The Epilogue
This was without a doubt the most perfect day there had been in forever. Or almost forever. The sun was radiant, and there was the lightest skiff of cloud from time to time. It would be a while before there were any sor trees or bo'Degh or anything of that nature, but they would come. All you had to be was patient. The gentle waves were in fact lapping up onto the beach just a few meters away from where Smith was lounging in his reclining sun chair, just a further few meters away from the human colony. The humans seemed to have expanded from just those pod things and now had a fairly elaborate system of inflatable structures, and seemingly more every time a shuttle came rocketing back from wherever it rocketed back from. He suspected it was something in orbit about the new moon that was just over the horizon. Full today, he noticed absently. Until the air got a bit thicker you could see the moon well enough even during the day. It looked nice up there. But whatever might be orbiting it, Smith couldn’t be bothered to go find out.
He wasn’t wearing his old timey striped bathing suit. The humans had done something to his beloved ocean and now it was all full of disgusting little critters and algae and stuff, so the swimming was no good. What it needed was a little school of ghotl’ to keep the algae and crustaceans in check.
“Hey, how about a school of ghotl’?” he inquired of his margarita buddy.
“Knock yourself out.” Said Uriel, adjusting his shades.
“Really? The ban on meddling with the humans is over?”
“Just entering a new phase. The Boss has a job for you, if you want it.”
“And what would that be?” asked Smith, somewhat suspiciously.
“Caretaker.”
“Of what?”
“Of this.” Said Uriel, sweeping his one arm to indicate Mars. “And them.” Sweeping his other arm to indicate the humans.
Some of the little short humans came running over to almost where Smith and Uriel were, or at least where they would be in a half second or so. They stopped for a bit to let their masks catch up with their exertion. The air wasn’t quite right for humans yet, so they all wore some kind of mask. The algae and the new tectonic activity were working on that problem, though.
Then the small humans laughed and ran over to the water with little nets and busied themselves scooping up the absolute biggest crustaceans they could find, and then they all ran back to where various mothers awaited them.
“Cute little buggers. I wonder if they like hors d’oeuvres?” wondered Smith.
“Maybe. Though they look pretty stoked about the shrimp.”
“So what does this job pay?”
“Hmm?”
“Caretaker.”
“What do you need?”
“Nothing.”
“Then I think we can fix you up.”
Smith and Uriel enjoyed the sun and the lapping water for a while.
“I think you’ve already been doing a little caretaking.” Said Uriel.
“What would make you think that?”
Uriel sipped his margarita thoughtfully. He took in a really big breath and blew it out a little noisily, while peering at Smith over his shades.
“Oh I don’t know. Just seems it should be a little while yet before we’re sipping margaritas on the beach amongst a herd of little humans who aren't wearing suits.”
The water continued to lap, the breeze continued to sigh.
"Hey wait a minute - if I'm the new caretaker, and I'm allowed to do things like create a school of ghotl', what does that do to your sock puppets? Won't they become hard to predict? Do they get free will?"
"They lack the capacity for free will. I mean they can do whatever they want, so as far as they're concerned they have free will, but really. They are essentially warthogs that are monkeys instead. For a given state of affairs you can pretty much figure out what they're going to do - to a surprising degree of accuracy in the case of the Boss. You are the only one with any kind of free will that matters. The Boss doesn't guide you to a predetermined outcome like he does the monkeys. But now that history has arrived at this particular point; the end of the line if you will from Earth's point of view, then the whole predetermination thing has served its purpose and the creation needs to be set free. And that means you."
“So it looks like a happy ending, and all of the loose ends tied up nicely.” said Smith, liking this new development.
“Hardly. Loose ends everywhere you look.”
“You mean for the monkeys. Maybe. What of it?”
One of the little humans tripped running back to his mom. He must have scuffed his knee, judging by the noise involved. His mother ran over to pick him up and carry him back to the village. It would be a little while yet before you would have to put some ointment on a scuff, Smith observed.
“I hear the monkeys got a scratchy transmission from somewhere during the last close approach."
Smith made a face - something between suspicious and sneaky. Just for a second. Then he recovered.
"And there's a perihelic opposition coming up.” Said Uriel.
“Perryhellick what?”
“Opposition. When we'll be close. To Earth. Anyhow, they got a scratchy transmission. Might have been Earth. Might have been the moon.” Said Uriel.
Probably the Earth is what Smith's eyes said, but his mouth said, “So?”
“I’d say that was a loose end.”
“Who cares?”
“Good point.”
"And Dave. Stuck up there somewhere in orbit. All by himself. With three women. Must be quite the sitcom."
"I don't watch sitcoms."
"Wise."
Waves washed up the beach, and margaritas sloshed about as they were sipped.
"Of course, Art must be doing his best to sow harmony in the new colony."
"Maybe. Haven't checked."
"And things must be positively stone-age back on Earth."
"Likely."
"That's a loose end, I would say."
Time passed.
"And the Russians. We never actually saw them die, we're just assuming..."
“Margarita run. Can I fix you up?” inquired Smith, the gracious host, completely changing the subject.
“Nah, I better not. Technically I’m working.”
Time passed. And then a bit more.
“Okay, maybe one more.” Said Uriel, who realized Smith wasn’t going to press the point.
“Coming up.”
"And all of those timelines you've spawned."
"Hmm...?"
“Another loose end. Hey, Smith. What have you learned from this?”
“From what?”
“All this. The whole of history up to this point, over and over, so many times that probably you don’t even remember how many times you’ve done it. Have you learned anything?”
“I’ve never been this far before. This is quite new.”
“Maybe that’s what you’ve learned.” Observed Uriel.
Smith returned with the margarita, gave one to his guest, and then busily engaged himself in nothing at all.
“I think you’re like an author writing his first book.” Mused Uriel.
“How so?”
“You let the plot go about half way, and then you don’t like it. So you start over. But then you add a new character and have to go back to the beginning and rewrite it all over again. And then you get almost to the end and it becomes clear there’s no overriding point; your main character hasn’t grown; hasn’t learned anything. So you go back and try again. All the while, you've had the ending in mind but no idea of how to get there, so you sort of have to let the characters get there for you.”
“So what?”
“So I think now you have reached the point that all authors must reach at some point. You realize that your book isn’t perfect, it’s not even really finished. But it never will be.”
“Never will be what?”
“Either. Finished or perfect. No matter what you do, the story goes on. You never get to the ending. The trick is to have the grace to just quit writing at some point, and let the characters get on with their lives.”
“How about right now?” asked Smith.
“Now would be the perfect place to finish.” Replied Uriel. And they both went back to sipping margaritas beside the Chryse Mare.