STORY: The Better Bodies

Steven Sommers, was called "Thirty" endearingly by his few friends. That's because, without his electric wheel chair, he was only about thirty inches tall.

Thirty was unconscious, head hanging to the side in his chair, sitting before his work bench. The huge angel approached, his eyes wide in great awe of the tiny, deformed man.

The angel looked down at the work bench. A rectangular metal platform sat on the desk, enclosed by a glass box. The platform was narrow and a couple feet wide. An off-white lumpy string hung limp between two pins, one sticking up at each end of the box. Thirty's laptop was open, an AI chat window typing out its reasoning as it generated code.

Thirty's phone was open in his limp hand. The text string from his wife, yes he had a wonderful wife, had three texts over the last two hours he had not responded to. The first politely asked if he could come help with one of their kids (all foster kids) who was having a melt down. The next said the kids were fed and asleep and asked if he wanted dinner. The last said she wished he could come to bed soon, wanting some time to connect after a long week. The words were the right ones, but the tone was colder than it used to be, as if many nights like this had conditioned her not to hope.

"Sir, Sommers." Even the whisper of the great being was a rumble.

Thirty cracked opened one eye, the one that sat in a larger eye-socket anyway. Suddenly both his eyes got large and he lifted his head. He swallowed, glanced around and saw they were alone. The man was huge, three times the size of a normal man, crouching in Thirty's mini-warehouse/lab. Thirty got the impression by the angel's nervous face, and the angel's clean garments with new leather bands and shiny gold clasps that didn't quite seem worn in, that the angel had dressed in his best for this. Thirty said a shaky, "Uhh--welcome. I'm Steven."

"Yes, Sir. Many, many of us have watched you for a long time. It is a huge honor to bring a message to someone with such an impressive reputation."

Thirty gave him a confused look, still with eyes wide open. "I didn't think anyone read my white paper. The one on stimulating generated muscle tissue?"

"Well, I've read it several times, but it is not that we all marvel at. It's what you do when the public isn't looking."

"You read my paper?-- multiple times? I assume you're an.. well... a higher level being of some..."

The angel interrupted him, "Honestly, sir, it was great but I thought you should have also written up how you designed the lab-grown tissues. Among humans, that's unheard of--" The angel shook his head and checked his motivations, "But I need to tell you: that is the weakest of the glories growing in you. Forgive me, I forget that humans cannot see what we can."

The question, "Glories?" squeaked out of Thirty.

"Yes, Sir." The angel paused, thought for a moment and then began, "I can try to explain it if it would please you... Sir."

Thirty nodded slightly, still completely in awe.

The angel thought, then lifted his hands cupping around what would be an imaginary sphere a foot in diameter, until vapor gathered into drops of water and then formed a smaller sphere between his hands. It kept growing as he spoke. Thirty's head drew closer, his jaw dropping open, as he watched the floating ball of water.

"You see, Sir." The angel said, "The human soul is the most powerful creation in the universe." He glanced up and saw Thirty watching the floating ball intently so he scanned the room for his next element and raised a finger. Thirty saw, in the rays of his lamp, dust being drawn towards the large finger.  "The reason each human soul is put into your weak, earthly bodies first is because this is the only time it is habitable to grow virtues such as humility, empathy, faith, or compassion. The ones only brokenness and difficulty can grow in you." A small ball of grayish purple spores had gathered on his finger and he dabbed it to the sphere. The spores were absorbed into the water and spread out inside. The spores started to sprout and grow into beautiful multicolor blooms that filled the sphere. "There would be no way for your souls to learn these things that are gained through struggle, in those perfect powerful bodies, spirits, and minds that will not struggle for anything."

The angle gripped his fingers in slightly, "But they must be grown and locked in before you are placed in your indestructible bodies that could not experience weakness." The surface of the sphere seemed to absorb something from the atmosphere which turned it dark metallic and hard. He looked at Thirty and said, "What are locked inside in this world are the moral convictions of the super machine you'll be driving. To have ulterior convictions would be disastrous."

"We'll have more powerful minds?"

The angel hesitated. He knew humans well enough. "Sir, these problems will be mere child's play in the new Earth." He gestured to Thirty's animated muscle experiment. The spiritual world is BUILT on super engineering biological machines. We are far more worried about the development of the moral virtues here, for that is what guides what you build and how you treat your creations with the devastating powers you will have. And that is why I am here, Sir. I need to deliver a message to you. We are concerned."

"Wait, wait, wait. You already know how to get continuous pulse, instead of step pulses from the muscle?!"

The angel's face hung in disbelief, disappointed by his hero. "Yes." He was tempted to give something to earn esteem from his hero. He glanced at the computer screen and guiltily said. "Scroll up."

Thirty reached for his mouse and scrolled. The angel pointed at a line of code, "There" and said, "query the value of the initial pulse, and trigger a recursive fourier transform."

Thirty's little fingers started tapping at the keys as his eyes locked on the screen.

"But Sir." The angel tried to regain his attention. The ball of water had dissolved and vaporized and sunk, leaving the slimy ball of the grown spores drooping on Thirty's desk. "Sir."

"Yes?" Thirty was still zoned into the screen.

"That's not what's important. These innovations will be a dime a dozen. Please listen; you have accrued more virtues than almost anyone else has in this generation, because you've turned all your struggles into the most possible good for others. But you are on the verge of letting go of the most important virtue." . . . The angel waited. Thirty kept typing away.

"Sir?"

"Mmm-Hmmm?"

"Sir, that was the fault of Lucifer. I know you want to help people. But not at the cost of the seeds of virtues that are about to drop out of your soul."

Thirty's eyes slowly drifted to the angel. He shook himself free of the coding trance. He glanced at the limp blob of slime. "I--I'm sorry. Please say that again?"

The angel swallowed and said, "Sir, we have seen the swaying of your resolve, to choose achievement over love."

"But this achievement will make many more people's lives better."

"But will it teach them to love more? What is more comfort worth, if it does not help you practice loving others, or persevering more, or equipping us with empathy, or patience or faith. These technological advancements are for the next, capital E Earth. Advancements are just so much harder in this earth so why not wait?" He gestured to the ball of slime he had pulled together and levitated a moment ago.

"The soul is made of the most powerful material ever created. Clothed with your new bodies and new minds, you will all be like..." he thought of an analogy, "Like supermen and women with which God plans to craft this whole universe into something so vast and beautiful. But ultimate power with mediocre virtues is a recipe for a universe of supervillains capable of so much selfishness and pain, he will have to capture them... in..." He hesitated, "Hell."

"Okay." Thirty was sobered now, and finally feeling the gravity of the message. "Where is the impurity in me?"

"Go to your wife. Kiss those kids in your household. The allure of impact on generic masses has all but stolen you from those in your life whom you are assigned to love. If you fail to love those few who you are assigned to love, you fail."

Thirty looked at the computer screen. His eyes sinking deeper into it. But he tore them away, as a look on his face showed how much it hurt to do so. A pleading whisper escaped him, "But what if I forget the answer?"

"It will be waiting for you in the real Earth."

He nodded, still fighting the need to keep working on it.

"Will you be there?" Thirty asked as he looked up at the glorious being.

The angel smiled and nodded. "Indeed. But we will be more like pets compared to what each of your species will be."

"No, I will not let it be so. I would so much like to spend hours learning from you now. What is your name?"

"In English my name is most like Luke."

"Perhaps we can work together when we are there. The angel who kept me from losing everything when my soul was still soft." He slowly reached to shake the angel's hand.

A wide, irresistible smile forced its way across the angel's face as he bowed, embarrassed to show it so wide. He tenderly grasped Thirty's hand with his, which completely dwarfed Thirty's. The Angel said, as if it were his millenia-long dream, "That would truly be a pleasure." But then he added. "But Sir, every one of your family members will be a far greater being than me. Go and be with them now."

Thirty nodded, still in a daze, and then controlled his motorized wheelchair back from the desk and out the door.

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Raw Spoon, April 10-11, 2025