know, Son. It’s degrading. But I’m afraid that’s the way the Universe is. And I also have to visit the courts of Purpose, Illusion and Evil. And worst of all, every two or three millennia I find myself standing for at least a year or two in front of the Court of Ultimate Truth, pretending to be respectful, even though He’s the one God who has never been known to say a single word to any of us Others.’
‘But you control all those Phonies!’
‘Well, maybe. I think I control all those Phonies. But they seem to think, by Chance I assume, that They control Me. For Illusion I’m just another illusion; for Cause and Effect only a hidden cause; for Purpose I’m just a necessary antagonist or else an occasional servant of his boy Evolution. For some of the minor Gods like Didat, Littlebee and Jehova, I’m called miracle, and so on. I, of course, believe that each of them acts only under my own haphazard way.’
‘But it’s true, isn’t it?’ Whim asked, looking up hopefully at his Father.
‘Damned if I know,’ the Lord Chance replied with a puzzled frown. ‘The fact is that none of Us in here is too sure of Himself these days.’
‘But can’t we find out for sure?’
The Lord Chance frowned again and scratched his bald head.
‘Fact is, maybe there is a way.’
‘What is it, Father? I’ll do anything.’
‘Well, the only thing any of us Gods knows for certain is that the only One who knows for sure is Ultimate Truth.’
Whim looked bewildered.
‘But … but –’
‘I know, Son. Most of us Big Gods think old U.T. is the biggest Phony of Us all. He never does a damn thing except sit inside that big junky Palace of His and imply that He’s superior to the rest of Us. Purpose calls him old “Know-It-All” and Illusion calls him “The Big X”. For Me, He’s just “old U.T.”, another God on the make.’
‘But you think that only Ultimate Truth knows for sure which one of the Gods is actually Lord of Creation?’
‘That’s right. Or at least that’s what all Us Gods have believed for the last few billennia. But the trouble is no God can ever get an answer out of Ultimate Truth because old U.T. seems to make Himself available only to human beings, and then only to a very few.’
‘Human beings?’ echoed Whim incredulously. ‘But that’s ridiculous! Why, they –’
‘I know, it’s casting pearls before swine, as one of Jehova’s boys once said.’
‘But –’
‘And then the trouble is that the human beings who think they’ve met or seen Ultimate Truth disagree with each other about what they’ve seen. From in here We can’t tell which one of the damned little fellows actually has seen U.T. So we can’t be sure which one of Us is really the Lord of Creation.’
‘It all sounds so confusing and ridiculous,’ said Whim, shaking his head and looking gloomy.
‘Well, that’s Our Random Way, Son. Don’t knock it.’
‘But how can I possibly help?’ asked Whim, looking up again brightly at his Father.
‘You say you want to do something?’
‘Oh, yes!’
‘Well, Son, I think I can arrange it for you to be born into human form.’
‘Oh, no.’
‘And if, by Chance, you should happen to run into Ultimate Truth –’
‘We’d know!’ exclaimed Whim.
‘At last we’d know,’ sighed the Lord Chance softly, his eyes glowing.
‘I’ll do it,’ announced Whim. ‘I shall become a human being.’
‘Hold it, Son, hold it,’ Lord Chance said, smiling down at his Son’s enthusiasm. ‘You’re not going anywhere until I roll the Royal Cube and see what’s to be what.’
‘Yes, sir,’ Whim replied.
‘It’s one of the real glories of my Kingdom that even though I work always at random I still manage to hold my own with the other Big Gods. They can line up their every Act to try to thwart Me, while I can only shoot back sporadically, aiming randomly, and only haphazardly loading the gun.’
‘It’s Our Way, Father,’ said Whim proudly.
‘That’s right,’ said the Lord Chance, ‘and if You want to know, sometimes it’s a pain in the Royal Arse. However, we’ll have to roll the Royal Cube and see what will be what.’
‘And if I’m born a human being,’ said Whim dreamily, ‘I’ll find Ultimate Truth if it’s the last thing I do.’
‘No need to be dramatic,’ said the Lord Chance. ‘If You get to see old U.T. it’ll probably be by Accident.’
The two of them, Father and Son, then walked slowly to the Royal Bowling Alley, a short six billion miles away. Our Beloved Whim had often heard the awful thunder of one of the Royal Rolls but He’d never previously been invited to see one.
When at last they arrived Whim was surprised to see only a single long alley, beginning only four feet wide but widening outwards so that stare as He might Whim could see nothing but a vast sparkling horizon way off in the infinitely wide distance. It was simply a golden track expanding into infinity. Whim could see no Royal Cube at all.
‘Now, you stand here, Son,’ said the Lord Chance. ‘And don’t get edgy about what I do. Rolling the Royal Cube is tricky and a bit spectacular, but it’ll come out all right in the end. Has so far, anyway, though far be it from Me to predict that it’ll be the same today.’
He then moved forwards and took the bowler’s crouch at the back on the lane, squinting down the infinite alley. Although His Right Hand was empty, His Aged Fingers flexed and unflexed as if He were preparing for something quite strenuous. As Our Beloved Whim watched, the Lord Chance at last strode forwards, and in an instant was Himself tumbling Head over Heels down the alley.
Whim was stunned. His aged Father was bouncing and somersaulting into the distance like an epileptic tumbler, his Form becoming more and more cube-like as He bounced until, by the time He was five miles away, He was a fairly regular Die. And the Lord Chance or the Cube, or whatever It was, was expanding and somehow seemed to be returning towards Whim. The further It went, and the faster It flew away, the bigger It grew, until almost all of space began to be filled with this gigantic hurtling Cube and then:
It exploded. The Cube disintegrated into a zillion fragments, each the size of a square house, scattering down the Royal Bowling Alley, the noise of the tumbling like a million earthly thunderstorms. On and on they tumbled and rumbled (they were gigantic dice, Whim realized), until million by million they disappeared into the infinite distance, and space was empty.
Whim was dismayed, it not being
