On a cold October day, Jeffery Jameson descended into Hell. His had been a life of debauchery; yet it had had its merits, even if those he had saved didn’t know it. Now, J. J., as he was known by both friends and enemies, was to begin life as he had left it – with a smile on his face. However, for the moment, he was not smiling as the Recorder read out his life’s history.

“J. J.,” began the Recorder. “Born the prized son of an upper middle-class family, you were to be the epitome of the family’s success. Having graduated with high honors from a well-known eastern university, the world of law lay at your feet, and you meant to keep it that way.”

J. J. twitched, briefly smiled, and then grimaced as the Recorder, after turning on the viewing wall, began showing him vignettes of his life from its end to its beginning.

‘Ten years ago. J. J. you. …

“I remember,” J. J. interrupted. Seeing himself entering the corporate conference room, he remembered the feeling of complete satisfaction. His takeover had succeeded, and the former leadership, now wriggling in their chairs, had surrendered early on in the game. They would go, along with thousands of others, as restructuring and selling off would garner him around $50 million. After all, being the head of a conglomerate of fast foods and weapons – items all geared to speed and ultimate self-destruction – wasn’t easy. He deserved this success, and the losers could just get out of the way.

“To ease your conscience, you got into insuring the very people hurt by your business,” the Recorder droned on.

“Of course,” J. J. curtly responded, “because they needed help.”

“And you made a pretty profit out of this help, too!” the Recorder swiftly countered.

J. J. could do nothing but reply, “Of course.” The Recorder had really investigated him – far more so than the others who had gone and returned before him.

Suddenly, the wall came alive with his family. It was his son’s tenth birthday party. Watching him blow out the candles on the cake, he recalled it was the last birthday party he had attended since the divorce.

“At thirty-five, J. J. you had a family: a beautiful and sophisticated wife, two healthy children, an assortment of office mistresses faithfully sleeping their way to the corporate heights, and an assortment of politicians in your pocket while you were in theirs.”

He didn’t need reminding. Besides, what was the problem? His wife had played around, and the office women knew the rules of the game. It wasn’t his fault that he had rarely seen his kids after the divorce. Every time he arrived to pick them up his ex-wife had an excuse. After a while what was the point, so he had let it pass. And the politicians? Well, they were politicians.

The Recorder interrupted his train of thought as the picture changed to his wedding. “Eighteen years ago, J. J. you were madly in love with your own success. You married the boss’s daughter, and were now on your way to your inexorable takeover of her father’s law firm.”

Suddenly the wall went blank. After the lights had been turned up, he saw he was standing in front of the Governing Tribunal. Something was wrong; no one before had been brought here.

“Mr. Jameson,” boomed the chilling voice of the Director. “While the others who were sent before contributed, you merely took. You allowed the condition of that backward species to become your condition, thereby breaking the chain in our experiment.”

J. J. remembered his instructions: to be born among them, pass on his pre-selected program, die, and return here. Well, he had done it all. It wasn’t his fault that his program had been an unplanned placebo in the grand experiment. Without any instructions he had done what seemed to be natural.

“Mr. Jameson,” the voice continued, “We are moving on to another place and another time to continue our investigations. You, however, will stay. You will be born again among them, but this time when you die – you die.”

J. J. didn’t mind; life was more interesting this way. So on a cold October day, a smiling Jeffery Jameson was born into a poor farm family. He had returned to a place Earthlings called home, and his former colleagues, borrowing a terrestrial term, called Hell.