Excerpt from The Last Continent by Terry Pratchett

The worst thing about losing your temper with Mustrum Ridcully was that he never noticed when you did.
Wizards, when faced with danger, would immediately stop and argue amongst themselves about exactly what kind of danger it was. By the time everyone in the party understood, either it had become the sort of danger where your options are so very, very clear that you instantly take one of them or die, or it had got bored and gone away. Even danger has its pride.
When he was a boy, Ponder Stibbons had imagined that wizards would be powerful demi-gods able to change the whole world at the flick of a finger, and then he'd grown up and found that they were tiresome old men who worried about the state of their feet and, in harm's way, would even bicker about the origin of the phrase "in harm's way."
It had never struck him that evolution works in all kinds of ways. There were still quite deep scars in old buildings that showed what happened when you had the other kind of wizard.
His footsteps took him, almost without his being aware, along the gently winding path up the mountain. Strange creatures peered at him from the undergrowth on either side. Some of them looked like
Wizards think in terms of books, and, now, one crept out from the shelves of Ponder's memory. It had been given to him when he was small. In fact, he'd still got it somewhere, filed away in a cardboard box.*
It had consisted of lots of small pages on a central spiral. Each one showed the head, body or tail of some bird, fish or animal. It was possible for the sufficiently bored to shuffle and turn them so that you got, say, a creature with the head of a horse, the body of a beetle and the tail of a fish. The cover promised "hours fun" although, after the first three minutes, you couldn't help wondering what kind of person could make that kind of fun last for hours, and whether suffocating him as kindly as possible now would save the Serial Crimes Squad a lot of trouble in years to come. Ponder, however, had hours of fun.
Some of the creat—things in the undergrowth looked like the pages of that book. There were birds with beaks as long as their bodies. There were spiders the size of hands. Here and there the air shimmered like water. It resisted very gently as Ponder tried walk through it, and then let him pass, but the birds and insects didn't seem inclined to follow him.
There were beetles everywhere.
Eventually, by easy stages, the winding path reached the top of the mountain. There was a tiny valley there, just below the peak. At the far end was a large cave mouth, lit by a blue glow within. A large beetle sang past Ponder's ear.
The cave mouth opened into a cavern, filled with misty blue fog. There was a suggestion of complex shadows. And there were sounds—whistles, little zipping noises, the occasional thud or clang that suggested work going on somewhere in the mist.
Ponder brushed aside a beetle that had landed on his cheek and stared at the shape right in front of him.
It was the front half of an elephant.
The other half of the elephant, balancing against all probabil¬ity on the two legs at the rear end, stood a few yards away. In between was . . . the rest of the elephant.
Ponder Stibbons told himself that if you cut an elephant in half and scooped out the middle, what you would get would be . . . well, mess. There wasn't much mess here. Pink and purple tubes had uncoiled neatly on to a workbench. A small stepladder led up into another complexity of tubes and bulky organs. There was a general feel of methodical work in progress. This wasn't the horror of an elephant in an explosive death. This was an elephant under con¬struction.
Little clouds of white light spiraled in from all corners of the cavern, spun for a moment, and became the god of evolution, who was standing on the stepladder.
He blinked at Ponder. "Oh, it's you," he said. "One of the pointy creatures. Can you tell me what happens when I do this?"
He reached inside the echoing depths of the front half. The elephant's ears flapped.
"The ears flapped," squeaked Ponder.
The god emerged, beaming. "It's amazing how difficult that is to achieve," he said. "Anyway . . . what do you think of it?"
Ponder swallowed. "It's . . . very good," he managed. He took a step back, bumped into something, and turned and looked into the gaping maw of a very large shark. It was in the middle of another . . . well, he had to think of it as a sort of biological scaf¬folding. It rolled an eye at him. Behind it, a much bigger whale was being assembled.
"It is, isn't it?" said the god.
Ponder tried to concentrate on the elephant. "Although—" he said.
"Yes?"
"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 tires 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 fever¬ishly 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 life forms?"
"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 with-out some clever 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 fingers, 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 would be too noisy. His carefully worked out scheme to split the thaum, and thus provide endless 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 dan¬ger 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 like 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 elephant under construction!"
"Oh."
"Being made, sir," said Ponder, since Ridcully didn't seem to have got the message. "Which is not usual."
"Ah. How are they normally made, then?"
"By other elephants, sir."
"Oh, yes ..."
"Really? Are they?" said the god. "How? Those trunks are pretty nimble, even if I say so myself, but not really very good for delicate work."
"Oh, not made like that, sir, obviously. By ... you know .. . sex . . ." said Ponder, feeling a blush start.
"Sex?"
Then Ponder thought: Mono Island. Oh dear .. .
"Er ... males and females . . ." he ventured.
"What are they, then?" said the god. The wizards paused. "Do go on, Mister Stibbons," said the Archchancellor. "We're all ears. Especially the elephant."
"Well . . ." Ponder knew he was going red. "Er . . . well, how do you get flowers and things at the moment?"
"I make them," said the god. "And then I keep an eye on them and see how they function and then when they wear out I make an improved version based on experimental results." He frowned. "Although the plants seem to be acting very oddly these days. What's the point of these seeds they keep making? I try to discourage it but they don't seem to listen."
"I think . . . er . . . they're trying to invent sex, sir," said Ponder. "Er . . .sex is how you can . . . they can . . . creatures can . . they can make the next . . . creatures."
"You mean . . . elephants can make more elephants?"
"Yes, sir."
"My word! Really?"
"Oh, yes."
"How do they go about that? Calibrating the ear-waggling is particularly time-consuming. Do they use special tools?"
Ponder saw that the Dean was staring straight up at the ceiling, while the other wizards were also finding something apparently fascinating to look at that meant they could avoid one another's gaze.
"Um, in a way," said Ponder. He knew that a sticky patch lay ahead and decided to give up. "But really I don't know much about—"
"And workshops, presumably," said the god. He took a book from his pocket and a pencil from behind his ear. "Do you mind if I make notes?"
"They . . . er . . . the female . . ." Ponder tried.
"Female," said the god obediently, writing this down.
"Well, she . . . one popular way . . . she . . . sort of makes the next one . . . inside her."
The god stopped writing. "Now I know that's not right," he said. "You can't make an elephant inside an elephant—" "Er . . . a smaller version ..."
"Ah, once again I have to point out the flaw. After a few such constructions you'd end up with an elephant the size of a rabbit."
"Er, it gets bigger later ..."
"Really? How?"
"It sort of . . . builds itself . . . er . . . from the inside ..."
"And the other one, the one that is not the, uh, female? What is its part in all this? Is your colleague ill?"
The Senior Wrangler hammered the Dean hard on the back.
"It's all right," squeaked the Dean, ". . . often have ... these .. . coughing fits ..."
The god scribbled industriously for a few seconds, and then stopped and chewed the end of his pencil thoughtfully.
"And all this, er, this sex is done by unskilled labor?" he said.
"Oh, yes."
"No quality control of any description?"
"Er, no."
"How does your species go about it?" said the god. He looked questioningly at Ponder.
"It . . . er . . . we . . . er . . ." Ponder stuttered.
"We avoid it," said Ridcully. "Nasty cough you've got there, Dean."
"Really?" said the god. "That's very interesting. What do you do instead? Split down the middle? That works beautifully for amoebas, but giraffes find it extremely difficult, I do know that."
"What? No, we concentrate on higher things," said Ridcully. And take cold baths, healthy morning runs, that sort of thing."
"My goodness, I'd better make a note of that," said the god, spatting his robe. "How does the process work, exactly? Do the 'females accompany you? These higher things ... How high, precisely? This is a very interesting concept. Presumably extra orifices are required?"
"What? Pardon?" said Ponder.
"Getting creatures to make themselves, eh? I thought this whole seed business was just high spirits but, yes, I can see that it would save a lot of work, a lot of work. Of course, there'd have to be some extra effort at the design stage, certainly, but after-wards I suppose it'd practically run itself . . ." The god's hand blurred as he wrote, and he went on, "Hmm, drives and impera¬tives, they're going to be vital . . . er . . . How does it work with, say, trees?"
"You just need Ponder's uncle and a paintbrush," said the Senior Wrangler.
"Sir!" said Ponder hotly.
The god gave them both a look of intelligent bewilderment, like a man who had just heard a joke told in a completely foreign language and isn't sure if the speaker has got to the punch line yet. Then he shrugged.
"The only thing I think I don't quite understand," he said, "is why any creature would want to spend time on all this ..." he peered at his notes, "this sex, when they could be enjoying them-selves . . . Oh dear, your associate seems to be choking this time, I'm afraid ..."
"Dean!" shouted Ridcully.
"I can't help noticing," said the god, "that when sex is being discussed your faces redden and you tend to shift uneasily from one foot to the other. Is this some sort of signal?"
"Erm ..."
"If you could just tell me how it all works . . ."
Embarrassment filled the air, huge and pink. If it were rock, you could have carved great hidden rose-red cities in it.
Ridcully smiled a petrified smile. "Excuse us," he said. "Faculty meeting, gentlemen?"
Ponder watched the wizards go into a huddle. He could hear a few phrases above the susurration.
"... my father said, but of course I didn't believe . . . never raised its ugly head . .. Dean, will you shut up? We can't very well . . . cold showers, really ... "
Ridcully turned back and flashed the stony smile again. "Sex is, er, not something we talk about," he said.
"Much," said the Dean.
"Oh, I see," said the god. "Well, a practical demonstration would be so much more comprehendible."
"Er, we weren't, er . . . planning a . . ."
"Coo-eee! There you are, gentlemen!"
Mrs. Whitlow entered the cave. The wizards went suddenly quiet, sensing in their wizardly minds that the introduction of Mrs. Whitlow at this point was an electric fire in the swimming pool of life.
"Oh, another one of you," said the god brightly. He focused. "Or a different species, perhaps?"
Ponder felt that he had to say something. Mrs. Whitlow was giving him a Look.
"Mrs., er, Whitlow is, er, a lady," he said.
"Ah, I shall make a note of it," said the god. "And what sort of thing do they do?"
"They're, um, the same species as, er, us," said Ponder, miser-ably. Um ... the . . . um ..."
"Weaker sex," Ridcully supplied.
"Sorry, you've lost me there," said the god.
"Er . . . she's, urn, er, a . . . of the female persuasion," said Ponder.
The god smiled happily. "Oh, how very convenient," he said.
"Excuse me," said Mrs. Whitlow, in as sharp a tone as she cared to use around the wizards, "but will someone introduce this gentleman to me?"
"Oh, yes, of course," said Ridcully. "Do excuse me. God, this is Mrs. Whitlow. Mrs. Whitlow, this is God. A god. God of this island, in fact. Uh . . ."
"Charmed, Ai'm sure," said Mrs. Whitlow. In Mrs. Whitlow's 'book, gods were socially very acceptable, at least if they had proper human heads and wore clothes; they rated above High Priests and occupied the same level as Dukes.
"Should Ai kneel?" she said.
"Mwaaa," whimpered the Senior Wrangler.
"Genuflection of any sort is not required," said the god.
"He means no," said Ponder.
"Oh, as you wish," said Mrs. Whitlow. She extended a hand.
The god grasped it and waggled her thumb backwards and forward.
"Very practical," he said. "Opposable, I see. I think I should make a note of this. Do you brachiate? Are you bipedal by habit? Oh, I notice your eyebrows go up, too. Is this a signal of some sort? I also note that you are a different shape from the others and don't have a beard. I assume that means you are less wise?"
Ponder saw Mrs. Whitlow's eyes narrow and her nostrils flare.
"Is there some sort of problem, sirs?" she said. "Ai followed
your footprints to that funny boat, and this was the only other path, so—"
"We were discussing sex," said the god enthusiastically. "It sounds very exciting, don't you think?"
The wizards held their breath. This was going to make the Dean's sheets look very minor.
"It's not a subject on which Ai would venture an opinion," said Mrs. Whitlow carefully.
"Mwaa," squeaked the Senior Wrangler.
"No one seems to want to tell me," said the god irritably. A spark leapt from his fingers and blew a very small crater in the floor, and that seemed to shock him as much as it did the wiz¬ards.
"Oh dear, what can you think of me? I'm so sorry!" he said. "I'm afraid it's a sort of natural reaction if I get a bit, you know .. . testy."
Everyone looked at the crater. The rock bubbled gently by Ponder's feet. He didn't dare move his sandal, just in case he fainted.
"That was just . . . testy, was it?" said Ridcully.
"Well, it may have been more . . . vexed, I suppose," said the god. "I can't really help it, it's a god-given reflex. I'm afraid as a . . . well, species, we're not good with, you know, defiance. I'm so sorry. So sorry." He blew his nose, and sat down on a half-finished panda. "Oh, dear. There I go again . . ." A tiny bolt of lightning flashed off his thumb and exploded. "I hope it's not going to be the city of Quint all over again. Of course, you know what happened there ..."
"I've never heard of the city of Quint," said Ponder.
"Yes, I suppose you wouldn't have," said the god. "That's the whole point, really. It wasn't much of a city. It was mostly made of mud. Well, I say mud. Afterwards, of course, it was mainly ceramics." He turned a wretched face to them. "You know those days you get when you just snap at everyone?"
Out of the corner of his eye Ponder had noticed that the wizards, in a rare show of unanimity, were shuffling sideways, very slowly, towards the door.
A much bigger thunderbolt blew a hole in the floor near the cave entrance.
"Oh dear, where can I put my face?" said the god. "It's all subconscious, I'm afraid."
"Could you get treatment for premature incineration?"
"Dean! This is not the time!"
"Sorry, Archchancellor."
"If only they hadn't turned up their noses at my inflammable cows," said the god, sparks fizzing off his beard. "All right, I would agree that on hot days, in certain rare circumstances, they would spontaneously combust and burn down the village, but is that any excuse for ingratitude?"
Mrs. Whitlow had been giving the god a long, cool stare. "What exactly is it you wish to know?" she said.
"Huh?" said Ridcully.
"Well, Ai mean no offense, but Ai for one would like to get out of here without mai hair on fire," said the housekeeper.
The god looked up. "This male and female concept seems really rather promising," he said, sniffing. "But no one seems to want to go into detail . . ."
"Oh, that," said Mrs. Whitlow. She glanced at the wizards, and then gently pulled the god to his feet. "If you will excuse me for one moment, gentlemen ..."
The wizards watched them in even more shock than had attended the lightning display, and then the Chair of Indefinite Studies pulled his hat over his eyes.
"I daren't look," he said, and added, "What are they doing?"
"Er . . . just talking . . ." said Ponder.
"Talking?"
"And she's . . . sort of ... waving her hands about."
"Mwaa!" said the Senior Wrangler.
"Quick, someone, give him some air," said Ridcully. "Now she's laughing, isn't she?"
Both the housekeeper and the god looked around at the wizards. Mrs. Whitlow nodded her head as if to reassure him that what she'd just told him was true, and they both laughed.
"That looked more like a snigger," said the Dean severely.
"I'm not sure I actually approve of this," said Ridcully, haughtily. "Gods and mortal women, you know. You hear stories."
"Gods turning themselves into bulls," said the Dean.
"Swans, too," said the Chair of Indefinite Studies.
"Showers of gold," said the Dean.
"Yes," said the Chair. He paused for a 1econd. "You know, I've often wondered about that one—"
"What's she describing now?"
"I think I'd rather not know, quite frankly."
"Oh, look, someone please do something for the Senior Wrangler, will you?" said Ridcully. "Loosen his clothing or something!"
They heard the god shout, "It what?" Mrs. Whitlow glanced around at the wizards and appeared to lower her voice.
"Did anyone ever meet Mr. Whitlow?" said the Archchancellor.
"Well . . . no," said the Dean. "Not that I remember. I sup-pose we've all assumed that he's dead."
"Anyone know what he died of?" Ridcully went on.
"Ah, quieten down ... they're coming back ..."
The god nodded cheerfully at them as he approached.
"Well, that's all sorted out," he said, rubbing his hands together. "I can't wait to see how it works in practice. You know, if I'd sat here for a hundred years I'd never have . . . well, really, no one could serious believe . . . I mean . . ." He started to chuckle at their frozen faces. "That bit where he . . . and then she .. . Really, I'm amazed that anyone stops laughing long enough to .. . Still, I can see how it could work, and it certainly opens the door to some very interesting possibilities indeed ..."
Mrs. Whitlow was looking intently at the ceiling. There was perhaps just a hint in her stance and the way her rather expressive bosom moved that she was trying not to laugh. It was disconcerting. Mrs. Whitlow never usually laughed at anything.
"Ah? Oh?" said Ridcully, edging towards the door. "Really? Well done, then. So, I expect you don't need us any more, eh? Only we've got a boat to catch ..."
"Yes, certainly, don't let me hold you up," said the god, waving a hand vaguely. "You know, the more I think about it, the more I can see that `sex' will solve practically all my problems."
"Not everyone can say that," said Ridcully gravely. "Are you, er . . . joining us, Mrs., er, Whitlow?"
"Certainly, Archchancellor."
"Er . . . jolly good. Well done. Ahem. And you, of course, Mister Stibbons ..."
The god had wandered over to a workbench and was rum-waging in boxes. The air glittered. Ponder looked up at the whale. It was clearly alive but . . . not at the moment. His gaze swept across the elephant-under-construction and past mysteri¬qusly organic-looking gantries, where shimmering blue light surrounded shapes as yet unrecognized, although one did appear to contain half a cow.
He carefully removed an exploring beetle from his ear. The point was, if he left now he'd always wonder .. .
"I think I'd like to stay," he said.
"Good . . . er . . ." said the god, without looking around. "Man," said Ponder.
"Good man," said the god.
"Are you sure?" said Ridcully.
"I don't think I've ever had a holiday," said Ponder. "I'd like to apply for time off to do research, sir."
"But we're lost in the past, man!"
"Basic research, then," said Ponder firmly. "There's just so much to learn here, sir!"
"Really?"
"You've only got to look around, sir!"
"Well, I suppose I can't stop you if your mind's made up," said the Archchancellor. "We'll have to dock your pay, of course."
"I don't think I've ever been paid, sir," said Ponder.
The Dean nudged Ridcully and whispered in his ear.
"And we need to know how the boat works," Ridcully went on.
"What? Oh, it shouldn't be a problem," said the god, looking up from his bench. "It'll find somewhere with a different biogeographical signature, you see. It's all automatic. No sense in coming back to where you started from!" He waved a beetle leg in the air. "There's a new continent going up turnwise of here. The boat'll probably head straight for a landmass that size."
"New?" said Ridcully.
"Oh, yes. I've never been interested in that sort of thing myself, but you can hear the construction noises all night. It's certainly causing a mess."
"Stibbons, are you sure you want to stay?" the Dean demanded.
"Er, yes ..."
"I'm sure Mister Stibbons will uphold the fine traditions of the University!" said Ridcully heartily.
Ponder, who knew all about the traditions of the University, nodded very slightly. His heart was pounding. He hadn't even felt like this when he'd first worked out how to program Hex.
At last he'd found his proper place in the world. The future beckoned.

Dawn was breaking when the wizards ambled back down the mountain.
"Not a bad god, I thought," said the Senior Wrangler. "As gods go."
"That was good coffee he made us," said the Chair of Indefinite Studies.
"And didn't he grow the bush fast, once we explained what coffee was," said the Lecturer in Recent Runes.
They strolled on. Mrs. Whitlow was walking some way ahead, humming to herself. The wizards took care to remain at a respectful distance. They were aware that in some kind of obscure way she'd won, although they hadn't a clue what the game was.
"Funny of young Ponder to want to stay," said the Senior Wrangler, desperately trying to think of anything except a vision in pink.
"The god seemed happy about it," said the Lecturer in Recent Runes. "He did say that designing sex was going to involve redesigning practically everything else."
"I used to make snakes out of clay when I was a little boy," said the Bursar happily.
"Well done, Bursar."
"Doing the feet was the hard part."
"I can't help thinking, though, that we may have . . . tinkered with the past, Archchancellor," said the Senior Wrangler.
"I don't see how," said Ridcully. "After all, the past happened ore we got here."
"Yes, but now we're here, we've changed it."
"Then we changed it before."
And that, they felt, pretty well summed it up. It is very easy to get ridiculously confused about the tenses of time travel, but most things can be resolved by a sufficiently large ego.
"It's jolly impressive to think that a University man will be helping to create a whole new approach to designing lifeforms," said the Chair of Indefinite Studies.
"Indeed, yes," said the Dean. "Who says education is a bad thing, eh?"
"I can't imagine," said Ridcully. "Who?"
"Well, if they did, we could point to Ponder Stibbons and say, look at him, worked hard at his studies, paid attention to his tutors, and now he's sitting on the right hand of a god."
"Won't that make it rather difficult for—" the Lecturer in Recent Runes began, but the Dean got there first.
"That means on the right-hand side of the god, Runes," he said. "Which, I suspect, makes him an angel. Technically."
"Surely not. He's scared of heights. Anyway, he's made of flesh and blood, and I'm sure angels have to be made of . . . light or something. He could be a saint, though, I suppose."
"Can he do miracles, then?"
"I'm not sure. When we left they were talking about redesign¬ing male baboons' behinds to make them more attractive."
The wizards thought about this for a while.
"That'd be a miracle in my book, certainly," said Ridcully.
"Can't say that's how I'd choose to spend an afternoon, though," said the Senior Wrangler, in a thoughtful voice.
"According to the god it's all to do with making creatures want to have ... to engage in ... to get to grips with making a new generation, when they could otherwise be spending their time in more . . . profitable activity. Apparently, a lot of animals will need a complete rebuild."
"From the bottom up. Ahaha."
"Thank you for your contribution, Dean."
"So exactly how does it work, then?" said the Senior Wrangler. "A female baboon sees a male baboon and says, `My word, that's a very colorful bottom and no mistake, let us engage in .. nuptial activity'?"
"I must say I've often wondered about that sort of thing myself," said the Lecturer in Recent Runes. "Take frogs. Now, if I was a lady frog looking for a husband, I'd want to know about, well, size of legs, competence at catching flies—"
"Length of tongue," said Ridcully. "Dean, will you please take something for that cough?"
"Quite so," said the Lecturer in Recent Runes. "Has he got a good pond, and so on. I can't say I'd base my choice on his ability to inflate his throat to the same size as his stomach and go rabbit, rabbit."
"I believe it's ribbit, ribbit, Runes."
"Are you sure?"
"I believe so, yes."
"Which ones go rabbit, rabbit, then?"
"Rabbits, I believe."
"Oh. Yes. Constantly, as I recall."
"I've always thought sex was really a rather tasteless way of ensuring the continuity of the species," said the Chair of Indefi¬nite Studies, as they reached the beach. "I'm sure there could be something better. It's all very . . . old-fashioned, to my mind. And far too energetic."
"Well, I'm generally in agreement, but what would you suggest instead?" said Ridcully.
"Bridge," said the Chair of Indefinite Studies firmly. "Really? Bridge?"
"You mean the game with cards?" said the Dean.
"I don't see why not. It can be extremely exciting, very sociable, and requires no special equipment."
"But you do need four people," Ridcully pointed out.
"Ah, yes. I had not considered that. Yes, I can see that there could be problems. All right, then. How about . . . croquet? You can do that with two. Indeed, I've often enjoyed a quiet knock-about all by myself."
Ridcully let a little more space come between him and the Chair of Indefinite Studies.
"I fail to see how it could be utilized for the purpose of procreation," he said carefully. "Recreation, yes, I'll grant you that. But not procreation. I mean, how would it work?"
"He's the god," sniffed the Chair of Indefinite Studies. "He's supposed to sort out the details, isn't he?"
"But you think women would really decide to spend their life
with a man just because he can swing a big mallet?" said the Dean.
"I suppose, when you come to think about it, that's no more
ridic—" Ridcully began, and then stopped. "I think we should leave this subject," he said.
"I played croquet with him only last week," hissed the Dean
to Ridcully, as the Chair wandered off. "I shan't be happy now ntil I've had a good bath!"
"We'll lock up his mallets when we get back, depend upon ," Ridcully whispered.
"He's got books and books about croquet in his room, did
you know that? Some of them have got colored illustrations!" "What of?"
"Famous croquet strokes," said the Dean. "I think we ought to take his mallet away."
"Close to what I was thinking, Dean. Close," said Ridcully.

Ponder Stibbons cleared his throat.
"Where would you like me to start?" he said. "I could probably finish off the elephant ..."
"How are you at slime?"
Ponder hadn't considered a future as a slime designer, but eryone had to start somewhere.
"Fine," he said. "Fine."
"Of course, slime just splits down the middle," said the god, as they walked along rows of glowing, life-filled cubes while beetles led overhead. "Not a lot of future in that, really. It works all right for lower lifeforms but, frankly, it's a bit embarrassing for the more complicated creatures and positively lethal for horses. No, sex is going to be very, very useful, Ponder. It'll keep everything on its toes. And that will give us time to work on the big project."
Ponder sighed. Ah . . . he knew there had to be a big project. The big project. A god wasn't going to do all this sort of thing just to make life better for inflammable cows.
"Could I help with that?" he said. "I'm sure I could make a contribution."
"Really? I thought perhaps animals and birds would be more up your . . . up your ..." The god waved his hands vaguely. "Up whatever you walk on. Where you live."
"Well, yes, but they're a bit limited, aren't they?" said Ponder.
The god beamed. There's nothing like being near a happy god. It's like giving your brain a hot bath.
"Exactly!" he said. "Limited! The very word! Each one stuck in some desert or jungle or mountain, relying on one or two foods, at the mercy of every vagary of the universe and wiped out by the merest change of climate. What a terrible waste!"
"That's right!" said Ponder. "What you need is a creature that is resourceful and adaptable, am I right?"
"Oh, very well put, Ponder! I can see you've turned up at just the right time!" A pair of huge doors swung open in front of them, revealing a circular room with a shallow pyramid of steps in the center. At the summit was another cloud of blue mist, in
which occasional lights flared and died.
The future unrolled in front of Ponder Stibbons. His eyes
were so bright that his glasses steamed, that he could probably scorch holes in thin paper. Oh, right . . . what more could any natural philosopher dream of? He'd got the theories, now he could do the practice. And this time it'd be done properly. To hell with messing up
the future! That's what the future was for. Oh, he'd been against it, that was true, but it'd been . . . well, when someone else was thinking of doing it. But now he'd got the ear of a god, and maybe some intelligence could be applied to the task of creating
intelligence.
For a start, it ought to be possible to put together the human
brain so that long beards weren't associated with wisdom, which would instead be seen to reside in those who were young and skinny and required glasses for close work.
"And . . . you've finished this?" he said, as they climbed the
steps.
"Broadly, yes," said the god. "My greatest achievement.
Frankly, it makes the elephants look very flimsy by comparison. But there's plenty of fine detail left to do, if you think you're up to it."
"It'd be an honor," said Ponder.
The blue mist was right in front of him. By the look of the sparks, something very important was happening in there.
"Do you give them any instructions before you let them out?" he said, his breathing shallow.
"A few simple ones," said the god. He waved a wrinkled hand, and the glowing ball began to contract. "Mostly they work things out themselves."
"Of course, of course," said Ponder. "And I suppose if they go wrong we could always put them right with a few commandments."
"Not really necessary," said the god, as the blue ball vanished and revealed the pinnacle of creation. "I find very simple instructions are quite sufficient. You know . . . `Head for dark places,' that sort of thing. There! Isn't it perfect? What a piece of work! The sun will burn out, the seas will dry up, but this chap will be there, you mark my— Hello? Ponder?"

The wizards were already a little way from shore, but he saw the column of dust come down the track. It stopped at the beach and became a dot, which plunged into the sea.
The sail creaked again, and flapped as the wind grew.
"Ahoy there!" shouted Ridcully.
The distant figure waved for a moment and then continued swimming.
Ridcully filled his pipe and watched with interest as Ponder Stibbons caught up with the boat.
"Very well swum, if I may say so," he said.
"Permission to come aboard, sir?" said Ponder, treading water. "Could you throw down a creeper?"
"Why, certainly."
The Archchancellor puffed his pipe as the wizard climbed
aboard.
"Possibly a record time over that distance, Mister Stib¬ons."
"Thank you, sir," said Ponder, dripping water on the deck. "And may I congratulate you on being properly dressed. You are wearing your pointy hat, which is the sine qua non of a wizard in public."
"Thank you, sir." "It is a good hat." "Thank you, sir."
"They say a wizard without his hat is undressed, Mister Stibbons."
"So I have heard, sir."
"But in your case, I must point out, you are with your hat but you are still, in a very real sense, undressed."
"I thought the robe would slow me down, sir."
"And, while it is good to see you, Stibbons, albeit rather more of you than I would usually care to contemplate, I am moved to ask why you are, in fact, here."
"I suddenly felt it would be unfair to deprive the University of my services, sir."
"Really? A sudden rush of nostalgia for the old alma mater, eh?"
"You could say that, sir."
Ridcully's eyes twinkled behind the smoke and, not for the first time, Ponder suspected that the man was sometimes rather cleverer than he appeared. It would not be hard.
The Archchancellor shrugged, removed his pipe, and poked around inside it to remove a particularly obstructive clinker.
"The Senior Wrangler's bathing costume is around somewhere," he said. "I should put it on, if I were you. I suspect that offending Mrs. Whitlow at the moment will get you hanged. All right? And if there is anything you want to talk about, my door is always open."
"Thank you, sir."
"Right now, of course, I don't have a door."
"Thank you, sir."
"Imagine it as being open, nevertheless."
"Thank you, sir."
After all, Ponder thought as he slipped gratefully away, the wizards of [Unseen University] were merely crazy. Not even the Bursar was insane. Even now, if he closed his eyes, he could still see the God of Evolution beaming so happily as the cockroach stirred.