Waking Gods

  —That’s not—

  —Don’t interrupt. Just give me a sec. I have something to show you … Here! Do you know what this is?

  —That’s a picture of the Pillars of Creation. It’s a giant mass of gas and dust in the Eagle Nebula. That picture was taken by Hubble some years ago.

  —So you know it!

  —I love that picture. I was always fascinated by it.

  —What do you love about it?

  —It’s a stellar nursery. The gas clouds in that region collapse on themselves to form new stars.

  —It’s big, isn’t it?

  —Oh yes.

  —How big?

  —The nebula? I don’t know exactly. Probably trillions of miles.

  —OK, so it’s a very big pile of dust. What do you find so fascinating about it?

  —Well, that’s it! It’s a huge cloud, larger than anything we can imagine. Yet it’s just a tiny speck in the universe. And it spits out stars! Stars that will have planets.

  —And some of these planets will have life! And some of that life will be sentient.

  —Yes! It’s awe-inspiring. It’s—

  —God?

  —Maybe.

  —It’s also gone, you know. The Pillars of Creation. They were probably long gone by the time the light from it made it all the way here for that picture.

  —Probably.

  —Well, you, Rose Franklin, are made of the exact same stuff as the Pillars of Creation. No more. No less. That’s how special and insignificant you are.

  — …

  —That’s all I’m gonna say about it. I hope that’s enough for you to learn to live with your soulless self. I, and some associates of mine, took a high-resolution scan of you when you got into that car crash—

  —You were there?

  —I held your head, so you wouldn’t bang it on the door. After you died, we used that scan to reconstruct you. Whether or not you existed before makes absolutely no difference. I swear to you, you are as much who you are as you ever were.

  —I—

  —Yes?

  —Do you always carry a picture of the Eagle Nebula in your wallet?

  —I do!

  —Why?

  —I like the colors. Can we talk about something fun, now? I really miss the other guy, you know.

  —Why save me? Why bring me back?

  —Hmm, let me think. So that you’d be less dead. I think that was the idea.

  —But why me?

  —I’m beginning to wonder myself. Because you’re important.

  —He told me the same thing before he died. I’m not! I’m not a messiah. You just told me I’m not special at all. Insignificant, you said.

  —I didn’t say you were the second coming. Maybe important wasn’t the right word. Useful? How’s that? Are you OK with being useful?

  —Useful how? I know this has something to do with the aliens coming, but … I’m not … I’m not smart enough to do this on my own.

  —Well, you’re not that smart, but you are smart enough. Just enough. This isn’t an intelligence contest, you know. If we wanted a genius, we would have picked your colleague, Alyssa what’s her name?

  —You picked me?

  —Geez! Louise! You’re really not that smart! No wonder we had to help you.

  —Help me?

  —It never struck you as … convenient that you fell on a giant hand as a child, then ended up studying that same hand, as part of your very first job?

  —What are you saying?

  —I’m saying that A-minus students from one of the most unrecognized schools in the country aren’t often admitted to major research universities.

  —You mean you got me in at the U. of C.?

  —Getting you into the right school was the easy part. Getting you to study physics—

  —I don’t believe you. I always liked science, ever since I can remember.

  —You were good at it. We just made sure you had the opportunity to figure that out.

  — …

  —You can talk now. I was done with that sentence.

  —You just told me I don’t have a soul, that it doesn’t matter if I’m a copy or not, that my entire life has been orchestrated for me, and that I didn’t really deserve any of the things I’m most proud of. I … I’m not certain how I’m supposed to react.

  —Meh, deserve, schmeserve. You’re allowed to be proud. You did all the things you did on your own. I didn’t do your homework for you. I didn’t find that robot. You just needed a little nudge from time to time, to point you in the right direction.

  —But why me? Why am I … useful?

  —Oh, I wasn’t gonna tell you more, but now that you’ve asked me twice!

  — …

  —Now, do you have anything interesting to ask me? You know, something that might not be entirely about you?

  —Why did the alien robots stop moving around? Why did they stop shooting gas?

  —That is an interesting question.

  —Then why?

  —I have no idea. You’d have to ask them. Maybe they’re on a break. Maybe they’re unionized. Maybe they’re giving you a chance to respond.

  —I don’t understand. To respond to what?

  —How should I know? But they’re killing a whole lot of people. They must have a reason.

  —They might be angry that we used Themis in North Korea. He thought they didn’t want us to kill one another with their weapon. They might be angry just because we have her. Maybe we weren’t supposed to find Themis.

  —Like I told our friend, they couldn’t care less whether you kill one another, with or without their weapon. Besides, it would be pretty stupid to kill millions of people because you might kill some people. They really don’t like to interfere in the affairs of others.

  —They don’t like to interfere? They’re wiping us out! I’d call that interference.

  —Then maybe they’re looking for an excuse to stop.

  —Why do I get the feeling you want to help us but you also don’t want to help us?

  —That sentence makes absolutely no sense. Do you know the story of the fisherman and the seagull?

  —Please. I would love to hear it.

  —Oh! Now I’m beginning to like you! Here it goes. There was a king crab fisherman in Alaska. Every morning during the fall, he took his little fishing boat to sea to catch some king crab. He and his crew would visit every spot where they had dropped a trap—they call them pots—lift it up, grab the crabs that were the right size, throw in some bait, and send the pot back to the bottom. One day, the fisherman was sorting through the crabs in a pot when he noticed one of the little crabs—the ones that get thrown back in—wasn’t a crab at all. It was an oyster. The fisherman opened it and, lo and behold, found the most beautiful pearl inside.

  He thought of how the pearl would change his life, of everything he would buy for his wife and kids, then he put the pearl in a small box next to the boat’s wheel and went on with his day. While he was sorting through another pot of crabs, a seagull landed on the ship’s wheel, grabbed the pearl from the box with its beak, and flew away before the fisherman could do anything about it. He was … destroyed. His dreams crushed. Soon his despair turned to anger. He became convinced that the seagull had stolen the pearl only to hurt him, that all seagulls were creatures of evil, feathered demons out to steal the dreams of man.

  Of course, the seagull just thought it was a piece of food it could feed its newborns with. Back at the nest, none of the baby seagulls were able to chew the pearl, so it just lay there—something shiny for the baby birds to look at while waiting for mom and dad to return.

  The fisherman tried shooting at the birds. But the first shot—he missed—scared them away. They still circled the boat but kept their distance from
whatever made that loud noise. He tried setting traps, but he wasn’t really good at it, and the seagulls always managed to leave with the bait, unscathed. The fisherman tried a slingshot, ended up hurting his hand. He tried aiming fireworks at them. Yep, that was a stupid idea.

  Finally, after he took care of the burns on his hands, the fisherman brought poison with him on the boat, lots of it. Heck, he had enough poison to kill every feathered thing in all of Alaska. He stuffed poison inside small fish, bread, the muffins he had brought for breakfast—that was a shame, they were really good muffins. He put poison into whatever he could find, and threw it into the sea for the seagulls to eat. Some did, and died, but most of the deadly bait sank to the ocean floor. You should have seen how happy the crabs were. Look, Mom: free food falling from the sky! Muffins, even! The crabs gathered all of it and organized the biggest crab party anyone had ever seen. They had crab music, and a really long and narrow dance floor. They danced sideways until the wee hours.

  By morning, the fisherman had realized what was happening, but it was too late. All the crabs were dead. There was nothing left for him to fish. He couldn’t work. He couldn’t feed his family. No one in the village could, and they all had to leave. The seagulls, of course, are still there. One spring morning, mother seagull decided it was time to clean the nest. The babies were now teenagers and they never picked up after themselves. She felt sentimental about some of the junk that was lying around, but one thing was certain, she’d seen enough of that shiny, useless little ball. She flew away with the pearl and dropped it on the deck of one of the abandoned fishing boats.

  — …

  —What do you think?

  —That’s a really … sad story?

  —It is, isn’t it? Maybe it should have a happier ending. Maybe the seagulls are angry for being shot at and they start dropping things, little rocks, bombing the hell out of everyone. Then one of the baby seagulls can’t find a small enough rock so he drops the pearl, right in the fisherman’s hand. Is that better?

  —I’m not sure … Is that all the help you’re willing to give me?

  —Help? I just thought you might like a story! You seemed a little on edge.

  —I’m horrible with metaphors. I’m guessing we’re the seagulls. Do the aliens think we stole Themis from them?

  —Oh, I see. The pearl would be a metaphor for Themis. That’s cute.

  —Do they think we stole anything from them?

  —No. They don’t fish either, in case you were about to ask. I’m sure they’d like crab if they ever tried it, though.

  —So we have alien beings who really don’t like to interfere, but think they need to … somehow. The only thing I can get from your story is that they might be doing it for the wrong reason. Unless we’re the crabs, and they’re not trying to kill us at all. But who are the seagulls?

  —Wow. I hope you realize you’re talking to yourself now. I’ve already done a lot more than I should, so you’ll have to go the rest of the way on your own. On the upside, you should find comfort in the fact that you’ll “deserve” what success you may have. Ah! Our food’s coming!

  —Can I ask one more question?

  —Is it a funny question?

  —Are we … family?

  —That is funny. Do we look like we’re family?

  —I mean, am I an alien? Part alien?

  —What does that even mean?

  —Am I like you? Your ancestors, a long, long time ago, they weren’t from this planet, were they?

  —And if they weren’t, what would that make me? Better, or worse?

  —I … I don’t know how to answer that.

  —You should. You really should.

  FILE NO. 1600

  PERSONAL LOG—VINCENT COUTURE, CONSULTANT, EDC AND EVA REYES

  Location: Shadow Government Bunker, Lenexa, KS

  —That’s really nice, Eva. Did you draw that today?

  —Last night. I couldn’t sleep.

  —Is that … ?

  —Yes. That’s you.

  —That’s me? When did my nose get so big?

  —It’s just a drawing.

  —It’s nice, Eva. You’re really good, you know. And who’s that one by your bed?

  —That’s my mom.

  —Your—

  —My Puerto Rican mom. Not—

  —Her name’s Kara.

  —I know that.

  — … You said you couldn’t sleep. Nightmares?

  —Mm—hmm.

  —Me too.

  —And I hate it here. This bed sucks, and—

  —And what?

  —Nothing. It’s silly.

  —You can tell me.

  — …

  —Come on!

  —I had this—

  —Yes …

  —I had a plush turtle. I told you it was stupid.

  —And it helped you sleep, and now it’s gone.

  —They wouldn’t let me take anything. The people who—

  —Would a beat-up gopher do the trick?

  —What?

  —It’s a plush … gopher, about this big.

  —No! My mom gave me that turtle!

  —That one’s also … It belonged to Kara. I don’t know the story behind it, but she kept it in a box with some other stuff. It’s missing an eye and it’s ripped in a few places, but it’s … Well, it’s a gopher. It’s yours if you want it.

  — …

  —Well, think about it. Can I ask how? Inside Themis … How did you know Kara was your … biological mother?

  —I wasn’t sure. I thought she might be. She looked like … like I imagined my mother would.

  —How did you know the people who raised you in Puerto Rico weren’t your real parents?

  —They were my real parents!

  —I’m sorry. Your biological parents.

  —My mother was Puerto Rican. My father was from Belize. I’m … superwhite. But I didn’t know. When I was seven, I broke my best friend’s arm for saying bad things about my mother. It wasn’t just her. All the kids, they kept saying my mom was sleeping around. I even believed them for a while. My parents explained it to me after I sent my friend to the hospital. I didn’t understand. I’d seen pictures of my mom pregnant, pictures of my birth. I didn’t know you could make babies that way.

  — …

  —What are you looking at?

  —You have her eyes. Kara’s.

  — …

  —I’m sorry Eva. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.

  —Can I ask you something?

  —Anything.

  —What do you want?

  —I just came to see how you were doing.

  —I mean what do you want with me? You’re not my “real” dad. You don’t have to take care of me just because you gave a sample of your—

  —Eva, I know you’re upset. You have every right to be. You lost your parents. Then you met Kara, and she died too, but—

  —I still have one left.

  —One what?

  —A mother. I still have one left.

  —One mother? Who?

  —Alyssa.

  —Wh … Alyssa’s not your mother. Who told you that?

  —She made me, didn’t she?

  —I don’t believe this. Who told you that?

  —She did!

  —When did you speak to Alyssa?

  —She came to see me while you were away. She said she made me in a lab, so that I could pilot Themis if one of you died. She said you tried to stop her.

  —Let me get this straight. Alyssa came to see you and she told you that she made you?

  —Yes.

  — …

  —It’s true, isn’t it?

  —It’s … It’s more complicated
than that.

  —Would you have told me?

  —Would I have told you? Not now! Someday, maybe. I’m so sorry you had to hear any of this.

  —I’m not. She’s the only one who didn’t lie to me.

  —Look, Eva, I’m not sure what you think you know—

  —I know you and Kara didn’t want me.

  —Kara didn’t want Alyssa to knock her unconscious, strap her to a table, and remove her eggs without her consent. That doesn’t mean she didn’t want you. She had no idea you even existed. No one did, except for Alyssa. The minute she heard about you, Kara was gone. She went against orders to go get you! There were a lot of bad things going on, people dying, but she went to get you. Do you know where I was when she left?

  —Where?

  —I was missing. I was stuck with Themis at the bottom of the ocean and no one knew where I was. But she left anyway because she thought you might be in danger. Do you understand what I’m saying? There was no one more important to her. She’d never met you in her life, not once, and you were the most important thing in the world to her.

  —She didn’t care about me. She wanted a pilot for Themis.

  —Kara died so you could live, you ungrateful little brat! Show some respect.

  —I saw her die.

  —I saw her die too.

  —I mean before. I saw her die before, in my dreams. I saw a metal woman, like Themis, but now I know it was her. I thought she was falling upwards into the clouds. It didn’t make any sense. I had that same dream all the time. They thought there was something wrong with me. They thought I was crazy.

  —Did you see her face? In your dreams?

  —Not really. It was … it was different, but I know it was her.

  —Well, let me tell you something Eva. I saw her fall in my head too, over and over again. I still see her. She’s falling backwards, her arms spread, and she disappears into a sea of white. That’s what you saw, right?

  —Yes.

  —Me too. It’s all I could see. Over, and over, and over. Then last night it hit me. Kara left everything to find you. She left her work, she left me, she left everything when the world needed her the most because she wanted to make sure nothing happened to you. She would have given anything, sacrificed anything to save you. And she did, she gave her life, and she saved you. That was the most important thing to her. So when she closed that hatch and fell backwards into a sea of white smoke, I know she had a smile on her face. She died happy, and she died proud. Close your eyes.