Chapter Two

Thirty million years in the past, Jelinek Sargosian landed on the mucky, muddy ball of rock that was to become Planet Earth. Specifically, he landed in what was to become Paris, in a marsh a quarter-mile away from the spot where the Eiffel Tower would have one day stood. It was the spot where an unassuming amphibian with droopy eyes was to crawl lazily out of his hole, yawn, blink at the sun and scratch himself. He would then wander away from his hole toward a rather interesting aroma, and eventually find the burrow of a female amphibian of his species. They would share a passionate few days after which he would wander away for a snack bucket of insects and be subsequently eaten by a larger amphibian of a slightly different species, leaving the female to spend the rest of her days attempting to invent language just so she could think of something terrible to call him.

Specifically, she would try to invent French, because terrible words sound so wonderful and definite in French, even though she would be completely unaware that she was in Paris, and that she was the grandmother of the human race.

You see, one of the spawn she would now carry was meant to continue a line that would evolve into a fascinating creature called a mammal, which would grow hair and sprout toes and lead into a race that would invent the cell phone. The grandmother of the human race had no idea that she was to be responsible for a whole new life form, or that her descendents would give speeches about world unity, find a way to go to the moon and invent the fart joke.

If she had known, she probably would have done things differently. She probably would have lived a better, more productive life. She probably would have made sure she was not at home the day the strange male with the droopy eyes came to call. “C'est la vie,” she might have said.

Earth scientists spend a great many nights wide awake inventing ways to keep the fact that all human life began in Paris a secret, especially from the Parisians. They would have done better to keep that secret away from Jelinek Sargosian, an alien from Andromeda with high cheekbones and pale, baby-soft skin.

From his hot-pink spaceship, simply called, “Love,” Jelinek Sargosian gazed out at the muddy marshes of Precambrian (???) Earth. He looked at his silver Ulik Zggthwp boots, fashioned from the irridescent hide of the Milmian Moonsnake, the poison of which was the main ingredient of a drink known as the Orgasmalade. The bite of the animal was always lethal, as no one had ever been successful in getting any of its victims to take the antedote.

“Open the door, Love,” he said resignedly.

A voice came from everywhere and nowhere all at once as the door opened. “I was rather hoping we could dock at the space ports of –”

“Not now, Love,” Jelinek said. “I'm contemplating mud.”

The mud below bubbled at him. Jelinek Sargosian sighed. He could not get over how unspeakably dull creating a master race had proved to be. Traveling light years do discover the exact moment in time when the fateful combination of genes was to take place and pave the way for the birth of the human race, then finding a way to turn Love into a timeship, so that he could come back here and glomp through the mud to turn around a lizard...it was maddening.

Jelinek Sargosian, the hottest lover in seven solar systems, did not glomp. He sighed. The mud squmped at him as if to say, “Well what did you expect? You can't just create a master race with no muss or fuss, you know.”

Jelinek glared at the mud. He absolutely did not want to go out there, not even to get his name firmly etched in the oh-so-sparkly tablets of history. There was a tickle somewhere inside his brain, just a little wiggle of electricity that gradually morphed into the spark of an actual idea. Jelinek grinned the sort of grin that only the truly visionary or the truly insane can grin. The trouble with telling them apart is how the corporations respond to the results of their troubles.

“Ra-da-arf!” he called, and whirled around to find a rather gangly looking robotic dog staring at him with great expectation, mouth open and lights flashing happily. The Radaarf Seventy Thousand was to be the latest in AAI – Anticipatory Artificial Intelligence. Not only could man's best friend help him out of a jam, it could do so without that pesky step of having to be given a command. Or even a suggestion. Jelinek found it wildly unnerving and had been trying for several months now to trick the artificial dog into staying on various worlds. It had never worked, of course, because its telepathic circuitry had always enabled it to beat him to the punch, so he had given up the idea entirely. As it turned out, it was a good thing the positronic pooch was still with him.

Jelinek bent down eye level to the dog and tried to appear as warm and friendly as possible. The dog tilted its head and made a confused beeping noise. “Radaarf,” Jelinek began warmly. “I want you to do something for me. All right, boy?”

The dog's lights blinked hesitantly.

“Good boy. Now, I want you to go out there in the mud and travel to these coordinates,” he said. “Love,” he said to the ship, standing again. “Give Radaarf those special coordinates we talked about.”

“Yes,” the ship said. “We talked. I thought maybe we could talk about something stimulating, something appropriate to my vast – ”

“Not now, Love. It's time to alter the course of Earth history.” He twisted a dial on one of his rings. A pink holographic digital display indicated it was nearing lunchtime. He had to undo the human race and leave in time to make it to an interview with Good Morning Galaxy the day before he left.