"Understand that my people had lived a satisfying, happy exist­ence before the Europeans came with their guns and missionaries. They told us that the reason we were denied sophisticated technol­ogy was that we were descended from Ham. Ham, as you may re­call, was Noah's son, and after the flood he laughed at his father's drunken nakedness. I'm not terribly familiar with Judeo-Christian myth patterns, but I believe that Ham... no, it was Ham's son Canaan, was cursed to be a ‘servant of servants' unto his brethren. Well, being evil and natural slaves and all that, we weren't fit to have the secret of Cargo, were we? So my people tried to conform themselves to the dictates of the Church, and we helped the Europeans build roads and plantations, and we du­tifully marched off to war.

"I was one of those who fought. I died in the jungle, and be­cause I was a brave and virtuous man, I went to Heaven. Here I learned that God-not my God, nor your God, but God none­theless-had always intended that we receive our share of Cargo, and that the Europeans had been diverting our goods for their own purposes."

Leigh asked, "And why didn't the Almighty put a stop to it?" Yali smiled benevolently. "Because in his infinite wisdom, He perceived that this was merely a skirmish between people of different cultures, and that in time all inequities would be rectified.

And indeed this is happening now. My people have learned the Cargo secret and are using it for their own enrichment. I, due to my familiarity with both New Guinea and the European-"

Acacia interrupted. "Where did you get your knowledge of Eu­ropeans?"

an excellent question. Basic training for my army unit was carried out in Australia. There I was appointed Area Manager and given substantial training, including a thorough course in gram­mar. God, as you may have heard, has little patience for slang, colloquialism, or Pidgin English. Naturally, as soon as the politi­cal situation in Melanesia is back to normal, the natives will be able to address me in their own tongues. For the sake of con­tinuity, however, it is now convenient to take messages in English. Paper work, you know. We're swamped with it."

Griffin asked, "Heaven doesn't have computers?"

"No." Yali moved up to the wall map and fingered a switch. "Have you been wondering just where we are? After all, theolo­gians have debated for centuries over the exact location of Heaven. Some have said that Heaven can be found beyond the stars. Some say it exists in the heart of Man, and others claim that it does not exist at all, that God is dead, or at least unemployed."

Griffin stifled his laugh. "But you know otherwise?"

"Absolutely." The ffick of a switch turned the wall map trans­parent. "And it is my pleasure to reveal to you the true location of the Hereafter." Beyond the transparent wall was a vast white cloud deck. A hundred meters out, a hole punctured the fluffy white. The hole was about twenty meters in diameter, and ladders rose from beneath, resting against the edges. Light- and dark-skinned angels climbed up and down, carrying packages.

"Heaven is situated directly above Sydney, Australia. Naturally this opening is not visible to the inhabitants of the city. We some­times sub-contract with Australian manufacturers to create Cargo for us. Some of our angels are presently exchanging goods with a jewelry company which is building a golden throne."

Acacia raised one lovely eyebrow. "Is this for Him?"

"Oh, no. It's for me. I asked Him if He'd like one Himself, and He said that it was just about the ultimate in kitsch." You flipped the switch and the picture-window became a map again.

"But I'm sure that we have more interesting things to speak of. Matters of life and death. Philosophical things. For instance, can

any of you tell me what a dozen rubber trees with thirty boughs on each might be?"

At first Griffin didn't understand; then he felt the sudden ten­sion in his companions. It had begun.

Oliver looked at the other four Garners as if checking to assure his right to answer. He cleared his throat. "That would be the months of the year."

"Quite right, young sir. And have you a question for me?"

Oliver considered. "Yes, I think so. It's in the form of a rhyme:

As I went over London Bridge

I met my sister Jenny

I broke her neck and drank her blood

And left her standing empty."

The stout warrior looked at Yak challengingly. "Tell me, who was my sister?"

Yali rolled his eyes to the ceiling. "Such a fine meal you've just enjoyed. Would any of you care to share a bottle of wine with me?" He grinned maliciously at Oliver. "Rest assured that it won't be the same bottle our friend drank atop that famous bridge."

Oliver looked only slightly chagrined. "Close enough. Jenny equals gin, not wine."

"Ah... quite." Yali pulled a chair up and sat carefully, cross­ing one leg over the other with exaggerated care. "It is said among my people that some things are improved by death. Tell me, what stinks while living, but in death, smells good?"

Griffin's mind raced as he tried to come up with an answer.

"Oh, come now. Surely such clever minds as yours won't find this too consuming a problem." Yali smiled smugly.

Leigh raised a tentative finger. "Ambergris. From whales. They stink while they're alive, but when they're dead, you can make perfume from the ambergris."

YaM seemed delighted. "Very clever. Very clever indeed. Un­fortunately we simple island folk rarely traffic in expensive per­fumes. The proper answer is: the pig. I believe that you people were treated to one of the succulent creatures two days ago? Such a delicious aroma when roasted. But perhaps you feel I was un­fair. Would you care to ask me a question in return?"

The sorcerer thought hard for a minute, then said, "All right. Riddle me this: what goes through the door without pinching it­self? What sits on the stove without burning itself? What sits on

the table and is not ashamed?" He said it all in one breath, and as he waited for his reply he panted slightly.

"Excellent. Let me think..." Yali scratched his ear. His eyes slid shut. Was he getting hints from Lopez? Griffin didn't want to believe it.

Yali's eyes flew open, and his mouth formed an "Aha!" oval. "Could it be the sun? Yes, I rather thought it might." His eyes rested with gentle malice on Alan Leigh, who squirmed uncom­fortably. "We may have further business later, you and I. Now

who is next?"

Acacia glared at him. "Let's hear it, Yali."

"So eager. Let me think... what have we for the headstrong young lady? Ah, I know. What work is it that, the faster you work, the longer it is before you're done, and the slower you work, the sooner you're finished?"

The laughter in Yali's face was totally unreflected in Acacia's. She beetled her brows and twisted a curl of dark hair around and around on a forefinger.

"Miss Garcia, I'm afraid I must insist on an answer."

"Ah... weaving a basket? The f-faster you do it, the more mistakes you nuike, and the more likely you are to have to redo it...

"Such inventive minds we have here today. No, I'm afraid that the correct answer is ‘roasting meat on a spit'. Don't you see, the faster you turn it, the slower the meat cooks. And of course, the slower you turn it, the faster it cooks. Isn't that just a corker?"

"A corker." Acacia's eyes were half-lidded, and there was an umber flush to her cheeks. Alex could almost smell the sulphur bubbling in her words. "All right, ‘Yali', try this one.

Whilst I was engaged in sitting

I spied the dead carrying the living."

She tossed her dark hair back with a flip of her head. "What did I see?"