The First Assembly of God
By B. Morris Allen


Science is all about trial and error.  It’s hard to get the balance right.


“Insert knob A in hole B, it says here.”  Ulayk held up the detailed instruction manual with one claw as he pointed out a diagram with his longest antenna.
Jank clashed his plates in frustration.  “Which one of these is hole B?  Why don’t you get off your pod and come help me, instead of sitting there?”
Ulayk calmly waved the manual.  “One of us has to read this.  You think Chief Grutzer Utob would have given this job to a couple of careless types?  Hole B is the middle one on the pink ventral surface.”
“Oh.  Right, what’s next?  Besides, you know we got this job because Utob is your leftmost aunt’s gorb notcher.”
“All the more reason we should do a good job, then.”  Ulayk took a bite of the waj-leaf he held in his other claw.  “Now put washer H on knob A.  Washer H is the big one by your rear pod,” he added helpfully.
“This one?”  Jank placed the large washer as directed.  It dangled loosely from the knob.  “Doesn’t look right to me.  Are you sure you’re reading those directions right?  Maybe I should come take a look.”
“Close enough.  I’m making some improvements here and there.  Here, have a waj-leaf.”  He pulled a fresh leaf from the bucket and tossed it to Jank.  “Now take rod L and put it through slots ZB and F3.”
“What kind of improvements?”  The rod made a grating noise as Jank shoved it past an obstruction at point 32K.  “What happened to doing a good job?”
“Just minor ones.  And they’re improvements.  That’s the point – better than the original.  Wind the green wire around the green posts.  No, make that the red posts.  Looks more festive that way.”
“So, what’s this thing for, anyway?  Doesn’t look like much.”  Jank paused to survey the large, blocky shape beginning to form before him.
“Not sure, really.  Utob said it’s for some new ceremony.  Apparently to provide ‘enlightenment.’  That’s why I substituted some nice bright halogen bulbs for the little diodes they had.  More is better, I always say.”
“If you say so.”
Several rest breaks and as many hours later, the two laborers lounged back on their pods, indulging in one more mug of chimwa ooze before setting to work.
“Much more, do you reckon?” asked Jank, who had done most of the laboring.
“Not much.  In fact, we’re almost done.”  Ulayk skipped several pages that looked complicated.
“Really?  We seem to have quite a lot of pieces left.”
“Extras.  These things are always over-engineered, you know.  I’ll tell you what.  Stick circuit board, um, 3423-JIK-5 in that slot on the top, and we’ll call it done.”  He let the manual fall into the waj-leaf bucket.  “Did you hear Amawa’s dancing over at the Green Shell tonight?  If we hurry, we can still get good seats.”
“Cool.  Hey, I can’t get this board in.  The thingy here is in the way.”
“Take it out.”
“The board?”
“No, the thingy.  The board has to go in.  Essential piece.”
“Right.”  Jank tossed the thingy over his back. 
Ulayk picked it up curiously.  A large red label read ‘Remote shutoff’.  “Not important,” he announced.
“Ok.  Got the board in, but it was tight.  Couple of pieces came off.  This one reads, um, ‘attitude relegator’.  Something like that.”
“Forget about it.  Amawa’s waiting for us.”
They examined the awkward mechanism before them.  The pods were uneven, and it tilted slightly to the left, giving the fueling slot a curiously maniacal look.
“Hey, let’s turn it on,” suggested Jank.  “Just for a minute.  See how enlightening it is.”
Ulayk nodded approvingly.  With a deft mid-claw, he reached forward to flip a switch on the thing’s side.
A gear whirred briefly, and the heavy figure shifted.  It emitted a harsh grinding noise before settling back into silence.
“Huh,” offered Jank.
“Yeah, I expected more.  Still, we did our best.  Let’s get to the Shell and enjoy a well-deserved rest.”  They headed out the door.
Behind them, a capacitor finished charging, and components came to life.  Halogen bulbs in the upper sensory module brightened and quickly overheated.  Deep inside, a boot routine finished running, and the device came fully to life.  It looked around the empty workshop, then staggered with heavy steps to crash through the door.  In the darkness of the outside, it turned on more halogens, until the front of the sensory module was brighter than the sun, and the back of it glowed with a bright red heat.  It extended two conic loudspeakers, and in a grating voice called out.
“Sinners!  Come and be judged!”


Utob offered up his design notes once it became clear what the hellish machine was capable of, though he didn’t seem very apologetic.  The devil is in the details, he kept saying.  That was before the monster took him too, of course.

After that, no one was very keen on building another one of these things, but Ulayk says he knows where Utob went wrong.  I have my doubts, but you know what they say: practice makes perfect.


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B. Morris Allen is a long-time writer of speculative fiction who has only recently gotten around to actually finishing stories. He's in constant motion, but occasionally makes his home in the beautiful Pacific Northwest.