Screwtape The Third: The Saint

“Master Screwtape, sir?”

“Ah, Wormsap. Come in, come in. Sit here, in the sofa by the picture window, and watch the lava lamp with me.”

“Diabolical, sir. A lava lamp seventeen stories high, with real lava.”

“And it heats several thousand units of our accommodations without our having to do anything but collect the profits. Of course, we charge extra for the spatter. Can’t miss an opportunity, no matter how small, to remind our clients of the value of their investment in the Hadean Estates, now can we?”

“Um, no, sir.”

“Right, right, you said we had a problem we needed to discuss. Let’s get to it. Fire, ice, or brimstone supplies?”

“None of those, sir.”

“Surely you’re not reporting to me that you’re having any difficulties getting our clients to conform to our rules and regulations?”

“No, sir.”

“Right answer. So what does bring you to the corner office?”

“Sir … we have an intruder.”

“A what?”

“An intruder, sir. A saint has gained entry.”

“A saint?! This is a gated community, Wormsap! How did it get past your guardians?”

“‘He’, sir. It was a helicopter accident.”

“The injection method? Again?! ‘Accident’ my left hoof. The Adversary will stop at nothing, Wormsap. Nothing! I thought you took countermeasures!”

“An attempt was made to patch the security hole, yes, sir. But it is the technology we sold to the TSA, topside. There are issues.”

“You can say that again.”

“Very well, sir. There are …”

“Stop! Where is he now?”

“In third-degree quarantine. Isolation chamber in sector EV, watched over 24/7 by our toughest, and deafest, hobgoblins. But it won’t last for long. It’s already getting decidedly (sigh) heavenly in there. We fear a breakout.”

“Well, take steps to neutralize him then! Surely there’s something in his record that will get him to cast aside the Adversary’s delusions and interest him in one of our properties. A kicked puppy, a bad word to his mother, something! You were in sales, you know the methods. Maybe, even now, we can make him one of our agents instead! Take that, Jahwacko!”

“We’re doing all we can, sir. But you yourself induced this Gates fellow, in sector RED topside, to inflict the database software we use here, first on our subregion, and then on the whole world. Anytime we execute a search powerful enough to dig up what we need, the system hangs or crashes.”

“Expel him, then!”

“Impermissible violation of the laws of metaphysics. Not to mention treaty obligations. All hell would break loose if we tried it.”

“And I don’t want him three-day rampaging through here like that Jeshawhosis did in the Middle Eastern subregion. Look at all the work they had to do to bring that territory back into line. And the time! Two thousand years! Oh, bless it! We’ll have to open a negotiating channel with the Enemy. Grandfather knows more than he wishes to about damage control. Still, though, he will not be pleased.”

“Especially not with Printphubar breathing down his neck.”

“And what do you know about Printphubar?”

“Um, only scuttlebutt, sir. He is, after all, head of a subregion that’s a lot more crowded than this one, and everyone knows he’s desperate for space …”

“Well, the inkjets aren’t the only things that are fubar in the East Asia subregion. His Sublime Lowness Mr. P. expands into this market over my dead … oh, never mind. Pass the word requesting an emergency session of H.E.L.L.’s Board. Let’s get this over with.”