Siah looks out at the distorted world through triple thick glass that is set into the side of the
thick stone wall. Surprisingly, the monitor next to the window indicates the air outside is
breathable for an unmodified human. Reaching out, he touches a flickering lighted panel
next to the monitor, the windows opening up with a hiss.
The Fetah is capable of displaying the emotions of it’s symbiotic host- despite this, Siah’s
emotions are unreadable. His Fetah has also been damaged- parts of it were torn,
bleeding with Siah’s blood. Whispering to it, his runs his hands over its surface until it
recedes from his body, coalescing into ball on the floor. Standing naked before it, he
regards it pityingly- it needed him right now to survive- but he himself- covered with cuts,
bruises and blood- can barely stand.
Trembling, with stuttering breath, he closes his eyes and feels the breeze on his skin.
Days like this were rare- the Foundry had shut down today, its sounds of distant trains and
foghorns silent while the needed specialists were found to repair its engines.
Even this was no guarantee that the air would be safe to breathe- usually the thin vapors
hung stagnant over the city, heavy in the air like funnel clouds, sometimes dropping
ribbons of toxic vapor to street level. These wandered the alleyways and boulevards like
ghosts- deadly apparitions to any unprotected person.
Siah lowers his gaze to his Fetah- he should put it back on and rest- in its condition, it
would die soon. Picking it up, he held it close so it could spread over his body, a dull flash
of pain behind his eyes as it reconnected itself to him. Feeling nauseous and weak, he
shuts the window and finds his bed.
Lying there, he can feel the side of his face swelling where Jal hit him. The ribs on his
left side were tender and hurt when he touched them. He was lucky to still be alive.
Looking around the room, he saw his followers sleeping, caught in nightmares, reliving the
terror of the previous night. The Delpini had done the unthinkable- they had attacked en
masse, fought their way to the room of artificial wombs, tore them open, delicate children
pouring out onto the floor. There were now no children, and no future for them.
After the attack, he had gone to see Jal.
A flash of white behind Siah’s eyes at the memory- when he can see again, he realizes he
has been screaming and can’t stop, even as his remaining followers try to quiet him.
#
Jal leans against the doorway of his building, watching as the Delpini leaves. The wind
gusts, stirring ripples in the rain filled ruts on the road that leads past. Shattered windows
stare gaping and black, wind whistling on their edges as clouds race overhead. Weeks
ago, he had spoken to the Delpini with his implant- to his surprise, they had answered. To
his knowledge, no one outside their species other than himself knew they were telepathic.
He spent days exchanging images with them, pausing only for a few hours to sleep, sleep
of nightmare, sleep that blurred into the telepathic discussions themselves until he could
no longer tell them apart.
The images finally stopped when he opened his eyes here, in his building- the Delpini had
come, and told him of their attack on Siah- told him in images and Delpini emotion, all of
which Jal carefully stored in his implant’s memory.
Footsteps- looking up, Jal sees a long shadow- someone stumbling- not the Delpini.
Rounding the corner, Fetah suit breathing in exhaustion- it was Siah.
Smiling, Jal walks toward him.
#
A boy sits with Jal on a rooftop that evening, sharing a pipe. The wind still blows strongly
and the sky is clear as constellations of inconstant stars wheel silently overhead. The
night is cold, but Jal sits bareheaded, grinning, in a loose shirt and pants with no shoes
while the boy sits huddled in a large leather coat, his child’s face peering upward without
expression.
Then, a thin whine of distant engines as dozens of dull metal ships appear above the
horizon, turning as one to vanish rapidly into the dark. Jal inhales deeply on the pipe.
“You let Siah and the others go,” he says, passing the pipe over, expelling the smoke in
his lungs. “Or you told them to go- which one is it?”
The boy inhales deeply, releasing the smoke, which drifts briefly before being caught by
the wind. Standing up, he still isn’t as tall as Jal who still sits. Smiling, he hands Jal the
pipe, touching the man’s rough metallic face gently with his hand.
“I’ve seen this before,” Jal says, pointing toward the sky where the ships vanished.
Closing his eyes, he can see it- people and animals acted in unpredictable ways when
faced with extinction- he had seen migrations like this one before, forays off into
wastelands to no purpose. The wanderers would die one by one of sickness, starvation,
and despair, leaving a trail of bodies that would taper off and cease, an arrow pointing to
some unknown destination, or perhaps to some shimmering apparition known only to the
doomed.
Jal’s mind captures the image and holds it like a gem- smiling at the boy, he gives the
thought form to him.
Still smiling, the boy puts his finger over Jal’s lips. “Shhhh,” he says, “be at peace, Jal.
Remember, everything is working out as it should.”
“I can’t be at peace- that’s not how or why I was created- you know that. Now leave me
alone.”
The boy looks sad for a moment, then suddenly hugs Jal very tightly. Jal looks down until
the boy lets go, then listens to his footsteps recede, creaking down the rough wooden
stairs that lead down from the rooftop.
#
Dr. Pendle enjoyed operating on himself- especially his mind. The assistant made this
painless and relatively risk-free. It amused him to think that his cerebral cortex, which
operated the Assistant, could modify completely dissimilar aspects of his brain. He could
relive memories in exact detail, or give himself some obsession or fetish he had read
about and wanted to experience. If he got tired of a particular frame of reference, he
could always change it to something else. Such a talent was useful if one wanted to
avoid the death of inaction.
The current operation was almost complete. He watched in fascination as neuro-
receptors fired in a group like an approaching thunderstorm as he completed the last
synaptic connection. Closing his eyes, he disconnected himself from the Assistant,
resting on the table for a moment- it would take time for his mind to get used to the new
cybernetic device.
Of course, his had to be better than Jal’s- if only to keep himself amused and avoid the
death of ennui. He had modified his with a holographic projector- he had always wanted
to see the things he imagined- he could even record his dreams and play them back for
himself later.
Sitting up slowly, looking up, the first thing he wondered was what the dead children
were doing in the corner, their heads bleeding. As he stumbled towards them, one of
them opened her eyes.
With a brief scream, the doctor fled, running sharply into the operating table, winding
himself before bolting toward the door. He was horrified- this wasn’t what he had been
expecting- and he wasn’t sure he could turn the device off.