“Cook? You mean make food from raw materials?”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Well, I do, or at least I used to. And there are things that you simply can’t make by throwing in all the ingredients together at the beginning. If you want to cook them, you have to intervene halfway through.”

Hollus thought about this. “So you are suggesting there is no way the creator could have achieved intelligent life without direct intervention? Many who are religious would object to that notion, for occasional intervention implies a God who is usually absent from the universe.”

“I’m not implying anything,” I said. “I’m just analyzing the assumptions inherent in your beliefs. Look, the dinosaurs dominated this planet for far more time than mammals have, and yet they never achieved anything even remotely like real intelligence. Although their brains got slightly bigger over time, even the most intelligent dinosaur that ever lived” — I picked up Phil Currie’s Troodon skull, now on a shelf behind my desk — “was no more intelligent than the dumbest mammal. In fact, there was no way they could ever become substantially more intelligent. The part of the mammalian brain in which intelligence resides doesn’t exist in reptiles.” I paused. “You told me that the creatures that were dominant on your planet until sixty-five million years ago — those pentapeds — were also dumb brutes, and you said that a similar situation existed on Delta Pavonis.”

“Yes.”

“And that your ancestors at that time were like my ancestors and the ancestors of the Wreeds: small creatures, living at the margins of the ecosystem.”

“That is correct,” said Hollus.

“But those ancestors did have brains capable of evolving intelligence,” I said. “My ancestors were crepuscular: they were active at twilight. And so they developed big eyes and sophisticated visual cortices. And, of course, the brain power to process the resulting images.”

“You are suggesting that the infrastructure for intelligence can only arise in those animals at the — what was your phrase? — at the margins of an ecosystem? Animals forced to forage at night?”

“Perhaps. And if that’s so, then intelligence can only come to fruition if the dominant, dumb animals are wiped out.”

“I suppose,” said Hollus. “But — oh, I see. I see. You are saying conditions that might give rise to life, and even the beginnings of intelligence, could be coded into the very design of the universe, but there is no way to bring intelligence to the fore, to let it flourish and develop, without direct intervention.”

To my own surprise, I said, “That’s my proposal, yes.”

“That explains the extinctions sixty-five million years ago. But what about the earlier extinctions?”

“Who knows? Presumably they were also required to move the ecosystem toward the eventual development of intelligence. On Earth, the end-of-the-Permian extinctions helped clear the way for mammallike reptiles — the ancestors of mammals. Their ability to regulate body temperature was perhaps irrelevant in the benign climate that existed until the worldwide glaciation that caused those extinctions. But during a glacial event, even a primitive thermal-regulatory ability would be an asset — and I rather suspect that the true warm-bloodedness, which evolved from that capability, is another prerequisite for intelligence. So the Permian extinction was a way to substantially increase the percentage of nascent endotherms, making sure they weren’t outcompeted and eliminated from the gene pool.”

“But how could the creator force an ice age?” asked Hollus.

“Well, if we assume he lobbed an asteroid at each of our worlds to end the Cretaceous, he could have broken up an asteroid or two in orbit to form rings around each of the planets at the end of the Permian. A ring like that, properly tilted, could substantially shade the planet, lowering its temperature enough to bring on massive glaciation. Or he could have generated a dust cloud that enveloped all of this part of the galaxy, shading all the planets — yours, mine, and the Wreeds’ — simultaneously.”

“And the other mass extinctions?” asked Hollus.

“More fine tuning along the way. The one in the Triassic, for instance, allowed the dinosaurs, or their counterparts, to come into ascendancy on the three worlds. Without dinosaurs dominating the ecosystem, mammals — or the endothermic octopeds on Beta Hydri III, and the live-birthers like T’kna on Delta Pavonis II — would never have been forced into the crepuscular existence that fostered the development of bigger brains. It takes wits to eke out a living when you’re not the dominant form.”

It was strange to hear the giant spider play devil’s advocate. “But the only direct evidence,” he said, “for the creator having manipulated the evolution of life once it got started is the coincidences in the dates of the mass extinctions on Beta Hydri III, Delta Pavonis II, and Sol III. Yes, possibly, the creator did similarly manipulate the development of life on the six abandoned worlds we visited, but we could find no unequivocal evidence of that.”

“Well, perhaps intelligence can develop in this universe through happenstance,” I said. “Even by random chance, asteroids do crash into planets every ten million years or so. But you’ll never get multiple intelligent species existing simultaneously unless you jigger the timetable — and not just once, but several times. To invoke the cooking metaphor, sure, maybe a salad could appear on its own by random chance — wind blowing enough vegetable matter together, say. And maybe a steak might appear on its own — lightning hitting a cow just the right way. And you might end up with wine — grapes that had accumulated in one place and had fermented. But there’s just no way to get it all to come together simultaneously — a glass of wine, a salad, and a steak — without lots of intervention. The same might be true of getting multiple sentient lifeforms to appear simultaneously.”

“But that raises the question of why God wants multiple sapients at the same time,” said the alien.

I scratched my chin. “That is a good question.”

“It is indeed,” said Hollus.

We contemplated this for a time, but neither of us had a good answer. It was almost 5:00 P.M.“Hollus?” I said.

“Yes?”

“I have a favor to ask.”

His eyestalks stopped moving. “Yes?”

“I would like you to come home with me. I mean, let me take the holoform projector back to my house and have you appear there.”

“To what purpose?”

“It’s . . . it’s what humans do. We have friends over for dinner. You could meet my family.”

“Friends . . . ,” said Hollus.

Suddenly I felt like an idiot. I was a primitive being next to Hollus; even if his psychology permitted him to feel affection for others, surely he had no warm feelings toward me. I was just a means to an end.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to impose.”

“You are not imposing,” Hollus said. “I am pleased that you feel for me what I feel for you.” His eyestalks danced. “I would very much like to meet your family and visit your home.”

I was surprised to find my eyes misting over. “Thank you,” I said. “Thank you very much.” I paused. “Of course, I could have them come here, if you prefer. We don’t have to go to my house.”

“No,” said Hollus. “I would like to do that. Your family consists of your mate Susan, correct?” He’d heard me talk to her on the phone several times now.

“Yes. And my son Ricky.” I turned the little picture frame on my desk around so that Hollus could see him.

The eyestalks converged on the frame. “His countenance is not similar to yours.”

“He’s adopted,” I said with a little shrug. “He’s not my biological child.”

“Ah,” said Hollus. “I would enjoy meeting them both. Is tonight too soon?”

I smiled. Ricky would love this. “Tonight is just perfect,” I said.