AlexMcGilvery Array - Nano Bytes

«A decision.»

«I thought I'd reached a stage in life when I didn't have to make any of those.»

«Rubbish — "

The probe made another one of those stops where I was released from its hold on my mind.

«Sorry - we are not allowed to use opprobrious expressions. A temporary software failure. We need a decision on a question. Do you want to save your planet from complete destruction of the living environment ?»

The question was so vast in its implications I couldn't wrap my mind around it. Of course in one sense the answer must be - yes. But what was this computer based 'thing' playing at? Was I really dealing with what amounted to a very sophisticated assemblage of printed circuits and an operating system as flawed as Windows Vista.

I asked «What makes you think the planet needs saving?»

«Windmills.»

«Windmills? I thought they were planet friendly?»

«Yes, they are, but by the time you carbon based life forms start building them it is too late. First we see nuclear weapons experiments. It is the warning sign for which we watch. Then it is windmills. You always do the same thing. You get your power from oil and coal, then nuclear and then try to do it with windmills. Well some of you get to make hyperturbines but that's end of planet - or shortly after - shortly in our terms, not yours.»

«Hyperturbines. I've never heard of those?»

«Forget it. I do not have not the time to tell you. You must decide.»

«But if I say yes - or no - what happens?»

«If you want to save the planet you must reduce your population. If six billion of you want to live like the richest ten percent you need five planets of resources. You do not have five planets, only one. Therefore you must eliminate the demand of four fifths of you. Fortunately we have a means of so doing.»

«What's that?»

«We have another machine above which carries a radiation which sterilises and then soon — "

Again one of those pauses when I was released from the direct thrall of the device, but I was now so appalled by what was implied by the words from it, that I trembled.

" — kills four fifths of the population.»

«Which - what - how, is the four fifths chosen?»

«We find that carbon based so called intelligent life forms always have a selfish gene which is carried by four fifths of the population. The radiation system selects these.»

«So you have another machine that can do this to us - above - in orbit is it?»

«It is a Him," the Him was uttered with a deep reverence, and the display in the sphere momentarily stopped its frantic dance.

«So if I say no, what happens?»

«We go on to the next endangered planet. They are all the same. It is a big universe.»

«I can't make a decision for the other six billion - well‑less one of me.»

«We do not have the time to allow a — "

I was released once more. The sun had set - but I had not seen its setting. The hemisphere in which the flower and I were held, was illuminated in soft blue light.

" — democratic decision. Six billion to vote or one organism taken at random - the result will be a matter of indifference to us, and probably the same .»

The patterns in the sphere seemed to draw me in so that they were all around me.

«You must make a decision. You have no alternative. Decide. Decide now.»

«Oh God," I muttered.

«There is no God. Only your projected desire to be a child once more and have your mother to decide for you. Decide. Decide now.»

«Then I have to say no. We'll try somehow to save our planet and ourselves. But not kill eighty percent now. That's inhumane.»

«Very well. You are wrong. But we are built to accept decisions from so called intelligent organic creatures. Goodbye.»

The protective hemisphere evaporated, the flower closed back to a box and a shaft of light sucked it into the clouds, and chill rain fell onto my bald head.

I stumbled back to my hotel, wet through, cold and fearful. Would we, could we - humanity - pull through without creating an intolerable environment? Could the alien cure have worked?

Anyway it was pointless to speculate. Most people would be likely to think I'd made it all up.

Originally written for one of the contests on the Science Fiction profile, this short is included by kind permission of Wattpadder sauthca, who has other great stories on their profile.

A choked gurgle of blood bubbled from the back of Lennon’s throat. Metallic, tangy and sweet like Ormons, the blood invaded his mouth in a wave. Lennon buckled to his knees, spat it out and heaved. There was a sour aftertaste in his mouth. The knife in his stomach was twisted to the left. It tore through his skin and left him quivering in pain. His knees had scraped against the Projector Glass floor covered by shameless self–advertising Gorgon Inc. stamps and stung. The agony only intensified with every brush of the merciless wind across his bleeding wounds.

The Soldier grunted. «Get back in your cell.»

As if electrocuted by an Electric Current Projector, Lennon’s hand twitched in annoyance. He would very much like to. The nurses were stationed there, silent and prepared to stitch him up from yet another critical injury before sending him off to be tortured again. But the knife was still lodged deep in his flesh. The walls of his stomach could feel its edge; cold as ice, sharp and lethal to touch.

Lennon opened his mouth. Lennon closed his mouth. Lennon was a mute and fish out of water for the moment it took him to overcome the immense pain, and stab an irritant finger towards the knife. He gestured for the soldier to remove the weapon, in a perverse game of charades.

The prize of victory was his continued survival. The price of loss was his life. Thus it was fortunate that the brutish Soldier had sufficient intelligence to decipher his meaning. The metal slid out, coated in bile. Lennon observed it in pain–shadowed boredom. The blade was smooth, and shone. Uniform and uninteresting, like every other corporate knife of Gorgon Inc.

‘The control freaks.’ He thought with utmost derision.

The hilt was wrapped by a pale and unmarred hand. Any callouses were absent. ‘Another untrained, and lazy idiot then,’ Lennon decided. The soldier was a complete oaf, his sole capability being to swing his knife around, in a pathetic attempt to appear intimidating. If the knife was out of the question, Lennon knew he could take him. His odd feminine neck was brittle, long and slim, like a dainty swan. He would be easy to strangle. Or break. Whichever worked fine, he didn’t mind the particulars. But the knife was in the savage soldier’s grip, eager to spill blood and slice flesh. And his hands were handcuffed in an uncomfortable position behind his grucking back. Escape was impossible.

Lennon missed Lalilah and her Ormons - her hybrid of oranges and lemons. Ah! He wanted to eat her delicious Ormon pies, piping hot and crunchy; Ormon cookies that smelled heavenly like citrus; healthy Ormon soups – that on second thought, he’d prefer to not come in contact with his sensitive palate.

The Soldier prodded him in the shoulder with his knife. Lennon winced, as the tip dug in like a hungry viper’s fang and pierced his skin. A drop of blood formed and winded down his body in a red rivulet. «Oh. Sorry,” The Soldier said in an apologetic tone. For a knife created from micro particles in the air that had been crammed into the contours and rammed into shape of a knife, it could cause a fascinating amount of damage.

Lennon sighed, stood, and allowed The Soldier to herd him back into the cage. Lennon and The Soldier passed a familiar corridor of familiar prisoners, sleeping and drugged out of their minds after lunch.