He began to dig, with his hands, because although he was manifested physically, he would not bleed if he chose not to.
He found the source of the noise about fifty feet below ground. A spherical metal device, the top half of which was now cracking open.
Being who he was, the Creator had never experienced disbelief, but now he sat down hard and stared for hours.
Babies.
Alive.
They were about seven months old, a girl and boy, drowzy and slow from a century of suspended animation in hydrosleep. The girl opened one eye, smiled a little, and dozed off again.
He stood and gazed down at the remnants of humanity, and he laughed.
It was impossible. Impossible like harnessing electricity.
Impossible like flying without wings. Impossible like traveling to different planets.
They had done it. The crazy bastards had survived.
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