Creation

by Greg Chase

  A scream of protest emanated from the front of the shuttle. “Are you crazy?” But no one was listening to Jacques.

  Damaged beyond its normal functionality, the canopy exploded off the shuttle to release the passengers. Dark figures darted around what had once been a hallway.

  Sam pointed the weapon around the area, but the light on the gun only indicated how poorly he grasped the concept of aiming. Bright lights blinded him as two guns fired in rapid succession toward the shuttle.

  Jess pulled hard at his sleeve. “Stop trying to get shot.”

  He handed her back the gleaming weapon. “When the light goes green, it means you have a shot. Red means Ed won’t let it fire.”

  “What about Ed talking to you telepathically?” Jess asked as she took hold of the gun.

  “Won’t do much good if I can’t point the damn thing long enough to pull the trigger.” Plus, I’ll never hear the end of it if I don’t let you try.

  Swinging her body up from the crouched position, she directed the gun out toward the hallway and opened fire. Sam didn’t notice a green light, but maybe that didn’t matter as much as letting the bad guys know she was armed. The whole area lit up with beams from the gun, exploding glass walls, and cut metal flying through the air.

  Jess ducked back down next to Sam. “I don’t think I hit anyone.” She wasn’t quite able to suppress the smile of satisfaction.

  A man shouted something obscene before a loud thud indicated he’d been tackled to the ground. Random laser fire hit the ceiling over the shuttle but posed no threat.

  Joshua materialized next to them. “It’s okay. Lud just subdued the last threat.”

  “Is he okay?” Jess asked.

  “Lud moves a lot faster than you’d think possible. Your laser fire distracted the thugs, giving him time to get into position,” Joshua said.

  Sam peeked over the side of the craft. “How many were there?”

  “Four pretty tough customers. Of the two Ed identified on the far side of the building, Lud had to shoot one. He’s injured in the leg but nothing that won’t heal. And Lud laid out another with a linebacker tackle that must have broken some bones.” Joshua moved his shoulders side to side, making Sam think he’d wished he were in on the play. “Vicious hit, and that’s my assessment after analyzing decades of modern football.”

  Ed materialized outside the shuttle. “Sorry for the delay. If it hadn’t been for those other two, we’d have gotten here before you needed that weapon. Glad to see at least one of you can shoot.”

  Jess twirled the weapon around in her hand. “Just point and shoot. Works just like in the adventure novels.” The red light eased Sam’s fears of her accidentally shooting something important.

  “The authorities have been notified,” Joshua said. “Not that anything will be done other than the hoodlums being released from their bonds and having their wounds tended to. Disagreements like that happen all the time out here.”

  “Lud’s tying up the riffraff. They shouldn’t be bothering us. Other than that group, the floor is secure,” Ed added.

  Jacques pushed at various panels of the crashed ship. “Any more of those weapons aboard?”

  “Like you’d know how to use one.” Ed laughed. “Even if there were, I wouldn’t authorize it for your use.”

  “Don’t forget who I am, security guard. You may have proven useful, but it’s your fault we got hit in the first place. You really should have done some reconnaissance when you had the chance.”

  Sam wondered how much money it took to be an asshole without anyone taking a punch at you.

  Two small shuttles edged into the building and deftly landed beside the crashed vessel. Both opened to heavily armed operators. “Everything all right, Mr. Saint Clare?” asked one of the pilots.

  Jacques waved his hand dismissively. “Fine, fine. Just get us out of here. This excursion has taken up too much of my day already.”

  Lud arrived, fresh from battle. His suit was torn at the shoulder, making him look even more muscular, his black hair sat in uncoordinated waves, and blood dripped from one hand.

  Sam caught Jess’s heavy breathing at the sight of the warrior. He pointed at the blood. “You okay?”

  A look of amused shock crossed Lud’s face as he raised his hand. “Guess that glass was sharper than I thought. Nothing to worry about.”

  “If you’re not too busy playing war hero, do you think we could get back to the offices?” Jacques asked.

  With two shuttles, maybe Sam could prevent a fistfight on the way back. He didn’t think he could stand Jacques for a moment longer, and Jess tended to be even less diplomatic. “I think Jess and I might like to find some place to think. Any chance we can borrow one of the shuttles while you two return to work?”

  One of the pilots bowed. “I’m at your disposal.”

  Sam held Jess tight as the shuttle flew aimlessly around New York. He hadn’t almost lost her, but the knot in his stomach didn’t know that. Earth had never been a safe place. Ellie’s outrage at Jacques putting them in danger permeated his thoughts. I’m going to listen to you more and mankind less. At least when it comes to Jess’s safety. His fury over the conditions people lived in, people who occupied his buildings, would have to wait.

  He caressed along her arm to her still shaking hand. “You were quite the brave heroine. I suppose I’m going to have to find you a sexy leather holster now.”

  Her head cuddled tight to his. “Thanks for trying to lighten my mood. It’s not the danger—I was over that the moment Lud barreled up to the shuttle. It’s the way those people live in that building. I keep thinking I’d run away if I were in their situation. Just move, anywhere. But I’d never leave you, our daughters, or the village. Do you think that’s why they all stay trapped in that cement box?”

  He shrugged under the weight of her body. “People get used to a living arrangement and find it hard to change. Bad as a place is, if it’s what you know, it can be hard to leave.”

  He stared out the overhead dome of the shuttle. “I suppose we should land somewhere.”

  “Someplace nice, where we can see the good in people and what we’re capable of achieving. Can you think of a place like that?”

  “MoMA’s nice. That’s where I go when I need some peace or inspiration,” the pilot said.

  “MoMA?” Jess asked.

  “Museum of Modern Art. It’s one of the old fixtures of New York. Been around forever. If you want to experience what mankind can do in the field of art, it’s the place to see,” the pilot said.

  Sam’s appreciation of art didn’t extend much past comic animation, though he often wished he’d paid more attention to music and other human endeavors. “I can’t say I’ll be much of a guide, but it sounds good to me. There’s got to be more to human existence than what we’ve seen so far.”

  “The Broadway play was wonderful, as was the food. But I understand what you’re saying. We’ve been unduly focusing on the effects of money, both too much of it and too little.” Jess returned to her silent contemplation of the city as the shuttle circled in on the museum.

  The pilot found a secluded area for VIP parking, mere steps from the front entrance but hidden from the general population. Rendition pilots, human or Tobe, had an uncanny way of finding convenient spots at any time. “The Tobes’ll cut me off from all technology if I leave you two. And I hate doing math with a stick in the dirt. So take your time, and I’ll be here when you need me.”

  For the better part of an hour, Sam quietly contemplated the various paintings and sculptures the museum had to offer with Jess by his side. From works no larger than a button, which required a magnifying glass to see, to towering creations that made him feel small not just physically but, even more, spiritually, he marveled at what mere humans had achieved. These artists created things meant to enhance the human soul. These are the people who should have been god to the Tobes. Not me. But the role was his burden and his gift. A gift he chose to embrace, he reminde
d himself. He could make a difference.

  Jess wandered into a quiet, darkened room, beckoning him to follow. A stained-glass window towered over them, entirely filling the far wall. He stood so close to the window he could make out each piece of glass. She pulled him to her side on a bench designed to enhance the effect of grandeur. Up close, the random pieces of glass appeared to have been haphazardly soldered in place, forming a confusing mixture of colors and light. But from the bench, the image took shape. Towering trees, flowers, and a pastoral landscape emerged from the chaos of glass and metal. A part of Sam’s mind attempted to imagine how the piece would have been created. The complexity, scale, and sheer audacity of such an undertaking made him question the artist’s sanity. But the other half of his brain silently absorbed the beauty like a child enjoying the sun on its face.

  “This is what we’re capable of—this is who we have to strive to become.” Tears filled Jess’s eyes. “People who could create this kind of beauty. Trying to amass money and power would be a false direction for us and for the Tobes. You and I might not be artists or musicians or chefs, but we can support those endeavors. We can encourage them, can’t we?”

  Sam cringed for not having made the connection. They’d been admiring the work of people, not mythical advanced beings who’d been long extinct. There were people doing similar works at that very moment. “I think there’s an artists’ market in Central Park. We could check it out tomorrow. Feel like rejoining humanity?”

  Jess’s face glowed from the light of the window. “Not that I want to leave this place or really feel safe just yet, but I do think that’d be best. It’d be too easy to close ourselves up in that penthouse and never deal with people again. There’s a scared part of me that wants to do just that. All the more reason to rejoin the battle—figuratively, though, not literally this time. But tomorrow sounds good.”

  The fact that she could joke about the day’s events gave Sam courage.

  19

  Sam looked down at the various landing ports that ringed Central Park. They reminded him of an antique vending machine he’d seen in some school outing. A human operator would never have managed a landing in such a tight space. Their ship pitched up to land on the vast empty roof.

  Joshua looked out the side as the ship landed. “One of your many advantages: you’ll never have to look for parking, wait for a transport cab, wait in line, or really wait at all unless you choose to.”

  Sam had to admit that not flying into a cracker tube did give him some relief.

  “Better put on your devices. You don’t have to turn them on, but it’ll make talking with us less conspicuous,” Joshua said.

  Jess adjusted the wiry harness around her ear. “How do you do it anyway? We can see you but no one else? I meant to ask Ed. He really was invisible to everyone but me on our outings. And he looked every bit as substantial as anyone else. But on our trip to Jersey City, all of us in our group could see you, but no one else could.”

  Joshua appeared on the display as well as in person. “People have their own energy wavelengths. A lot like radio waves, but unique to each individual. We haven’t found any two that are exactly the same. All those DNA combinations result in unique people. We can tune into those wavelengths to choose which people can see us and which can’t.”

  Sam struggled to bend the wire out from his eye. Something about the technological beings pointing thin wires at him didn’t sit well. “Can you do the same with other Tobes? You seem uniquely defined.”

  Ellie smiled. “Thank you. That’s very kind. We worry about being too much alike. We do have our ways of maintaining our individuality.” But she didn’t elaborate, leaving Sam to wonder if he’d asked a very personal question.

  Plaques describing the history of Central Park lined the walkway. Central Lake dominated the area, which had once been a sprawling green space. Trees had lovingly been preserved, some going back hundreds of years, but the wide vistas of open grass had been lost.

  Street musicians lined the promenade. Sam stopped in front of a guitarist playing songs he remembered from long ago. He envied the longhaired youth in tattered jeans and smelly shirt. He was doing what he loved. The passion rang out with every plucking of the strings. Quietly, reverently, Sam passed his ID card over the reader next to the guitar case, depositing twenty dollars into the man’s account. The performer’s eyes opened from their closed contemplation of the song he was playing to meet Sam’s. Without checking how much had been deposited, he nodded his appreciation and returned to making love to his instrument. For lovemaking was the only term Sam could envision that matched the intensity that shone on the young man’s face.

  Jess returned to Sam’s side. “Come listen to this violinist. She’s amazing. I think we should buy some musical instruments for the girls.”

  Some musical instruments would undoubtedly end up filling one of Persephone’s holds on the return trip to Chariklo. Sam couldn’t fault Jess. How were they to know which instrument to pick? And if Sara and Emily were to play, they’d need others to join them. “Sounds like a wonderful idea.”

  As they resumed their walk, the sun warmed the side of Sam’s face. He turned to let it shine full across his closed eyes. “Afternoon already? And we haven’t even made it to the artists’ area yet.”

  “I don’t want to rush anything. We can listen to music all day if you want.” Jess’s amber eyes met his. “I think this is important, seeing what people can create. We should come back here every day until we’ve seen all we want to see. I know there’s work to be done with the Tobes. But Ellie and Joshua can see what we see out here. It may help them understand humanity better.”

  The promenade stretched for miles ahead, filled with all sorts of performers and artists. Nothing about the sight compared to Chariklo, and yet the idea of so many people doing exactly what they wanted reminded Sam of home. “We can’t teach what we don’t know. But we do know something about following one’s passions. I just need to understand how that translates to Earth, and where the Tobes might fit in. They’re making mistakes in their dealings with humanity. Not that it’s their fault. I can’t help but sense an answer out here. Help me find it?”

  “Always.”

  “You know, I’m beginning to think these daily outings just wouldn’t be complete if we didn’t get a scowl from Jacques as we leave.” Jess adjusted the shuttle harness.

  Sam laughed. “He thinks we’re out playing while he has to work. And it’s not just us snagging the corporate shuttle. Dragging Joshua and Ellie along every day means even more of the staff is goofing off.”

  Ellie chose a bright-yellow sundress for the day’s outing. “We’re not goofing off. We’ve learned more by watching you two buy artwork, listen to music, and enjoy food than we’ve discovered about people in a long time.”

  “I hope you’re not focusing too intently on our tastes,” Sam warned.

  “Not at all,” Joshua said. “It’s the interactions that fascinate us. Watching the smile develop on an artist’s face when you fall in love with one of their pieces or a musician who’s just been given enough of a tip to pay for a week’s worth of food—an amount, by the way, that isn’t normal for a casual listener to give.”

  Jess stuck her tongue out at Joshua for the comment on her spending practices.

  “They experience an appreciation that’s completely different than with the typical exchange of money,” Joshua continued. “It’s amazing. We tried so hard to lift people out of despair by freeing them from work they hated, only to have them sink to even worse conditions. We spent, as Mr. Saint Clare would be quick to point out, a lot of money per person trying to help. Only to have them hate us. And yet you put a hundred dollars into a musician’s tip jar, and you’ve made their day.”

  Sam thought back to their purchases. It’d become addictive. Not the spending of money—no matter how much they got rid of, the income was a river they’d never be able to drink fast enough—but becoming a patron of the arts satisfied in
a way he hadn’t expected. Each painting carried a memory of someone overjoyed to have work acknowledged and appreciated. And purchased. No matter how many times you tell someone their work is wonderful, nothing compares to pulling out the card. “It’s not just the creative person that benefits from the sale. Maybe you know us too well to notice, or maybe we don’t show it enough, but paying these people for what they love doing makes us a part of the process. We complete that circle of creation, turning what they love doing into money so they can continue growing at their passion. It gives me a sense of satisfaction that’s unique in my experience.”

  Out in public, Jess talked in hushed tones when addressing their invisible companions, even though the device made for a good cover story to anyone who might be curious. “Ellie, how would we go about meeting someone? I’d really like to hear what life is like, firsthand from a human person’s perspective, if that’s not too offensive.” She blushed at the separation of humans’ experience of life versus Tobes’.

  “Not at all offensive. As if you ever could. Turn on the device. Just tilt your head sharp to the right then back up, and it’ll turn on. As you look at someone, you’ll see a little half barbell in the upper corner. Blink at it, and it’ll notify them that you’re interested in talking. If they agree, it’ll turn green. From there, you can either talk the way you do with us, or you can go over to them.”

  Sam wasn’t a fan of the device, but he had to see what Jess saw. All manner of links and data competed for space around his view of the park. In desperation, he closed his left eye to see what was real. When he opened it again, the amount of data had diminished by half. Ellie’s face appeared at the lower corner. “It takes some getting used to.”

  Jess’s hand reached for his. “Come on. I want to talk to this young couple. They’re on their honeymoon. Isn’t that romantic?”

  Sam thought the newlyweds probably didn’t want to be disturbed. But they stood and greeted Jess as she rushed up to them, Sam in tow. The new bride smiled with rosy red cheeks. The display told him more about her than he thought socially appropriate.