The Last Continent (Discworld 22)

'Are you sure about the wheels?' The god looked concerned. 'You think they're too small? Not quite suitable for the veldt?'

'Er, probably not . . .'

'It's very hard to design an organic wheel, you know,' said the god reproachfully. 'They're little masterpieces.'

'You don't think just, you know, moving the legs about would be simpler?'

'Oh, we'd never get anywhere if I just copied earlier ideas,' said the god. 'Diversify and fill all niches, that's the ticket.'

'But is lying on your side in a mud hole with your wheels spinning a very important niche?' said Ponder. The god looked at him, and then stared glumly at the half-completed elephant. 'Perhaps if I made the tyres bigger?' he said, hopefully yet in a hopeless voice. 'I don't think so,' said Ponder. 'Oh, you're probably right.' The little god's hands twitched. 'I don't know, I do try to diversify, but sometimes it's so difficult . . .' Suddenly he ran across the crowded cave towards a huge pair of doors at the far end, and flung them open. 'I'm sorry, but I just have to do one,' said the god. 'They calm me down, you know.' Ponder caught up. The cave beyond the doors was bigger than this one, and brilliantly lit. The air was full of small, bright things, hovering in their millions like beads on invisible strings. 'Beetles?' said Ponder. There's nothing like a beetle when you're feeling depressed!' said the god. He'd stopped by a large metal desk and was feverishly opening drawers and pulling out boxes. 'Can you pass me that box of antennae? It's just on the shelf there. Oh yes, you can't beat a beetle when you're feeling down. Sometimes I think it's what it's all about, you know.'

'What all?' said Ponder. The god swept an arm in an expansive gesture. 'Everything,' he said cheerfully. 'The whole thing. Trees, grass, flowers . . . What did you think it was all for?'

'Well, I didn't think it was for beetles,' said Ponder. 'What about, well, what about the elephant, for a start?' The god already had a half-finished beetle in one hand. It was green. 'Dung,' he said triumphantly. No head, when screwed on to a body, ought to make a sound like a cork being pushed into a bottle, but the beetle's did in the hands of the god. 'What?' said Ponder. That's rather a lot of trouble to go to just for dung, isn't it?'

'That's ecology for you, I'm afraid,' said the god. 'No, no, that can't be right, surely?' said Ponder. 'What about the higher lifeforms?'

'Higher?' said the god. 'You mean like . . . birds?'

'No, I mean like—' Ponder hesitated. The god had seemed remarkably incurious about the wizards, possibly because of their lack of resemblance to beetles, but he could see a certain amount of theological unpleasantness ahead. 'Like . . . apes,' he said. 'Apes? Oh, very amusing, certainly, and obviously the beetles have to have something to entertain them, but . . .' The god looked at him, and a celestial penny seemed to drop. 'Oh dear, you don't think they're the purpose of the whole business, do you?'

'I'd rather assumed—'

'Dear me, the purpose of the whole business, you see, is in fact to be the whole business. Although,' he sniffed, 'if we can do it all with beetles I shan't complain.'

'But surely the purpose of— I mean, wouldn't it be nice if you ended up with some creature that started to think about the universe—?'

'Good gravy, I don't want anything poking around!' said the god testily. 'There's enough patches and stitches in it as it is without some dever devil trying to find more, I can assure you. No, the gods on the mainland have got that right at least. Intelligence is like legs – too many and you trip yourself up. Six is about the right number, in my view.'

'But surely, ultimately, one creature might—' The god let go of his latest creation. It whirred up and along the rows and rows of beetles and slotted itself in between two that were almost, but not exactly, quite like it. 'Worked that one out, have you?' he said. 'Well, of course you're right. I can see you have quite an efficient brain— Damn.' There was a little sparkle in the air and a bird appeared alongside the god. It was clearly alive but entirely stationary, hanging in frozen flight. A flickering blue glow hovered around it. The god sighed, reached into a pocket and pulled out the most complex-looking tool Ponder had ever seen. The bits that you could see suggested that there were other, even stranger bits that you couldn't and that this was probably just as well. 'However,' he said, slicing the bird's beak off, the blue glow simply closing over the hole, 'if I'm going to get any serious work done I'm really going to have to find some way of organizing the whole business. All I'm faced with these days is bills.'

'Yes, it must be quite expens—'

'Big bills, short bills, bills for winkling insects out of bark, bills for cracking nuts, bills for eating fruit,' the god went on. 'They're supposed to do their own evolving. I mean, that's the whole point. I shouldn't have to be running around all the time.' The god waved his hand in the air and a sort of display stand of beaks appeared beside him. He selected one that, to Ponder, hardly looked any different from the one he'd removed, and used the tool to attach it

to the hanging bird. The blue glow covered it for a moment, and then the bird vanished. In the moment that it disappeared, Ponder thought he saw its wings begin to move. And in that moment he knew that, despite the apparent beetle fixation, here was where he'd always wanted to be, at the cutting edge of the envelope in the fast lane of the state of the art. He'd become a wizard because he'd thought that wizards knew how the universe worked, and Unseen University had turned out to be stifling. Take that business with the tame lightning. It had demonstrably worked. He made the Bursar's hair stand on end and sparks crackle out of his finger, and that was by using only one cat and a couple of amber rods. His perfectly reasonable plan to use several thousand cats tied to a huge wheel that would rotate against hundreds of rods had been vetoed on the ridiculous grounds that it would be too noisy. His carefully worked out scheme to split the thaum, and thus provide end-less supplies of cheap clean magic, had been quite unfairly sat upon because it was felt that it might make the place untidy. And that was even after he had presented figures to prove that the chances of the process completely destroying the entire world were no greater than being knocked down while crossing the street, and it wasn't his fault he said this just before the six-cart pile-up outside the University. Here was a chance to do something that made sense. Besides, he thought he could see where the god was going wrong. 'Excuse me,' he said, 'but do you need an assistant?'

'Frankly, the whole thing is getting out of hand,' said the god, who was a wizard-class non- listener. 'It's really getting to the point where I need an—'

'I say, this is a pretty amazing place!' Ponder rolled his eyes. You could say that for wizards. When they walked into a place that was pretty amazing, they'd tell you. Loudly. 'Ah,' said the god, turning around, 'this is the rest of your . . . swarm, isn't it?'

'I'd better go and stop them,' said Ponder as the wizards fanned out like small boys in an amusement arcade, ready to press anything in case there was a free game left. 'They poke things and then say, “What does this do?” '

'Don't they ask what things do before they poke them?'

'No, they say you'll never find out if you don't give them a poke,' said Ponder darkly. 'Then why do they ask?'

'They just do. And they bite things and then say, “I wonder if this is poisonous,” with their mouths full. And you know the really annoying thing? It never is.'

'How odd. Laughing in the face of danger is not a survival strategy,' said the god.

'Oh, they don't laugh,' said Ponder gloomily. They say things like, “You call that dangerous? It's not a patch on the kind of danger you used to get when we were lads, eh, Senior Wrangler, what what? Remember when old 'Windows' McPlunder . . .” ' He shrugged. 'When old “Windows” McPlunder what?' said the god. 'I don't know! Sometimes I think they make up the names! Dean, I really don't think you should do that!' The Dean turned away from the shark, whose teeth he'd been examining. 'Why not, Stibbons?' he said. Behind him, the jaw snapped shut. Only the Archchancellor's legs were visible in the exploded elephant. There were muffled noises from inside the whale; they sounded very much ike the Lecturer in Recent Runes saying, 'Look at what happens when I twist this bit . . . See, that purple bit wobbles.'

'Amazin' piece of work,' said Ridcully, emerging from the elephant. 'Very good wheels. You paint these bits before assembly, do you?'

'It's not a kit, sir,' said Ponder, taking a kidney out of his hands and wedging it back in. It's a real dephant under construction!'

'Oh.'