Transport

'Never, in the history of humankind, has there been such needless and unnoticed death on this kind of scale.' Peter said this as he lounged on a luxurious black leather sofa, in a plain white room, watching a screen which took up the entire surface of one of the walls.
'Mmm,' said John, as he floated approximately two metres above Peter, supping a large vodka martini and reading Fleming's For Your Eyes Only.
On the screen, a scene unfolded: a man in a suite, carrying a briefcase, entered what appeared to be an adapted twenty-first century phone booth.
'Look at him,' said Peter; 'poor hapless fool.'
The man in the suit got out a card and swiped it across a reader.
'Totally oblivious,' said Peter.
The man tapped in a few numbers on a small keypad... then disappeared.
Peter shook his head in despair. 'Here comes another one,' he said.
John looked up from his book, as the scene cut to another, virtually identical phone booth, into which the suited man re-materialised.
Peter tutted.
The man with the briefcase then exited the second booth, stood aside and smiled as a pretty young girl with a dog entered the booth, then went on his way.
'Lambs to the slaughter,' said Peter.
John rolled his eyes, closed his book and floated into Peter's line of vision. 'But what can we do?' he said. 'You know there's nothing we can do.'
'Isn't there?' said Peter.
'Of course not,' said John. 'There are Rules about this sort of thing.'
'But this is unprecedented! Surely The Rules can't have accounted for this sort of thing.'
'The Rules are The Rules. They apply in every possible circumstance.'
'But they are totally unaware of what's going on. They are utterly oblivious to the slaughter.'
'Yes, you have mentioned--'
'Slaughter, John! Like the world has never seen! And no one even knows it's happening!'
'Well...'
'Alright, no one living.'
'So what do you suggest we do, Peter?'
'Speak to The Boss. Let Him know we're not happy.'
'Hmm... right... I don't suppose anyone's ever tried that before.'
'John...'
'What makes you think He'll listen to us, a couple of nobodies from twenty-first century Earth?'
'But we've got to try!'
John raised his eyebrows. He sipped his cocktail.
Peter sent him a psychic jolt of imploring.
'Ow!' said John.
'Sorry,' said Peter.
'Watch what you're doing with those things,' said John.
Peter and John exchanged a look.
'Okay...' said John, his aura emanating waves of I'm-gonna-regret-this. 'But don't blame me if He condemns us to The Pit of Eternal Damnation.'
'I don't think He does that stuff anymore,' said Peter.
'Wanna bet?' said John?

* * *

Thankfully it wasn't that difficult to make an appointment with The Boss. His diary was pretty empty. What with Him being omnipresent and all.
The Boss didn't have to speak. He just projected impatient inquisitiveness through his opaque shades, across the vast green baize-covered desk and directly into the fearful souls of his subjects.
'It's...' said Peter, as he squirmed on the slightly uncomfortable swivel-chair.
John just sat there.
Peter indicated towards John.
John indicated back.
Peter swallowed, nervously coughed, looked back in the vague direction of The Boss, then said...
'The teleportation... erm, thing... Sir.'
The Boss said nothing, while Peter sweated.
(why am I sweating? thought Peter; I'm an incorporeal entity)
(latent sentient memories, thought John)
(of course - thank you)
(no problem)
'WHEN,' said a voice which reverberated through every incorporeal molecule in the room and a thousand parsecs beyond, 'YOU'VE FINISHED CHATTING AMONGST YOURSELVES!'
Peter and John gulped, gasped, then redirected their attention to the green baize.
'That's better,' said The Boss, in a slightly (but only slightly) less intimidating timbre. 'Now...' he continued; 'the teleportation... "thing"... you say...'
'Yes,' said Peter, in a small, squeaky, rodent-like voice. 'It just doesn't seem... fair somehow.'
'Fair?' said The Boss. 'Whoever said The Universe was fair?'
'But Sir,' said Peter, finding his voice a little now; 'they are totally... erm...'
' "Oblivious",' suggested John.
'Yes, oblivious... to what's going on.'
'Humanity makes its choices,' said The Boss; 'then lives with the consequences. That is Free Will.'
'But that's the whole point!' said Peter. 'They are not living! Every time someone teleports, they - their original soul - dies! Only their physical body is re-formed!'
'I am perfectly aware of what's going on,' said The Boss.
'But--'
'Do you not think I do not know every little thing you people have ever done and ever will do? This is the way of things. This is Life.'
'But they're all dying...!!'
'And then learning their lessons here, with Me, in what you call "Heaven".'
'B--'
'Return now.'

* * *

Peter and John found themselves back in the white room. More people were entering and exiting the booths on the screen.
'The Universe is filling with souls,' said Peter.
'The Universe is pretty big,' said John.
'That's not the point,' said Peter.
Peter and John looked at the screen.
'Why don't you turn this thing off?' said John. 'It's only depressing you.'
Peter waved a hand in front of him. The opening titles to Full Metal Jacket started to roll up the screen.
'At least He didn't condemn us to The Pit of Eternal Damnation,' said Peter.
'There is that,' said John.
They both settled down to watch the film.

[ the end ]