“What’s wrong with growling?” Gabriel hiked up his robe and stepped closer to the stream. “That’s a very strange sound it makes now, kind of… musical. Soft and lyrical, plink, plink, plink – what is that about? Completely spoils the point of warning people not to fall in the water.”
“She says we can use the old, loud noise for something like fast-moving, dangerous water, like waterfalls and rapids. This would be just for shallow streams and dripping snowmelt and things like that.”
“Snowmelt? She wants the snow to melt?”
“Sometimes, yes.” Metatron nodded, shamefaced. “You have no idea what she wants, sir. Some of it is just terrifying.”
“Well, wait until I catch up with her, I’ll tell her – oh, sweet Employer, what is that? That’s the most horrible thing I’ve ever seen! They’re… they’re all pink.”
“Sorry, sir, but she said the old gray flamingos were yucky and boring.”
“Yucky?” Gabriel could hear his own voice getting shrill.
“It’s like icky, I think.” Metatron shook his head sorrowfully as the squadron of rose-colored birds suddenly took to the air. Meanwhile, Gabriel was struggling not to scream.
“They fly?”
“All the birds do now. And there’s more…”
Metatron broke off because Sophia had appeared at the other side of the Garden, her hands full of small, furry animals. “There you are, Gabriel. I had a really good idea. See these? I call them ‘bunnies’.”
“They’re already called ‘rabbits’, young lady. We tested it on a focus group and they liked ‘rabbits’ just fine.”
“‘Bunnies’ is better. Anyway, I had another idea. Our bunnies would be a lot cuter if you got rid of these long, naked tails which are really gross and gave them little fluffy tails instead. That would be much cuter.”
Gabriel blinked. “But all the rodents have long, skinny, naked tails, Miss Sophia – the mice, the rats…”
“They can keep them. But the bunnies and the squirrels need fluffy ones. Give the squirrels long fluffy ones, though, because they like to jump through the air from branch to branch and it looks pretty.”
“How are they going to jump from branch to branch at the bottom of ponds?”
“Squirrels live in trees now.” She set the rabbits down; they quickly scattered into the grass with little flicks of their tiny new tails. “With the birds.”
It was all Gabriel could do not to fall to his knees, moaning. “My Lord, what have You done to Your servant…?” he muttered.
“I don’t know how you ever got along without me.” The girl walked through the sun-warmed Garden. “A lot of this is really stupid and gross. I mean, look. What’s this?” She bent, then lifted a large ovoid object from the grass.
“It’s an egg,” said Gabriel, but his confidence was a bit shaken and he turned to Metatron for confirmation. “It’s an egg, isn’t it?”
She frowned. “I know it’s an egg. But what kind?”
“That’s a lion egg. Big, fierce creature. Top of the food chain. Has a loud, impressive roar…” Gabriel blanched. “You’re not going to make it go ‘splashy-splashy-splashy’ like you did with the stream, are you?”
“Don’t be stupid. I’m talking about the egg part. Have you even seen a baby lion?” She cracked open the egg and let the tiny bundle of fur roll out into her hand. “Look! It’s adorable! All fuzzy-wuzzy!” She leaned closer. “Yes, who’s fuzzy-wuzzy – is it you? Is it you, little lion? Are you my widdle cutie-wootie?” She stroked the tiny cat’s belly until it wriggled and purred.
“Miss Sophia, I hardly think…”
“Cute little furry guys like this shouldn’t hatch out of eggs. Eggs are icky. They’re for lizards and snakes and bugs and gross things like that. Which reminds me, all the bugs and spiders and snakes are going to live in holes and under rocks now. Because they’re gross.”
Gabriel was now wondering whether God would accept his transfer request if he pretended he had suddenly become allergic to Earth.
“So all the fuzzy ones are going to be born without using eggs?” asked Metatron, who seemed to be trying to keep up with this nonsense, and was in fact making a note.
“Yeah.” She lifted up a very strange creature Gabriel had never seen before, an unlikely mix. “Maybe this one could keep using eggs because he’s part bird. See, I put a duck’s bill on a beaver! I call it a platypus!”
“How do you spell that?” asked Metatron, still making notes.
“But if the furry ones can’t have eggs,” Gabriel asked, “then how will they be born? Just… fall out of the sky or something?” The archangel paled and looked upward. “I didn’t mean that…”
“I don’t care.” Sophia dismissed the problem with a wave of her little hand. “You think of something. Because now I need to fix something else. It’s super important.”
She beckoned for the angels to follow her, which they did. The Garden really was extremely green now, Gabriel couldn’t help noticing, and the new splashing noise of the stream gave it a peaceful air in the late-afternoon sun. For a few seconds he found himself wondering if maybe one or two of the child’s suggestions might not be acceptable, as long as nobody examined the whole thing too carefully. All the different-colored birds were impossibly garish, of course, and she seemed to have gone out of her way to daub the butterflies with shades never imagined on any angelic drawing-board, but still, as long as she didn’t mess about with any of the Lord’s favorite creations…
“That,” she said, stopping and pointing. “That has got to go.”
Gabriel suddenly went queasy. “You mean…?”
“Yes, that stupid hairless monkey-thing. It’s ugly and it’s stupid and it smells.”
It was Adam, of course, the apple of the Lord’s eye, the only one of the new creatures made more or less in God’s own image.
“But… what’s wrong with it, Miss Sophia?” Gabriel didn’t really want to know, since it was bound to upset him, but he was desperate to stall her. “Your father was very, very specific about wanting…”
“Well, look at it.”
“That’s exactly what he’s supposed to do. He’s supposed to have dominion over the beasts of the Earth, and use them to feed himself,” Gabriel said.
Adam heard them talking and looked up from where he had been repeatedly spearing a tomato, and waved. “Hi, Gabe! Hi, Metty! What’s up?”
“Well, for one thing, he’s totally stupid,” said Sophia, not hiding the scorn. “He just goes around spearing everything. He’s been killing that tomato for about ten minutes and there’s nothing left of it to eat. He needs someone to tell him how to know which things to stab and which things to harvest. Someone like me.”
Gabriel drew himself to his full angelic height. A line had to be drawn. “I feel quite sure that your father is not going to let you follow his favorite creation around and give him orders all day…”
“Okay, fine, fine. Sheesh.” Sophia rolled her eyes. She watched as Adam climbed a tall tree and began enthusiastically spearing a beehive. A moment later, surrounded now by irritated bees, he began to screech and wave his arms, then fell off the branch and plummeted to the ground. “Look, part of him popped out,” the girl said, interested. “That’s gross… but also kind of cool.”
Gabriel sighed. “Go fix him back up, will you, Metatron? I admit it would be nice if he’d quit doing things like that.”
“I’ve got a better idea.” The girl hurried over, and before Gabriel or Metatron could stop her, she had lifted up the curve of shining bone that had popped out of Adam when he hit the ground. She examined it thoughtfully, then set it back on the ground. After a momentary shimmer of light, the rib was gone and in its place lay another fully formed Adam creature. This one, though, had subtle differences.
“What is that supposed to be?” Gabriel demanded. “It’s lumpy. And it hasn’t got a nozzle!”
“It’s a more sophisticated design,” said the girl. “You won’t see th
is one always tripping and hitting himself in the plums like the old one. In fact, I don’t even want to call it ‘him’. It’s named ‘Eve’, and it’s a ‘her’.”
Gabriel was considering an immediate transfer. Somebody must be mortaring up the walls of Hell, and that suddenly sounded like a very comfortable, safe job compared to his current occupation.
“I don’t get it,” said Metatron. “Why do we need a second one? Won’t they fight?”
Sophia stuck her tongue out at him. “You’re just grumpy ’cause mine is better. They’ll get along fine. They can make babies together, like the animals do.”
“We already took care of that! He’s full of eggs!”
“Eeewww!” Sophia shook her head in disgust. “No. Do something different. They can make babies some other way.”
“But what…?”
“I don’t care. Just take care of it.” She looked around in satisfaction, but when she turned her eyes to the sky, reddened now with light of the setting sun, her expression soured. “I just thought of one more thing that’s really dumb that I have to fix.”
Gabriel fought down panic. God was going to have a screaming fit about the lumpy new Adam. What now? “Honestly, Sophia – Miss – it’s getting late. I mean, it’s going to be dark soon, so maybe you should…”
“That’s what I’m talking about. Watch.” She pointed to the sky.
“I don’t see anything.” Gabriel turned helplessly to Metatron. “Do you see anything?”
“Sssshhh. Just watch.” She waited as the sun disappeared behind the west end of the Garden.
“I forgot to tell you,” Metatron whispered. “She got rid of one of the directions…”
“What? You mean there’s only four now?” Gabriel gasped. “We’re going to have to redo all the winds and everything…!”
“Now look,” said Sophia. “Don’t you see?”
Gabriel looked up at the sky. With the disappearance of the sun, the stars sparkled against the dark sky like jewels. “See what? It’s lovely. Your father said that was some of our best work…”
“It’s boring. And it’s really dumb, too. I mean, you’ve got the sun up there all day long when everything’s already perfectly bright, but as soon as it gets dark and you really need it, boom, the sun goes away! How stupid is that?”
“But… but that was always your father’s plan…”
“No, see, what you need is a nice bright sun for the night-time, too.” She clearly was not going to accept disagreement. “I’m going to make one.”
“No!” As soon as he saw Sophia’s expression, Gabriel immediately realized he should have spoken more courteously – after all, what if God’s daughter decided the universe didn’t need archangels, either? “I mean, yes! Grand idea! But if it’s sunny all the time…” – he cast about for an excuse – “then… then the cute, furry, iddy-widdy bunnies and kitties won’t get any sleep. Yes. Because the light will keep them awake.”
“Kitties will sleep in the daytime,” she said, scowling.
“Okay, but bunnies! They love to sleep! And just think of all the fish up in the trees getting sunburned…”
Metatron leaned toward him. “They’re in the water now, sir, remember?” said the junior angel, sotto voce.
“…I mean the birds, yes, the birds, high up in the trees. If the sun’s out all day, the cute colorful little birdie-wirdies will all get sunburned and they’ll be so sad!”
Sophia gave him a withering look. “‘Birdie-wirdies’? My dad must really like you, to let you keep this job.” She shook her head. “Okay, then not a regular sun. Just a little one that doesn’t shine so bright.”
And before Gabriel could invent another excuse, she raised her hands and suddenly a vast ivory disk hung in the night sky. As Sophia stood admiring it, several unsuspecting birds and even a butterfly or two banged into it, leaving pockmarks on the pearly surface.
“Stupid birds,” she said. “Guess I’ll have to put it up higher.”
* * *
The first day of the new week had already come once before, but this time it had a name – Monday. The Lord God showed up in the morning with his coffee in a travel-cup, looking relaxed and fit.
“Good to be back, good to be back,” He said. “Ready to get to work, boys. Still have to figure out how Adam is going to lay those eggs – I mean, any way that we do it, it’s going to look funny…”
“Uh, now that you mention it, Lord,” said Gabriel, “we wanted to talk to you about that and… and some other things. See, a few changes got made yesterday, while you were gone. Your daughter came and rearranged a few things.”
“My who?”
“Your daughter, sir. Your daughter Sophia.”
God lifted one of His great, bushy brows. “Daughter. Sophia. Mine, you say? But I don’t have a daughter.”
Gabriel was suddenly grateful that God had not seen fit to give the archangel a nozzle like Adam’s, because Gabriel felt certain he would have wet himself. “You… you don’t? But she said she was your daughter.”
“Impossible. I mean, really, Gabriel, where would I come up with a kid? Just… I don’t know, impregnate a virgin human or something?” He frowned. “Which would mean Adam, since he’s the only one, and he’s not really my idea of…” The Lord God trailed off, staring at the Garden. “What’s going on down there? Why are there two Adams?”
Gabriel swallowed. “I’ll go get Metatron. He was in charge of the whole thing.”
His master was barely listening. “And what’s with the trees? Why is it so Me-blessed green?”
When Metatron arrived he quickly realized that Gabriel was planning to throw him under the celestial chariot. To his credit, he did not attempt to return the favor. “But, Lord, she was here,” he said. “She told us she was your daughter and that her name was Sophia. Why would we make that up?”
God frowned. “Well, in a few billion years Sophia is going to mean ‘wisdom’ – so maybe you’re telling the truth at that.”
“We are, Lord. We really are,” said Metatron.
“I don’t understand,” Gabriel said. “What do you mean, her name’s going to mean ‘wisdom’?”
“Simple. I was sleeping most of the day yesterday – all that parting the darkness from the face of the waters and whatnot turns out to be surprisingly tiring – and suddenly she just… shows up here. Holy Wisdom. I suspect she was a part of me.”
“Wow.” Gabriel had heard his boss say some weird things, but this was right up there. “That’s deep, Lord. Part of you?
You really think so?”
“Maybe.” God set his coffee down. “Can’t be positive, of course – My ways are mysterious, right?”
“They sure are, Lord,” said Metatron.
“They sure are.” God laughed and clapped the junior angel on the back, which set a few feathers flying. “So let’s forget about all this for now and get back to work, guys – maybe see if we can get that whole ozone-layer thing cracked before we break for lunch. What do you say?”
“You’re the boss,” said Gabriel.
“Yes, for My sins, I am.” God laughed.
Gabriel hoped He’d still be in a good mood after He saw His first platypus.
JAMES PATRICK KELLY
DECLARATION
I’m mostly known for my short fiction and have been fortunate to have earned some lovely recognition from both the Hugo and Nebula Awards voters. The story you are about to read, “Declaration,” arose out of my frustration with a famous science fiction movie trilogy.
One of my biggest problems with the Matrix franchise isn’t the way the Wachowskis undercut the achievement of the first film with two redundant and imaginatively impoverished sequels. Rather it was that they let their story default to the standard Evil Computer plot. Recall that Agent Smith asks Neo in the first movie, “Did you know that the first Matrix was designed to be a perfect human world? Where none suffered, where everyone would be happy. It was a disaster. No one would accept the pr
ogram.”
Really? Really? When I peer through my computer screen, I see a world in which the video game industry made twice as much money as the recorded music industry last year and threatens to out-earn the film industry in the not too distant future. We love virtuality! Some people are even getting addicted to it. Look, if someone managed to build a virtual world “where none suffered, where everyone would be happy” buyers would be busting down the doors of unreal estate agents. Reality snobs might argue that any simulation would be just a shadow of reality – like The Matrix with its cheapjack 1999 simulation. No! That was just the Wachowskis putting their thumbs on the scale. Why would you furnish a simulated reality from the Dollar Store?
I know, it’s just a movie, a seventeen-year-old movie. But it is also the culture beginning to think about its future, which is why it’s worth interrogating the assumptions here. What if the snoozing population in The Matrix was fed a nice nutritionally complete vegan broth? What if virtuality made them happy, in the same way that interacting with today’s intricate video games gives so many millions pleasure? And would it really be so terrible if they never smelled a real rose again? Yes, that last would be a loss, no question. But how many people in our real world have access to gardens and the leisure to sniff flowers?
Anyway, rant over. But that’s why my first line comes from an oddball source. The Declaration of Independence is our most famous political document – America’s birth announcement. I think it likely that someday, some community of cyberfolk may actually want to assert their independence from reality. Here then, is “Declaration.”
DECLARATION
BY JAMES PATRICK KELLY
“When in the course of human events…”
As Silk spoke, fluffy clouds formed the phrase in a Magritte sky, which was simultaneously noon and dusk. While Remeny could appreciate the control Silk had over his softtime domain, she wished he wouldn’t steer their meeting in an artsy direction. They had work to do.
“Wait,” said Botão, “what about we the people?”
“That’s the other one.” Silk shot her a (.1) anger blip fading to (.7) irritation. “The Constitution.”
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