Morris stared at Chúndù and Qīngbái’s bloody, twisted corpses in disbelief. Voss pulled his knife from Chúndù’s head and wiped it on the grass. Morris blinked a few times, willed his heart to slow, then loosened his grip on a branch as he realized the bark was biting into his palms. “What’s going on? Where are we? Who were they? Who are you?”
To Morris’s surprise and frustration, Voss laughed. “I told you, I’m Voss! I’m sure you have questions, but we might as well leave before Juéxǐng De Lóng returns.” Voss sauntered down the hill and along the stream to the West.
Morris climbed down and stepped away from the corpses. “I’m not sure what’s going on. I’d like to return home.”
Voss paused and turned back. “You have no home in this universe; you’d better stick with me, especially since you’ve already made enemies of the locals.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Juéxǐng De Lóng, the white-robed leader you just pissed off.”
“No, what do you mean ‘I have no home in this universe?’”
“Oh, that. I am compiling an encyclopedia of different civilizations throughout the Milky Way, and you are my chosen guide for humanity. We are visiting a series of six universes based on religions and mythologies to conduct a meta-analysis of human behavior.”
Morris, given too many things to think about at once, experienced a brain-jam. “I don’t want you to raise more questions, I want you to answer the ones I already asked.”
“We are in a manufactured universe of Buddhists. In about ten days, the universe will self-destruct.”
Morris’s hands went up, his eyebrow raised, and his eyes bugged. “What?!”
“Technology can build convincing atoms and passable quarks, but can’t precisely recreate the components of quarks. So the atoms of manufactured universes quickly fall apart, leaving nothing but broken particles floating in nothingness. Hopefully when that happens we’ll be in the next universe.”
“What happens to us if we’re stuck in a universe after it dissipates?”
“Nothing.”
That was somehow Voss’s most sensible answer yet.
Voss continued. “Next we will visit universes based on Hinduism, Christianity, Toltec wisdom, and Greek thought, before finally arriving at Valhalla to study Norse mythology. As we travel through these universes, you won’t be researching how many heads God has, discerning whether death transports souls to pleasure gardens and torture chambers, identifying a fated purpose for humanity, or any of that metaphysical nonsense; instead, you’ll be using the religions, cultures, and individuals we encounter as tools for understanding human thought processes and behavior. At the end, you will write a Model of Human Understanding for my encyclopedia.”
“I need to get home,” said Morris. “Get someone else.”
“The only way out is forward. We can’t unstart.”
Morris grumbled. “Is time passing in my universe while we’re here?”
“Yes, at the same speed,” said Voss.
Ten universes multiplied by ten possible days per universe placed Morris back home well after his mother’s surgery. His heart pounded and he hyperventilated. As unready as he felt to face his family, he was far less ready to let them go. He needed to get home as soon as possible. If the job needed doing, there was nothing to do but work. With jelly-like legs, he tentatively started down the path with Voss.
At a thought, his irritation spiked once again, and he sighed. “Why am I your guide, anyway? I’ve read more Cook and Vonnegut than I’ve read Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John.”
“Human behavior is a puzzle with more than one piece,” said Voss. “If you were an expert on religion our universes might instead draw from Cook and Vonnegut.”
“So what? I’m just some guy. I’m worse than just some guy. I don’t even understand myself; I definitely don’t understand humanity.”
"You overthink things,” said Voss.
"I don't need to overthink your choice of guide to know it's bizarre," said Morris.
Voss laughed. "I meant that I chose you because you overthink things. To explain humanity to aliens you can't take any stuff that's normal human stuff for granted -- stuff you subconsciously assume everyone understands."
Morris remained skeptical. “You chose me because I overthink things? How do you measure that?”
“I put all Earthly writing through an algorithm, and an internet comment you wrote about how ‘the show Seinfeld is too cynical’ was the most overthought.”
“Seinfeld is a great show. I just think it involved counter-culture overcorrecting, as it often does -- in this case, overcorrecting for a sitcom culture which was unsubtly moralistic. A ‘show about nothing’ is, on the surface, a funny premise. But under the surface, a ‘show about nothing’ can’t help but be a show about entitlement, presenting first-world problems for its characters to solve -- soup nazis. A ‘show about nothing’ can’t help but be contemptuous of everything, and especially contemptuous of the sitcoms it followed, whose morals may have been facile but who at least…”
“Nobody cares,” Voss interrupted Morris. “But you do, and that’s what I need in an author.”
Morris was grimly amused. "Well, I guess this is the first time my overthinking paid off." He thought for a second; "Wait, I don't want to be here! It's still not paying off!"
"Great!" said Voss. "Keep that up and you’ll do a fine job."
“If this is a job, what am I getting paid?”
"Whatever you want, I guess. Human whims can’t possibly inconvenience me, so go crazy."
What did Morris want? He sighed; then, raised an eyebrow; then, shuddered. “I’ll get back to you.”
As they continued, Morris was again struck by Voss’s tremendous stature -- nine feet of pure beef. Morris despairingly accepted that if Voss were from Earth, he’d be legendary as the world’s tallest, largest, and strongest man. His story might be true.
Voss was handsome, especially compared to the brute-like giants of most fantasy media. His eyes were dark, deep, and shimmering. They hid no clue to his inner monologue. In manner he effected a Clooney-esque blend of gravitas and boyishness.
Morris assumed Voss constructed and wore a human body to interact with humans. What did Voss resemble in his true, alien form? Was he a construct of bone, tubes, or sinew? Did he skitter, scamper, sidle, or strut? Was he a plasmoid hivemind with eighteen senses? Would his alien self also remind Morris of George Clooney?
Voss intrigued Morris, but Morris kept getting distracted by the forest, squinting at seemingly innocuous objects. He still experienced déjà vu everywhere he looked, and he felt like they were walking in circles. But soon, they heard voices from the woods to the left -- Voss held a finger to his lips and they snuck over. The white-robed man -- Juéxǐng -- and the children sat in a glade, and Morris and Voss hid behind a tree. “This is probably the last chance we’ll get to listen to the Mahayan,” said Voss.