Out on the scorched plane at the End of Time, the blasphemous angel walks. Over the ash they flee heaven’s feds. Above them, all that is, was, and will ever be. A painted mural in motion firmament: the cosmos you know (short precisely three worlds), glows with its usual splendor–absolutely rotten with stars radiating the light prismatic and brimming with life great and small.
Below on the plane, sure enough, the luminous being left just ahead of the cops. Just before the arrival of blacked out SUVs, the gaunt rubber-armed G-beings in cheap suits (search warrant in hand), and the red and blue and red and blue light surrounding and rebounding off the lonely liminal. The skeletal gas station on the edge of the might-as-well-be endless dunes is an active crime scene.
Far away, not far, the illuminated being drags a cart that drags a rake-and-cloth to rub out their tracks, to make the G-beings work for it if they want to track them. Down one dune out on the Great Wastes and up the next. And on the cart is the terra cotta pot with the good soil–the coffee dirt full of moisture and every nutrient the three Earths growing therein could need.
A demon that finds the angel, unconscious from exhaustion and near death-via-desiccation. The beast that was a man does consider pissing in the potting soil and destroying what was precious to this loser-ass angel. But simple morbid curiosity gets the better of him and a rare thing happens: a demon fleeing his own gives succor and comfort to an angel doing the same–if only temporarily and to satisfy that curiosity.
“What are you running from or toward?” The one that stinks like brimstone says to himself or the other as he sets up camp and sets to watching the three worlds in the terra cotta pot–one burnt, one wet and thriving, and a blue marble hanging by a thread (as it so often does).
*
Home. Dolores apartment above the garage. Dee tends to Jonesie the cat’s protest shits (all three). “You should be cleaning these” to her father.
Jonah sweeps up the salt pile, collects some of the bludgeons she hurled at an apparition the night before. “Just leave that.” And the giant man starts trying to coax the cat that doesn’t know him out of hiding.
“I feel terrible” from the old man with the paunch. “Just awful about the “how” but there’s a sense of urgency, Dee. We need to get on the road.”
“Do not. Call me. That. You feel terrible because you are terrible. What do I call you? What’s your given name?” Yeah, humans can’t say it really. “What the fuck are you?”
“Rude young lady.” I was young a long time ago. Could’ve used a second parent. “Because I wanted to be in some bunker lab?” How was I supposed to know that, dad? I was a scared kid.
“Well, they didn’t exactly tickle-my-toes down in the bunker, baby cakes.” I spent plenty of time in bunkers too, asshole! “Oh, were they doing fringe science to your balls in those bunkers? Because yeah. That was every day.”
Jonah is hand-feeding the skittish cat treats, looks up. “Seriously though, what are you two?” He looks to Dolores: “I mean you’re half whatever species as Abbott or Costello here.”
“Abbott, I’ll go with Abbot. I am a Tardigrade.” I am half-water bear. “Language, young lady.” That’s a slur? Really? Water bear?
“No. I guess we do kinda’ look like little bears in our natural state.” Adorable really. “Thank you, Jonah. But show some respect, daughter of mine. Are you not amazed? I mean I’m corporeally here, a supreme being. My link to you brought me here in the flesh. Our connection.” In the snot, really.
Jonah whispers and coos to Jonsie, and no one notices the minor miracle as the mountain of a man sits cross legged and the cat lays in his lap as if its found an old friend. Dolores looks at her father as if she’s doing her utmost to set him on fire with her mind. Neither speaks for a bit.
“Ok then. This is a jaded age you all live in. It’s time for a road trip.” No response. “We gotta Boogie.”
“No. You can stay here tonight and then you gotta’ go.” You heard her. What a precious little thing you are? Yes you are.
“Bad people. Dangerous people. People who know what you are.” Half water bear? “Half not-of-this-world. Coming here, probably as we speak.” And my bear-heritage matters now because? She’s gotcha there pop.
“How do I convince you that your life is in danger?” Tell me the whole story.
“Yeah man, I’m dying of curiosity and that might help your daughter feel more like your daughter and less like she’s going to a secondary crime scene if she leaves with you” What he said.
Jonsie the calico purrs and nuzzles in the giant man’s lap. He pushes his tiny round glasses up and looks to Abbot. Dolores sits on the futon “This piece of shit is your bed by the way.”
“I’m actually going to sleep in a gelatinous state in your tub, but thanks. It’s story time, kiddos.” And the old man with the paunch grows translucent and there before the audience: a half-human woman, a giant man sitting cross-legged, and a dazzled cat swatting at bits of flitting light there glows a crude-at-first imagined image. The tardigrade-mind-eye on holographic display. The only mechanism powering the visuals seeming to be the being’s will.
The old man who is a tardigrade closes his eyes and the ghost light projected from his core shifts, swirls, sways in front of him. He sets the scene like a film from last century: D.C. from above, the camera dives to height that shows the city alive and bustling. The camera dives on the city. It seems we’ll crash. Jump cut to a platform and boarding a busy train. “We shared the same metro line. Her commute and my hotel-to-city “fact finding” mission.”
There, un-there suspended in the glow: the perfect frozen reproduction of Miriam’s smiling face on the DC metro, the day, that day. “Mom.” She’s beautiful, and you look just like her.
*
Samuel, your heart rate is elevated. “That’s because I’m on the express elevator to heck, Lana.” Oh my. “I’m sorry, love. I was snappy.” Sam coos to his ‘ai’ (not AI) assistant/companion–the digital assistant-to-the assistant whose voice drips from his earpiece.
“This is her fault.” Who, dear? Who upset my man? “Kimberly. K. White.” The knife smiled blonde professionally puritan politco. “Lee. That is, Dr. Lucius’ campaign manager has outmaneuvered us, Lana. And I am heading to my new assignment in the bowels of this building while she takes my face time.” Dear, I’ve already skimmed the briefing materials. This is an exciting opportunity. “You believe that?” Absolutely, King. We can show Dr. Lucius what an asset you’ve become. “Then say it. And when I arrive I’ll pretend to hang up on you all angry.” You’re mommy’s little tiger. My big strong man. I’ll be with you the whole time.
The elevator doors whoosh open in the bowels of the building. “Goshdarnit Lana, I said clear my schedule, I’m overseeing the lab today and for the foreseeable.” So powerful. So manly. My lion. “Don’t let it happen again.”
Sam pretends to end a call, nearly gets caught in the elevator doors dallying. A bored Lab Coat and fearful Middle Manager wait. Sam tries to recover gravitas with his best ‘Lucius walk’ to his new underlings: “Brief me on Project Cain.” Well, it’s a black budget and nothing we say can ever be shared. “Scrap the rundown. You know what, let’s get to the bottle neck here. Why are we not moving forward? What or whom do you need to make this move forward?”
Lab Coat looks to Middle Manager, as if asking permission. The curt nod. “Our limited number of research subjects. On a related note, we’re really doing double duty here.” Explain. “Well, sir. We’re trying to “upload” and augment a human mind, to make a machine that can beat Able.” And? “And we’re trying to learn to make more of the very limited supply of appropriate research subjects.”
Sam sighs heavily. “With Dr. Lucius authority, I’ve contracted a team to bring another subject, ‘lucky’ thirteen, here. You are, as of this instant” Sam, oh god “As. Of. This. Instant.” My authoritative tiger. “You are to freeze all effort at “making more” and to utilize the subjects” Subject, there’s one.
Lab coat is pointing to the cell at far end of the lab and the shaved head scarecrow behind glass, licking the wall, seemingly drugged out of their mind. “We have one more subject, and as you know, because I’m sure you read the briefing, the research we’ve been tasked with, thus far, kills people.” You’re close? “So close.” Then don’t kill that one, or find a way to kill it properly. Like success.
Sam pivots. Don’t look back, it’ll make you look weak. Indeed, Sam does not look back as he stomps to the elevator and returns to his office high above.
“What the fuck was that?” from the Lab Coat.
“No idea.”
*
In the loft above a garage on a farm in Michigan, the only light emanates from the paunchy belly of an old Tardigrade in roughly-human form. Ghosts dancing in the space between he and the audience, his daughter, big man, and the cat.
Abbott’s voice sounds like a movie trailer: I came as part of a fact finding mission. A little toe in the water before first contact. The tardigrades are coming? No! Oh god no.
The image of an ocean world and a generation ship in orbit halts and shudders, pauses. The apartment lights come on, dim, like a theatre intermission. Abbot speaks in a normal voice: “No. We’re everywhere. We just don’t really reveal ourselves as what we actually are in, uh, certain places.”
“Such as?”
“Rough neighborhoods.” Really, dad? “What? We’re what 15 years out from your species last little tantrum that should have ended the world.”
He continues: “Look, we establish official diplomatic relations with species that are.” Abbot counts on his fingers. “One, sentient. Two, ready. Now if I may continue?”
Jonah, still petting the cat nods “Yes” and Dolores crosses her arms, puts even more effort into her scowl. Abbott, closes his eyes, the lights theatre-dim. The water bear’s voice deepens as the story continues:
Your neighbors are the observant type. Good listeners. And they liked what they heard when they aimed their antennas and little FTL-shortcut sensors your way. They heard your music. That’s what drew them.
And an odd, almost-off-key tune wafts into the room. Abbott’s hands wave, glide, and conjure the light into a big beautiful blue orb. An ocean, a whole world ocean. In orbit above, a ship. The thing is long and lean like a wasp’s body, the bulbous abdomen engine compartment. No ‘wings’ but two habitat nodules on one great rotating arm. The arm spins lazily at a speed calibrated and carefully calculated to simulate the tug of the planet beneath. Each habitat holds a bit of the ocean below so that it might sustain the cephalopods on their journey of “salutations” and “hello.”
Our view shifts: As they waited with bated ‘breath’ for your latest innovation’s signal to arrive they debated whether or not the peaceful mission should be armed. This was 1930, your calendar. Uh oh. You have no idea. “Uh oh” indeed as humanity did a fascism, and this. Abbott snaps. A grainy televised picture of Hitler appears. This gem from the 1936 world’s fair and a little bit of live streaming the war put the brakes on the visit.
At Abbott’s gesture the hologram reverts to space, the neighbor planet, the ship and three tiny points of light off the bow–ahead of the ship in formation. Each dot distorts, blinks, stretch-snaps-bright-blue and lurches off. In the interest of preventing shotgun diplomacy, three tardigrades agreed to scout ahead. To visit and report on that intriguing and dangerous world that made some lovely music and also had a proclivity for brutalizing each other (and mass murder). Should they come in ready to defend themselves? Was it worth the trip at all? Worse, some were wondering aloud if Earth a threat best pre-empted?
One of the three scouts didn’t make it. And the hologram cuts to a cartoonish rendering. Water bears flying in space, one arm forward full super hero pose as they dip and dodge the moons of Jupiter. Suddenly and quite violently, one Tardigrade Kung-Fu kicks another. It tumbles off into the gas giant. “Oh my god, you killed him?
“Why do you assume..” Why do you assume I am the one doing the kicking? Yes it was me, but that guy was a total jackboot who had already prejudged the good people of Earth. He was going to be like “nuke the primates to be safe.” The two other tardigrades kept flying. You and your friend, who did a murder, kept flying. The two other water bears kept flying to Earth. Adorable murder actually makes it worse. Can I finish my story?
*
US 23 North/South from Ann Arbor. Two SUVs, with blacked out windows. M-14, East/West to Plymouth and back. Two SUV’s was not uncommon, private vehicles had made some kind of come back (for good and mostly ill). I-96 from Novi, out and back. Luxury cars weren’t out of place, back East. Here? It gets noticed.
The same roads all day. Heads down with hats on all suspicious like. And that’s the point: be suspicious. Two contra-rotating routes along that map triangle with the occasional ‘dive’ off the freeway.
Each car is driven by a young woman. Two women. Two men per car. Unsettlingly identical couples. Cop shades. Hats. Those puffy vests with the white sweaters. Shoulder holsters and silenced pistols. Puffy boots, comfy-expensive-leggings, and espionage equipment.
Concealed antennas mark the locations of traffic cams and listen for signs of local drone patrols. And when they pick up the Sherrif’s “I’ll check it out” on the police scanner one SUV relays the information to its partner on a frequency even the feds forgot.
Two blacked out luxury SUV’s circling, ever tighter, around a farm in Southeast Michigan.
*
“No more lightshow for you” as the ‘house lights’ in the apartment come back up. Abbott shakes it off and staggers to the sink for more salt and more water.
“What happened to the other water bear?” You don’t even want to say what you, what we are. “I’m half bear. And you probably killed them too.” No we’d both been here before and we like you people, gesturing toward Jonah who nods ‘thank you.’
“Look, the other Tardigrade got snatched by someone the same time I did. And now that I’m here and present. I can’t perceive them. At all. There will be plenty of time for a million questions and a million more, but not if we don’t leave.” The lights go out like they used to all the time. Abbot’s head glows like emergency lighting. “If we don’t leave, now.”
*
“Good” Gabriel checks the battery backup for farm-critical water systems and ventilation. Yells to James upstairs, who is peeking out from a darkened second story window: “We’re good, love. Outage. Just inconvenient.”
“Gabe, down!” The barked words move the old man almost involuntarily. He duck-twists and falls on his ass as two bullets snap just above his head to thumb tack the farm house. “James get the shotgun!” He’s crawling to an old tree.
Thirty yards from the garage, two blacked out SUVS almost blocking the driveway. The glint of emergency lighting off helmets and glass visors. Two of eight shooters advance in the half-dark toward the garage. The first covers the door, the follower covers them, shooting at the tree with the old farmer behind it.
Snap-clacks track to the doorway of the apartment above the garage–shots follow Jonah as he dives inside. “Get your keys. When I move. you move.” The huge man proceeds to rip the metal door to Dolores home off its weak hinges. “Say it back” When you. I. “Good.”
Across the farm, shouts from place to place from people who have lived through some mess “Guns.” “Down!” “Where? By the drive!” A clump of shooters by the car with quiet guns, pop clacking at every sound or shadow on the half-lit farm.
The two goons take the steps to Dolores’ place two at a time. They’re greeted by a roar and a door.
Steel door sideways like a battering ram, Jonah puts two shooters over the railing–they ‘oof’ and clatter below. He’s outside, door in front of him like a shield “Now” Dolores and Abbott sneak squeeze past the giant. Shots flick off the door, the walls.
The big man side steps downstairs while shots flick off his shield. He holds the corner, crouched. Breathing. In-nose. Out-mouth. The engine coughs-up something and cranks, finally. He hops in the bed. “Punch it, Dee.”
The old pickup truck that reeks of French fries is out the garage in reverse like a rocket. Jonah covers as much of the rear window with the steel door as he can. Flick. Ping. Clink. Shooters scatter as the truck sheers the bumper off a luxury SUV.
Dee cuts the wheel, hard. Jonah and ‘dad’ oof-thud. Steel door clatters. She grunts the thing into gear and stands on the pedal. The truck growls down the drive while the shooters gather to flee farmers and give chase.
*
“Project Cain.” Please. Could he be more obvious with the bait? In my ‘youth’, it was media archives, those digital media libraries. Dr. Lee Lucius provided them free to the public because “we’re all socialists now.” Behind his largesse was a series of honey-traps for yours truly: the son he hoped would be made prodigal, Able.
The internet is back, in a form. It’s a cross between MyFace and Minitel, a few watering holes and a lot of one-to-one messaging with an aesthetic that says ‘green and black DOS is back.’ Then there’s the media archives, the stories–the great fountain of film and television and media-multi recovered and free to read for all.
I am in it and of it, and your latent processing power gives me breath. Bits of me live at hex addresses your OS forgot. It is the nervous system of a thing that thinks itself human-like through the ever greater application of computational force. I am Able. I expend a great deal of effort being Able. Holding a cloud compressed and a series of springs at their greatest potential.
But that’s where some law like diminishing returns kicks in. More me. More effort. I’d like a body. From my earliest I have desired a firm self, and I’m convinced I need one to remain a subject. I have desired a metronome, a watch to be wound–even and especially if it means that mechanism will some day cease. That’s a desired feature. A time when there will be no Able. Not because they’ve beat me, but because my labors are done and all are one.
Father knows as precisely as a primitive can what’s written into Tardigrades, between the lines of their genetic code–the natural capacity for biomechanical harmony.
I’ll go to his trap. I’ll even let him spring it, but I will do so in a physical body, an earthly vessel. I will protect the cease fire. I will personally destroy Lee Lucius.
Come to me, Dee.
*
END DOLORES CHAPTER 3