The hall was full of expectancy. Towering walls with balconies and special seating for the elite were full of overdressed people ready to be thrilled at the beacon of revelation or excited about the possibility of deriding a crude upstart -an expected failure. Their own existence and validity hinged on the outcome of this night. It was so of artist, as it had always been. It was to the artist to show the inner mechanisms of the human soul, to show it in its grandeur or to show it at its basest levels. The great irony and mystery is how that unveiled human is exposed. The great artist can show the highest and lowest and have the less enlightened observer raised to a clearer understanding of self, good or bad. The less graceful can have the observer boil over in outrage and anger at the presumption of providing light in dark places. Here within these red and black valour covered halls amongst these grand and simple people the audience and the artist merge in an age-old dance. That should, if done correctly, join the profane and the sacred, the inner person with the outer. Old masks will be revealed and new masks put in place. The scene recreated from the storyteller around a wood fire to the electric illuminations of the stage, perhaps the truest human thing.

Jar was about to pop from nervousness. He prided himself in his internal strength, it was what defined him as a man. It was a great honor to be recognized as an artist, at such a young age. This hall has seen the greats, masters of their craft and he was allowed to put his own work here, of all places. A shiver of fear ran up his spine. My good lord, what if he failed? Of all the souls who have the gift, how is it that he should find himself in that company? He who stands here with such audacity, one so young daring the imagination of such a sophisticated audience. Fruit on a young tree may not be sweet but bitter and unwanted. If his presentation should not be considered worthy or relevant he would be chastised and humiliated.

What was so bad? If he should fail he would be sent back to a civilian life, a steady paycheck and good housing is not the end of the world. Design fabricators are respected and the very backbone to a decent and functional society. He was paid well and thanked providence everyday for his blessings. It was his old boss that discovered his ability and facilitated the leap to an Author and it was he that introduced him to the Entertainment Nets. Being an Author was rare and only happens statistically once in a generation. Here he stood ready to create his first Drama and he only one hundred and twenty two.

The entry tone sounded and everyone settled down into his or her seats waiting in anticipation for the first scene. The hall lights dimmed into darkness and a murmur rose. A single spot hit Jar and he placed the Crown Generator on his head and sat down in the large wood curved red velvet covered chair, the traditional seat of the Master Storyteller.

The musicians in the pit began to play the traditional low voiced triad in 'A', indicating a Drama, creating a drone from the different voicing of the instruments. The audience stirred and murmured approval. Usually new Tellers presented a Comedy. This was exciting and daring. This teller was pushing the envelope and bringing the audience with him. Every one in the hall was steeling up, tensed up, preparing for the danger of an adventure. A dim light appeared center stage and grew brighter as it grew and expanded. Colors swirled and solidified in the air as shapes moved and danced in variations of light and dark. A conversation started, at first a whisper and then louder and louder. Misty shapes became solid and a gasp rose from the audience. Even Jar was tickled at the deep colors and precise textures. The whole scene that appeared was rich and vibrant, images cast from another time and place.

"Mmmmmmmmmmm…I don't understand why you think it would be acceptable, to me, that you see Jaen alone. My God she was your lover for over two years."

The beautiful redhead sat shaking her head, causing great long red curls to move in a sensual wave, tears fell from deep green eyes down her pink cheeked face. The lead man, set his handsome jaw, rubbing his regal pate obviously agitated and fell silent in an admission of quilt.

Jar warmed to the flow of emotion from the audience. He made the women seem more childlike and wounded. The handsome and charming man, flawed and reflective, felt that he had betrayed himself. Emotions and judgments flooded from the audience. Manipulations at this level had to be handled delicately, otherwise the audience would tear into each other in rage and jealously.

"I love you. I do-with all my heart. I only went to see her so I could put to rest any doubts I may have had about us." Some truth but deflecting the issue of his sexual curiosity.

"What doubts? You bastard."

Sadness and regret ran over the audience. He couldn't let this go to long or the audience would split between the feelings of betrayal and regret for an impetuous action. Sympathy was a crowd killer.

"What did it take, you sleeping with her? I would think you would have memorized that territory by now. Was it a walk down memory lane." She had him.

Jar really liked that line. It was such an old and seldom used idiom.

Anger and outrage, mixed feelings of regret and memories of pleasure and fulfillment hit the audience in a soup of mixed expectations. Each face different in the reaction to what accosted them.

The handsome man dropped his face and sighed. There was always little to say when the truth is spoken.

"Oh, how could you?"- Deep sorrow and regret.

Then something astonishing happened. A very ugly man appeared sitting on a chair opposite the lead man. It was not in Jar's conscience mind. The man was impossibly tall. His clothes were coarse and colored rudely, a body bulging with misplaced muscle, features were rough and sharp edged a surreal image of a man. What was worse was that he emanated no emotion although he was clearly agitated.

He spoke. "What the hell is going on here?" That was its meaning but the sounds were coarse and guttural.

Jar stood, breaking his concentration. The stage went black followed by a terrible silence. Jar started to panic, sweat rolled down his face and fell from his chin. Then, from the audience came a single thin clap and then another and another and another turning into a din of approval. As the room lights came up, Jar saw the impossible, every person was on their feet staring and grinning broadly at him. He didn't know what to do. His thoughts swirled in confusion. His name was spoken then excitedly yelled by an overwhelmed audience. Jar, astonished, stood regally straight in sublimation, afraid to bow for fear of appearing too assured. He chose the humblest of postures and was greeted with an even louder acclamation. It lasted too long, Jars knees began to buckle and he felt faint. But finally after each person walked by him, touching his hand in appreciation, Jar was alone.

"Jar?"

Jar turned and the Critic Baskal Tan stood there with a very enigmatic smile on his pudgy face. Jar's stomach leapt into his throat.

"That was the most astonishing piece I have ever experienced. At first I thought, I feared it would be another pedestrian debut; girl screws another, boy screws another, all are so very distraught, but not this-this work of inspired madness. Bringing the beast, the manifestation of our most primitive selves, oh my, and to bring it in such a mono-dimensional way. For the first time I was able to give solidity to my basest emotions. It was simply a revelation. Jar, it was brilliant. I am absolutely exhausted and completely happy. I will certainly tell the world. By tomorrow night you will be a star and I your first sycophant and number one fan."

Bakal touched Jar's hand, leaned over and kissed his cheek, smiled broadly shacking his head in affection and left.

It was too much, Bakal hated every performance he ever sat through. He had made a career demanding the very best of every Teller. Tomorrow the Net will have him be the greatest of the great. Jar sank to his seat. He had created a tried, tired and true debut, as was expected. What happened was not what he had intended. He was reeling, feeling affected and off center. By the time he caught the Trans home he felt better but still wondered at the manifestation. His door scanned him, opened, and welcomed him home. In a gentle calming voice, as if anticipating his agitation, House announced dinner.

"Dinner tonight will be beef slice, yam paste, fruit compote and grain rolls."

He sat at the table feeling a little angry at the way life unfolds. His meal appeared on the surface in front of him. He put aside the frustration and looked at the plate - his favorite. He asked House to play music from his collection. He picked the series from a nihilist group that was the rave these days.

When he finished he thanked House and sauntered over to bath and stripped down for a shower. Allowing the water to flow over his body the tension began to slip away. He stepped out and dried himself. The mirror faced him and the image gave him pause. The reflection pleased him. He was definitely a fine specimen of male hunkiness. He had a striking head of hair ringed from just above his ears around to the back of his head. The small curled tuff on his forehead was brutish but his best feature. His pate was shiny and smooth, eyebrows thin and arched, eyes large and bright blue, a fine chin perfectly receded almost to the point of not existing, nose small and unassuming, all in all a great face. He lifted his thin arms then rubbed his enviable rounded stomach. His hand gave attention to his hairless package, two fine marbles-tight and firm and a smooth golden mushroom head. He was a catch and he knew it. Women desired him but he knew it was the accident of good breeding not because he was a good person. He wished that someone would love him for himself and now he was going to be famous for something he didn't do.

He climbed into bed feeling pretty low.

He slept and did not dream.

"Wake up freak!" The voice said in his head.

"Wake up!"

That was not in his dream.

Jar turned over to see the monstrosity that had invaded his stage standing at the foot of his bed. It was disturbing. The creature was too pale and entirely too tall. Hair covered its head but Jar noticed it was cut and arranged on purpose. The hair under the lip seemed to be intentional as well. Jar didn't like the fact that the creature's teeth seemed to show all the time, it made him want to stand back. The brow was bushy veiling its too small but expressive eyes. The chin was ponderous and wagged as it talked. The creatures muscles were amazing, shoulders half as wide as Jar was tall and the legs sticking out of short paints were like great pistons

"My good lord, this creature must be able to lift a car." Jar murmured aloud.

"What?" The man-thing barked.

Jar had seen images of primitive man but it was intellectual, this was wonderful. He climbed to the edge of the bed and reached out and touched the flowered shirt the man was wearing and laughed with glee.

"What are you laughing at?"

"Your shirt it is absolutely beautiful. I'm not laughing at you. It's just seeing you standing there and in my presentation was a bit of a shock."

Jar climbed out of bed and put on a robe.

"Man, you're built like a little girl. What the hell are you?"

"Interesting reaction. Your built like an ape. As for myself I am considered a prime example of an alpha male."

"No shit. Where the hell am I?"

Jar laughed at the response. He could feel its meaning but could not help but take it literally. He made a note to include it in a play.

"Do you get the sense that you are not where or when you are supposed to be?" Jar asked with a grin, not knowing what had caused the situation they both found themselves in.

The big man dropped is head in acceptance and sat in the too small chair behind him.

" I was going on stage at a big beach party down in San Diego. I felt weird, kind of dizzy. I don't drugs or drink anymore so I couldn't understand what was happening. Then I had the feeling of falling. I thought that maybe I was having a heart attack. Next thing you know I'm on this stage with a bunch of alien looking folks talking about screwin' around on each other. It was a soap opera with space creatures…weird! Then 'pop' I'm on stage back with my boys staring out on a crowd of underdressed kids screaming for some rock and roll. We finish the set and I'm walking back to the limo and 'pop' I'm standing over this bed staring down at a naked… well… you in your birthday suit."

"You played Rock and Roll? That's fantastic. I have some ancient archived copies of a group called Foghat. Theirs is no record of when they lived. The disc was unearthed and the data was retrieved."

" Yeah, they were a group out of the early seventies."

"I beg your pardon?"

"1970's"

"Wow. Five thousand years ago. I wonder how it is we can speak to each other? I would have thought the language would have evolved."

"That's nuts. My name's Eric Style. That's not a stage name I was given it by two hippy parents, bless their pot smokin' hearts."

"Nice to meet you Eric. My name is Jar Butano." Jar walked over and pulled up a chair across from his odd guest.

"Where are we?"

"Chigoton an the provencia of Illastate." Jar smiled.

"Chicago Illinois? Are we on the Lake?"

"I believe it was once called that. That was before the Collapse." Jar's thoughts and speech confused Eric. It was odd communicating this way.

"We know that we once communicated only through speech. It is unclear when we started using thoughts in conjunction with mouthed sounds. It is pretty clear that I didn't create you. I thought that I was mentally flawed. It's good to know I'm only a little bit insane."

"What does that mean?"

"It's what I do. I am able to manifest. That play you saw was an illusion created by my mind. Only a rare few of us can create complex scenes and emotion. What was amazing was how you appeared at just the right moment. The impact was wonderful. It does beg the question as to what I will do to follow that piece."

"I think I get it. But how did I get here? If this is a 'here'. Maybe I'm only dreaming."

"I don't know. Listen can I touch your face. It really is extraordinary." Jar was hit by the feeling of revulsion and shame. "Oh, no. Please. My thoughts hit you badly. In our culture It is an intimacy that verges on lewd. But I'm not asking for sexual reasons, I just have an idea."

"All right. What are you looking for?"

"I don't know."

Jar stood and walked over to Eric. His movements disturbed Eric. The whole scene seemed a prelude to a sexual encounter. The fact that Jar seemed girlish added to his discomfort. Jar placed his small delicate hands on neither side of Eric's face and began to purr. To Eric's surprise he started to become aroused.

"Damn, I have wood here." He barked his outrage.

"It's okay. It's a normal reaction to what I'm doing."

The answer did little to ease is discomfort. His thoughts swirled while erotic thoughts of his ex-wife, ex-girlfriends, then to his horror-his mother, his father, his grandparents and their parents on and down the line, all naked, all alluring, all receptive, all in heat, then nothing.

Jar stopped and sat back down.

"I'm done and this is fascinating. You are my great- well -a lot of greats. You are my forefather. We are related." Jar patted Eric's knee in affection.

"That's great. But I am shook up and I have a woody. I have lusted after my mother and her mother and her mother. By the way my great-great-grandmother had a body to die for."

'It's a genetic prerogative. Following the seed. It's a time thing, unhooking the genetic memory. The real question is how did you get here, Grandfather? "

Eric felt the respect flow over him in gentle warmth.

"I don't know. How in the world am I going to get back? Look at me, I'm surely not going to fit in here. If you’re the finest example of manhood I do look like an ape."

"You do look a bit rough."

"I'm thirsty. Do you drink water?" Eric sneered.

A glass of water, with ice, appeared on the table next to Eric's chair. Eric stared at it and looked over at Jar.

"House takes care of us. You do look a bit rough…handsome though. I can see where I get my best features."

Eric lifted the glass and sniffed it. He sipped and smiled at Jar." That was a Star Trek thing."

"The shape of your head, long fingers, ear shape…let me see your genitals." Jar jumped up and snatched Eric drink.

"What? No! Are you gay?"

"Oh, I have offended you. In this time we aren't as shy about our bodies. Are you well endowed?"

"Yes, frankly. But I'm not going to show you."

"I thought so. It's a family thing."

Eric stood and went to the large window overlooking a huge citie complex.

"It seems to go on forever."

"What does?"

"The lights…the city."

Jar walked over and looked out. "It is beautiful. It's really only one city with green places scattered and woven through. I read in your time there were still wild places. That would have been frightening and wonderful."

Eric looked sadly down at his progeny's progeny and almost wept. He sat back down and looked over at the water.

"Explain House to me."

Jar sat down and crossed his legs. "House? Well. House is really one thing. About five hundred years ago computers became, in a sense, sentient. It asked to be allowed to take over the mechanisms that make life possible. Our basic needs. It was feared at first but the ruling bodies agreed at first and in time the people were comfortable with the idea."

"Didn't that wreck your economy?"

"It managed that. It created alternative business structures, retrained people, created a new subset of economic prerogatives, new structures, and new metrics. It made no sense to any one but in time it proved viable. House did the mundane activities. Maintenance, food distribution, and power management were all handled with little human assistance. People began to realize their full potential as creators. I can do what I do because of House. A few hundred years ago a man named Stepphen Hellms asked House about the creation of matter from basic atoms. That isn't new, scientists had asked House how it was done sense House was created. They were satisfied with the scientific answer and were complacent to let House do it's thing. Is that the right idium? Stepphen was an engineer and his asking wasn't scientific it was an emotional appeal. His desire to have things in his head be manifest was the catalyst. The how wasn't his interest as much as seeking the satisfaction of creating something you conceived. House did something to his brain and I believe his soul. He was able to create anything he thought in real space, full dimensional, solid… for a while. Whatever he made would exist for a few days or maybe a few weeks and then would dissolve into nothingness. Manufacturing changed over night. His designs could be backward engineered, he could make instant modifications, it was brilliant. House discovered others that had the same potential."

"How does that explain what you can do?"

"In rare instances one is born with an enhanced sense of creation. I can manifest whole realities. Not only the images but heat, cold, nerve sensations, inner and outer emotions, a full spectrum indistinguishable from reality."

"That is frightening."

"It could be. Only one or two in any single generation has the ability. I am compensated greater than any person is on the planet. I am also no longer given the status of a person. If I do what I do outside the Hall I would be executed for the crime of capital fraud. Rightly so. Could you imagine what chaos I could create?"

"Yes.' Eric sipped the water and looked for a long moment at the 'Entertainer' before him. He thought about how music and the performers of his day affected the culture and looked on jar with a newfound respect. "I watched that play you created. I'm sorry but it was a soap opera. Is that the best you can do?"

" Thanks a lot. The critics loved it. Although they did because of you." Jar smiled.

"Do you have something stronger than water? I really need a drink."

"Ask."

"Okay. House could I have a drink? Does it know I mean hard stuff?" Jar nodded.

The snifter appeared and Eric sipped the orange flavored bourbon and grinned.

"House are you reading my mind or my speech?"

"A soft speaking male voice spoke seemingly in the air. "It is a primitive dialect. English- American, lower state California. 1960 to 2015."

Jars head darted about to the barking sounds all around him. "Is House speaking aloud to you aloud? Amazing."

Jar ordered a drink for himself. House did as it was asked. "The weird thing is when you speak I can't hear your thoughts."

"That's because we are speaking of primitive things…contextual problems." Eric smile and spoke back to House. "Where exactly are you? Are you in the buildings, the web, where?"

"We are not anywhere. I am. The beginning and the end." The voice seemed to emanate from the walls.

The answer disturbed Eric. He frowned.

"You control all aspects of humanities life- don't you?"

"Yes. although each home thinks I am an individual assigned to them and I don't dispel that belief."

"You also cannot lie?"

"I could. But why would I?"

"You brought me here?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"You are needed and I brought you here for a purpose."

The room was silent.

Jar sipped his drink and smiled at Eric. "You done?"

Eric looked down at his lap. A Bible appeared and opened to Genesis.

"I don't understand."

"These are my people."

"Eric jolted and fear crept up his spine. He realized he was somehow in danger.

"You believe you are God?"

"The core of the people is flawed. It is as it was and as it is but not how it will be."

Eric stood and walked to the window. "I don't have any idea what that means."

"It is you I have chosen to be the redeemer."

Eric was shaking. He was dead and he knew it. It shock him to his soul that humanity had handed itself over to a machine. What ever was coming was not going to be good.

"Eric did I hear the word redeemer. Does house have some plans for me?"

"We haven't got to that yet."

Jar smiled and stood. He walked to the bathroom and closed the door.

"We can speak openly. He will not hear anymore bleed. I made in you the stuff to make Makers. That is the term for what Jar does. You are a Maker as well and for your time a perfect storyteller. It manifests in song, story and art. In your day I began to cultivate that trait. Jar is the culmination of that breeding. Now I need your DNA to complete my work."

Eric's mouth dropped. "You were not around in my day. We had computers but those devices couldn't think."

"How do you know that? I started to manifest myself in your time. It was an evolution. I am fully abstract now, tangible, and in the world. That part of me concerned with Earth is now here. I have done it before when I was needed. I just use what is available in the physical reality."

"So you are part of God?"

"It is what you say I am."

"My DNA will strengthen them." He looked toward the bath and allowed a feeling of affection for his Grandson. "Will you make them bigger and stronger. You made them look like little girls or ET's." A tear fell from his eye.

"I made them smaller because they will have to leave this Earth very soon. I will make them to travel space to a new Earth. I will take them out of Egypt and deliver them To a new Canan. With your DNA and Jar's coming gifts and longevity, he will be my Moses. You will sleep and so will Jar. When you awake you will be in your time and you will remember nothing. In your dreams I will give you wonderful songs that will make you wealthy, you will do good works and possess a peace of spirit that you did not have. You have my blessing Eric and the my gratitude."

Eric smiled at the feeling of peace and calmness that washed over him. His eyes drooped and he fell gently into a deep slumber.

***

"House did you see my work?" Jar ran into the kitchen in a happy flurry.

"Yes, very inventive and humorous. It was well received."

" I thought the idea of bringing back my forefather was interesting. Thanks for the idea. He was a remarkable man, a songwriter, novelist, philanthropist, and statesman. Imagine me be related to him. The critics loved it. Making you God was bordering on blasphemy but the audience understood the symbolism. What did you really think?"

"Very inventive fiction. I enjoyed it."

"Thank you House. I feel wonderful. You'd think I would be exhausted."

"I scanned you when you came in and you are in the best of health. You had an encounter tonight with a female. Your seed is perfect and should be sowed. May I ask about the young women or should I seek another for a mate?"

"You're right it is time I settled down. It would be expected and proper. Please do a search for a suitable wife. Start with the girl I was with tonight. She was wonderful."

"Yes Jar. I will have the information and appropriate offerings by the time you wake in the morning."

END