy, and by unwritten law might do anything he wished in that region as long as he did not upset the dynamic balance of neighbor regions.
That was where Mogar came in, and why it was necessary to secure his approval before actually beginning the experiment. For Mogar’s ancient seniority on the council and his resultant familiarity with all conditions in the Galaxy of Orion (the IX) had made him a sort of deputy of the Supergalactic Conference, and they had actually given him a temporary appointment as Director of Creation in the IX Galaxy. Temporary, though he had already held it for several ages. The higher gods were very conservative.
So it was most desirable to secure Mogar’s approval on any project involving creation, for creation involved the welfare of neighboring regions. But Mogar, long embittered by his own failure to advance beyond the Galactic Council, valued the small eminence his appointment gave him, and had adopted a policy of conservatism as his best means of preserving it. Therefore he could be expected to oppose on principle any experiment the failure or success of which might upset the dynamic balance of the galaxy and throw a shadow on his judgment, and the successes of which could only react favorably to the god who should bring it about.
Dalen considered Mogar’s opposition for the century-long space of a galactic heartbeat. This wasn’t a good start for Dalen to make in the council.
It was well known throughout the entire IV Universe that Mogar was old and crotchety, perhaps even vindictive. Those very weaknesses had long ago cost Mogar a seat in the Supergalactic Conference, but that wasn’t the worst of it. If Mogar had progressed in the usual fashion from the last Beginning, he would by now have had a seat in the mighty Cosmic Chamber.
So the situation exhibited still more serious aspects. Mogar, having seen many younger gods pass him in the long climb upward through the several eternities from the last Beginning, consistently delighted in showing younger gods their place, and under the Laws of Hierarchy, a younger god who lost face would be relegated to some quiet Constellation Committee until the next End and reorganization of the Cosmos. Mogar was known to throw obstacles in the way of every young and ambitious god, and then watch them sharply for a chance to catch them off-guard.
Dalen knew these things. He had been warned by his friend, the middle-aged god Lennat, who had been one of Mogar’s early victims. Lennat had lost a test of strength with Mogar and had been assigned to the obscure constellation, Tracho, where there had not been even a nova explosion for more eons than Dalen could remember.
Dalen considered these things, and he knew what billions of years of inactivity could do to a god’s mind. Even now he felt the lightly restraining touch of Lennat’s thought-force, a little dulled by long disuse. He felt grateful for Lennat’s interest, and yet he had an
