The employee with the clipboard gestures irritably in the direction of a large door marked "Interviews"
"Go through the door to your right, marked 'Interviews' and proceed down the hallway to interview cubicle 3, which will be the second door on your right. Your caseworker will meet you there. Please do not wander about." He consults his clipboard.
"Oh, and don't interfere with anybody's free will. That's a violation of Al Amarjan law. Following your interview you are also required to register at the Center for Paranormal Control, located in Arms Barrio, the Edge, within five working days. Ask your caseworker for details."
Without waiting for a response the officer hurries off on some other business.
Michael watches the strange man walk away and wonders how he knows what Michael really is. As he turns towards the Interview area an even more disturbing thought pops into his head, as he realizes that not only does the guy know what he is, but he doesn't even seem to care. Without further thought, he heads to his interview.
Michael doesn't need to wait, because his briefing officer is already in the interview room when he arrives. A large, solid looking black woman wearing an purple kaftan which appears to be made out of silk, and a matching piece of headgear that adds at least a foot to her height. She is the spitting image of Marsha Warfield (a.k.a. Roz from "Night Court", or Principal Dowling from "Smart Guy".) Everything about her is absolutely regal and self assured. As Michael enters she raises one hand, adorned with rings, and gestures in the direction of the room's single chair.
"Sit yo' heavenly ass down, punk." she says dryly.
There's no doubt in Michael's mind...
...it's God.
Michael stares. He knew god liked to come to earth sometimes but this this just doesn't seem right. He takes the chair offered, sits down and can only manage one sentence out of his mouth. "Father, why are you here??"
God looks impassively back at Michael.
"Father? Father? What ARE you talkin' about? In case you ain't noticed there ain't no 'father' plumbing here." For emphasis God points to rather obvious (and generous) breasts.
"An' whatcho talkin' about with the 'why am I here' stuff? I am EVERYWHERE, remember? All seeing, all knowing, all powerful, all that stuff ring a bell?" God crosses her arms, leans back in her chair and looks at Michael. She shakes her head slowly.
"Mmmmm, mmmmm, mmmmm - you are a piece of work, Mike. More trouble than a passle of demons hopped up on speedballs and virgin's blood and spoilin' for a fight! Do you have ANY sort of idea of the trouble you're causing by runnin' off like this? The sort of hole you're making in the organizational structure? Raguel is all ready to bust out over rulership of the 4th heaven already, and he's got a claim. You keep up this act and you're going to be out of the archangel business, and back down in the mail room answering prayers from new age dupes who think they're in telepathic communion with beings from Pleides and watching 'Little House on the Prairie' reruns."
God leans over and drums on the desk, still regarding Michael.
"Just what are you trying to pull here? I already know the answer, but maybe you'd better tell me anyway just so you can hear it yourself."
Michael knew one day this was going to happen and all the pressure he is feeling, all his emotions just start to spew forth; he looks God right in the eye. "You know why I am here. Things cannot continue the way they have been and you know it. If anyone tries to take my power they will have to go through me. The 4th Heaven is in good hands, FATHER, and you know what I am doing is right, so let's just skip this crap and get down to business."
Michael feels an exhilaration rush through him as he stares at God
As Michael gets belligerent, God's face takes on that infinitely patient, unconditional love look so often seen on the faces of parents who's children are proving to be a bit unruly.
"That's my boy," she says. "Always going off half-cocked." She shakes her head sadly, pausing a moment before speaking.
"Really Michael, what makes you think that the 4th heaven is in any sort of hands at all? You plannin' on runnin' it like one of those two-bit New York absentee landlords you always getting so worked up about? Drop in every once in awhile, collect the rent, then head off to Barbados while the whole thing goes straight down the toilet? Uh-uh, no way, not gonna happen. You go walkin' out on your responsibilities there and someone gonna have to take over for you."
"As for business - MIKE - if you want to get down to it then thats fine with me." God flashes a smile, and taps the desk, where Michael's passport seems to have appeared. When Michael glances back up from the passport God is wearing a tan Al Amarja C&I uniform. She waves a hand and a typewriter appears on the desk next to the passport.
"Lets start off with the easy stuff. Bearing in mind that it is a felony to provide incorrect information to the Al Amarjan department of Customs and Immigration - which may result in criminal prosecution and/or deportation - AND a mortal sin to lie to God, which may result in y'all bein' cast out of the heavenly hierarchy, and also the condemnation of your nasty hide to eternal and unending damnation in the fiery pits of hell itself - please answer the following questions:"
"Number one: Purpose of visit?"
Time ticks by. God sits behind the desk, pen poised over her C&I form.
Michael says nothing.
Michael frowns but remains mute.
God puts down the pen. "Mike," she says, don't make this any harder than it already has to be. Maybe you think that your special because your a member of the heavenly host and a prince among angels and all that, but everyone entering the country HAS TO FILL OUT THE FORM." God punctuates each word by tapping the form on her desk with one finger.
Michael glances down at the form, back up at God. He sets his face, and squares his shoulders, but remains resolutely silent.
Looks at Michael, notes the frown, shrugs. She's seen it coming. She always sees it coming. One of the worst things about omniscience is that it is so hard to find anything really interesting. She picks up the form off the desk, crumples it, and tosses it over one shoulder, where it bursts into flame and is no more than a bit of ash by the time it hits the wastepaper basket.
God stands up. She puts her hands on her hips.
"All right, chump," she says, "If that's the way you want to play it, I can play it like that." She points one finger regally in Michael's direction. Her voice booms with heavenly authority as she speaks.
"By the powers vested in me, BY me, I hereby declare you, Michael, to be persona non grata in heaven, and do strip you of your heavenly titles, your rulership of the 4th heaven, your medical and dental benefits, and your health club membership. In short, y'all be ASS OUT, chump! Don't bother cleanin' out your desk, I'll have it sent to you. You want free will, you got it!"
Michael, startled, opens his mouth, but God holds up a hand to restrain him.
"Tha's right, you got free will. AN' you just pissed off the supreme ruler of the universe in the bargain. That qualifies you for an extra prize!"
God points at Michael again.
To Be Continued...