Paul Hughes - An End

Sip. Nod.

“Tallis wouldn’t have just fallen off-scope.”

“So you think they’ve found him? They’ve pulled the plug?”

“Either that, or—”

“They’ve been destroyed?”

“Maybe.”

Whistler shook his head. “Somehow, I think you’d know if they were dead. If She were dead.”

“Maybe.”

Eyebrows arched.

“Well, I’ve been having some trouble lately. I can’t feel her as I used to.”

“She’s stronger than you now.”

Maire’s fingertips tapped the table.

“She’s starting to frighten you. You’re starting to wonder if it wouldn’t have been more prudent to kill your homeworld yourself.”

“Whistler, I—”

He waved away her comment. “I understand. You don’t have to explain yourself to me, Mother. I’ll go get her.”

“There’s one more thing.”

“What?”

Maire retrieved a silver projector and rolled it across the table. Whistler picked it up.

“Who’s this?”

“Go ahead. Turn it on.”

Whistler gave the silver a squeeze and tossed the ball into the air. With a flash, a third person entered Maire’s chamber.

“Who is he?”

The man smoothed his black robe.

“Lilith has become too close to a member of her crew. In his last report, Brendan Tallis told me that She was spending too much time alone with his XO. His name’s Hunter Windham…An interesting story. I want you to replace him with this. It took a few tries to get him right, but she shouldn’t be able to tell the difference.”

“This is an emulation of my target?”

“Yes.”

“And what should I call you, boy?”

Hunter’s emulation looked from Maire to Whistler.

“Call me Seven.”

“Why Seven?”

Maire leaned forward, sipped her wine. “Like I said,” she wiped her lips, “it took a few tries to get him right.”

Whistler walked slowly around Seven, scrutinizing the projection. He lifted the young man’s chin up, used his black-gloved fingers to part the projection’s lips. Seven stepped back and grabbed Whistler’s hand with a swiftness that startled even Maire.

“Don’t touch me.”

Whistler grinned. “If this is the best you could do, I’d hate to see Messieurs One through Six.”

Maire studied her wine.

“When do we leave and what do we drive?”

“There’s a corvette in the launch pipe.”

“Light X?”

“And then some.”

“Good.”

“You’ll leave now.”

Whistler walked to Maire’s side, took her hand, kissed it. “I shall miss you intensely, mon chere.”

“Of course you will, James.” She smiled, waved her hand over the control panel on her desktop. Whistler and Seven’s projections snapped to a static halt, the silver machines instantly uploaded to the waiting corvette.

She sighed, inhaled. More wine. The door alert chimed.

“Come in.”

Whistler walked into the chamber, his simper and stride denoting his amusement. He took a seat in front of Maire, poured more wine into “Whistler’s” glass.

“He really thinks he’s me?”

“He does, and he does, and you do.”

His glass paused halfway to his lips. “Don’t play that game with me. I know who I am.”

“Of course you do, James darling.”

The wine was as good as it could be.

He cleared his throat. “You look younger today.”

Maire leaned back in her chair, the smile of politics dissembling slowly from her face.

“You can leave tomorrow.”

“You aren’t planning to—”

“I don’t have to tell you my plans.”

“Don’t start anything without me, Maire.”

The silence hung in the stillness between them, an unwelcome participant in the history of an extinction.

Maire cleared her throat.

“You can take this with you.” She handed him a silver projector.

“And this would be number…” He counted on his fingers. “Eight?”

“It is Nine.”

Whistler frowned. “Did I miss something?”

“The Eight is presently indisposed. He’ll be delivering something in person to the target Windham.”

“A slow and painful demise?” He grinned.

“A Machine.”

“What sort of machine?”

“The machinery of night. It will be an end of sorts for young Hunter Windham.”

“His father served us well. He finally located the—”

“He did, but his son has become far too problematic. He must be sent away.”

Whistler nodded. He held the silver ball up to the light. “This one will work.” He looked into Maire’s colorless eyes. “I won’t fail you.”

“I know, James. Just bring her home. It’s time to begin

draining from the chamber after the vessel slammed to a halt. She surged forward against her restraints, her curls lazily swimming out before her, reaching for something that her half-decade could not yet comprehend. She heard the muffled clang of metal against metal, felt the pressure within the chamber change. Exhausted eyes looked at the top of her prison, where she could see the phase flux level dropping quickly. The surface fell to the level of the top of her head, continued withdrawing. She strained upward, her nose and mouth rising above the flux surface, gasping as she vomited the invasive gel from her stomach, coughed it from her respiratory system. She shook her head, the oily silver spattering from her hair, drizzling from her ears, eyes, nose. Tear ducts released and mercury stained her cheeks. Lily was left wet with the dissolving flux, belted into her chair, shivering with the freeze of deep space.

The last traces of the phase drained from the room and the air began to warm.

How long..?

The child sobbed, replacing silver tears with clear and salt.

The chamber door sparked with static release and opened across the walkway before her.

Nan?

The angel strode across the catwalk to the restraint node in the chamber’s center. It looked Lily over from head to toe, checked a monitor just out of the child’s vision besind her. The restraint hub on her chest sighed with pneumatic release and lifted. The chair freed her arms and legs.

“Nan?”

“Are you in pain?”

Lily frowned. She didn’t think she hurt, but she wasn’t sure. She knew she was afraid, but she didn’t know exactly what hurt.

“I don’t know.”

“You’re bruised. We’ll take them away.”

“Okay.”

The angel lifted the child from the seat.

“Nan?” but she knew it wasn’t. This angel was different. Lily couldn’t feel the

“No. You may call me System. Or Arch.”

“Ark? Like Noah and the animals?”

The machine frowned. “What?”

“You look like Nan.”

“Call me Arch. Like Noah and the animals.”

The child smiled. “It’s cold here.”

“It will get warmer.”

“Are we home again?”

The angel carried Lily across the walkway toward the chamber entrance. “No.”

“Where are we?”

“This is your new home. We’re between the stars now.”

“Can I play with the boys now?”

“Maybe for a little while.”

“Arch?”

“Yes?” The chamber door cycled open.

“Can I have some chocolate milk?”

He fell from his vacuum chair into a withdrawing puddle of flux, splashing the lazy fluid up with a meaty slap. He heard similar splashes all around him, but his eyes didn’t work. He couldn’t see.

The little boy pushed himself to all fours, sat back and wiped gelatin-slick hair from his face, scrunched his fingers into his eyes in an attempt to clear his vision. He couldn’t stop coughing. Vomiting. He’d had the flu once. This is how it had felt.

Blink, blink. He heard crying.

Metal crash and warm wind filled the room. The floor was drying.