chapter fourteen

The north side of the island was a stark contrast to the south. The area was shrouded in black storm clouds. A heavy drizzle soaked Andrew to the skin. The beach was strewn with a mixture of seaweed and garbage. The sea was flat, brown and stagnant‑looking, floating in the shallows was a collection of dead fish and sea‑birds. Cowering beneath an outcrop of rock was a small hut made of rusting galvanized‑iron sheets. Painted on the door were the letters; 'D.M.C.E Ltd.'.

Andrew walked up to the door, and knocked.

"Please come in, Mr Smith," said a familiar voice from inside the hut.

Andrew pushed open the door and stepped inside. His initial impression was of a small shabby office. In one corner was a battered metal filing cabinet, in another was a coat‑stand holding a dripping raincoat. In the centre of the room was a wooden desk littered with scraps of paper, behind the desk was an old wooden swivel chair.

 Standing between the desk and the chair was Henry, the man Andrew had met on the beach. He held out his hand to Andrew and looked genuinely dismayed as he said; "I am so sorry about your parrot."

Andrew clasped Henry's hand and shook it, as he did so all the grief he had felt about Fred's death evaporated into nothing.

"Hey," he exclaimed pulling his hand away, "did you do that?"

"Yes, I thought it would help. If you would prefer I can put it back," said Henry. He gestured for Andrew to sit down and then sat down himself.

"Well I don't know, it seems a bit disrespectful, but I suppose I'm better off without it," replied Andrew pulling a chair up to the desk and sitting down.

"Yes I'm sure you are. This place is miserable enough without the grief of a lost companion to add to it."

"It is pretty desolate over this side."

"Yes, I'm sorry there's nothing I can do about it, God is very powerful in this part of the world, it's taken me three years just to get an office on this island. I think he has a few officers of the Fair Trading Commission on his payroll, because all my complaints get lost in bureaucratic red tape."

"So you're the ... you are the Devil?" said Andrew, not sure how he should phrase the accusation.

"Yes, but you can call me Henry. The name Devil has so many unpleasant connotations these days. People are always asking me where my horns are, and how I hide my forked tail."

"And what do you say when they ask you these things?"

Henry smiled and leant back in his chair. "Let me tell you a story. Oh, but first, do you know what a soul is?"

"Well, unless you mean the fish, no - not really," said Andrew in a nervous attempt at humour.

"I can't explain the physics behind it. I'm afraid I'm not at all technically minded. In fact, the scientists are still arguing about it, but I can give you the basic facts. Every living thing, please don't ask me to define a living thing because I can't - essentially it's animals, birds and fish, but not plants. Well, maybe a few plants, you know, those ones that move away if you poke them with a stick or shine a bright torch in their faces, not that they have faces of course - but you know what I mean ... Oh, where was I?" said Henry looking baffled.

"Every living thing," prompted Andrew.

"Ah yes, sorry, my mind tends to wander off track sometimes. It's probably senility creeping in, I'm getting on a bit, you know. My friends keep telling me I should retire, but I've been doing this for so long now, I really wouldn't know what to do with myself if I stopped. Of course I don't need the money any more, I managed to put a bit by over the eons. I've got enough to -"

"Eons?" said Andrew incredulously.

"Pardon?" said Henry.

"You said you put a bit by, over the eons."

"Well what of it? Everyone needs a little security for their old age. I don't see that there is any harm in that."

"No, no,  it was the word eons," said Andrew anxious not to cause offence.

"You have some personal dislike for the word?"

"No, not at all. It's just that it means ... well doesn't it mean, sort of, millions of years or something?" said Andrew, now unsure of exactly what it did mean.

"I don't know its actual numeric value. I usually use it to indicate long periods of time. But meanings change so quickly these days, it's hard to keep track of the colloquialisms. I suppose I should make an effort. You know," said Henry earnestly, "I can remember when boat used to mean a kind of vehicle for travelling across water, it used to just sort of float on the surface ... What do they call those things now?"

"Um, er, boats," said Andrew not sure how to break the disappointing news.

"Really! Amazing eh? So they just added an S on the end. It's cyclic, you know. An object starts out with one name, then, a couple of thousand years later, the same name comes round again. It's as if the word is intrinsically locked into the object. You mark my words, young man, in a couple of hundred years it'll be called a boat again."

"Uh, yes. You were saying about souls - every living thing ..." said Andrew trying to extricate himself from the confusion.

"Souls, yes. As you know every living thing, apart from some plants, has a soul. They're not all the same of course. As a general rule of thumb; the more intelligent the animal, the stronger the soul."

"Stronger?"

"Yes more potent. For instance; the soul of a ferret can run a small domestic refrigerator, whereas you need about four‑thousand cockroach souls to light a small torch."

"Excuse me, I'm not sure that I quite understand you," said Andrew diplomatically, in fact he was damn sure he didn't.

"Perhaps if you spent more time listening, and less time interrupting, you'd be able to grasp this simple concept," said Henry tetchily.

"Sorry, please go on."

"The soul is like a battery which provides the necessary spark for sentient life. The soul is liberated from the physical body at the moment of death, and tends to gravitate, if you'll excuse the pun, to the centre of the planet, where, it is believed, the energy of the soul is converted to heat. The soul, contrary to popular belief, is merely a form of energy, there is no trace of the body's personality. This energy can be harnessed to power a wide range of appliances."

Andrew became aware that Henry was reading his lines from a piece of paper which lay on the desk.

"The Confederation of Soul Traders, of which I am a member, have ruled that souls can be purchased from their current owners - the price to be agreed by both parties. Any un‑purchased souls shall be divided up between all licensed Soul Traders operating in the area."

"So what you're saying," began Andrew when he was convinced Henry had finished, "is that you and God are simply soul‑traders, and all that stuff about being evil is just bad publicity?"

"Exactly. You see what happens if you actually stop and listen?"

"So God isn't really a god?"

"Well, compared with you he is. He's got a lot of influential resources behind him."

"Influential resources?"

"Yes, you know, money."

"I see," said Andrew nodding knowingly.

"And now, before you have time to think of any more questions, I'll tell you my own story, in my own words," said Henry. He tossed the paper he had been reading to the other side of the desk. "Is that okay?"

"Fine," said Andrew settling back in his chair, in preparation for what, he felt sure, was going to be a long and rambling tale.

"It all started a long time ago, many eons," Henry paused and looked at Andrew to see if he would contest the use of the word, but Andrew just nodded. "Many eons ago I worked as a junior partner for one of the largest Soul Trading companies in the galaxy. I was a young man, itching to start my own company, and eager to earn my place in the Who's Who of the Soul Trading world. Prospects of promotion within the company were very poor, and I didn't have the capital to purchase my own stake in even the lowliest of charted planets. My parents were not rich and they had used up all their savings sending me to university. But one day I had, what at the time I thought was, a remarkable stroke of luck. A friend from university, who had subsequently joined the space corps, was home on leave. He phoned me up and suggested we meet for a drink. I was reticent at first, because since he had joined the corps he had become a thundering bore - you know how it is with these military types, once they start on about minimum deterrents and maximum strike force capabilities, well, there's just no stopping them. And are they interested in the finer points of soul purchase negotiations? Not in the slightest. Not that I have anything against the space corps. Oh no, they provide a lot of raw materials for members of my profession. So ... um ... oh yes. I met this fellow for a drink, he explained that he had been way out near the edge of the galaxy doing a spot of what they call Target Practice. It is more commonly referred to as Mindless Destruction or A Flagrant Waste of Tax‑Payers Money. The basic procedure, as I understand it, is to cruise into a deserted-looking solar system, broadcast a few 'Hello, anybody there?' messages, and, if nobody answers, they blow the place to pieces and go home satisfied."

"And if they do get an answer?" asked Andrew.

"Well it depends what the answer is. If the answer is Yes we're here, why don't you pop in for a coffee? or Nobody here but us chickens then the space corps contents itself with just destroying the planet nearest the sun - very spectacular I'm told -, as a show of strength. If, on the other hand, the answer is a burst of high energy laser beams, they - assuming they survive - withdraw to a safe distance and then blow the entire system to pieces. Then they award themselves a lot of medals, and return home as the saviours of civilization. This kind of thing can be very profitable for any passing Soul Prospectors, but is usually frowned upon by the intelligentsia. Still, boys will be boys; that's what I always say," Henry stopped talking and then with a puzzled look on his face asked, "any idea what I was talking about?"

"Yes, you'd met this guy for a drink."

"Quite so, he'd just got back from a highly unsuccessful mission, they had found an ideal non‑answering solar system, it had ten planets and loads of moons, which is much more than usual, so they were looking forward to plenty of satisfying devastation. They had just destroyed one, a fairly small one somewhere in the middle, when they suffered a complete weapon malfunction. The captain was furious, and of course blamed the crew. As punishment he shipped them all down to the only planet containing any life, and ordered them to wipe out all of the major life forms using only hand guns. Well, it turned out that the major life forms were huge creatures with practically no brain, so the only real danger was if one actually fell on you after you'd shot it. The general level of intelligence within the corps can be deduced from the fact that half of the crew were crushed to death. You can guess what my immediate thought was on hearing this story?"

"That all the souls of those dead creatures and spacemen would be up for grabs," said Andrew feeling proud of his reasoning.

"No, of course not, the souls would be miles below the surface before I got there - well out of reach. Think about it. There was a planet with an abundance of life forms -"

"Ah well, you didn't say that," said Andrew defensively.

"I should have thought it was obvious. Anyway, all these creatures were roaming around, no longer being stamped to death before they had a chance to rub two sticks together, with a whole ecological niche to fill. It was the perfect opportunity for intelligent life to flourish, and the perfect opportunity for yours truly to become rich. So I rushed over there, staked my claim and sat back to wait. Once the mammals appeared I knew I was really on to something. At first the souls were low quality but I was surviving on sheer turnover; everything was killing everything else. And then God, as he likes to be called, came along. He'd found a mistake in my original claim form and his lawyers wrangled an equal share for him."

"Bad luck," consoled Andrew. "So you were no longer the sole soul‑trader?"

"Well, it wasn't so bad. The humans were breeding like rabbits and  so, of course, were the rabbits. But, unlike the rabbits, the humans were an aggressive bunch; they had a very mean streak. I figured it wouldn't be too long before they started inventing weapons and killing each other off in large numbers - of course I never dreamt, in all my wildest dreams, that they would start dropping nuclear bombs on each other. Boy, were they profitable days! There was a period of thirty or forty years where the humans were falling over themselves to kill people. Even with two of us we couldn't process them all - had to let some of them go. Shame, really."

Henry paused and his face took on a thoughtful expression. "Sometimes when I think about it I can't help wondering whether it would have happened if God hadn't been around. Of course he arrived thousands of years before that, but you know how some people like to plan ahead. He was always very keen on this religious business, I thought it was just a hobby, but he invented more and more, of all different kinds. Before I knew it, I was being portrayed in all these theologies as a pretty unpleasant character. The funny thing was that there was a bit of a backlash and some people actually started worshiping me! But there weren't many."

"So you started losing a lot of souls?"

"Yes. I'm a simple man, I've never felt comfortable with publicity stunts or heavy advertising campaigns, so I became a specialist dealing in high quality souls. I would pick some highly intelligent individual, go and see them, explain the whole deal and then haggle over the price - usually they were happy with an improved sex life, or something like that. But some of them were hard to convince, having been brainwashed by a life‑time of religion. I managed to maintain a comfortable living, though. Then a couple of thousand years ago God had some friends over to stay, well I think they were friends I never really worked out their relationship, there was a guy called Jesus, his mother, and some other character whom I never saw. They provided some new blood for one of God's favourite religions, which was petering out at the time. They used some rather radical gimmicks - which I complained about to the Advertising Standards Board."

"With any success?"

"It's still under review. Recently, God introduced this new Dial‑The‑Almighty gimmick and his friends left in disgust. So now I'm reduced to picking up the odd immigrant who wanders through. Not much, but it keeps me entertained - gives me someone to talk to."

"You don't talk to God then?"

"I used to, but now he's never off the bloody phone."

"Maybe your friends are right. You must get very lonely here with no one to talk to; retirement isn't such a bad thing."

"But then what would happen to people like you?"

"How do you mean, like me?" said Andrew.

"People who don't want to sell their souls for a few hollow promises; people who want something more tangible. Now don't get me wrong, I am the first to admit that some people gain a lot by following God, it gives them a crutch to help them through the stresses and strains of life - it makes their personality weak and lazy but, what the hell, they're happy so why should I care?"

"That's very um ...  magnanimous of you," said Andrew in the hope that he had used the right word.

"Well perhaps," said Henry trying to be modest. "But it's time we got down to business. I have to tell you, in all honesty, that your soul is no more than average, tailor‑made for running a two door hatchback, but nothing bigger I'm afraid. So what's it to be? Fame? Fortune? Adventure? Sex? Or perhaps you'd like your character altered in some way? More confident? Less indecisive? Or maybe a physical improvement? Better looks? Bigger dick? Sorry, no I didn't mean that you needed one, just that you might like one."

"Well there's a lot to choose from."

"There certainly is, but you have to remember that you're just a hatchback, I couldn't give you any absolutes. So if you chose, for example, fortune, I couldn't afford to make you a millionaire, but I could give you enough for a nice house and a car."

"How can you offer me all that in exchange for powering a small car," said Andrew growing dubious of the deal.

"There are a number of factors of which you are, understandably, ignorant. In the centre of the galaxy, where most people live, life‑spans are much longer - millions of years in some cases, people aren't so willing to throw their lives away for a good cause or the thrill of a dangerous sport. There is a general preference for imported souls, people are squeamish about using their father's soul to run the lawn mower. It is, of course, foolish sentimentality - but the customer is always right. Consequently souls are very scarce, and so very expensive - but not as expensive as alternative forms of energy. The souls last forever, you know, provided they aren't over worked, so customers are happy to pay high prices. Admittedly I have a lot of overheads living all the way out here, but when the exchange rates are favourable; I make a profit," explained Henry. "Well, what do you think? Pick a category and I'll give you my best offer."

"Well Henry, there's so much to choose from, it's all a bit overwhelming, I think I should -"

"Go away and think about it?" cut in Henry, from the way he said it, it was clear that he had heard the same words a hundred times and knew that it meant 'thanks, but no thanks'.

"No, really, I am going to think about it," insisted Andrew.

"Well give me a call as soon as you've decided," said Henry, quite sure he would never hear from Andrew again.

"Wait," said Andrew, very excited, "I know what I want. I want Fred, my parrot, back!"

"Well I could certainly find you a nice parrot, a good talker too, you probably wouldn't be able to tell the difference. But -"

"But it wouldn't be him?" finished Andrew.

"No I'm afraid not."

"But you've got his soul and I could find his body - couldn't we just, sort of, put them back together again?"

"But the personality is gone, the personality is contained in a complex matrix of electrical charges which are stored in the brain, once the body has died these charges leak away into the surroundings, and with them go the memories and the character itself. If you'd like to keep his soul, for old time's sake, I may be able to fit it into a small electric toothbrush."

"No I don't think so," said Andrew quickly, appalled by the idea.

"No, I suppose it is somewhat tacky."

"Look I'm going to have to go away and think about all this," said Andrew apologetically. He stood up, shook hands with Henry, and left.

"Good luck," shouted Henry as Andrew shut the door.

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