Pat retreated. "No thanks."
"Come on! It's interesting to talk to. Its name is—" He glanced at some writing on the box. "It's name is Tinokuknoi Arevulopapo. We talked most of the way back from Ganymede. It was glad of the opportunity. And I learned quite a few things about gods."
Eric searched his pockets and brought out the remains of a ham sandwich. He wadded up a bit of the ham and stuffed it into the protruding belly-cup of the god.
"I'm going in the other room," Pat said.
"Stick around." Eric caught her arm. "It only takes a second. It begins to digest right away."
The belly-cup quivered. The god's scaly flesh rippled, presently the cup filled with a sluggish dark-colored substance. The ham began to dissolve.
Pat snorted in disgust. "Doesn't it even use its mouth?"
"Not for eating. Only for talking. It's a lot different from usual life-forms."
The tiny eye of the god was focused on them now. A single, unwinking orb of icy malevolence. The mandibles twitched.
"Greetings," the god said.
"Hi." Eric nudged Pat forward. "This is my wife. Mrs. Blake. Patricia."
"How do you do," the god grated.
Pat gave a squeal of dismay. "It talks English."
The god turned to Eric in disgust. "You were right. She is stupid."
Eric colored. "Gods can do anything they want, honey. They're omnipotent."
The god nodded. "That is so. This is Terra, I presume."
"Yes. How does it look?"
"As I expected. I have already heard reports. Certain reports about Terra."
"Eric, are you sure it's safe?" Pat whispered uneasily. "I don't like its looks. And there's something about the way it talks." Her bosom quivered nervously.
"Don't worry, honey," Eric said carelessly. "It's a nice god. I checked before I left Ganymede."
"I'm benevolent," the god explained matter-of-factly. "My capacity has been that of Weather Deity to the Ganymedean aborigines. I have produced rain and allied phenomena when the occasion demanded."
"But that's all in the past," Eric added.
"Correct. I have been a Weather Deity for ten thousand years. There is a limit to even a god's patience. I craved new surroundings." A peculiar gleam flickered across the loathsome face. "That is why I arranged to be sold and brought to Terra."
"You see," Eric said, "the Ganymedeans didn't want to sell it. But it whipped up a thunderstorm and they sort of had to. That's partly why it was so cheap."
"Your husband made a good purchase," the god said. Its single eye roved around curiously. "This is your dwelling? You eat and sleep here?"
"That's right," Eric said. "Pat and I both—"
The front door chimed. "Thomas Matson stands on the threshold," the door stated. "He wishes admission."
"Golly," Eric said. "Good old Tom. I'll go let him in."
Pat indicated the god. "Hadn't you better—"
"Oh, no. I want Tom to see it." Eric stepped to the door and opened it.
"Hello," Tom said, striding in. "Hi, Pat. Nice day." He and Eric shook hands. "The Lab has been wondering when you'd get back. Old Bradshaw is leaping up and down to hear your report." Matson's bean-pole body bent forward in sudden interest. "Say, what's in the box?"
"That's my god," Eric said modestly.
"Really? But God is an unscientific concept."
"This is a different god. I didn't invent it. I bought it On Ganymede. It's a Ganymedean Weather Deity."
"Say something," Pat said to the god. "So he'll believe your owner."
"Let's debate my existence," the god said sneeringly. "You take the negative. Agreed?"
Matson grinned. "What is this, Eric? A little robot? Sort of hideous looking."
"Honest. It's a god. On the way it did a couple of miracles for me. Not big miracles, of course, but enough to convince me."
"Hearsay," Matson said. But he was interested. "Pass a miracle, god. I'm all ears."
"I am not a vulgar showpiece," the god growled.
"Don't get it angry," Eric cautioned. "There's no limit to its powers, once aroused."
"How does a god come into being?" Tom asked. "Does a god create itself? If it's dependent on something prior then there must be a more ultimate order of being which—"
"Gods," the tiny figure stated, "are inhabitants of a higher level, a greater plane of reality. A more advanced dimension. There are a number of planes of existence. Dimensional continuums, arranged in a hierarchy. Mine is one above yours."
"What are you doing here?"
"Occasionally beings pass from one dimensional continuum to another. When they pass from a superior continuum to an inferior—as I have done—they are worshiped as gods."
Tom was disappointed. "You're not a god at all. You're just a life-form of a slightly different dimensional order that's changed phase and entered our vector."
The little figure glowered. "You make it sound simple. Actually, such a transformation requires great cunning and is seldom done. I came here because a member of my race, a certain malodorous Nar Dolk, committed a heinous crime and escaped into this continuum. Our law obliged me to follow in hot pursuit. In the process this flotsam, this spawn of dampness, escaped and assumed some disguise or other. I continually search, but he has not yet been apprehended." The small god broke off suddenly. "Your curiosity is idle. It annoys me."
Tom turned his back on the god. "Pretty weak stuff. We do more down at the Terran Metals Lab than this character ever—"
The air cracked, ozone flashing. Tom Matson shrieked. Invisible hands lifted him bodily and propelled him to the door. The door swung open and Matson sailed down the walk, tumbling in a heap among the rose bushes, arms and legs flailing wildly.
"Help!" Matson yelled, struggling to get up.
"Oh, dear," Pat gasped.
"Golly." Eric shot a glance at the tiny figure. "You did that?"
"Help him," Pat urged, white-faced. "I think he's hurt. He looks funny."
Eric hurried outside and helped Matson to his feet. "You OK? It's your own fault. I told you if you kept annoying it something might happen."
Matson's face was ablaze with rage. "No little pipsqueak god is going to treat me like this!" He pushed Eric aside, heading back for the house. "I'll take it down to the Lab and pop it in a bottle of formaldehyde. I'll dissect it and skin it and hang it up on the wall. I'll have the first specimen of a god known to—"
A ball of light glowed around Matson. The ball enveloped him, settling in place around his lean body so that he looked like a filament in an incandescent light.
"What the hell!" Matson muttered. Suddenly he jerked. His body faded. He began to shrink. With a faint whoosh he diminished rapidly. Smaller and smaller he dwindled. His body shuddered, altering strangely.
The light winked out. Sitting stupidly on the walk was a small green toad.
"See?" Eric said wildly. "I told you to keep quiet! Now look what it's done!"
The toad hopped feebly toward the house. At the porch it sagged into immobility, defeated by the steps. It uttered a pathetic, hopeless chug.
Pat's voice rose in a wail of anguish. "Oh, Eric! Look what it's done! Poor Tom!"
"His own fault," Eric said. "He deserves it." But he was beginning to get nervous. "Look here," he said to the god. "That's not a very nice thing to do to a grown man. What'll his wife and kids think?"
"What'll Mr. Bradshaw think?" Pat cried. "He can't go to work like that!"
"True," Eric admitted. He appealed to the god. "I think he's learned his lesson. How about turning him back? OK?"