Only Human by Tom Holt Read Free Book Online Page A

there?’ she asked. ‘Your dad, he’s a terror for collecting empty cups.’
    Kevin shook his head. ‘Look,’ he said, ‘not meaning to be rude, but would you mind, because we’ve got a bit of a crisis here and . . .’
    He hesitated.
    Well, why not?
    Yes, but . . .
    True, Martha was just - well, the char, the skivvy; the nice, cheerful old bat who came round with the tea, washed the cups, flicked around with a feather duster now and again (there is, of course, no dust in Heaven; but actually having someone dust the place makes it seem cleaner, somehow) and generally made Heaven feel more homely. A bit like having a chimney in a centrally heated house; completely unnecessary, but it improves the ambience.
    She was also the closest thing Kevin had ever had to a mother. Back in the misty dawn of pretheology, it had been Martha who’d taught him to tie his shoelaces and brush his teeth, who’d ordered him to tidy his room and eat up his nice carrots, who’d tucked him up at night and read him a story.Yes, when you came down to it she was only a servant; but he was Kevin Christ, younger begotten son, by definition the most useless sentient being in the entire Universe.
    â€˜Actually,’ he said.
    She was also the only person in the Universe who called him Kevin; not ‘Son’ or ‘Our Kid’ or ‘Kiddo’; she called him by his proper name. More than that. She was fond of him; not because he was the son of God, but because he was Kevin, who used to show her the little misshapen Adams and Eves he’d made out of Plasticine.
    Not that there was anything she could do. She couldn’t even begin to understand the problem, being only a servant. But just telling someone would be a start.
    â€˜I haven’t got all day, you know,’ she said. ‘D’you want a cup of tea?’
    â€˜No. I mean . . .’ Kevin took a deep breath. ‘The thing is,’ he said, ‘I’ve done something to the computer, and everything’s going wrong, and I can’t phone Dad and I don’t know what to do.’ His lower lip wobbled. He sniffed. Martha reached up her sleeve and gave him a piece of crumpled tissue.
    â€˜First things first,’ she said. ‘Blow your nose.’
    â€˜Yes, but Martha—’
    â€˜Blow your nose. And then,’ she added, as Kevin made a faint honking noise, like a Fiat horn, ‘we’ll have a look at this computer of yours and see what we can do.’
    Â 
    The machine—
    Neville—
    No, because I’m not either of them any more. Leonardo, then. No, still not right.
    Ah, right. Got it.
    Len. I shall be Len, Short for Leonardo. And Lengine. Sorry, where were we?
    Len turned on the light and looked around. So this was where Neville lived. What a mess.
    But never mind, not important. First things first; some chemical fuel and basic maintenance work, then we can get down to business.
    This involved eating and drinking, going to the lavatory and having a bath, and, to his great relief, Len found he knew how to do them. The basic hard-disk memory was still there, so he was able to find the fridge, cut a sandwich, et cetera. He couldn’t help thinking that there was almost unlimited scope for improved efficiency in pretty well all departments - these people can put a man on the Moon but they still wipe their bottoms with bits of hand-held tissue paper - but that’d keep till another day. His first priority was to rob a factory.
    For which he’d need a few bits and pieces: scaffolding pipe, an arc welder, some quarter-inch plate, couple of yards of three-eighths rod, a bench drill, a set of taps and dies, a lorry, just the basics really. Nothing you wouldn’t expect to find in any normal human being’s garage.
    Except that Neville lived in a flat and parked his motorbike in the street. He did have a hammer, a jam-jar full of pesetas and a tin-opener, but that was about it.