Paul Hughes - An End

“Welcome, Medium Judith.”

She waved off the hand. “Take me to it.”

“Yes, of course. Have you been briefed?”

“Briefed? Briefly.” She walked briskly. It had been a long time since she’d been in the aether, and she was eager to talk to the god. She knew she was an addict. “Something about a planet being lost?”

“A new technology, yes. There was a terrorist—”

“What kind of technology?”

Doctor’s pace slowed. “I don’t know if I’m qualified to—”

“Just tell me.”

“It’s a silver. A metallic pathogen.”

they would live forever. in the ocean of silver fire, Omega would be the salvation and the nirvana and the extinction and the

“What’s it do?”

“Replaces biologic with metallic.”

“How’s it work?”

“We don’t know yet.”

“And it killed a planet?”

“Yes.”

Judith pinched the plastic cheek of the Doctor, squeezed it like a child’s. “Well you’d better find out how it works and what it is and who else has it, don’t you think?”

“Yes, of course. We—”

“Better get to work.” She glanced through the phased glass of the chamber at the end of the hallway. “This is it?”

“Yes, Medium.”

“Good. Seeya.”

Doctor bowed and retreated.

Judith placed her palm on the reader beside the door, waited for a miniscule genetic sample to be sequenced and verified, and entered the shielded chamber. God floated in a static tube at the chamber’s center, hardware connecting him as needed to the outside world, gelatin suspending him in near-solid.

“Hey there, buddy.” Judith smiled that smile, pulled up a wheeled chair to the glass. She sat down on it backwards. “How’ve you been?”

The host body remained motionless, swaying gently in the omnipresent sludge. Why did the basis of their technology have to be scum ? Scum from trees ? Scum from giant trees ? She tapped on the glass, as if God were a goldfish. No reaction.

“Well, shit.”

She caught a flash of movement from the periphery of her vision and saw that Doctor and Assistant were observing from the deck above, shielded behind phase. Judith pulled the curtain that surrounded God’s static tube closed, blocking the view of the nearish. She preferred to work alone, or at least with real people.

Concealed by non-fabric, she withdrew the hardlink cable from the base of the static tube, plugged it snugly into the jack in the center of her chest between the cardiac shields and

turning, raindrops spattering on her face, face framed with curls, curls the color not of fire or blood but

atmosphere choking with something and

the in-dark answered with

wind

blew white paper, black ink, folded, to the floor. Pungent aroma, a humidity of percolation. Dark day, rain, undertone of well-groomed man in black suit on viewers, ratcheting tones of a music from somewhere, dark day people sipping black liquid, foamy brown liquid, something gathered from mountains. God sat alone at a table, the host body that of a young man with a streak of white in his hair, old eyes, a book bookmarked and set before him. Demian. Hesse.

She pulled out a chair across from Him and sat. “What the hell is that smell?”

He smirked, held out a mug. “This shit. Apparently they enjoy drinking it.”

“Oh God.” Judith rolled her eyes. She wondered what color they were. “When are we? Something’s not right about this place.”

He leaned back in his chair, contented. “You don’t like it?”

“The air’s different. And…”

“And?”

“It just feels different. I can’t quite—”

God leaned forward, unzipped Judith’s jacket, slipped his hand into open-necked shirt, placed his palm flat against her chest. Her eyes widened with realization.

“What are they?” Her own small hand reached to touch her upper chest, below the collarbone.

“Just a little project I’ve been working on for a while. Unfortunately, it seems that one of them got out of control.”

“And this place?”

“Hasn’t happened yet.” An exclamation of joy. God and Judith turned to see a young man and woman embrace near the back of the shop, the woman sporting a glint of silver on her left hand.

“How could you—”

“I’m God, Judith. I can do anything.” He sipped his coffee with a grin. “I contain multitudes.”

“Don’t get too big for your britches, O Omnipresence. We’ll throw you back down the hole.” Judith took the cup from God, took a sip, grimaced. She placed the cup back down on the table. “Why’s the wind blowing? And rain? It’s—”

“Autumn. Not a perpetual autumn, but an autumn nonetheless.”

“What’s—”

“A season. There used to be seasons, long before you were born.”

Judith rubbed the flesh of her chest, exposed between drapes of fine silk. She was mesmerized by the single beat.

Click, scratch, sizzle, click. God inhaled deeply, exhaled smoke. Judith hated the smoker scent.

“How bad is it?”

“I’ve only just been briefed. Briefly. But it’s bad. You said you let one get loose?”

“I didn’t let her get loose.” God ashed in his coffee cup. “Shit happens. I wasn’t watching.”

“We shouldn’t have dropped you after the war. Maybe if you’d been—”

“I wanted to be down there. You’re too noisy. I need my space.”

“I understand.”

“I feel asleep for a while. Just a nap. I wake up and there’s a planet fucked.”

Judith traced figure eights on the tabletop with precision-filed fingernail. “Will it be salvageable?”

“That’s the thing…I don’t know what she did.”

“It’s a silver. Downloading specs.” Judith’s eyes flashed for an instant as she hardlinked into the system. “Full-spectrum phase catalyst. Biologically invasive, gaseous dissemination in nitrogen atmospheres.”

“I didn’t make a silver like that.”

“See for yourself.” Judith grasped God’s hands in her own. His eyes widened.

“I didn’t fucking make that.”

Judith sat up, released God’s hands. In that last instant of contact, an emotion: fear . Genuine. Overwhelming. “Where did it—”

“You have to get her out of here. At least until I can work this out…Please don’t drop me yet, Jud. I don’t know—”

“I’ll tell the—”

“We have to—”

“We will.” She never seen Him like this. The host body’s face was deathly pale, eyes darting. His hand grasped a napkin from the table, clenched and released, nervously started tearing it into strips.

“I didn’t make that silver.”

“We’ll figure it out. I have to go for now.”

“Please don’t. It’s been so long since—”

“I’ll be back.” She tenderly patted His hand. “I promise. We’ll do all we can.” Judith reached to her chest, grabbed the invisible hardlink cable that she knew was there.

“I’ll be here.”

“See you soon.” She tugged at the cable,

severing the connection. She fell to the floor, body powerless, head throbbing from the agony of the deity flux.

Footsteps: running. Unnatural. Machined. Doctor. He (it) lifted Judith, near form effortlessly picking her up, placing her softly on an examination table on the other side of the curtain. God’s host body floated without any indication of life in the gelatin tube.

“What do you think he said?”

“Quiet.” Doctor waved Assistant off. “Usually takes a few hours for the spell to pass. Until then, we wait.”

“She was crying.”

Doctor nodded its head. “So was He.”

he’s crying.

Nearish to nearish, sub-thought.