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Creation: The Launch!

Laura Resnick

Don't call me Ishmael.

Yes, technically, it's my name. Believe me, sweetie, I know. And I assure you, I have not suffered in silence. It is so not ME.

Then again, is "Ishmael" a name that's right for anyone? I mean, okay, maybe for a metro-sexual pop star with fabulous lashes and no last name. Or possibly someone in the whaling industry (and don't look at me like that, I didn't even want whales in Creation). But, honey, for a creative consultant, it is a tough name to adapt to.

(Oh, can I say "adapt" here? I hear there's been some controversy about adaptation since we launched Creation.)

But, all right, sure, I know—it could have been worse. At least I didn't get stuck with a name like Laban, Esau, Hagar, Methuselah, Nehemiah, or Walter. Those poor schmucks. (And people wonder why we added therapists to Creation after we saw what God had wrought.)

In fact, this whole naming thing was high on my list of hot targets for a major revamp. Such an obvious flaw in the grand plan. But then we got so close to the launch, and what with one thing and another, I barely had time to put the finishing touches on the Big Bang before the Lord God was all, like, "Hey, I'm separating the darkness from the light, and I'm doing it NOW." I'm telling you, He has the patience of a two-year-old child—and, yep, they were indeed made in His image, right down to the temperament.

Well, maybe you know how insane a launch is! I mean, gaga-smack-a-rooney-cuckoo with lunacy on top, honey. So a lot gets overlooked in the heat of the moment—not to mention the heat of cosmic matter spinning madly through space in all different directions at a gazillion miles per second. Plus, to be totally up-fro, bro, the Big Guy is not that easy to work with. I don't think I'm letting the feline out of the bag when I say he can be unbelievably touchy. (You've read Genesis, right?) In fact, when our first effort at Creation totally flopped while we were still out of town and on the road with our early material . . . Well, for a while, I honestly feared the Master of the Universe would commit suicide by swallowing hot primordial ooze.

Which was a total overreaction, of course. (Deities. Always so high-strung.) As I kept telling Yahweh, it was only natural that He would need a few dry runs before we had a success on our hands. No one had done Creation before, we were trying for something completely new and original! You can't expect to pull off the most ambitious launch in Eternity without first learning from a few failures.

For one thing, the Lord God hates loud noises, so we tried a Big Sigh, a Big Hum, a Soft Bang, and even a Small Bang before I finally convinced Him that we had to go full throttle, no holding back. "God, sweetie, pumpkin," I said, "Creation needs to commence with a big bang! With the Big Bang! With the biggest cosmic explosion of light and matter that ever was, or ever will be!" This is the kind of input where I really earn my salary. Clients are so held back by their own limitations.

Well, once God agreed to go with the Big Bang, He got a little more confidence in my guidance. So, fortunately, it didn't take me long to nix the whole "polka-dotted universe" plan, along with some of His other less-inspired ideas. (Frankly, it's thanks to me that you're not reading this with your belly button and eating your own hair for sustenance.) And by the time we got down to the fine details of planetary-planning, I could tell we were onto something really special. I loved the idea of a place that had land, sea, rivers, people, plants, animals, plumbing, and ethnic food! And the whole idea of a planet tilting on its axis to create seasons—I mean, isn't that just darling?

"God," I said, "this time, we're really going to launch. And this is going to be your best work ever! Your chef d'oeuvre. Your pièce de résistance."

And the Lord God said, "I like those nasal-sounding phrases you're using, Ishmael. We should come up with a language that sounds just like that."

"God, please don't call me Ishmael."

"But it's your name. The name that I gave you.'

"We've talked about this before, Lord. I'd rather You call me Rafe. Or perhaps Thad. Something that won't sound so out of place on the Upper West Side."

"You mean the Upper North Side," God corrected.

"I don't think we should call it that," I said. "Trust me on this."

Well, now that we obviously had a solid Creation strategy and some exciting concepts to work with, God got very competitive. He started worrying that some other omnipotent being might beat us to the punch, so He was very eager to launch right away. I really should have put the brakes on, we weren't at all ready yet. But you try saying "no" to the Lord God Almighty and see what happens. (I'll tell you what happens. Supernovas happen.)

So, naturally, once we launched, it was just one problem after another. We spent eons running around putting out the fires.

For example, there was that whole problem with the firmament, which we discovered too late can look exactly like New Jersey when viewed in the wrong light. In fact, certain parts of the firmament are New Jersey. No one saw this coming; if we had, naturally, we'd have postponed the launch.

And since seven is such an asymmetrical number of continents, I begged Yahweh to wait until we could design a better look for them. I mean, that whole Asia thing is so over the top. It's simply massive. We needed to transfer some of it to Europe to create a sense of balance. And Japan just hangs out there, as if we'd left a fifth leg on a mammal! Plus, sweetie, how many deserts does the world really need, for goodness sake? And Mexico across the Gulf from Florida? Totally lopsided! No sense of proportion at all.

"Let's organize this," I said to the Lord God, "let's make a statement with our continents. Let's not just have random landmasses flopping all over the planet."

But no. What do I know? I am only the creative consultant on the biggest project in the history of the Universe. So we launched Creation right away. With the Middle East still plopped haphazardly between three continents like an uninvited guest, and Antarctica stuck down at the South Pole like planetary genitalia. (I know, I know. Believe me, I tried to make Him see reason. But I am just a servant of God Almighty—and you know what clients are like.)

So we wound up having to relocate a ton of creatures after they saw the landscape that God intended to give to them, i.e. New Jersey. It made the exodus from Egypt look like a cakewalk by comparison, let me tell you. For a few millennia there, I was afraid the launch would collapse completely, and we'd have to start all over. Since then, of course, the shifting of tectonic plates and subsequent earthquakes have continued proving my point (we so needed a better layout for the landmasses) but you don't say "I told you so" to Jehovah. You just don't.

So, anyhow, we barely got past the firmament crisis, and God started naming things. He was off and running! "This is an armadillo, that's a slug, this is an avocado, over there is a ficus." He really had no gift at all for it. I'd realized ever since He named me Ishmael, shortly after creating me to help launch His grand plan, that we needed a better system. But then, suddenly, it was too late, we'd launched, and there was the Creator, naming everything in sight: "We'll call this part a penis, and that a vagina, and I think we should call this characteristic 'perspicacity.' " It was a disaster.

I was meanwhile up to my supernovas in PR problems after someone on my staff leaked the bit about Eve being taken from Adam's rib. I blame myself. It was Yahweh's idea—I mean, honestly, most of Creation was His idea, I just guided the packaging, He really deserves a lot of credit for the Universe—but I should have seen the inevitable problems before we were blindsided by them: If Man was created in the image of Yahweh, but Woman was created from Man's rib, well, you're obviously going to have considerable problems perpetuating the species. Or even holding a decent conversation.

The critics simply shredded us for this. The Lord God was devastated by some of those early reviews. And while I didn't disagree in principle with the comments, I thought their tone was way harsh.

Look, it was an honest mistake. Also an isolated one. We didn't have this problem with any other species. But with His favorite creation (i.e. the one based on himself, thankyouverymuch), Yahweh got a little carried away. (He called it lyrical. I call it showing off.) Ergo the whole "I made your mate from your rib" stunt. Which was, even He has admitted since then, rather childish. And certainly shortsighted. Picture this: "Hello, I'm Adam. And this is my wife, Eve, who happens to be approximately seven inches long and has no orifices."

This is why prelaunch planning is so important. Mistakes like this could have been avoided, thus sparing a certain deity the need to work so much overtime, under considerable pressure from the media, to completely redo one of Creation's most high-profile species.

So, okay, God saw His mistake, and He went back and re-created Adam and Eve equally—thus leading to some confusing rewrites in Genesis that have still not been straightened out. (But don't even get me started on that.)

Then the next thing you know, the Lord of Hosts said to me, "I don't like their design, Ishmael."

"Don't call me Ishmael."

"It's clumsy and inelegant. And have you noticed that they're not very bright? Especially Adam."

"Nor is Adam's character all that one might desire," added Lucifer, joining us without warning.

God's thoughtful frown became suddenly thunderous. "I told you to go away!"

Lucifer smirked as he mimicked Adam: " 'The apple? What apple?' "

I advised, "Leave it alone, Lu," while God smoldered.

But Lucifer never knew when to quit. Still mimicking Adam, he whined, " 'The woman tempted me.' "

"I thought snakes were a bad idea from the start," I muttered, remembering who had tempted Eve. "I hate snakes."

"They're not so bad," Lucifer said, "But I really don't care for the name. Who thought up that one, I wonder?"

And God cast Lucifer out of heaven. Just like that. "Hah! Maybe now," the Lord God said, "he'll stop getting into so much trouble."

(Oh, yes, that certainly made the next few millennia trouble-free. Gooooood thinking.)

"So, you were saying, Lord?" I prodded. "Something about Adam and Eve?"

"I can hardly tell them apart from the apes," God complained.

"But that was the plan," I reminded him. "And I think we wound up with a nice continuity to the whole primate look, right across the board."

"I'm not satisfied," God said.

Clients, I thought.

"Why not, Lord?"

"Adam and Eve seem somehow like eight-track tapes or the first Star Trek movie," God mused, "like we just haven't quite found our feet yet."

"Feet were an excellent idea, Lord," I said encouragingly. "I'm so glad You added them right before the launch. I mean, imagine if everything in Creation had been like snakes. No feet." I shuddered. "Ugh!"

And, to be clear, feet were totally the Big Guy's idea. What can I say? I work only with the best.

"Mankind just seems like . . ." God shrugged restlessly. "I don't know. I just feel that they'll always be dismissed as My early work, you know? I should have done better."

"But we—"

"In fact," God said, still pondering His Creation, "many of these creatures don't look quite right to me. Perhaps . . ."

"Yes, Lord?"

"Perhaps you were right, Ishmael."

"I'd prefer 'Rafe,' Lord. Or 'Thad.' "

"Perhaps we launched Creation before it was really ready."

"Oh. Gee. Y'think?" I said.

"What is that tone in your voice?" God demanded.

"It's something I just invented."

"Hmm. Interesting. Shall we call it 'granola'?" God suggested.

"I was thinking 'sarcasm,' " I said.

" 'Sarcasm'? Really?" God looked dubious. "Well, since you invented it, I grant you the privilege of naming it. But are you sure that's what you want to call it?"

"If I may return to the point, Lord, I cannot deny that we launched Creation a trifle too soon, but—"

"So I wonder if we should go back to the drawing board?" Yahweh mused. "Try for something better."

"You mean . . . scrap Creation and start all over again?" I felt rather faint. We'd used up everything in the Big Bang. "I'm not sure we have enough cosmic matter left over to do that."

"Couldn't we just reuse all the same matter and energy over again?"

"Revert the entire cosmos to its original inchoate form?" I said in horror.

"Would that be a problem?" the Lord God asked.

I thought of the eons of hard work and detailed planning that I had put into the Big Bang, and I knew I couldn't possibly do it all over again. At least, not without first taking a very long vacation in the sort of luxury resort that we'd neglected to Create yet. God just had no idea what that project had taken out of me. I'd rather give up my feet than destroy Creation and redo the whole job from scratch. Even if, as I was forced to agree, the cosmos would probably benefit from better planning on the next go-round.

So I did the only thing that a being in my position could do: I soothed my client. "Yahweh, sweetie," I said. "These are natural second thoughts that any omnipotent Creator is bound to have after launching such a demanding and ambitious project. Okay, so there are a few design flaws we need to work out. But, come on, Big Guy, that was to be expected! How many absolutely perfect Universes can You name, after all?"

"Well . . ."

"God, I promise You, we can make the little fixes without reorganizing the whole cosmos—again."

God bit His mighty lower lip. "So you . . . you think Creation is pretty good? I mean, you really like My work?"

"Yahweh! Babydoll! I think Creation is brilliant!"

"You're not just saying that?"

The creative ego is so fragile.

"God, I think Creation is going to run forever."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," I said warmly. "So, buck up, Lord! No more nonsense about smooshing everything back into a handful of protoreactive microcosmic antimatter. Let's not throw out the baby with the bathwater!"

The Lord Almighty frowned. "What's bathwater?"

"It's something we should definitely Create before the planet gets any more crowded."

"Ah!" God said. "One of those little fixes you mentioned."

"Exactly," I said, relieved I'd got Him past the whole let's-scrap-Creation-and-start-all-over crisis.

"But how are we going to fix Mankind?" God asked. "And some of these other creatures? And I'm not so crazy about some of the plants, either."

"What in particular—?"

"Hey, I know!" God said. "Maybe we could make Mankind look more like ferns, and ferns look more like pachyderms, and pachyderms look more like rocks."

I could see that the Maker of All Things was just running on fumes now and about to make some bad decisions on impulse. That kind of snap-judgment Creating had given us cockroaches and quicksand. When would He learn the value of planning?

So, heading off trouble before it could get really cosmic again, I said, "Let's not do anything hasty, Lord. We've got all Eternity, after all."

"Yes, but I . . . I . . ." God got distracted and peered off into the distance.

"Is something wrong, Lord?"

"Hmmm. What are Adam and Eve doing? How odd!"

"Are they gathering food? Food was, by the way, a truly inspired notion, God. A first-rate improvisation!" Okay, so He's no planner, but I never said He didn't have talent by the boatload.

"No, they're not gathering food . . ."

"Building a shelter?" I stood on tiptoe, trying to see.

"No . . ."

I saw some movement in the distance, squinted, and recognized Adam and Eve. "Why, Lord, I think they're . . ."

"They're . . . Yes, Ishmael, you're right. They're procreating."

"Interesting," I said. "Although, perhaps . . . Do you think it looks a little . . ."

"Ungainly?" God said. "Uncomfortable?"

"Is that how they're supposed to look?" I asked.

"Well, it's in accordance with the design."

"Hmmm."

"But it's a bit . . . It doesn't really . . . There's no . . ."

"Yes, God, I see Your point."

"And Eve looks positively bored," the Lord God noted.

"Which can't bode well for procreation as a going concern."

"We need to work on this," God said decisively.

"Agreed, Lord," I said. "But, please, I beg You, let's do it intelligently. No going off half-cocked without a good design plan in place."

"Oh, don't be such a wet blanket, Ishmael. Er, Rafe. Thad."

I blinked away a sudden tear, touched by God's backing down on the name thing. "Oh, I guess You're right, Lord God Almighty. It's Your Creation, after all. If You want to play around with it, have a little fun, where's the harm?"

"Just a few experiments," God assured me with a benevolent smile. "Some trial runs on a few modifications I have in mind."

"As You wish, Lord," I said, giving in.

I can't deny anything to my biggest client.

That was many eons ago, and the Big Guy is still tinkering, always expanding and improving on His original material. And it's still the one, the only, the original Creation! The Lord God's work is always maturing and evolving, He doesn't rest on His laurels.

(Oh, can I say "evolving" here? I hear there's been some controversy about evolution since we launched Creation.)

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