The Gods and the Builders

by Brandon Hale

  “I know,” Jerry said, “but you have to admit… it’s a little truer now than it was this time last year.”

  “For you, maybe,” Lauren said. “For me, hoping for a tomorrow that might not come has been my entire adulthood.”

  “Then your adulthood sucked,” Jerry said. “I mean, seriously. It sucked.”

  Lauren laughed. “You know what,” she said, “you’re right. I didn’t know if tomorrow would come, but instead of soaking up and enjoying every second of every day, I would lay in my bed, staring at the ceiling, waiting for the next major bleed.”

  “You really did that?” Jerry asked.

  “Damn right, I did,” Lauren said.

  “And now we’re not just looking at a tomorrow that might not come,” Jerry said. “We’re looking at a tomorrow that probably won’t come. And what are we doing?”

  “Sitting on the couch, feeling sorry for ourselves,” Lauren said.

  Jerry shook his head.

  “I have a suggestion,” Lauren said.

  “Oh, boy,” Jerry said.

  “Hear me out,” Lauren said, holding up an index finger. “It looks like we’ve finally come to the end. Maybe the end of everything.”

  “Not really winning me over so far,” Jerry said.

  Lauren smiled. “I’m just saying we’ve arrived at the ending to our story. We can feel it creeping up on us. When we look at the book of our life, we’re shocked to see that we’ve pretty much read the entire thing. We have a few pages left.”

  “You’re getting a little lofty for my taste here,” Jerry said, “but go on.”

  Lauren smiled. “Let’s tear out those last few pages and just write the rest of it ourselves. Let’s live life like Alice lives life. We know the ending is coming up, but it’s still our decision to decide if it’s a happy ending or a sad ending.”

  “It’s an asteroid ending,” Jerry said.

  “Work with me here,” Lauren said. “I’m new at this. Our story can end with us spending the last days of our life holed up together, feeling sorry for ourselves.”

  “Here it comes,” Jerry said.

  “Or,” Lauren said, “our story can end with something like, ‘the last days of their lives brought them more happiness and laughter than all the previous days combined.’’

  “That’s the corniest thing I’ve ever heard,” Jerry said.

  Lauren sighed and fell back onto the couch. “Yeah,” she said. “I know. Oh well, I tried.”

  “Hold on,” Jerry said. “I said it’s corny, but I never said I didn’t like it.”

  Lauren looked up. “Really?”

  “Yeah,” Jerry said. “And trust me, I’m as surprised as you are. But before we start, can I ask you a question?”

  “Sure,” Lauren said.

  “Were you one of those depressing ministers?”

  Lauren thought about it for a moment, then said, “I don‘t think so. When I fell into the minister role, I always managed to find optimistic things to talk about. I think I was a pretty good leader. Sometimes, I really think I inspired people. Why?”

  “Because your attempt at optimism just now,” Jerry said, “was pretty amateurish.”

  “Doctors make the worst patients,” Lauren said. “Besides, considering my life, I think I’m a fairly positive person.”

  “I won’t argue that,” Jerry said, shifting on the couch so he was facing her. “So how do we start this asteroid-be-damned ending?”

  “I don’t know about you,” Lauren said, “but I’m starting with a confession.”

  Jerry groaned. “I know religion is your thing and all, but--”

  “Not that kind of confession, idiot,” Lauren said.

  “Oh,” Jerry said. “Okay. Go ahead.”

  “Remember when I kissed you on the cheek to annoy Arthur and Alice?” Lauren asked.

  “Yeah,” Jerry said with a smile. “I asked you if revenge felt good, and you said it didn’t. You said it felt petty. Are you finally admitting you enjoyed the revenge?”

  “Not at all,” Lauren said. “The revenge did feel petty, and it certainly wasn’t something I enjoyed.”

  “Okay, then,” Jerry said. “That was a pretty crappy confession.”

  “I’m not done,” Lauren said. “I didn’t enjoy the revenge at all. But I did enjoy the kiss.”

  Jerry grinned. “I think I’m going to like this happy ending plan.”

  Lauren cocked an eyebrow. “Don’t get cocky. It was just a little peck on the cheek.”

  “Well,” Jerry said, “for what it’s worth, I liked it too.”

  “I don’t know what it was about you,” Lauren said, “but you felt like a friend from the moment I met you.”

  “It’s my charming personality,” Jerry said.

  “I think,” Lauren added, “it was the lack of a charming personality.”

  “Wow,” Jerry said. “You like weird things.”

  “You have no idea,” Lauren said. “But I think I understand why I liked you.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “You were kind of an ass,” Lauren said, “and you made no effort to hide it. And you weren’t an ass in that deep, sexy kind of way. You were just an ass. And you really didn’t care what I thought about it.”

  “Thanks,” Jerry said. “I guess.”

  “But when I was leaving,” Lauren continued, “you stopped me. And you agreed to go with me to the coffee shop. I knew you sincerely cared that I was hurting. You know how I knew?”

  “How?” Jerry said.

  “Because earlier, you didn’t care that I thought you were an ass,” Lauren said. “Does that make sense?”

  “Actually,” Jerry said, “it kinda does.”

  Lauren leaned back onto the couch again. “Your turn.”

  “I never agreed to any confession shit,” Jerry said.

  “I volunteered you,” Lauren said. “Remember, the happy ending plan was mine.”

  “Okay,” Jerry said. “But I’m only doing this because the world’s about to end.”

  “Fair enough,” Lauren said.

  “By our third day in this house,” Jerry said, “I realized that I was glad that Alice cheated on me with Arthur. I really didn‘t give a shit that she had cheated on me. I was surprised she held out for as long as she did. But more than once through this, I caught myself being thankful that she chose Arthur.”

  “That was a generic confession,” Lauren said. “I think we were all ultimately thankful that it worked out the way it did.”

  “No,” Jerry said. “I wasn’t thankful because it gave us a little fucked up family. I was thankful because her decision to hook up with Arthur brought you into my life. You, specifically.”

  “Wow,” Lauren said. “Why me?”

  “It’s weird,” Jerry said. “I was a beer drinking, cigarette smoking, unemployed asshole. And you were a minister.”

  “Please don’t go with the whole opposites attract thing,” Lauren said. “Because my marriage proves that attraction is pretty superficial.”

  Jerry laughed. “I wasn’t going that route,” he said. “That’s the weird part. I never felt like we were opposites. From that first day you cried in my living room, I felt like we were very similar people. I don’t know why.” He thought for a moment, then added, “And I don’t know why, but I found myself desperately wanting you to have happiness.”

  “Thank you,” Lauren said.

  “So what’s next in your fancy plan?” Jerry asked.

  “I think I want to build a snowman,” Lauren said.

  “Really?” Jerry asked. “You’re a pretty random person.”

  “Do you have a better suggestion?” Lauren asked.

  “Actually,” Jerry said, “a snowman sounds pretty fun about right now.”

  Jerry stood by the front door, wearing Arthur’s coat and gloves. Lauren was in the bedroom.

  “Take your time,” Jerry yelled. “It’s not like an asteroid could hit the Earth at any moment or anythin
g crazy like that.”

  “Shut up,” Lauren said as she stepped into the living room. “I had to put on a few layers. It’s cold out there.”

  “Okay,” Jerry said as she walked to the front door. “Step one: confessions. Step two: snowman. I don‘t know if I understand your plan yet, but I‘m going on faith here.”

  Lauren laughed.

  “Let’s go build that snowman,” Jerry said as he opened the front door.

  “Wait,” Lauren said.

  Jerry turned around. “Yes?”

  “I changed my mind about step two,” Lauren said.

  “Good,” Jerry said. “Because I really didn’t want to build a damn snow--”

  Lauren grabbed him and shoved him against the wall beside the open door. “I know this is cliché, with the world ending and all, but screw it.”

  She softly pressed her lips against his.

  After a moment, she pulled back.

  “This is tons better than the snowman idea,” Jerry whispered.

  Lauren kissed him again, but this time she didn’t pull back right away.

  When their lips finally parted, Jerry said, “I’m really wondering what step three is.”

  Lauren smiled. “Me too,” she said. “I think we should go through step two again, just to see if it gives us any ideas.”

  Jerry closed the front door.

  Jerry woke to find himself alone in Lauren’s bed. He looked at the window and saw that it was still dark outside.

  “Where are you?” he asked.

  “Over here,” Lauren said as she turned on her bedside lamp. She was standing beside the bed, buttoning her jeans. “I think you need to get up.”

  “Please,” Jerry said, “tell me you’re not already regretting what happened.”

  Lauren leaned over the bed and kissed him on the forehead. “No,” she said. “I don’t regret it at all. Especially now. But I think you need to get up.”

  “Why?” Jerry said.

  “Because it’s dark outside,” Lauren answered.

  “If you ask me,” Jerry said, “that’s a very good reason to crawl back into bed.”

  “Jerry,” Lauren said, “it’s ten-thirty in the morning.”

  Jerry sat up and looked at the window again. “What the hell?”

  “Yeah,” Lauren said. “When I woke up and saw my clock, I thought the battery had died, so I got my watch from the table. It’s officially the next morning.”

  Jerry stared at the window.

  “And yes,” Lauren said. “I’m thinking the same thing you’re thinking.”

  “Something’s blocking the sun,” Jerry said. “Something big.”

  Lauren looked at him with tears in her eyes. “Something like an asteroid.”

  Chapter 6

  The New World

  “It makes perfect sense,” Arthur said.

  “You’re a much smarter person than me,” Alice said, “if you understand how a dead alien can power a spaceship.”

  “I’m not talking about the technology,” Arthur said. “I’m talking about ancient civilizations.”

  “Oh,” Alice said. “You’re thinking about ancient civilizations. When they told me who they were, my first thought was, ‘This is awesome. I bet it’ll make Arthur think about ancient civilizations.’”

  “The Egyptians,” Arthur said, ignoring Alice’s comment, “weren’t using those pyramids as tombs. They were trying to get them to fly. Somehow, they understood how the alien ships worked. They were trying to replicate it. And they were trying to power it with the dead.”

  “Okay,” Alice said, “that’s actually interesting.”

  “The same with the Aztecs,” Arthur said. “Their obsession with death and human sacrifice makes a hell of a lot more sense now. They knew the dead powered these alien ships. They were trying to get their own ships to fly.” Arthur’s eyes were wide. Alice had seen that look many times during particularly animated lectures in his class.

  “The big question,” Arthur continued, “is how they do it.”

  “I can’t answer that,” Alice said. “Keep in mind, I was communicating with the ship. I didn’t join their collective. I still have the restrictions of my simple human mind.”

  Arthur smiled. “I’m starting to think your mind is anything but simple. You have accomplished something remarkable. Something nobody else on this ship has been able to do.”

  “Yeah,” Alice said. “My only peers are five year old children.”

  “That’s not a bad thing,” Arthur said. “I think it’s because you still see the world like they do. You’ve retained your sense of awe. You don’t immediately judge everything you see, hear, or feel. Instead of placing judgment on information you receive, you simply… absorb it. I think that’s the key.”

  “As far as the ships,” Alice said, “I know what happens. I just don’t know how.” She found herself falling into the same role she fell into when she was in his class. She was eager to prolong his sense of excitement, and she was thankful to have information that might do just that.

  “I’m listening,” Arthur said.

  Alice smiled. “I get to be the teacher,” she sang.

  “Yes,” Arthur said with a smile. “You do.”

  “As far as I could tell,” Alice said, “they don’t really differentiate between their bodies and their ships. Each one is simply a different body they live in for a while. They’re born, they grow old, and they die. When they die, they somehow transport themselves into the ships. They live in these ships for years and years.”

  “Do they ever get to leave?” Arthur said. “If you ask me, it’s kind of a shitty way to spend eternity.”

  “Not at all,” Alice said. “They love being the ships, and I can see why they would. They get to touch the stars. But to answer your question, no. They don’t stay there forever.”

  “Where do they go?” Arthur said. “What is heaven to these aliens?”

  “I saw nothing like heaven,” Alice said. “But I know that both bodies are born in the same place.”

  “You mean their living bodies and the ships?”

  Alice nodded. “Yeah. There‘s a place they take their dead when they die. And it‘s the same place they go when they give birth. It‘s hard to explain, because what we see as death, they just see as a different birth. It’s a never ending circle. When they die, they move into a vehicle, or even a home.”

  “A home?”

  “They live in everything, Art,” Alice said. “It’s incredible. But anyway, when one body dies, they move into the other body“

  “Like a ship,” Arthur said.

  “Yeah,” Alice answered. “And they don‘t leave that body until they‘re reborn as an alien again.” She shook her head. “It’s hard to explain, because we talk about the ship and the body, but to them, there’s very little difference between the two. They see them both as vehicles. The aliens themselves are something entirely different. Something more… radiant.”

  “It’s like a giant recycling system,” Arthur said. “They never die.”

  “They don’t know what death is,” Alice said. “When I asked the ship about death, they couldn’t grasp my question at all.”

  “They?” Arthur said. “Not ‘it’?”

  “They,” Alice confirmed. “The only time they exist as a single entity is when they are in a body. I mean, it’s when they’re in the bodies we see as alive. The big-headed guys.”

  “But when those bodies die?” Arthur said.

  “They join a collective,” Alice said. “Really, I’m not explaining it right. I’m not doing any better than the damn kids.”

  “Nonsense,” Arthur said. “You’re doing great.”

  “Here’s the best way I can describe it,” Alice said. “Let’s say you want some milk. You get a glass down, then you pull out the gallon jug from the fridge. You pour the milk into your glass.”

  “Okay,” Arthur said.

  “Your glass full of milk is an alien,” Alice said.
“And the gallon jug is the ship. So you drink some milk, but you don’t finish your glass. There’s still some milk in it. Instead of letting it go bad, you just pour the rest of it back into the gallon jug, where it mixes back in with the milk that was in there.”

  “I think I see,” Arthur said. “So while the aliens are individuals when they’re in a body, they don’t retain that individuality when they become part of a ship.”

  “Right,” Alice said. “Again, I’m doing a piss-poor job of explaining this. It’s deep stuff. Way deeper than me.”

  “Beg to differ,” Arthur said. “Turns out, you’re a very good teach yourself.”

  “It’s incredible, Art,” Alice said. “You have to figure out how to hear them.”

  “I’ve tried several times,” Arthur said. “We all have. We get nothing.”

  Alice’s eyes were radiant, almost glowing. “When I was connected, it was beauty beyond anything you could imagine. When they’re part of that collective, they don’t know fear. They don’t know sadness or pain. The only thing you feel is… peace.”

  “It sounds like what people describe when they have a near death experience,” Hope said.

  Alice was startled by the comment. She had again forgotten that others were in the room. “Yes, Hope,” Alice said. “It was exactly like that. While I was connected, it became overwhelmingly obvious that humanity is in its infancy. We don’t understand… anything. We’re completely ignorant of the universe around us. Mentally, we have more in common with a housefly than we have with these aliens.”

  “You’re saying we’re not sentient,” Arthur said.

  “That’s exactly what I’m saying,” Alice said. She was surprised by the certainty of her own statement.

  Silence fell on the room.

  “Then why are they doing this?” Hope finally asked. “Why are they helping us?”

  Alice shrugged. “I don’t know,” she said. “I’ve not been able to effectively communicate that question. I tried, but I don’t think the term ‘why’ holds any meaning for them anymore.”

  “Maybe they see potential,” Arthur said. “Maybe they hope we will achieve that higher awareness.”