Today's Special: Science Fantasy

Public seating in the Council chamber was full of wizards and witches muttering excitedly to each other. Everyone had turned out to hear what the Council would do about the chimp wizard.

Seven Council members, four wizards and three witches in business attire, entered from a small door at the front of the room. They moved stiffly to take their seats atop a raised podium. Most carried cups of coffee, their eyes bloodshot and faces worn. They'd already spent two hours debating Old Business. Now it was 11 o'clock and they faced a lengthy debate about this new bill.

So when one of the Councilwitches moved that they limit public comments to half an hour total and give each person only two minutes, her motion passed with only a hiss from the audience in objection. It turned out no one on the Council had any preliminary remarks about the bill, #2009-31: An Amendment to Prevent the Abuse of Magical Animals or Pets, either.

So the Council Chair loosened his tie a little and called the wizard whose actions had caused the drafting of the bill forward: "Council has requested Mr. Michael Clark answer questions about his treatment of George, his pet chimpanzee. Will Mr. Clark please come forward?"

After a small shuffle of bodies at the back of the room, a slight man in a badly-fitting brown suit strode down the middle aisle toward the podium. He turned just shy of the fence separating the public from the Council's area and side-stepped to the microphone setup for public comments.

"You are the wizard known as Michael Clark?" the Chair began.

"Yes, sir."

"And you have a pet chimpanzee named George, correct?"

"No, sir. I mean," Michael corrected, "I did, sir, but I don't consider George a pet anymore."

"And why is that?"

"Because I made him smarter, sir. Smart as me, anyway."

"But that's not all you did, is it?"

Michael looked down at the carpet. "No, sir."

"Why don't you tell us what you did with George?"

Michael cleared his throat. "Well, sir, you know wizards've been making animals that can talk for ages. But I thought that'd be a little too obvious nowadays, you know, and me and George like to go to the park together, so--so I just made him a little smarter and taught him some Sign Language. I figured that'd be safe. People've seen gorillas that can sign, so a chimp wouldn't be that big a deal.

"And it was fun, you know? Teaching him to read, watching TV together. It was like having a little brother to take around and show things to. It was cool.

"But after a while I kinda felt sorry for him. I mean, I didn't give him thumbs, so he can't use a lot of tools, and he'll never be able to go out and get a job like me, so--"

"So you taught him magic," the Chair interrupted.

Michael nodded slowly. "Just a few spells, at first. I didn't even know he could do it! But he watched me put a charm on some flowers one day, to keep 'em fresh, and the next day he did it himself! He was so excited, hopping up and down and pointing at what he'd done.

"I thought it'd be a great thing for him to practice, you know? Keep him amused, maybe help out around the apartment, that kind of thing. And he's such a quick learner!

"But when I brought some friends over to show them what he could do, they kinda freaked out, and so..." He sighed. "Here I am."

The Chair frowned. "Mr. Clark, as I understand it, your friends contacted us after one of your neighbors noticed her dog's fur had changed colors."

"George changed it back! And they never traced it back to us."

One of the Councilwizards jumped in. "Even so, you have to admit that magic has always been a human gift. If animals were meant to cast spells, they would have written their own."

Michael thought for a moment before replying. "Maybe they just haven't evolved it yet."

The Councilwizard chuckled. "You don't really believe that nonsense, do you? Humans evolved magic in response to the pressure of life on the African savanna. We were too vulnerable to depend on just our physical gifts. No other animal has needed such a dramatic evolutionary change before or since."

Michael shook his head. "Not yet. But without our advantages in technology, how will they survive the global climate change we can all feel is coming?"

"I don't know. But I must say, the thought of some endangered bird suddenly learning to cast spells against us scares the bejeesus out of me."

Michael sighed as the crowd laughed nervously. "Look. All I'm saying is that George is not dangerous, and teaching him magic isn't abuse. If you would only--"

The Chair cleared his throat to interrupt Michael. "I'm sorry, Mr. Clark, public comments should be held for later." He glanced at the other Councilmembers. "Are there any other questions for Mr. Clark from the Council?"

A Councilwitch raised her hand. After the Chair nodded at her to go ahead, she turned to Michael and asked: "Mr. Clark, do you believe George has a soul?"

Michael thought over his answer for several minutes. Finally he nodded. "Yes. Yes, I do."

That was the last of the questions. The Chair moved to allow public comments, advising them he would carefully hold them to their time limits.

And so the public weighed in on the issue. Some argued that what's done was done, and so long as George did no harm he should be allowed to remain as he was. Some argued that George should be destroyed, or taken away from Michael Clark, or put to use in the wizard militia. Most agreed that magic belonged to humans, and should stay that way.

The last name to be called was George C. The crowd and Council both were shocked--in spite of their weariness--when a small, furry chimp hopped to the front of the room and lowered the microphone to his mouth.

All was quiet as George, the first chimp wizard, raised his arms and began weaving his hands back and forth while chittering into the microphone.

By the time the Council Chair realized George was casting a spell on them, it was too late.

Black, bristling hair grew on pink human arms that shrank and lost their thumbs. Brow ridges overgrew flat noses, knocking eyeglasses loose. Clothes rumpled as the bodies inside them twisted and curled in on themselves, spines getting shorter and shorter.

When the transformations were done, George gazed at a room filled with small, simian faces. None had the light of intelligence and magic that glowed behind George's eyes.

George bared his teeth and clapped his hands above his head. He was pleased.

Today's Special: Mythic Sci-Fi

The story I am about to tell you, like all old stories, is wrong. Nevertheless, like all old stories, if you listen closely enough, you can hear the truth.

Listen to me now: We came from the stars.

The world was born of fire, a burning ball not fit for life until it was cooled by rain and the slow work of time. Teardrops from the clouds gathered themselves into oceans. The earth sighed as heat left its cracked and steaming skin. The fire of its birth was banished deep within the earth’s shell, left to curl around its center like a serpent eating its tail.

We did not come from that fire. Nor from the water that quenched those flames. We did not come from the earth revealed by the battle of fire and water.

As the stars shone down on the newly-formed world, some of them fell. Slowly at first, but faster and faster as they got closer to the world, they fell from the sky and struck the earth.

Many of them fell so hard and so fast they burned away till they were no more than dust in the air. But a few survived their falls. Though their fall to the earth had made them shadows of what they once were, they lived.

We were made from these fallen stars. Each one formed a center, a beating heart and thinking soul for a new body. A body that crawled, then swam, then learned to walk upright. A body that, in time, could bend even fire to its will.

These are our bodies. We came from the stars, and when we look up into the night sky, it is only natural that we want to reach out and touch the stars that remain.

For the star that lives inside us remembers its brothers, and from whence it came. That star looks through our eyes and pushes us onward, outward, away from the earth that has become its prison.

It wants to go home. And if our restless souls are to at last find peace, we must go, too, and make it our home.

Among the stars.