Harper College - Halcyon Yearbook (Palatine, IL)

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body betrayed him the moment her lips touched his naked chest. He lay back and closed his eyes and she made it all silk. Talk to me, she said The things he said were not love matters. He spoke of what it was to live as something like a man for over two hundred years, and to grow weary of it because its infinite variety did grow stale. He spoke of what he did to send emotion and dreams of conflict to a race that ruled whole galaxies, entire nations of plantet, great sec- tors of space. He was a programmer of death. A practitioner of one of the last occupations left to humans. And he spoke of ennui, of jaded appetites, of nights and days aboard a moonstone vessel as large as a city. Roaming through emptiness till worlds were pinpointed. And then they were sur- veyed with sophisticated equipment that told them the epoples who had lived there were gone, but their racial memories were still preserved in the stones and solid and silted river bottoms of the planet. Like ghosts of alien dreams, the remem- berances of all times past were still there, contain- ed forever, immolated in the soulskins of worlds, like haunted houses that had soaked up the terrible events that had transpired within and retained them as ambience. He spoke of Designers and their special talents - those peculiar alien empaths e and how they designed the demise of whole solar systems. How the endless sleeping memories of the people who had lived there were gathered up as the sun went novag how they streamed into the sensu and the tanger and the other empathy machines, to be codified and stored and then taken back to the human worlds, to the New Colony, to sustain the weary existences of those who had no fresh dreams of their own. And he closed with words about how he hated it. But the worlds are empty, aren't they? she asked, and then put here face once more to his tensing flesh. He could not speak. Not then. But later he said, yes, they were empty. Always empty, she asked. Yes, always empty. You'r very humane race. I don't think there's anything left of humanity to us. We do It because it's for a greater good. And he laughted at the words, greated good. His fingers roamed over her body. He grew excited once more. It had been so long ago. I6 On my world, she said, we live much warm- er than you. In times past, my race had the power of flight. We have a heritage of sky. Closed in like this makes me uneasy. He held her in the circle of his arms, his thigh between her long legs, and he drew his fingers down through her thick, deep blue hair. I know words and songs from four hundred years of myself and my race, he said, and I wish to God I could think of something more potent to use, but 'I love you' and 'Tank you' are the only ones that come to mind . . . those, and 'The Earth mover,' but I'd better not use it, or I'Il start to laught. He slid his hand down to her stomach. She had no navel. Very small breasts. Extra ribs. She was very beautiful. l'm happy. When we care, we have a way of making it last much longer. Would you? He nodded and her head lay at his shoulder and she felt him move. She sat up, kneeling before him in the nimbus. Her earring was hollow, and from it she took a tiny jewel that pulsed with pale light. She crushed it under his nose and leaned forward so she could in hale the pale light mist that sprany up from the dead jewel. Then she lay down again, precisely fitting into the waiting space. And in a moment they began again. .. ...as she took him with her to her world. A warm world, all sky, with a single sun that held the same pale light as the jewel she had used to drug him. They flew, and he saw her people as they had been ten thousand years before. Lovely with wings, bright with the expectation ofa thou- sand years of life. Then she let him see how they died. ln the night. They fell from the sky like tracers of light, brilliant, burning. Onto the great dust desserts al- ready filled with the ashes of their ancestors. Her vocie was warm and soft in his mind. lVly people live with the sky for a thousand years, when their time comes, they go to rest with all those who came before them. The deserts of dust are the resting places of my race, generation upon generation, returned to their primal dust . . . waiting for the ten thousand years to pass until they are reborn. The world of sky and dust swam in his mind and as though it were captured in the catcheye it faded back and back, he was looking down on the world of the phoenix creatures from deep space, and he

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hell with it, there was a woman in the lounge tonight, Annie.. . That's nice, sweetheart . . . was she attrac- tive? God help me, Annie, I wanted her! Do you know what that means to me? To want a woman again? I don't know what it was about her . . . I think she hated me . . . I could feel it, some thing deep and ugly when she stopped me.. . That's nice, sweetheart . . . was she attrac- tive? She was bloody gorgeous, you ghost of Christ- mas Past. She was so unbelievably unreal I wanted to craw inside here and live there. Annie . . . Annie . . . I'm going crazy with it all, with what I do, with the novae, with programming death for indolent swine who need their cheep death thrills to make it through the day just to make it through a day . . . God, Annie, speak to me, come out of that awful square coffin and save me, Annie! I want night, my baby, I want night and sleep and end to summer . . . The suite door hu mmed and a holograph of the one seeking entrance appeared in the tank. It was the woman from the threater lounge. That's nice, sweetheart . . . was she attrac- tive? He swam out of the nimbus and whistled the door open. She came in and smiled at him. You were always like that when I was alive, Raig you simply never talked to me, you never listened . . . He lurched sidewise and palmed the memory box to stillness. Yes? She stared at him with curiosity and he said it again, Yes? A little conversation, Mr. Radditchf' I was just talking about you. To you little back box? To what's left of my wife. I did't mean to be fippant. It's very personal and dear to many people, I know. Not to me. Annie's gone. I'm still here. . . and it's getting to be the end of su mmer. He motioned to the nimbus, and she walked to it with here eyes still on his face. You're a very attractive human, she said, removing her clothes and sliding into the free-fall glow. Can I get you something? A crystal? Some- thing to eat? Perhaps some wa'ter. He whistled up the dispenser. It rose from the grassruggled deck, and revolved. Fresh water, three sparkles of seed in it, he said. The checker in the dispenser mixed up the drink and set it out for him to remove. He carried it to her and she took it, giving him a faint look of amusement. I seem to entertain you. She drank from the crystal, barely moving her lips. You do. You aren't from the Near Colony. I'm not a Terrestrial. I didn't want to say thatgl throught it might offend. We needn't circle each other, Mr. Redditch. Clearly, I sought you out, I want something from you, we can be straightline with one another. Apart from sex, what do you want from me? My, you're taking the initiative. lf you don't care for me, you can move out now. l'm frankly not up to badinagef' He turned sharply and went back to the dispenser. lt's the end of summer, he said, softly. She sipped at the cool water in the crystal. He turned back to here, a melt in its helical container warm against his hand, and caught her unguarded expression: there was so much amusement in her face, in every line of her languid body, he felt like an adolescent again. Oh, Mr. Redditch! Her chil- ing was as deep and meaningful as that of a mommy's suitor, feigning concern for the off- spring of the ex-husband. He turned back a second time, felling violence in him for the first time in years, furious at her for playing him like a puppet, furious at himself for being furious. That's all . . . get out. The end of summer, IVlr. Redditch? She made no move to go. f'What do you mean by the end of summer? I said out. I mean out. You'r going to ignore the rejuvenation next time? You must want something on the other side verybadlyf' Who the hell are you? What do you want from me? lt's been a bad day, a bad week, a rotten year and a stinking cycle, so why don't you just put an egg in your shoe and beat it. My name is jeen. He shook his head, totally bewildered. What? If we're going to touch, you should at least know my name, she said, and held out the crys- tal for him to take it away. But when he reached out, she laid her other hand on his wrist and drew him into the numbus. It had been a very long time since he had wanted a woman this way, but his I5

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knew why she had drugged him, why she had taken him into her mind's memory, why she had come to him. The death he had programmed had been the death of her sun, her world. Her people. They came back to the numbus within the suite in the moonstone vessel. He could not move, but she turned him so he could stare out through the cycle port at the emptiness where her world had been. Only dust remained. And she let him hear one last trailing scream from that world, at the moment of its death, the wail of her race that would never again soar through their skies. Can you hear me? Can you speak? I want you to know why. His mouth was thick and his speech was clumsy, but he heard her and he could speak and he said he understood. She bent to him and took his face in her hands. l was sent away. l was. . . Her hesita- tion was filler with pain and loneliness, . . . imper- fect. She turned away for a moment, then turned back, stronger. There are a few like us in every generation. But no more. The people are gone. lt was a mistake, He said. She could not tell what he had said through the drug, and he repeat- ed it. She looked at him and nodded gently, but was stronger. You said there was very little left of humanity in your race. That is the truest thing you could have said. What l do is what will be done to all of you. Your time is past. You had your chance and turned it against every other race you ever met. And now that your time is done, you think you'll take everyone with you. He could not regret dying, as he knew he would die. She was right. The time for men had come and gone, and what they did now was useless, but more than useless. . . it was senseless. Unlike her people, men did not have the good grace to go off alone and die. They tried, in their deranged way, to drag the universe into the grave with them. Not just the leaching off of preserved memories for the momentary amusement of the jaded and corrupt, but everything men did, now that they owned the universe. lt was better than the human race be aided in its slovenly demise than to be allowed to leave nothing but ashes when it vanished at last. He had killed her race, lying sleeping, waiting to be reborn in flames. So he could not hate her. Nor did she need to know that she brough him the dearest gift he had ever received. lt was the end of summer and he was content knowing he would not have to wait for the chill of winter to fall over his race. l'm happy. he said. She may have known what he meant. He though she knew: her eyes were moist as she bent to him for the final time, and kissed him. There were flames and heat as great as a nova and then there was nothing but ash that floated freely in the numbus. When they came to the suite of the sensu pro- grammer, none of them knew they were looking at the last days of men. Only Keltin, the Designer, seemed to understand, in some deep racial way, and he said nothing. But he smiled in expectation as the moonstone ship sailed away into the enternal night. fu'l L'ul l 7