“We have society! Pinching myself. Yesterday - they were primates. Grooming parasites, eating reeds. Today they’re driving! Just fifty thousand orbits!? How could they evolve so quickly? I need to know. We looked for the link but nothing yet. Possible I missed something, but what? Jim’s going over the logs, maybe he’ll find it. Mind’s a blur - thoughts won’t stop - could go on all night, need to rest. Hope I can. Wish Rose could have seen this.”
- From p. 66 of Webster’s journal.

Chapter 1 - The Concept

It was late winter. My legs labored to turn the pedals on my bicycle as the frigid air bit into my cheeks and knuckles. I cursed myself for leaving my hat and gloves at the bar the night before. I rode slowly, steering with one hand while warming the other in my pocket until frostbite forced a switch. It didn’t matter how cold it was. I needed the work. My stomach reminded me that it needed food, real food. It was tired of stale crackers and cheap beer. I rode on through the frost.
I rode my bicycle everywhere. I even fashioned leather saddlebags over the front and rear tires to carry my essential tools. I was the only carpenter I knew without a truck. Yet with two bags of basic tools, I could accomplish almost any job. From that, I felt some pride. I pedaled quickly past a busy construction site and endured the jeers from workers dressed in expensive coveralls, laughing at me as they leaned against new trucks, sipping their hot drinks. The aroma of fine coffee made my stomach grumble. I thought of my situation and felt a bit angry.
I wondered if I was a loser. Success meant having things like a good job, a wife, a home, kids and pets. I was over thirty and had none of those. I didn’t even own a car. But I took pride in limited needs and thought the world would be a better place if more people were like me, common and somewhat content. T-shirts and jeans filled the closet in my apartment, and I liked it that way.
Certainly I wasn’t a success. Was I a loser, though? That was a good question. The thought was going through my mind as I pulled up, hungry and half-frozen, to his driveway for my first meeting with Webster Adams.
Adams hired me as a handyman. He got my name from his neighbor, an elderly woman who had employed me in the past. He came out to meet me in the driveway, walking quickly in the brisk air, wearing a collar shirt and slacks. He was taller than average and thin. He appeared to be in his late fifties. His hair was black and wavy, mixed with streaks of gray. He had very blue eyes.
Adams smiled awkwardly as he surveyed my bicycle. Then he stuck out his hand and shook mine.
“Your hand is freezing,” he observed, gripping mine harder than I wanted, not sensing the pain of near frostbite that I was experiencing.
I smiled and replied, “Pleasure to meet you, sir. I’m Jon Gruber.”
“Interesting transportation, Mr. Gruber. Especially in this weather.”
His look was one of admiration and concern. I suspected he was deciding whether he had made a mistake in hiring me.
“Gets me from point A to B,” I said, disconnecting the front leather bag. I slung it over my shoulder, hoping to instill some confidence in Adams.
He led me into his house. The entry had a cathedral ceiling with stained glass windows that filled the downstairs with an array of colors, like walking through a rainbow. The wooden floor was finely polished.
My footsteps echoed softly as I followed him down the hallway.
“Should I take off my shoes?” I asked. Adams shook his head no.
On the walls hung dozens of photos of the happy family: man, wife and pretty daughter. The girl instantly caught my eye. Auburn hair, easy smile, fit and smart. She had the girl next door look that I was naturally attracted to.
The stairwell was filled with astronomical works of art, paintings of planets, nebulas and constellations. Things I knew nothing about. Adams paused briefly on the stairs as he passed the largest of the paintings, a planet with a purple body and half-finished blue rings around it. It was a lovely piece of work, though I wondered why it was unfinished. He stared at it for a moment, then continued up.
The top floor was immaculate, with marble counters, leather couches and a plush carpet that led to a stone hearth and fireplace, where a small fire crackled. I looked around at the trophies of a successful man and wondered if I would ever have those things.
“I want to tear down this wall that separates the kitchen from the great room,” Adams explained. “The idea is to make it one big space.”
“I can do that.”
“Everything?”
“Yeah.”
“How would you get the materials here?”
“Delivery.”
“What would you recommend?” he asked.
I imagined the finished product and said, “I’ll rip out the wallboard and the studs to here, then frame a bar that stretches toward the middle. Then I’ll rewire the electrical, texture, paint and whatnot.”
He ended by saying, “I want it to be done well, Jon.”
I answered with a promise that n