Ardor on Aros (18 page)

Perhaps I can get this narrative back to Earth or to uh, Then/There (Here/Now, for you), but similar means. I am dictating it to the finest mental broadcaster(ess) I’ve met. IF some sort of electrical machinery is tuned in to me, back there, maybe the electrical output of her brain will imprint this oral narrative on a recorder, or something.

Aros is in my hands, now. Evelyn postulated; did a very rough pencil sketch. The inkwork and details are mine. And will be.

I’m in charge of details; I’m in charge of Aros, from here on out. I’m god, then.

Being god is lonely. I can’t erase and start over (can god/God?). And I am a
worried
god.

Every day I meditate. Dejah and the kids humor me: Daddy’s rich and getting richer, and awful mixed up in politics nowadays, and he has to get off by himself and think. I
can’t
tell them that I am concentrating, with all my ability, on Aros’ being real and permanent. Every day, very hard.

Because—I am the god
in
the machine. What about the deus
ex
machine, Evelyn? The original Aros, the concept, came from
her
mind.

What if Evelyn dies?

Every day in every way Aros is getting realer and realer…

Evelyn Shay, wherever you are: LIVE!

endit