God pulled on a tennis shoe, seeming not to listen as Honorial went through the details of Hellish cheating he'd uncovered. "As humans have been leaving the state, the Hellraised Fallen and the devils who were sufficiently high ranking to be able to change their appearances and who were already in the state have been assuming their identities. This has had the effect of fooling our data collection program into thinking the population steady, and allowing Lucifer to send in new Hellraised. The number of Hellraised operating in North Carolina is now far above one percent of the state's total human population."
When the Chief of Data Processing finished his report, God said, "We had to expect that. They're the damned, after all. Expecting them to play by the rules would be expecting the impossible."
"Well, yes . . ." Honorial wasn't hearing the outrage he'd hoped for. "That's what they are . . . but they should have to be held accountable for their actions. Shouldn't they?"
God glanced up at him with a curious expression on his face, one that gave Honorial shivers. "They're condemned to Hell, Honorial. They're damned. If they don't repent, they're damned for eternity. Just what sort of further punishment did you have in mind? How much more accountable can I make them?"
"So are you going to banish them all back to Hell?"
"That's your recommendation?" God pulled on the other tennis shoe.
Honorial nodded. "Yes, Glorious Almighty."
"I see." God was still giving him that intense look. "Even though we're still getting repenters from among the Hellraised as well as human souls that previously were heading toward damnation, you feel that this infraction is serious enough to warrant an end to the experiment."
"Well . . . yes. Our percentage of North Carolinian human repenters is falling."
"Might that be due to the overall decrease in the human population in the state?"
Honorial winced. He hadn't considered that possibility. "It might."
"Until this experiment started, how many years had it been since we had a repenting fallen angel?"
"I . . . don't believe we've ever had one."
"You're mistaken. We had one. One, and that was six thousand four hundred thirty-two years ago. Earth time. Somewhat before your stint as recording angel began. How many have we had since the experiment started?"
"Twelve."
"Twelve. In eight months. And a couple who are in the middle, trying to work things out. Including, lest you forget, Hell's previous second-in-command. And what about the damnedsouls in all their variety?"
"Repenters?"
God nodded.
"More than a million in the last eight months."
"That's up, isn't it?"
"A little."
"A lot." God raised an eyebrow. "Any changes in the mix?"
"The mix?"
"The percentage of low-ranking to high-ranking damned."
"Oh." Honorial said, "Low-ranking repenters have remained steady. Higher-ranking repenters are trending upward."
"Why?"
Honorial hated that question. "I'm not sure."
"Think it might have anything to do with my experiment?"
Honorial nodded. "But . . . Your Gloriousness . . . they're cheating. And if you allow them to get away with it, they'll find other ways to cheat."
God said slowly, "There has never been a time, Honorial, when individuals didn't matter more to me than rules. And I have not, at this late date, had a change of heart." He stood and tucked his T-shirt into his running shorts and brushed a hand across his face. When he did, his beard disappeared. He ran his fingers through his hair and suddenly it was short and neatly trimmed. The glow that always surrounded his face when he was in Heaven vanished. "If that's all, I'm going to go running for a while."
Honorial realized he was about to lose his audience. "If you're going to leave the Hellraised in North Carolina, and if you're going to let them cheat, why don't you at least help out your human children—"
God held up a hand and Honorial stopped. "I don't intervene directly with my children's lives. I don't meddle."
"You could do so much for them, though."
"I could do everything for them," God said softly. "And if I did everything for them, they'd turn into a bunch of whining, sniveling, spoiled monsters; they would have no backbone, no conscience, no morality, no compassion. Souls don't grow in easy times, Honorial. In easy times, they rest. Only when they're challenged with grief and pain and fear and suffering do souls stretch out and reach their potential." He paused, and stared down at his shoes. "Or fail. But my children must be permitted their failures, too."
Honorial watched God walk away. "You already knew what I was going to tell you, didn't you?"
"Yes."
"Why did you wait for me to tell you, then?"
God turned back for just an instant and looked at him. "Sometimes I hope to see signs of growth in my children here, too."
Honorial felt a knot growing inside, and the feeling began to form in him, as he watched God leave, that he had somehow disappointed Him. That God had expected better of him than what He got. He closed his eyes, feeling the unfamiliar heat of shame burning in his cheeks, and was not even sure why he felt it.