by Paris, Sevan
“Both of our lives?”
“Gabe is wise not to trust me. This could be some sort of elaborate betrayal on my part. I may not ever give Gabe his body back.” He gestures to the wall clock. “And I may kill you before the little hand reaches the twelve and before your trigger finger has the chance to trigger.”
The rain thudding against the window mirrors the thudding against my rib cage. I want to look at the clock on the wall behind the counter, but I don’t wanna give M the satisfaction. “Why are you trying to scare me? I’m going to give you what you want as long as you give me what I want. And Gabe obviously can fight you, or you wouldn’t have gone all tourettes on me just now. Unless you were playing me then too.”
His cheeks rise. He’s grinning.
I want to ask Gabe to make M shake or do something, but I’m afraid. I’m afraid Gabe won’t be able to give me a sign, and I’m afraid something in my voice will tell M just how terrified I am. After all of the whack ass stuff that’s happened to me—from first seeing my powers to finding out where the powers come from—I’ve never felt as over my head as I do right now. The gun shakes in my hand a little, so I rest the base of the grip on the table. Thunder cracks the silence. I’m pleased to say I don’t jump.
I clear my throat. “Are we gonna do this thing or not?”
M slaps the table and I almost blast him right then and there. “Of course … always in a hurry, just like the rest of humanity. But you are perfectly justified in doing so. For it is not disease, famine, or war that plagues your kind, Reagan. No, what really gets humanity’s collective goat is something far more simplistic: time. You and the rest of your ilk exist but for the blink of an eye. You die in various puddles of your own filth, smelling like death and medicine until all that you are is whisked away to wherever your convenient religions tell you it goes. My race was once like yours. Primitive. Weak.” He looks at his hands again. “Corporeal. We identified this problem and found a way to overcome it. We Ascended.”
“Meaning?” That sounded good. Strong and firm-like. Maybe if I just stick to one-word sentences, he won’t know I’m about to wet my panties. Why did I drink all that caffeine? Triple cappuccino, Reagan? Really?
“We ceased to be the time-ridden beings we were and became … one with The Eternal. Our existence was no longer measured in solitary cycles, but instead became completely immeasurable. There was nothing we could not see, do, create, or destroy. Time, matter … the very elements of existence itself became nothing more than a huge Xbox, with no danger of red ringing anytime soon.”
“You don’t sound like you miss it much.”
“Yes, well, only there was a teensy problem. Having existed corporally for so long, we were unused to the freedom such an existence gave our curiosities and desires. When an individual wants to do something—unless he is weak or unfortunate in some way—he simply does it. But when an individual encounters choice—that is, choice with true significance—he hesitates. Should I do this, or should I do that? Once again, time becomes the enemy. We—or rather you—only have so much time and, as a result, can only do so many things before the suns sets literally. Or metaphorically.”
“But that was no longer a problem for us. We had an infinite amount of time on our hands. Even if we missed something of importance in one location, we could just travel back in time to witness it. There was simply nothing—NOTHING—we could not do.”
He rests his chin in his hand. “However, it did bore the ever-loving crap out of me. After you’ve seen everything there is to see, done everything there is to do, you become increasingly tired of it all. A star going nova? Been there. A world falling into a black hole? Done that. The forming of worlds? Got the t-shirt. I began searching for ways to alleviate my boredom. After several millennia of contemplation, I finally thought of the one thing that I had not done, yet the possibility fascinated me to no end: I decided to create life.”
I shrug. “That supposed to impress me? After everything you said you could do, it seems easy enough.”
“Oh please, Reagan, a buffoon can breed. I’m talking about a new life—a new race and—most importantly—one that can withstand both their evolutions and those within the trappings of their environment. You have no idea the amount of detail that goes into creating something so sophisticated. Many of my colleagues attempted to do so, failed, and were met by constant ridicule. Having no desire to repeat their failures, I planned everything as carefully as I could, from the ideal location of the planet right down to gallbladder placement.”
“But, even I couldn’t plan for everything. Right as my race discovered the ability to create fire—a task which they learned far quicker than the human race I might add—a nest of flame wyrms materialized and completely ingested the lot of them.”
“Flame wyrms?”
“Entities that exist in a dimension completely composed of fire. A random tellion particle swept in and ripped open an inter-dimensional gateway for a split second, which was all the little buggers needed. It was literally something that I could not have foreseen in any way, shape or form.”
“You couldn’t prevent it? Just go back in time or whatever?”
“And risk another failure? Thereby exposing me to even more mockery and ridicule from my brethren? Don’t be absurd. Of course I had ideas, better ideas, for a new life form—something that would keep them upright should such a ridiculously unfair set of circumstances occur again. But I couldn’t just create another race and then experiment willy-nilly. That would attract too much attention. So, I chose an alternative that would not attract attention should I fail: I practiced on an existing life form. Not a fully developed one, mind you, but one that was well on its way. I swept through the universe and started toying with the first batch of primordial ooze that I spotted.”
I close my mouth and try to swallow. “Earth.”
“Earth.”
I know the answer to the question before I even ask, but that still doesn’t stop me. “What did you do?” My voice sounds way too hoarse.
“Just a little modification of some genetic code here and there. Something that would eventually grow into various forms of super intelligence, strength, or—“
“You’re the reason Supers exist.”
“I’m the reason Supers exist.”
M puts his hands behind his head. The missing chunk of bench gives him enough room to lean back a little. “You know, I thought I had failed in the beginning. It wasn’t until my forced return to your world that I realized my actions were successful.”
“Who was the first Super?”
“I have no idea. I believe there were a few random spurts some millennia ago, several of which may have been responsible for various religions. But there was never a full onslaught of Supers until the 1940’s. Until Liberty,” M spreads his arms wide as if he’s addressing an audience, “The World’s Greatest Hero.”
“Everything … everything Super related—from all of those people killed in the war, to religions to—“
“Don’t sell yourself short, Reagan. Humanity has proven itself very capable of death on a massive scale without any Super involvement. And besides, I intended for all of your ilk to receive the powers—not a select few; that would have been infinitesimally stupid. The ones with abilities would have been subjected to hostilities from those without, as has often been the case.”
“Is that supposed to be some kind of lame apology?”
He shakes his head. “A clarification. You obviously believe that I had some sort of malicious intent. It’s difficult to be malicious towards something you feel completely indifferent to. I was concerned about the results, not the subjects involved in the results.”
“Is that really the way you saw us? No, scratch that—is that the way you see us now?”
“Have you witnessed anything that suggests otherwise?”
I rub my temples. This is getting me nowhere. M is a creep. After everything Gabe said, I really didn’t need proof—but to actually he
ar him say these things … “Okay, let’s just—let’s get back to the point. Why did most Supers pop up in World War II? If you did what you did way back in the beginning, or whatever, why did these changes not take effect until then?”
“I don’t know—something about the era itself perhaps … maybe humanity finally reached the climax of cruelty, at least in the manner your species defines cruelty. Maybe this apex was so high that evolution itself forced my changes to manifest in a simple attempt to balance the scales.”
He pauses and looks at the ceiling.
“Unfortunately, by the time your Supers manifested, I had completely forgotten about your planet, its inhabitants, and my involvement in their evolution. In fact, I perceived your world as another failure and moved on to other … experiments.”
“Like what?”
“Unimportant.”
“… why do I get the feeling you would love for me to hear it anyway?”
“Because, Reagan, what all of us want—from the consciousness of the highest being of to the cell of the lowest organism—is one inescapable, simple, yet profound desire: to be heard. I want you to hear of my multiple and sordid exploits for, without recognition, what are any of us, but beings existing in a vacuum? We have no purpose but what we assign to ourselves and since we are, ultimately, what others perceive us to be, we wish, need, and in fact live to be heard. That is why you are here, is it not?”
“I’m here for answers. I want to find out what’s happening to me … why it’s happening and what I can do to stop it.”
“So you demand to learn what you are, what’s happening to you. The true irony here is, even if I lie, you will become what I tell you you are.”
It takes a second for his words to sink in. He’s right. I’m here to find out what I am. And even if he hands me a load of crap, I’ll buy it hook, line, and sinker style because I have no choice. Where else will I go? Who else will I talk to? God, I’ve never felt so alone—so hopeless. And the real kicker? Somehow I feel the worse situation I’ve ever been in is the only thing capable of giving M any sense of satisfaction. In a weird, completely sad way, we’re all each other has. “Why tell me this?”
“You would have figured it out eventually. I thought it might save you some time.”
“You thought it might make me squirm.”
He shrugs. “Perhaps. But I want you to realize the depths of what I’m telling you when I say that the idea of creating life on other worlds eventually gave me a true purpose of being. And not the poor excuse for purpose you humans seek here such as wealth, prosperity, or coitus—I’m talking about that which truly defines you. I had recognition. I was heard, Reagan MacPherson. Heard.”
He pauses long enough to let out a slow sigh. “Others took note of my … contentment and set up their own little play pins in various corners of the universe. For a few of them, my way of life was enough. For others—not so much. It wasn’t enough to create a life … they wanted knowledge and control of their race’s birth, development, and end. It became, in essence, the highest form of flattery available to any sentient being—godlike or otherwise.”
“Now, my other colleagues—the ones that weren’t involved in the creation and destruction of sentience—had two problems. Problem number one: They didn’t approve of our actions. Problem number two: They didn’t know why they didn’t approve of our actions. So, like before, they took action to ascertain the crux of the problem.”
“What? Like forming a committee or something?”
“A council actually. After convening, they determined there was only one method with which they could properly cognize the situation: They devolved.” I think he clucks his tongue. “Can you imagine? The only way you can possibly understand something is to make yourself dumber?”
I can’t so I don’t say anything. This thing—this stuff he’s telling me is about to make my head explode. I want to tell him to hurry up—to just give me the Sparknotes version before my brain melts. But I don’t trust my self enough to speak. Jesus Christ, Gabe, how do you deal with this stuff on a daily basis?
“After devolving, it took The Council approximately one hour to determine our fate: extermination. To simply devolve us wasn’t enough. We may find a way to turn ourselves back into our rightful state of being. It took a while for them to develop a means of tracking and containing us. As I’m sure you can imagine, our race was quite advanced, technologically, before The Ascension. We’d had several hundred infallible millennia to consider other ways in which our culture could have evolved even further.”
“The technology they had developed in such as short amount of time was nothing short of extraordinary, even for those that are regularly capable of extraordinary things. I thought—we all thought—that we could take the council. It was, after all, just technology and we were, after all, who we were. But these things they created—they were designed to directly counter us. And, loath as I am to admit it, we were completely unprepared for The Council to be so … completely ready. How could they resist us? we thought. Our intelligence surpasses theirs by amounts so vast, it’s impossible for even us to measure. In the end, they will cower before us, begging for death—and we intended to grant it, after an appropriate amount of begging of course.”
“But they beat you.”
“…. The battle—glorious as it was—only lasted two and a half minutes. Two and a half minutes for everything that I am to be sucked into a super advanced vacuum cleaner, recycled, and expelled here to this pathetic mud ball.”
“You make it sound like a small punishment—a slap on the wrist or something. I thought they were out to kill you.”
“Oh, they were. We weren’t supposed to live through the terrors they constructed. It took every ounce of willpower I had to keep my consciousness together. The only thing I know to compare it to since being on your world is attempting to tie two pairs of shoelaces simultaneously while standing on one foot—and contemplating the various successes of Sarah Palin. When I entered your atmosphere, I knew that I didn’t have the fortitude left to keep my consciousness together for long. I … bonded with the first physical body that I came in contact with.”
“Gabe?”
“Actually, it was a dachshund.”
“…. Why would you join up with a wiener dog?”
He winces. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t totally love it.
“Why would I join? The first thing I saw after entering your atmosphere was the interactions of this animal and its owner. And I saw it doing something that only a being with no self-respect or sentience would possibly do: It picked up and inefficiently disposed of the feces of another animal. Another animal that, I might add, led the biped around on a leash. Why would I think this animal was the dominant life form? The better question is … why wouldn’t I?
I can’t help but grin. “… Sure, yeah okay.”
“I literally had less than a blink of an eye to bond with something before completely losing myself to The Void. And I was as unfamiliar with your race as you are with grammar school science. And to assume the species with the largest brain was the most intelligent would have likewise been false because I would have bonded myself to a whale.”
“ …. Yeah, okay … okay, I get it really.”
“The point is that one cannot and should not make assumptions with regards to life forms, especially when said one finds himself devoid of powers—may I continue?”
I nod.
“It didn’t take long for me to realize Dodger the Dachshund wasn’t up to snuff. I made several attempts to communicate with the beast, all of which were met with horrific and embarrassing failure. All it wanted to do was eat and breed—not completely unlike the actual species at the top of this planet’s food chain.”
“After witnessing the social structure of your planet’s life forms for several months, I decided the best thing to do was jump to a human. Then, I might at least have a chance of doing something more interesting than marking a fire hydrant. At first,
I wanted to wait until the ideal moment to jump into another life form. The person must be perfect in every way, or at least perfect in every way that humans are perceivable of. He must be eloquent. He must be knowledgeable. He must be a he because that’s clearly where the balance of power rests in your ‘evolved’ society.”
“Unfortunately, the canine I found myself woefully trapped within was impossibly skittish. Other than the buffoonish family that owned it, it rarely came within seeing distance of a human, let alone close enough to make physical contact. The attempts of communication that I made with the beast only made matters worse. Upon hearing a voice inside its head that it had no understandable reason to hear … well, it became even more resolute to avoid contact of any kind, including other canines. As far as I could tell, they thought him to be strange for some reason.”
I think about all the times Gabe seemed to be staring off into space or having a conversation with himself. To hear someone that only you can hear … to hear someone that nobody would want to hear like M … that must have been hell. Other people looking at you like you were a weirdo must have been hell. Even dogs could pick up on it. After M does what he’s going to do later, will it wake up this thing inside me? Do I want that? Do I want this thing talking to me? Is it going to make the situation better? What if it’s one of these council guys looking for him? What if it’s another one that escaped the cosmic vacuum cleaner or whatever? What will M do to it?
What will M do to me?
I tighten my grip on the gun.
“Imagine my disappointment when these circumstances reduced me from finding the perfect human to finding any human. Even then, they all rejected me. Not consciously mind you; they had no idea I was making the attempt. No, they rejected me with who they were—something encoded into their DNA, just made them completely unacceptable to the bonding process. They weren’t compatible enough, smart enough, or dumb enough. Frankly, I foolishly believed the second possibility to be the most likely. Then, early one morning, when Dodger set out to take his routine fill of the dumpster overflow behind Blue River Grill … I saw him.”