Waking Gods
Page 55
—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.
—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.
