Entia

Episode 11: First Sign

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             “Please, sit down.” Uspa indicated a circle of couches to one corner of the room. “I will fill you in from the beginning.” 

             His face displaying concern, Spar nodded fractionally at his guest. A problem with the colony ship was indeed a matter of planetary importance—a matter without precedence, in fact, during the Chancellor’s long stewardship. Spar moved over to sit on one of the couches. Uspa did likewise, sitting directly across from the chancellor.

             “We received some very strange transmissions from Arrival. It was truncated, like they passed the transmission window, and it is missing…pieces. Most likely it’s an artifact of the encoding scheme, but one that we were unable to penetrate due to the truncation.” As he spoke, Uspa placed the data clip on the table and aimed its tiny projection lens upward. “Playback from the beginning,” he commanded the small device. A holographic image suspended itself above the clip.

             They began watching the playback, but it was difficult to see in the bright lights of the Chancellery building. “Dim lights,” the Chancellor commanded, his eyes fixed on the display. A small servitor hovered nearby and chirped obediently. It relayed the commands to the living systems, and somber shadows crept into the room as the overhead lighting dimmed.

             The hologram displayed a number of visuals, and the clip projected an audio recording in a jumbled set of snap cuts and garbled sounds. The longest scene, full of static and missing scan lines, showed an armed android looking through the window on a bulkhead door. A monotonic voice was attempting to give commentary, but it was barely legible: “Cut… systems… locked.” It was impossible to make out much more. The Chancellor was able to catch the briefest flash of another humanoid form, standing—it looked female.

             “What exactly am I looking at?” the Chancellor asked.

             General Uspa commanded the clip to freeze the animation on the frames displaying the armed android. “These images are from various security cameras onboard Arrival. The ship transmitted these to us at the last transmission relay.” He shifted his body forward, pointing at the image suspended in the air.

             “This one is carrying an icon rifle, as you can see—but it’s not the ship’s guardian. He is definitely military commission, probably security class; I don’t recognize the exact model, but I recognize the effect of emotion suppression on his features.” He looked pointedly at the Chancellor. “I’ve commanded enough soldiers over the centuries to know. Now if we move to the next recognizable visual…” the data clip obediently advanced to the image of what appeared to be the female android. “This is hard to make out, but I would wager that this is the ship’s guardian. We know the ship’s guardian is female; mono- designation of Loka.”

             The Chancellor stared at the floating image for a few moments, and then looked back at Uspa. “Do you have any theories?” he asked his friend.

             Uspa pursed his lips, his face furrowed in a thoughtful scowl. He had watched this scene almost a hundred times before presenting it, but he still didn’t have any answers. “Perhaps the ship malfunctioned, and mistakenly detected a threat on-board.  Perhaps the ship’s guardian was merely locked on the fore-bridge and couldn’t get out…”

             A somewhat confounded look on his face, the Chancellor nodded slowly, trying to absorb and understand.

             “There is one other thing,” the General continued. “The update transmission from Arrival was apparently corrupted and has caused some minor malfunctions here in Mission.”

             Chancellor Spar drew his eyebrows together above his rudder- like nose, a sign to Uspa that he was trying to connect the events into a logical sequence.

             “Then the problem with the guardian on Arrival may have been related to some type of power failure or extra-vessel phenomenon.” He paused, tapping a finger on the arm of the sofa. “Surely no Pirates would dare intercept a colony vessel so far out…would they?”

             Uspa dismissed the notion with a shake of his head. “We checked all reported signature scans of the traversed area. No other vessels have been within range of Arrival since its departure—the pirates would never venture so far out: there’s nothing there. It had to be something else.” Spar pressed his lips tight in consternation at the General’s dismissal, and then shook his head in self-directed frustration.

             “You mentioned malfunctions…”

             Uspa nodded. “The corrupted message seems to have caused irregularities in several Mission city systems. Central Services is aware, and the Head of Security was notified by his Deputy that several of the monitoring stations lost communications contact due to some kind of power loss. The interruption was brief, but the Deputy followed protocol and reported it immediately. I have been reading other reports, and I can find no particular pattern to the glitches.” The General pulled a briefnote out from inside his jacket and read off of the short list it contained. “Two refectories reported a problem with nutriwater dispensers; Central Services has filed a report about a facilitator class android having been awakened prematurely; and evidently one of the designated training thieves took the opportunity of a blackout to steal a case of tak from one of my Commanders.”

             The Chancellor shook his head. “And you think that we may have something serious on our hands, Arak?” Uspa did not need to reply. “All right; continue with an official investigation and alert all regional representatives, civil and military, to the possibility of an infective malfunction. Let’s get this cleaned up as quickly as possible.”

             Uspa nodded, but made no move to leave. He caught the Chancellor’s eye and held him with his gaze. “What of Arrival? If she’s been compromised…” His voice trailed off, emphasizing the potential magnitude of the situation. The consequences of the loss of the great vessel’s precious cargo would be apocalyptic, even inconceivable.

             Spar dropped the pretense of apparent confusion; he was himself a brilliant tactician, and had been analyzing all the data in order to come to his conclusion. “From what we can tell—if I’m interpreting the data correctly—Arrival has encountered a problem and has activated a security android. This would seem to indicate an internal rather than external problem. Perhaps some kind of a systems virus has infected the ship, and this may have been transmitted to Mission via the transmission. If the guardian were locked on the fore-bridge and needed assistance, ship’s protocols would require awakening that unit.”

             The Chancellor shrugged. “At any rate, the communication window is long past, and any help sent from Hadious would be a long time arriving; acceleration alone would take too long if there was a real emergency. No, we can only hope she is safe and make what reparations we can here.” The General nodded his agreement, but the Chancellor had not finished. “This planet—my planet—is another matter. We must find and eradicate the source of these malfunctions; if the corrupted message content is persistent and potentially infectious, it demands our full attention.”

             Spar rose, signaling an end to the meeting. Even as he switched off the dataclip and replaced the briefnote he had produced earlier, Uspa was planning what needed to be done next. His face was a mask of grim approval; oddly, he felt strongly that he needed this opportunity to prove himself. As Uspa came to his feet, however, the Chancellor placed a hand on the General’s shoulder. Meeting Spar’s eyes, he saw concern on his friend’s face.

             “You were right to bring this to me; I apologize for teasing you about interrupting my earlier meeting. You continue to serve beyond all expectations, Arak. Thank you.”

             “I will handle the problem personally; you will have my report as soon as I’ve correlated all regional data.” Chancellor Spar smiled and squeezed Uspa’s shoulder briefly before releasing the friendly grasp and turning towards one of the large arched windows. Bowing slightly, the General walked briskly back towards the entrance. He would be spending long hours in his office for the next few days, and he wanted to get an early start on this mystery. The praetorian’s eyes followed the General with an almost prophetic respect as Uspa hurried out the door and disappeared. Behind the large guard, the Chancellor looked out at the stars and willed the morning to arrive with better news.

 

to be continued...

Copyright © 2004-2005 Jay and David Steele. All rights reserved.

Episode 10: The Chancellery

New to Entia? Click here for Episode 1.

New episodes are published every Sunday. Bookmark this site, visit us again, and watch the story unfold!

Visit the authors' blog about Entia, and share the experience of creating a sci-fi universe.

             General Arak Uspa stalked purposefully down the maze of corridors of the main Chancellery building in the city center, striding sharply around corners without care for who or what approached from the opposite direction. More than once his march sent a surprised mechanic scuttling out of the way as he stormed past.

             His shadow was barely discernable in the soft ambient light of the hallway; to an onlooker it may have appeared as if the tall, muscular form possessed an inner effulgence that simply dismissed darkness in his wake. The meter-thick walls and reinforced floor were perfectly clean, but woven with deliberate inconsistencies of bonded plastics and soft metals to give the structure both strength and flexibility. Few other structures in Mission were built like this: built to withstand, to protect the inhabitants from the vagaries of the future.

             The data clip clutched tightly in his left fist contained information important enough that he saw fit to personally deliver it to Chancellor Spar. For this reason, Uspa walked with purpose, but also with an urgency that was atypical of his calculating nature. He was designed for efficiency and careful action. Planetary security and, by extension, the safety of the Chancellery were his solemn duties, responsibilities that defined his existence. There had never been a security breach on Hadious. A planet in such a distant region of the galaxy was too remote to be worthwhile for the Kebat Pirates, and there were few other competitive guilds in this galactic arm. Most of Uspa’s work entailed dealing with recovery and repair operations stemming from natural phenomenon, but even those had been few in recent years. The military forces under his command were well-trained but not as numerous as the General would have liked. He knew from experience that the future was unpredictable, and he felt strongly that it was better to be overstaffed as opposed to undermanned.

             Which is why the information in his clip was worth his personal attention. To Uspa, this was in some ways a justification of his existence and a tribute to the logic of his creators. Not that the Chancellor had ever questioned why the planet needed military protection; contingency planning required an armed force to be ready at all times for unforeseeable events. However, it was sometimes difficult to convince the Chancellor to provide the numbers that Uspa believed were needed to ensure the safety of the entire planet. Although many of his requests had been denied in the past, Uspa never questioned the Chancellor’s decisions. His superior—his only superior at present—was an exceptionally wise man. Spar had been in activation since the primary planetfall prior to terraforming. Additionally, the Chancellor had personally commissioned Uspa a few thousand years after terraforming had begun. It was as if the Chancellor had contrived a desire for a near-equal among the androids, although such selfish desires were patently impossibly. Whatever the reason, the two had worked exceptionally well together from the very beginning, and Uspa felt a deep sense of gratitude and obligation to his patron.

             He turned the final corner that led to the grand hall of the Chancellery headquarters. A large nonsent praetorian was perched in an arched alcove in the wall. Uspa could hear a faint whirr as its head turned ominously in his direction. The inhuman black eyes refused to reflect the light from the room, giving the guard a sinister appearance that was somewhat enhanced by its great bulk. The powerful tension motors that made up for most of its mass could deliver enough pure force to crush huge vehicles in an explosion of violence, and the twin icon-cannons mounted on its shoulders housed enough firepower to wipe out a city arc, given time. Other, smaller charge-mounts acknowledged the possible need for more precise means of tactical engagement, but even so the ominous mechanical seemed a symbol of power and death encased in smooth metal. Uspa approved of this image; perhaps it was severely overqualified for a task like guarding the Chancellor, and Uspa was often chided for his paranoia. But the General was not known for taking risks; the praetorian would remain here indefinitely.

             Nearby, two chrome-metallic sents, preliator class, stood in front of the door with their icon-rifles held in quiet readiness. Seeing the General’s approach they stepped aside dutifully. By some silent signal the doors slid open to allow him to enter.

             The large room was appointed with various sitting areas, desks, and sundry equipment designed solely for the comfort of the room’s occupants. Windowless, only a vaguely pale darkness beyond the great skylights in the vaulted and groined ceiling hinted at the imminent sunrise outside. Three figures attired in robes of office congregated near the room’s center, perched over the centre of a complex mosaic ornately worked into the marble floor. The most regal figure quickly hushed the discussion with a wave of his hand as he turned to face the new arrival.

             “General Uspa!” the Chancellor greeted him warmly. The two others turned to see the General enter. Uspa recognized them as district heads from another part of the planet, but he couldn't remember where he’d seen them before. The General didn’t leave the compound often, so seeing him in person was likely a memorable event for the two guests. “Do you remember Varda Jahema and Halen Mor from Mohana?” Approaching the two, Uspa shook their hands in greeting as the Chancellor continued. “They’re here to discuss construction of the new transport tube to the main continent, which we need to have finished before the colonists arrive.”

             “Gentlemen. I trust things are progressing as planned?” Uspa greeted them with a firm handshake, his voice graveled with unmistakable strength and self-sufficiency.

             At first daunted by the General’s gruff presence, the two were encouraged somewhat by the Chancellor’s beaming smile and began explaining to Uspa—with increasing eagerness—the state of the construction plans to date; he listened for a few moments, noting bemusedly the melodic lilt of their Mohanian accent, before turning to the Chancellor. “There are urgent matters I need to discuss with you, Chancellor Spar. Would you be able to finish your meeting at a later time?” Aware of the startled silence of the two dignitaries, he added, “I am sorry for the inconvenience.”

             “We were just finishing up anyway,” Spar responded. Smiling beatifically at his guests, he added, “My friends, I believe we have made good progress today, and please contact me when you return home.” Bowing deeply, the two men quickly departed without even a furtive glance at the General. Uspa watched the Chancellor’s face closely; he often marveled at the man’s skill with people. Hedrik Spar had a magnetic charm that made one want to please him, and these dignitaries couldn’t have been happier being ushered out of the room by the great Chancellor. It was a great gift; charisma that powerful was nearly impossible to achieve by artifice alone.

             Turning once more towards Uspa, the Chancellor grinned at his friend. “Arak Uspa, where have you been hiding? It seems like months since we’ve met face-to-face.” He briefly put his arm around his friend, which was not atypical of their relationship. Chancellor Spar understood Uspa; he saw through the cold veneer and accepted the General’s abrupt nature as both necessary and trustworthy. “I know this is important,” he teased, “or you would have simply transmitted it to me rather than stomping in here to scare away visiting bureaucrats.”

             “Hedric,” he started, “I intended no disrespect to your guests. There has been—an incident.” He let the word hang in the air momentarily as if it carried all the necessary implications for his appearance. “Something has happened onboard Arrival.”

 

to be continued...

Copyright © 2004-2005 Jay and David Steele. All rights reserved.

Episode 9: A Night In The Woods

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New episodes are published every Sunday. Bookmark this site, visit us again, and watch the story unfold!

Visit the authors' blog about Entia, and share the experience of creating a sci-fi universe.

             Even the dense foliage of the ancient forest did not completely spare Haiden from the cold summer rain. Hadious was not a particularly hot planet, though one would not hold that to be the case standing in the central desert of the planet’s main continent. However, here in the heavily forested woodlands of the greater interior, cold rains were common, and Max Haiden sat huddled against the slapping chill of occasional fat drops of water that sluiced their way down through the covering verdure.

             Rain. He should have been in a facility lounge, asleep or resting, perhaps even studying—not sitting pathetically out amongst the night-shrouded trees like a vagabond. Clenching his teeth against his own shivering, he agonized over his ignorance of what inhabited the darkness around him. He had not been taught the variegated species that had flourished after the initial terraform, though images of strange creatures danced like macabre caricatures through his consciousness. Great beasts that stormed across the rolling northern hills on five legs, huge butterfly-like birds that bejeweled the skies with their intricate flocking patterns: he was certain that these things had been classed as negative-impact species and had been appropriately eradicated and replaced by more carefully engineered species. Still, the eco structure required a particular balance if it was to sustain a population of so many humans; the occasional appearance of nasty looking insects scuttling along the wet, moss-thickened ground attested to that.

             With his back against a tree, the sheer depth of his own ignorance nearly broke Haiden’s fragile resolve. He was alone in the world, cut off from everything, and he hadn’t the training or the knowledge to help him survive. Each beat of his heart felt like a hammer blow in his throat, and tears welled uselessly as if seeking to blur even the darkness. It occurred to him that such extravagance of emotion would hardly have been permitted in a properly geased individual. He was scared, and he was alone—truly alone—for the first time in his life.

             Androids were designed by humans to be as human in appearance as possible; in essence they were human. They were made of flesh and blood, grown from a carefully engineered biomass around a plastmetal skeleton and controlled by a synth-organic mind. The geas ensured that sentient androids and robots adhered to the complex set of values set out for them by their human creators. It was a force, an algorithm, that hid inside a synthetic’s mind—watching, probing, policing. A geas guaranteed adherence to the tenet that held the preservation of human life and the authority of the human race as its loftiest ideals.

             But Max Haiden had no geas.

             Underneath the dripping leaves of the ominous forest, the horror of his imagination consumed him. For hours his eyes bored through the blackness of his new nightmare, striving to see unknown monsters that were certainly creeping up to reave him of his life, his blood. And all the while he was haunted by the reality that he was wrong in the world—broken—with no tangible memory of his life or purpose.

             Hunger began to push pangs of increased discomfort through his churning stomach, so he forced himself to consume another of the food bulbs. Roughly the size of his two fists, each bulb contained enough proteinized curd for an entire day’s exertion. Food provided a distraction from the dread and the darkness, so he ate gratefully. The gash above his eye had finally crusted over and stopped bleeding, so he chewed with small movements that didn’t pull at the hot skin around the wound. As he devoured the nutritive paste he closed his eyes, shutting out even the darkness of the forest.

             A sharp crack in the distance woke him with a start; he’d somehow fallen asleep! Clutching around him, he grabbed at his crude rucksack in preparation for flight. Pulse thudding through the dull ache of his shoulder, he fought down his alert level enough to leverage himself to his feet with his good arm. Another snap, the unmistakable sound of breaking wood, assaulted him from close-by. Whatever was in the woods with him was approaching carefully enough not to cause a loud disturbance in the thick forest; surely this was some kind of predator. Noticing for the first time that the rain had stopped— the water no longer dripped down through the foliage—Haiden briefly considered scrambling up the large tree. Without lower branches, however, he would need some sort of climbing belt. There was no time.

             Pressing himself into the trunk of the tree, trying to blend into the charcoal-hued bark through sheer willpower, he peered in the direction from which the last sound had come. He did not have to wait long.

             A roughly three-meter tall cold shambled forward through the darkness, heading roughly east- southeast as its chromic head swiveled from side to side. Stiff with fear, Haiden watched as it moved along a path roughly parallel to the direction he’d been travelling. It had not spotted him yet, and he was lucky enough to be almost on the far side of the tree from its approach vector, but he felt certain that it would be instantly alerted if he moved. The occasional glint of light from the larger moon reflected off the hulking figure’s armor, and even in the grip of fear Haiden was mildly surprised to find he did not recognize the make. It may have been something commissioned while he was paused, but even that seemed far-fetched. He recognized the basic design as one of the praetorians, but the legs and arms were wrong and it was far too large. Triple-jointed elbows and back-bent knees gave the mechanical the appearance of being hunched over with its fore-limbs akimbo as if in prayer, but it scanned the darkness with a quiet purpose that hinted at desire—or hunger. As well, no hands adorned the splayed limbs, but rather gleaming and notched scythes a meter in length that appeared capable of cleaving solid rock.

             He was certain the thing was hunting him; Haiden yearned to flee, but he could judge from the being’s mass that it housed the potential for immense speed and power. So he watched, teeth clenched and breath held, as the ominous cold continued its search among the dark, wet forest. It altered its path only subtly to avoid the occasional sapling or thick bush. As it moved, one of its three-pronged feet came down slowly on a fallen bough about as thick as Haiden’s arm; the branch splintered with a loud pop. The searcher halted. Slowly, horribly, the creature craned its head around in a complete circle, raking its scan across Haiden’s hiding spot behind the tree. Frozen in place, he watched for some sign he’d been spotted. Even though escape on foot would be futile, he was certain that, were the powerful mech to step towards him, Haiden’s last moments of life would be spent in flight.

             He waited. His lungs burned as he held his breath against discovery. Eventually the huge figure stopped its stationary scan and resumed its original course. Haiden watched until he could no longer see the glint of metal from the sporadic lunar light, and then listened until he could no longer make out the occasional outburst of crushed wood under the giant mech’s feet. Only when silence once more filled the deep-shadowed woods did Haiden’s lungs unclench. Gasping for air, his head swam; motes of light and dark played across his vision.

             After only a few coughing breaths, he allowed his fear full reign and he ran. Racing northwards through the woods with no regard for the damage he was doing to his poorly-protected feet, he ran past clawing boughs and whipping underbrush, over hillocks and across small streams. The jolting pain of his shoulder had numbed somewhat, but he ignored even that nagging injury and simply ran until, finally, exhaustion overcame him. Stumbling to his knees and then onto his stomach, he embraced the moldering foliage of the forest floor as if it were salvation and, after some time, fell into an unfamiliar yet welcome slumber.

 

to be continued...

Copyright © 2004-2005 Jay and David Steele. All rights reserved.

Episode 8: The Last Supper

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New episodes are published every Sunday. Bookmark this site, visit us again, and watch the story unfold!

Visit the authors' blog about Entia, and share the experience of creating a sci-fi universe

             Palos Redfru arrived outside Max’s door just as the evening servitor was performing its household chores. Having already been informed of Max’s friend’s arrival, the servitor remotely unlocked the main entrance as it detected his approach. Palos entered and smiled across the apartment at Max, who was still sitting on the sofa in the central room. The guest had a large wrapped package tucked under one arm as he addressed Max.

             “You’re looking pretty worried friend, what’s going on?”

             Waiting for a moment in the doorway, he saw that Max made no move to answer; that meant without a doubt that it was something serious. Palos came in and brushed the Righa with one hand on his way past. He went to the kitchen and, taking a bulb, got himself some nutriwater from the kitchen dispenser. Max watched his friend drink the liquid as if it were fine tak—as if he were bracing himself for something difficult. Coming back to the sofa, Palos looked at the cold food that lay untouched on the serving tray.

             “I can’t believe you ordered this—it’s total garbage!” Palos’ face was a grimace of mock disgust. He put the package down on the half table; the smell of freshly cooked meat wafted out of the protective pellicle. “Take what you want; I’ve got mags more at home.”

             Finally responding to his friend, Max nodded and grunted his thanks, but didn’t move to take some of the delicious-smelling ribs. Even the thought of meat—real meat, not some pseudo-meat grown in the CS refectories—couldn’t seem to break through the thick fog of melancholy blanketing his thoughts. Instead he pressed both hands against his face as if trying to press directly against the core of his frustration with main strength. Rubbing his face briefly, he pulled down his hands and looked at his friend. He could see the concern in Palos’ eyes. “Did you get a notice from Central today?”

             “Nope,” Palos responded, drinking from the bulb. “They haven’t moved you, have they?”

             “Not quite; it’s worse than that.” He paused as Palos took a long swallow. “They’re putting me in cryo tomorrow, until the colonists arrive.”

             Palos almost spit nutriwater out all over the sofa. “What!?” he spluttered, half choking.

             Max explained the message he’d received, and Palos stared silently at the patterns in the floor paneling, shaking his head occasionally in disbelief. As he told Palos, the workforce he’d joined only temporarily had been able to get back on track, but allocated food and nutriwater was running low. A substantial percentage of androids—warms, to be precise—were being cryoslept until further notice. The fact that his duties as a facilitator could wait until much closer to human arrival was, he suspected, one of the primary reasons he was ‘randomly’ chosen. Partway through Max’s explanation, Palos sat down beside his friend on the sofa; leaning back, the tall android had shut his eyes during the account and only occasionally responded by a grunt of dismissal or commiseration. When Max finished, an awkward silence remained as the two searched for conversation.

             “Well, I for one am going to miss having you around,” Palos finally stated. The admission was so unlike Palos’ typically jocular self that Max was moved by its frank honesty. He would miss their friendship, too, but Palos faced long centuries without his best friend. For Max, the time would seem to pass almost instantly; he would simply emerge in a world that had been made ready for the next phase of his travail. He wanted to say something to comfort his friend, to let him know that he understood and shared the sharp pain of absent friends, but no words came. Catching Palos’ eyes, Max nodded and smiled his thanks; it conveyed enough of Max’s inner feelings that Palos nodded in turn, smiled briefly, before the two continued their mutual silence as if it were a vigil.

             Before long, however, Palos’ regular demeanor returned. The big android was evidently irrepressible, and awkward silence gave way to sly one-liners and even cryofreeze jokes at Max’s expense. It made them both laugh, though the jokes carried with them pointed reminders for Max that this was his last night awake for centuries.

             It was a strange evening; a tacit agreement seemed to have passed silently between the two friends that the night would be a celebration. The ribs, each as long as Palos’ forearm, still steamed as they were removed from the pellicle. Roasted flesh was unusual for the androids, but the occasional rail kill still managed to find its way to tabletops, especially among the construction crews. Max took one long rib and cradled it in both hands near one end. He pressed his thumbs deep into hot meat, pressing down to the bone. The flesh gave easily under the pressure, pushing away from the hard rib. Juice trailed down Max’s hands and wrists as he ran his thumbs slowly along the bone. Once the meat was completely severed from the rib, he tossed the useless bone back onto the opened pellicle and tore into the roasted meat with both hands. Though the idea of eating a dead animal was somewhat nauseating, he’d come to savor the salty taste. No android could kill one of the animals without cause for self defense, yet from time to time some of the large grazers wandered too close to open grav rail junctions. Chewing hungrily, he pushed the image of death out of his mind and focused on the sheer joy of consumption. Palos was likewise engaged, making a show of stuffing as much into his mouth as he could.

             After polishing off the ribs, they ended up ordering a huge feast from Central that used up nearly a month of Max’s credit (he wouldn’t need it for a while). They watched a show on the projector and played a head-to-head humbike racing game for a few hours. Palos won almost every race, and eventually began showing mercy on Max by letting him win a few. Palos Redfu always had a flare for driving humbikes very fast, even in holosimulation.

             After that, they ended up talking for hours in the living quarter. They drank tak, both of them becoming reasonably intoxicated on the aromatic heather-ale. They wondered how long Max would be in cryo before they woke him up again. They talked about what the humans would be like when they arrived. They wondered what children would be like… were they fragile? Would the humans let them interact with children? Surely Max, as a facilitator, would have to interact with children at some point.

             They also wondered if they would ever see each other again.

             Evening turned into night, which eventually turned into the first dark hours of the morning. After the last drops of tak had been consumed and conversation had reverted back into a tired and reluctant quiet, Palos finally rose from his slumped pose on Max’s large cushioned resting chair.

             “Max, I have to leave—we both have to get up in a couple of hours.”

             Max looked at his friend, emptiness consuming him. They clasped hands, and Palos pulled him up from the sofa. Without missing a beat, Palos pushed his friend playfully back down. Max laughed—he should have suspected it—and rolled onto the floor.

             “See you when you wake up, facilitator,” Palos said, kicking Max lightly in the ribs. Max climbed back into a sitting position on the sofa, and saluted his friend. “See you Palos. Take care of yourself.”

             As the door clicked shut and locked, Max Haiden shifted on the sofa, lying down on his back to look up at the dimly lit ceiling. Instead of going to work tomorrow—later this morning, in fact—he was going to report to the Barka hibernation facility. There was no need to pack; Central Services would be by to collect and store his few personal effects while he was in cryo. He wondered if he should bother trying to get any sleep. It seemed silly; he should be enjoying his last few hours. But he was very tired. Eventually he closed his eyes and drifted into an oddly peaceful slumber.

             It was the last natural sleep he would have for more than 1400 years.

 

to be continued...

Copyright © 2004-2005 Jay and David Steele. All rights reserved.