Read Online What in God's Name: A Novel by Simon Rich - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Simon Rich
Ads: Link
messily across the island’s southern tip. Then came cobblestone streets, cutting through the forest like a pack of silver snakes, eating all the trees in their path.
“Can we go faster?”
Brian clicked the ×500 icon, and a grid of roads cut brutally through the forest, followed by a smattering of farmhouses. The blur of horses swelled—then vanished—replaced by a smudge of cars. Downtown the city rose, then burned, then rose again—this time in steel and glass. Planes popped suddenly into the frame, clogging the sky, obscuring the view. And then the action suddenly came to a stop. They’d reached the present moment.
“Look at all the people,” Eliza whispered, zooming in on Times Square. “I mean, honestly…there’s no way to help them all.”
Brian laughed. “Don’t worry,” he said. “They never know the difference.”
“And then we watched the Titanic go down!” Eliza told Craig breathlessly. “There was this Irish guy—he was dressed up as a woman. And when they confronted him on the lifeboat, he spoke in this crazy high-pitched voice, like, ‘Oh, heavens! I’m just a wee lady!’”
Craig nodded. “I’ve seen that.”
“You know the band didn’t actually ‘play on,’ like people say. They pretty much just screamed and panicked like everyone else. Two of them tried to dress up as women, but they couldn’t find bonnets. Then we watched Oscar Wilde die! Get this: they say his last words were ‘Either this wallpaper goes or I do’—but actually he said, ‘I need more morphine and someone needs to wash my ass.’ Not so witty, huh? What else…oh! Helen of Troy wasn’t really that pretty. And Paul Revere never warned anyone about the British! He just told people that’s where he was going, because he was too afraid to stick around and fight!”
She noticed that Craig was ignoring her.
“Craig? What’s wrong?”
He shrugged. “Nothing.”
“You sure?”
“I’m fine.”
He turned on his computer and stared in silence at the load screen.
“You know…it’s not always a great idea to watch stuff like that on the Server.”
She saluted sarcastically. “I know, I know. ‘Research only.’”
“It’s not that,” he said, his eyes still on the screen. “It’s just…”
He faced her. “It’ll make you feel bad, you know? It’ll make you cynical.”
Eliza noticed with shock that Craig’s eyes were a bit shiny, almost like he was trying to hold back tears.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I shouldn’t have talked about it so much.”
Craig forced a laugh, embarrassed. “It’s fine!” he said. “No big deal! I’m just exhausted, you know…I’m just tired.”
He dragged a sleeve roughly across his face. “What do you say we get to work?”
Eliza smiled softly at him. “That sounds great, Craig.”
Computers in the Miracles Department came equipped with several powerful search engines. There was Omnex, which allowed Angels to locate specific humans. There was RoomScanner, which allowed them to find missing objects. There was Hydrosearch for drinking wells and Gushspot for oil and Google for news. But Craig’s favorite tool by far was ComCheck.
ComCheck—short for “compatibility check”—was an impressive piece of computer engineering. By measuring thousands of key variables, it calculated with perfect certainty how happy two people would make each other over the course of their lifetimes. “Never try to link two humans,” the manual warned, “unless you’ve run ComCheck first.”
“It’s no wonder they’re in love,” Craig said. “Look.”
He typed Sam’s and Laura’s names into the computer, pressed F4, and waited for the results to tabulate. When the numbers came in, Eliza whistled with excitement. Compatibility scores ranged from 0 (“inevitable murder-suicide”) to 100 (“guaranteed bliss”). Sam and Laura scored 96. They had identical senses of humor and the same taste in furniture. They shared a fondness for
“Can we go faster?”
Brian clicked the ×500 icon, and a grid of roads cut brutally through the forest, followed by a smattering of farmhouses. The blur of horses swelled—then vanished—replaced by a smudge of cars. Downtown the city rose, then burned, then rose again—this time in steel and glass. Planes popped suddenly into the frame, clogging the sky, obscuring the view. And then the action suddenly came to a stop. They’d reached the present moment.
“Look at all the people,” Eliza whispered, zooming in on Times Square. “I mean, honestly…there’s no way to help them all.”
Brian laughed. “Don’t worry,” he said. “They never know the difference.”
“And then we watched the Titanic go down!” Eliza told Craig breathlessly. “There was this Irish guy—he was dressed up as a woman. And when they confronted him on the lifeboat, he spoke in this crazy high-pitched voice, like, ‘Oh, heavens! I’m just a wee lady!’”
Craig nodded. “I’ve seen that.”
“You know the band didn’t actually ‘play on,’ like people say. They pretty much just screamed and panicked like everyone else. Two of them tried to dress up as women, but they couldn’t find bonnets. Then we watched Oscar Wilde die! Get this: they say his last words were ‘Either this wallpaper goes or I do’—but actually he said, ‘I need more morphine and someone needs to wash my ass.’ Not so witty, huh? What else…oh! Helen of Troy wasn’t really that pretty. And Paul Revere never warned anyone about the British! He just told people that’s where he was going, because he was too afraid to stick around and fight!”
She noticed that Craig was ignoring her.
“Craig? What’s wrong?”
He shrugged. “Nothing.”
“You sure?”
“I’m fine.”
He turned on his computer and stared in silence at the load screen.
“You know…it’s not always a great idea to watch stuff like that on the Server.”
She saluted sarcastically. “I know, I know. ‘Research only.’”
“It’s not that,” he said, his eyes still on the screen. “It’s just…”
He faced her. “It’ll make you feel bad, you know? It’ll make you cynical.”
Eliza noticed with shock that Craig’s eyes were a bit shiny, almost like he was trying to hold back tears.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I shouldn’t have talked about it so much.”
Craig forced a laugh, embarrassed. “It’s fine!” he said. “No big deal! I’m just exhausted, you know…I’m just tired.”
He dragged a sleeve roughly across his face. “What do you say we get to work?”
Eliza smiled softly at him. “That sounds great, Craig.”
Computers in the Miracles Department came equipped with several powerful search engines. There was Omnex, which allowed Angels to locate specific humans. There was RoomScanner, which allowed them to find missing objects. There was Hydrosearch for drinking wells and Gushspot for oil and Google for news. But Craig’s favorite tool by far was ComCheck.
ComCheck—short for “compatibility check”—was an impressive piece of computer engineering. By measuring thousands of key variables, it calculated with perfect certainty how happy two people would make each other over the course of their lifetimes. “Never try to link two humans,” the manual warned, “unless you’ve run ComCheck first.”
“It’s no wonder they’re in love,” Craig said. “Look.”
He typed Sam’s and Laura’s names into the computer, pressed F4, and waited for the results to tabulate. When the numbers came in, Eliza whistled with excitement. Compatibility scores ranged from 0 (“inevitable murder-suicide”) to 100 (“guaranteed bliss”). Sam and Laura scored 96. They had identical senses of humor and the same taste in furniture. They shared a fondness for
Similar Books
