Suddenly a small man in slightly iridescent blue suit burst through one of the doors. "Come then," he said in a hurried tone. "No time to waste. We need you on the floor, ay-sap!"

Christine opened her mouth only to find she had nothing whatever to say, so she closed it again.

The man clutched her wrist and dragged her back through the door through which he had arrived. Christine went along, not knowing what else to do.

"You'll start small," the man said. "Cheating on biology exams, that sort of thing. It's a lousy job, but everybody has to start somewhere. Come on, let's go."

Christine followed the man helplessly as he led her through several doors, and then through a maze of cubicles populated with pale, desperate-looking people staring blearily at computer screens and speaking into headset microphones. She tried to make out what they were saying, but their voices blended into a senseless buzz about her. There were no windows or doors that seemed to go anywhere other than more cubicle s.p.a.ce. Christine got the sickening feeling that this entire plane was nothing but one gigantic cubicle farm.

"Excuse me," Christine shouted at the man's back. "I'm not sure I'm who you're expecting. I was just looking for..."

But he clearly wasn't listening, and Christine was out of breath from half-sprinting after him. They turned left, then right, then left again, negotiating an apparently random course through the cubicle labyrinth. By the time Christine decided she had had enough, she was hopelessly lost. Perhaps she could ask one of the desperate souls in one of the cubicles she was pa.s.sing for help, but they didn't look terribly helpful.

The man stopped so abruptly that Christine nearly ran into him.

"Here is your cube," he announced. "Number 21482."

It was a dreary, barren little s.p.a.ce, adorned only with a headset, an old-fashioned monochrome monitor and well-worn keyboard. There was a beep, and a block of text appeared on the monitor. The characters were completely foreign to Christine.

"Go ahead," instructed the man. "Make the call."

"What?" Christine asked.

"Just follow the script," he said. "Twenty-six-year old woman on the verge of stealing a blouse. She's already told the attendant that she has five items, when in fact she has six. All she needs to do is tuck it into her purse. Put the d.a.m.n headset on!"

"I'm sorry," Christine said. "I think there's been a misunderstanding. I went through that portal thinking that...."

The monitor beeped again, and another line of text appeared.

"Oh, good grief," the man said. "Well, we've lost her. She put the blouse back. I hope this isn't indicative of your capabilities. The agency said you had six hundred years of experience in corrupting mortals."

"Look," said Christine. "I wasn't sent by any agency. I'm not interested in doing this, whatever this is. I'm just trying to find the portal that will take me home."

The man's face paled, which was saying something, because it was pretty pale to start out with. He glanced about nervously.

"What did you say?"

"I'm looking for a portal."

He eyed her suspiciously. "A portal to where?"

"To Earth. That is, the Mundane Plane. Glendale, California, to be specific."

A look of complicit understanding came over the man's face.

"I apologize," the man said. "I didn't know you were one of them them. I was told your people weren't going to start arriving until later in the day."

"Yes, well," Christine said, trying to decide if this new misunderstanding was preferable to the last. "Yes, well, they sent me ahead, you know, to check things out."

"Of course, of course," the man said, suddenly very accommodating. "We were expecting a new recruit in Petty Corruption, so I a.s.sumed..."

"Yes, well," Christine said again, trying to strike an air of impatient disdain. "So I suppose you'll be taking me to..."

"Right!" said the man. "You'll want to see the munitions, of course. And the portal. Oh my, I've forgotten to introduce myself. I'm Nybbas. I manage the Floor."

"The Floor?" Christine asked.

"The Corruption Floor," said Nybbas. "We generally just refer to it as the Floor. This is where the magic happens. Most of the corruption in the universe starts right here. A few choice words whispered in the right ear at the right time... we've been at it for nearly ten thousand years. As you can see, we've gone high-tech over the past few years."

Nybbas smiled broadly, surveying the endless expanse of demons clacking away in the green glow of their decidedly low-tech twelve-inch monitors.

"But we've never seen anything as exciting as this this, of course. Who would have imagined that...." His voice grew hushed. "That Lucifer would use this this place as his base of operations for the Apocalypse. Speaking of which, let's get you over to see Malphas. You'll want to make certain that the munitions are ready, I'm sure." place as his base of operations for the Apocalypse. Speaking of which, let's get you over to see Malphas. You'll want to make certain that the munitions are ready, I'm sure."

"Oh," said Christine, "Ah, yes. The munitions."

"That's what I thought," said Nybbas. "Right this way."

And with that, he was off again.

"What did you say your name was?" he shouted over his shoulder.

"I'm Chris..." she started, then realized that Christine Christine was probably a very unlikely name for a demon. "...pix," she finished. was probably a very unlikely name for a demon. "...pix," she finished.

Nybbas stopped suddenly again, and turned to peer at Christine. "Did you say Crispix Crispix?"

"Er," Christine said, wishing she had eaten something more ominous-sounding for breakfast. "Yes, Crispix. I'm a demon."

"Not the the Crispix?" Crispix?"

"Er, yes. The very same."

"Well, then this truly is an honor. It makes perfect sense that Lucifer would send someone of your rank, of course. I see you've dropped the horns. And the flaming sword."

"Yes," said Christine. "I'm trying to keep a lower profile these days. It's hard to stay incognito incognito when you're carrying around a flaming sword." when you're carrying around a flaming sword."

"Tell me about it," said Nybbas. And he turned and led Christine back through the cubicle maze.

They walked for what must have been close to a mile through a series of hallways punctuated by ma.s.sive low-ceilinged cubicle farms lit by oppressive flickering fluorescent lights.

"Quite the operation you have here," observed Christine.

"Nine hundred thousand Corruption Representatives," said Nybbas proudly. "The result of an eight-hundred-year job retraining program. Most of these CRs were performing unskilled demonic activity only a few centuries ago," he said, gesturing broadly. "And now look at them!"

Christine glanced about at the fearful, pasty-faced creatures populating the cubicles all around her.

"You there!" said Nybbas, stopping in front of a fleshy, pallid-skinned demon. "What did you do before you started working here?"

The man glanced painfully up at Christine. "Routine possession. I once caused a villager to bite the head off a live rat. They burned him at the stake. Horrifically painful. And yet, still better than..."

"You see?" said Nybbas. "There are thousands of success stories just like that one. But enough of my bragging. No time to waste."

Eventually he led Christine to a ma.s.sive steel door which, after Nybbas had punched a combination into a keypad, opened to reveal a s.p.a.cious, dimly lit warehouse. He led her past steel shelves piled high with dusty crates and boxes until they reached a cluttered desk in the midst of the voluminous room. Seated at the desk, with his back to Nybbas and Christine, was a heavyset man in gray overalls. Christine thought there was something vaguely familiar about him.

"Malphas?" said Nybbas gingerly. "There is someone here to see you."

The gray mountain of a man that was Malphas turned to face them, a surly look upon his face. "You!" he said, as his eyes met Christine's.

Christine knew him instantly, even without the jumpsuit.

"Don?" she said. "Aren't you... Don, from Don's Discount Flooring?"

TWENTY-FOUR.

"You should call for a pizza," Karl said again. "I'm friggin' starved."

"," replied Harry. They were now only a few blocks from his house, and his patience with Karl was wearing thin.

"So what's this thing we have to go to? Some kind of convention? Do I have to sign autographs? I hate signing autographs."

"It's a Covenant Holders conference. You've heard of the Covenant Holders?"

"What's a cunniventoder?"

"Covenant. Holder. It's a Christian group."

"Like Stryper?"

"Who?"

"Stryper. You know, to h.e.l.l with the devil. Those guys were queer."

"It's a group of people with shared beliefs who come from all over the country to meet together. There are speakers and events."

"Do they wear Spandex?"

"Spandex? No."

"Sounds lame."

"Yes, Karl, I'm sure it would."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing."

"No, what did you mean? You say stuff like that, and it sounds all nice, but your lip does this thing where you think you're better than me."

"My lip is doing no such thing."

"See? You're mouth is all, 'My lip is da da da whatever,' but your lips are like, 'I'm better than Karl.'"

"Karl, can we not talk for the rest of the way? I'm getting a headache."

"No, screw you and your cover letter holders. I don't have to put up with this c.r.a.p. I'm the Antichrist, and I'm going home. To Lodi." Karl took a sharp turn to the left and marched off.

"Karl."

"Shut up."

"Karl, that's the wrong direction."

"Is not."

"Karl, you're walking northeast. If you keep going, you'll hit Las Vegas."

"Then I'll go to Las Vegas."

"It's two hundred miles away, Karl. Across the Mojave Desert."

"Then I'll go there."

"Karl, come on. Come back. I'm sorry if I did a lip thing at you. I won't do it again."

Karl turned. "I can't see very well from here, but I bet you're doing the lip thing right now."

"I'm not, Karl. Come here and see."

"Why should I?"

"Karl, have you ever heard the term destiny destiny?"

"Maybe," answered Karl.

"Your destiny," explained Harry, "is what you were meant to do. Everyone has a destiny. My destiny is to proclaim the Apocalypse. I believe that your destiny is to come with me to this conference."

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why do you think that's my density?"

"Destiny, Karl. It's a long story, but I believe that there are powers beyond this world, and I believe that those powers have chosen to communicate some important things to me. They have told me that it is my destiny to be the herald the guy who announces the Apocalypse. And they have told me that you are part of that destiny."