The godologists were tucked away in a small corner of the universe, though once their domain had been extensive. Godology, it seemed, was a dying art, Seven thought. Not really, of course, since no arts die, but in the context of the times he was dealing with, godology wasn’t the exciting pursuit it used to be. Seven shook his head with some dismay. The lawns and shrubs were in need of trimming; dust settled over the once ivied towers, and the buildings themselves had shrunken. Once they’d been so large that it took centuries to get from one complex to another, and now the same buildings could be seen in the twinkling of an eye.

The godologists were a peculiar breed anyhow, for their profession demanded that they mix godly and human characteristics, an uneasy blend, a transspecies really, that made them—well, a trifle eccentric. He had to have some psychological profiles on the gods for Lydia’s benefit, though, so Seven resolutely hurried on.

The particular godologist Seven wanted to see was one he affectionately called Ram-Ram, because the godologist always seemed to be butting his head up against divinities that he couldn’t understand. Names don’t mean much to souls, so it was only when Seven actually entered the godologists’ domain that it occurred to him that his godologist and Jeffy-boy’s psychologist friend had the same name. Some godologists had physical lives going on, and some didn’t. Since Seven didn’t know Ram-Ram’s status in that regard, he forgot the entire matter in the press of more serious issues. He’d promised Lydia that he’d discover what he could about the gods as they existed in terms of the world she was used to. So Seven sent out mental feelers for Ram-Ram as soon as he approached the nearly deserted grounds.

From somewhere inside, Ram-Ram flashed his mental welcome. “My, my, my. Yes, yes. What have we here? Seven! Delighted,” and he sent Seven directions. Briskly now Seven went past empty consultation rooms to find Ram-Ram’s small cubicle.