Creator: Apocalyptic Sci-Fi Epic, Earth’s Human Behavior Confronted

Disclaimer

Creator is fiction set in the future. Uses of public figures in the story are fabrications intended to be consistent with the author's observations of the public presentations of these individuals. The portrayals of the future roles of these persons are fictitious. Other similarities to individuals living or dead are coincidental.

Dedication

Self-interest may be a quality evolved out of necessity for survival of the species. However, it has largely become the basis of greed and for denying the needs of others. I stand with kindred spirits who strive to cleanse this world of divisions that cleave us, divisions so deeply entrenched, their extrication appears all but impossible. I dedicate this book to justice and solidarity.

Acknowledgements

I must first acknowledge my wife, Ellen Kimball, for putting up with me for all the many months I worked on Creator. The worst thing was probably my erratic devotion to what I was writing. There were periods when Creator did not get a lot of regular attention. There were times when I immersed myself in my writing well into the wee hours of the morning. Ellen was also the omnipresent opportunity for feedback on some latest page, paragraph, or chapter. She resisted these unscheduled intrusions and denied suitable background to evaluate the passages. Her observations were valuable. Ellen has a rare and remarkable ability. When she looks at a page of text, she sees those annoying little mistakes the rest of us struggle to find and fix. Her specialties are misspellings, incorrect word usage, omissions, and extra words. Thank you, my dear, for assisting with the senseless pursuits of a driven storyteller.

I also owe a debt of gratitude to Marian Blanton, who reviewed some of my revisions. Marian is a professional who understands the underpinnings of the written word well. For many years, she was an English teacher.

Last, but not least, is my grandson Solomon, my number one audience and critic for what I write. I never talk down to Solomon and my communication with him is unique. While Creator certainly isn't for eight-year-olds, he listened with keen attention to my abbreviated telling of Creator and gave it a 'thumbs-up.'

This Creator revision is a result of the comments I received from Judge 75 of the Annual Writer's Digest Self-Published Book Awards.

Judge 75's assessment showed a careful analysis of Creator. It pleases me Judge 75 had much positive to report. However, as a writer committed to producing a quality result, I was even more interested in his improvement recommendations. I eventually decided to carry out this revision and incorporate changes suggested by the recommendations.

Thank you, Judge 75.

Preface

I began Creator as a short story several years ago. I wondered what it would be like, if God or, even better, Earth's Creator, had to answer for humanity's abhorrent behavior… especially the intolerance and violence human beings visit on one another. The original title was Confessions of the Creator. I came back to it periodically and near mid-2009, began to move beyond the Guardians Court drama to what might follow. By early December 2009, I completed Creator Rev. A and wanted to have a decent publishable manuscript before I ran out of single alphabet letter revisions.

~

You may wonder what in my background led to this story. I'll share some of my history with you. My family was not religious. My religion manifested itself primarily in the anti-Semitism I experienced in grammar school. Those first six grades included beatings and Christ killer accusations and few schoolmate friendships. During the latter part of this period, my father enrolled me in Hebrew school to prepare for Bar Mitzvah. He also arranged for a Rabbi, from an old, decrepit shul, to tutor me. The ceremony was in the worn-out shul, and everyone raved about it. It was likely that synagogue's last Bar Mitzvah.

~

With such a religious beginning, how could being a Jew be significant? It was a stand against the name-calling and beatings. Further, when I was eleven years old, there was the revelation of the Holocaust. If it were not for the immigration of my father and mother's families from Russia and Romania, I could have been a death camp victim. I felt I had to sustain Judaism in remembrance of so many who died because they were Jews. I spent more than half of my life under the weight of that burden.

~

About twenty-five years ago, I began thinking about what I believed. I decided proof of existence of a personal God was lacking, and there was too much evidence of God creation by humans. Further, how could such a deity permit such a terrible record of human behavior? Some other authors have gone so far as to suggest that God is the problem… maybe even the real devil. Sloughing off understanding God's ways because we are only human is no answer, I decided. Finally, I found I could not accept or reconcile with the church clerics who know… as if they have a direct line to the Almighty. This is especially absurd because so many religions have their own brand of truth, which from time to time the clerics in charge alter to be the new truth.

I settled on a belief in the creation of what we have by a superior power. Why did I? It all appears too well planned to be accidental. Will something be there for me after I leave this marvelous world? Maybe there will and maybe there won't, but I am extremely grateful for the gift of this life and hope you are also. Let's be kind to one another, responsible, and as one.

Prologue

Suddenly I was standing before a panel of seven judges in black robes. I had no explanation why I was there other than I was summoned. I soon learned of the extraordinary nature of the forthcoming hearing and my role as a witness to the proceedings. Whatever the outcome, it would be the rarest of opportunities for a professor of history, such as I was.

As it turned out, I agreed to take on a task of far greater importance than the accomplishments of my published histories. It was a responsibility of the highest order. Suppressing my personal demons, I made it my life's work. The exceptional people who joined with me on this quest became foremost in my life. It was also a journey with disappointments and the constant threat of a terrible outcome.

I am honored and grateful to the Creator and the other Guardians for believing in me and entrusting me with the mission of saving humanity.

Dr. Thomas Scribner

Professor of History, Princeton University

Chapter One: Thomas

Thomas Scribner stood in Duffy Square, the large pedestrian island at the north end of Times Square. He loved New York City. He loved his life in Princeton too. However, spending a day in the Big Apple was a treat and the one-hour train ride between Manhattan and Princeton Junction was easy. Then Thomas realized he didn't remember coming in on the train. He sighed and pushed the thought away, eager to get back to his enormous pleasure in being in the city.

Thomas looked much younger than his thirty-five years. His cleanly shaved, flawless face showed no age lines. His unruly cocoa brown hair betrayed only the slightest hint of recession. He had remarkable sapphire eyes and worked out regularly to maintain his slim six-foot tall frame. Women found Thomas attractive, but that did not interest him. He liked women, but he would never again be serious about one. He was a loner and had no trouble finding single enjoyment, especially on a day like this in New York City.

Thomas mused about the city being hectic, and the natives being brusque, a façade cultivated to satisfy tourists who wanted the genuine article, the true New Yorker! Thomas knew that under it all there was often a person who was glad you were visiting the city. Frequently, the What do you want? attitude segued into Let me tell you about…, and gradually warmed to So, where are you from?

Suddenly there was an interruption to the enjoyed reverie. The train, what was causing the train to insert itself back into his consciousness. Annoyed, he pushed the persistent thought away again, instead remembering the one time when New Yorkers were different.

Thomas was twenty-two, a student at Princeton. He planned to bring his precious love, Emily, in for an event he wished everyone could enjoy, Thanksgiving in New York City. They would join other holiday celebrants in watching the Macy's Annual Thanksgiving Day Parade. What fun! She would have the pleasure of an extraordinary experience, and he would have the pleasure of seeing the joy in her pretty face. It was 2001 and then 9-11 happened. Thomas and Emily came into the city anyway. New Yorkers greeted them warmly. They expressed gratitude to them for coming and for sharing their grief.

Thomas had to stop this recollection. It was too close to the memory of Emily's death in an automobile accident, in 2004. While it made no sense, Thomas never got over the feeling he should have somehow saved her… she was the love of his life. He had since remained a bachelor, devoted to teaching and to writing his histories.

Thomas needed to focus on something else. He allowed in the thought trying to emerge. The train… The ride into the city wasn't easy or difficult! He didn't remember a thing about it! His inability to remember it was disturbing and he was angry with himself for having ignored it. He didn't have memory lapses. He was a historian. He remembered minutia, a quality that made him adept at what he did.

Thomas had additional questions. What am I doing here? Was I supposed to meet someone? There has to be a logical explanation. He could not calm himself. Why couldn't he remember anything about the train? Maybe he didn't even come on the train. Maybe he drove and parked his car somewhere. He felt in his pockets, no car keys. Well, that didn't prove anything. Plenty of parking places kept the keys. They took control of the vehicle at the drop and held the keys until the pickup.

Perhaps he had amnesia. Then he saw a police officer over by the slanted red roof of the TKTS building. He was patrolling lines of theatergoers waiting to buy cut-price show tickets. Thomas approached him. Officer Javier, he said, using the name prominently pinned to the uniform, I have a problem.

Javier's fastidious uniform was wrinkle-free, dark blue and went well with his highly polished black shoes. His large brown eyes overwhelmed a few acne scars on his pleasant face. How can I help you? he asked.

I don't know what's wrong with me. I can't remember how I got here, whether I rode the train or I drove. Why I would even be here.

Do you know who you are?

Doctor Thomas Scribner. I am a history professor at Princeton University.

What is today's date?

Sunday, April 19, 2015.

That's correct. Do you have any physical symptoms? Are you dizzy or anything like that?

No, I feel okay. I just don't remember how I got here.

Do you want me to get an NYPD car to take you over to Saint Luke's Hospital?

No. I'm confused, but, if I take some time, maybe I can sort this out on my own.

Are you married? Do you have someone at home waiting for you?

I'm not married. I have a place of my own in Princeton.

Will anyone at the school be looking for you today?

No. Not on Sunday.

My best advice for you is to relax and enjoy the day. Take some time to settle yourself over at the coffee shop at the Doubletree or the Marriott. It'll probably all come back to you.

I'll head over to the Marriott… I've stayed there.

That sounds good. I'll be here if you need me. My shift just started. If your memory is still tricking you, or you're feeling upset, come back. We'll figure out something else.

Okay. Thank you. Thomas crossed over the Broadway pedestrian mall and headed south toward the Marriott Marquis. He could not shake off the terrible foreboding he felt. Something was seriously wrong, and it had to do with why he was in the city. Why was he there? The thought kept going around in his head. Maybe he would feel better and snap out of it if he had something to eat.

He made it to the Marquis without incident. However, as he stepped onto the long escalator leading to the second level, he heard a loud rumbling coming from somewhere down below. Could it be an earthquake here in New York City? The rumbling turned into fierce vibrations that shook the stairway. It was a quake! He had to get out of there, back down, but was half way to Level 2. He fought the forward motion of the steps. Suddenly, there was a loud screeching and an explosion in the escalator's machinery. The stairs came to an abrupt halt.

Thomas grabbed tightly onto the railings to keep from falling forward. The shaking was getting worse. It's not going to hold! he shouted. The tremors on the stairway turned into undulating waves. Oh, no! he responded to the destructive oscillations. The extreme motion tore savagely at the upper floor mounting and broke the crippled staircase free from its mooring. A-a-a-e-e, Thomas yelled as he rode the falling escalator down.

The staircase slammed to the floor. The impact threw Thomas down on steps that stood upright like teeth on a mechanical monster. His outstretched left hand hit first. O-o-o-w! he bellowed as his palm struck the edge of an upturned step. Pieces of ceiling fell on his head. He brushed them away and stood up. The ground shook furiously. I have to get out of here, he gasped. He stumbled off the saw-toothed beast and was grateful only his hand appeared injured.

It's a death trap. We have to get out of here, he heard from voices above. Thomas looked up at the panic-stricken faces of people desperately looking for a way to get down.

Thomas stepped back and watched as a man prepared to jump the twenty feet from the gaping hole. Stop, don't…, Thomas started to say, but it was too late.

The jumper came through the torn ceiling. A-r-r-r-h, he screamed as he landed hard on the biting surface of the stairs. Thomas, still dealing with his own injury, carefully made his way over to the man. How bad is it? he asked as he wrapped his hurt hand in his handkerchief.

Really bad, I think my leg is broken.

Let's try to get you up and out of here… this place is falling apart. Thomas could have used some help, but that was hopeless.

Thomas extended his right hand. The man clasped it and pulled himself up. O-o-o-w, he screeched in pain. It's my right leg, he said, hopping to stay off it.

Put your right arm over my shoulder and let's get out of here.

I'm in town alone, but what about them? the man said, motioning to the frantic faces above.

We can't help them. Let's hope they find an escape. We have to save ourselves.

~

They struggled against severe ground vibrations as they stumbled out of the Marquis. My name is George, the injured man said on the way.

I'm Thomas. I wish we were meeting under better circumstances.

Yes, but you're saving my life. I'll never forget that.

Okay. Just stay with me, George. We're far from being home free.

Broadway was chaos. Everything was breaking, and people did not know what to do. Yikes, George gasped. His eyes were on the fifteen-story building across the square on Seventh Avenue. At street level, it housed McDonald's and Times Square Information Center. Fierce shaking threw people out of open windows. Their screams were electrifying. Then, all fifteen stories crumbled, and the screams stopped. This is horrible, George moaned.

I know, Thomas agreed. As terrible, as the destruction was, he could not allow himself to linger on what had just happened. We need to stay focused on finding a place where we'll be safe. The clogged subway entrances were not an option, especially with George in tow. Thomas looked over at Father Duffy Square. It was the largest open space in all of Times Square. George, we need to cross over to that open area. We'll be safest there from falling debris.

George looked at the large, jagged pieces of pavement sticking up at odd angles on the Broadway pedestrian mall that separated them from Father Duffy Square. But, Thomas…, George began. The loudest rumbling was now coming directly from behind them.

We don't have time, and we don't have a choice. Let's go!

My leg is killing me, Thomas.

Tough it out, George, or we won't make it. The worst destruction is chasing us. The odor of foul smelling gases in Thomas' nostrils triggered an adrenaline rush. He hefted George over his shoulder and made for the square. The toxic cloud was on them, forcing poisons into their lungs.

Y-e-o-o-w, George squealed with each broken shard that pelted him.

Thomas could not see through the dense noxious mist. He pushed on in the general direction in which they had been heading. He came close to falling twice.

Drop me and save yourself, George urged.

No! I'm not leaving you. A few steps later, he was in Father Duffy Square. He dropped George and fell to the concrete on his back coughing.

George, also, on his back hacking, leaned over to Thomas, Are you okay?

I'm okay, he said, still wheezing.

Javier came over to them. You must like flirting with death, Thomas. I thought you were a goner for sure when everything fell to pieces on the Broadway side.

Thomas stood up. This is George. He has a broken leg. I have this, he said, raising the hand with the blood soaked handkerchief. This endless shaking is making me crazy.

It's making us all crazy. George, we need to get you over to that group by the Cohan statue. They have some people with kits and medical training. Have them look at your hand, Thomas.

The people in the group fashioned a splint for George's leg. They also cleaned the wound on Thomas' left hand and wrapped it in a bandage. Thomas volunteered to help Javier.

Thomas, meet me in a few minutes over at the backside of the TKTS building, behind Father Duffy's statue. I'll be happy to have your help.

~

Javier and Thomas climbed to the top of the TKTS roof step seating. There was no let up in the vibrations. Javier tried to ignore them. From here, we have a good view of all of Duffy and Times Square, Javier began. He started to tell Thomas how he could help, when the dense air to the south cleared, revealing a spectacular sight.

Not normally seen from Times Square, The Empire State Building stood majestically above the rubble of already fallen structures. While other edifices in the world exceeded its height, it stayed a celebrated symbol. It was there before the others. It remained and offered solace after the destruction of the World Trade Towers.

Don't fall, don't fall, the square's onlookers chanted. If it could last, maybe they could, as well. Their hope did not last. The tower shuddered as if frightened of the inevitable. Then it imploded, leaving behind a dirty cloud of dust and debris.

The impossibility of it all struck Thomas hard. Javier, New York's end might not mean the world's end, but how can there be a world without New York City?

It's too painful to contemplate, Thomas. Hey, what's that?

A loud 'BONK' came from the rubble-littered Seventh Avenue. Then a piece of pavement the size of a manhole cover shot up through the wreckage. It rode atop a fountain of water before falling back onto the street. This happened repeatedly, up and down both Seventh Avenue and Broadway. Gurgling water from the broken mains poured out of the holes that remained.

Geez! Javier cried out, What next?

A loud 'BOOM' answered his question. Ignited natural gas shot up from the street. Ruptured gas line explosions continued on the entire square's bordering streets. Fires were already burning in what remained of destroyed buildings.

Javier was the first to see what was coming. An inundating stream flowed up the two main Times Square arteries from the south of Manhattan Island. Thomas also saw it. The waters of the rivers and bays surrounding Manhattan spilled in, flooding everything. People in the square scrambled up as high as possible on the TKTS roof.

As he sat on the top row, Thomas leaned back in the small space he had to himself and looked up at the sky. It was all over. He had enough. He closed his eyes. Suddenly they clicked open, and he sat up straight. He knew! He knew why he was there. It was to witness Creator's final action. Then he leaned back again. Everything went to black.

Chapter Two: The Court

One Day Prior, Earth Date Saturday, April 18, 2015…

Thomas Scribner stood before a panel of seven imposing judges in black robes. They sat at a somewhat rounded table. It formed an arc, and he stood at its radial focal point. The one in the center addressed him. Do you know why you are here, Doctor Scribner?

I was summoned.

Yes, that is true. We wanted you to appear here today, but you have no idea where you are and why. True?

Yes.

Of course, there is no way you could know. May I call you Thomas?

Certainly, Thomas responded with a slight nod.

The three judges on either side remained silent as the judge at the center continued. This bears some explanation. Nothing is what it seems. We share this with you, so you will better understand the task we may require of you.

Thomas wondered if what they might be expecting should frighten him. However, he did not think he was in any personal jeopardy. He had not broken any laws. He had paid his taxes, and he did not owe anyone any large sum of money. Further, this court was a little strange. It was like no court, he had ever seen and yet it was like all the courts, he had ever seen, especially the ones in the movies and on television.

Thomas, I am chairman of this panel and you may address me as Chairman. I will advise you of another option shortly, but, for now, will Chairman do?

Yes, he responded simply. It was clear the Chairman was about to enlighten him about these proceedings and his part in them. He decided to wait out what the Chairman would say.

Thomas, we have picked you to perform an extremely significant function. We know you well. We chose you because of your background as a distinguished historian. We know you have painful memories of an incident for which you feel some responsibility. However, you don't allow this to compromise your work. Your publications exhibit outstanding honesty and lucidity, qualities of extreme importance in what we may ask you to do. It is a calling of the highest order, and beyond anything else, you will ever have to consider. Now, let me get back to what I meant by 'nothing is what it seems.'

This court exists as you see it, to offer you a familiar context for what is going to take place. We present ourselves in the form of human beings. We appear in the robes of judges for your further comfort and ease in witnessing the inquiry. It will begin shortly. We will fully explain everything that takes place.

Thomas had a feeling of an off-world experience and wondered if he could be dreaming.

You are no doubt pondering whether your mind is playing games with you as you sleep. I assure you this is no dream. Also, be aware we are somewhere other than Earth. We, seven, are Guardians of Universes. There is an eighth Guardian sitting behind you. His conduct is a vital part of our investigation.

Thomas stole a look behind him and saw a figure clad in a white robe. He was as imposing in appearance and demeanor as the Guardians facing him.

Thomas, the Chairman went on, we Guardians have taken more careful note lately of your planet and of all its many troubles. We are not sure what to do about it. We need to know how Earth's human inhabitants have come to such dire circumstances. Perhaps we should have delved deeply earlier, into what was happening. However, Earth is just one speck in the Universes, we Guardians oversee.

Responsibility for Earth has always been the province of the eighth Guardian. We will, henceforth, during this meeting, address this Earth protector, as 'Eight'. Similarly, we will refer to the Guardians seated left to right at this bench as 'One', 'Two', 'Three', through to 'Seven'. I am 'Four' and Chairman.

The goal of this conference, the Chairman went on, "is to assure we have a reasonable understanding of Earth's human history. We also want as accurate a view as possible, of Eight's relationship to Earth and its inhabitants. At the end, we seven will confer to determine if there is a consensus on any actions to take. We will