She closed her eyes.
The exhaled line of gray was confused in zero-grav.
Task hovered before the observation bubble. It was supposed to be sleep time, or so the meaningless timer informed him. Elle was on the bridge, immersed in flashing recharge mist. He lit another smoker, considered waking his androgyn artificial companion, but decided to let the machine rest in peace. This vessel was one of the only places that silence and solitude abounded in these uncertain times.
A streak of light from outside of the bubble as another war platform descended. Task extended his right index finger and a zoom reticle surrounded the black-on-black of several million tons of metal and slumbering biologic that was the platform. They were sending platforms to secure the northern continent now; the scientists were reasonably certain that the catalyst had dissipated enough to send in the near-living ground troops.
A war against one woman… A terrorist act that could never truly be avenged. Task felt fortunate that he had no family on the surface below him, encased in silver dust. That’s probably why they picked him to do the dismal job of documenting the kill zones. Never a man for emotion; never a man with attachments to his species.
It was cold.
Heat from his fingertips but no surprise when the smoker self-immolated in a final suicide of smoke. No ash to clog the systems. Task felt a radical spin out of place and collide with several healthy breather cells, beginning the process of cellular mutation. He isolated and contained the cells in a reflex gesture. Right lung, right underneath his heart.
“Want some company?”
Task didn’t need to look to know that Elle had finished regen, which meant that soon it would be time to get back to work. No sleep in this night, at least not for the human member of the crew. Elle lazily swam to the observation bubble, still glowing from the recharge mist. The glow faded quickly.
“You do need to rest sometime, you know.”
“This is resting.”
“Don’t you see enough of the planet while we’re working?”
Task ignored the question. Another platform fell from the war machine above them.
“How many have you seen tonight?”
“Forty. Fifty.”
“They must think it’s safe for nears down there.”
“It isn’t safe for anyone. Never will be. They should scorch the whole damned thing and be done with it. Or send it into center-spiral. I’d never live there.”
“You’d never live on any planet, sweetheart.”
Task smiled. “Right.”
Two more platforms, one on either side of an almost-invisible sliver of silver. Task drew the reticule over the ships’ position as they planetfell, zoomed. The war platforms were escorting a council corvette.
Elle’s otherwise featureless eyes furrowed into concern as best they could. “Hannon?”
Task zoomed in. “No. That’s Berlin.”
“Against our recommendations?”
“I don’t think he’s listening to recommendations anymore.”
“If it’s still hot—”
“He doesn’t care.”
“I’ll never understand your species.”
“Of course not.”
Wake alarm. Cabin lights grew brighter. Task circumvented snooze and deactivated the anachrony of the sleep system. Time to get to work.
“Break orbit. Take us south.”
Hydraulics emit canine whine and the body surges forward, empty pages replaced with an ancient text.
“Begin transfer.”
Fluid swirls, suffocation. The sacrifice body, blessed soul replaced with the target of midnight prayers, sacrament of flesh imbued with divinity. Rotating placement lasers strip away flesh and sinew and the gristle of pathetic, bare man. A million, a billion, a trillion needles invade protein.
“Status?”
“Sacrifice vehicle intact. Ready for download.”
Snap of static and the body flails, drowning scream from within the birth sea. Medications diffuse, calm the fury of the reborn god/dess. Fluid levels descend, now-limp body twitches to rest on the raised platform that would provide a new and shorter sleep.
“Council communication line ready.”
“Open channel.”
A flash and a projection of Hannon stood in the birth chamber.
“I see the procedure was successful. How long before we can meet with him, Doctor?”
“Give him a few hours to rest. It’s been a long time since—”
“Yes, of course. Please let me know when he’s ready.”
Doctor waved its hand in the direction of Hannon and the image ceased. It walked over to the platform, where god was curled into a fetal position. Doctor rolled the deity on to his back, inspected the new body, opened its eyelids, testing for a response.
Assistant approached from behind, stood patiently while Doctor examined the haphazard arrangement of flesh into which the humans had chosen to inject their ancient.
“How many times have they done this?”
“Twice.”
“This time and one other?”
“This time and just before the war.”
“And he doesn’t mind?” Assistant looked over the pseudo-conscious divinity.
“I think he actually prefers the rest. They don’t need him anymore.”
“I’ll never understand them.”
Doctor turned from the table and looked Assistant in featureless eyes. “Just be thankful for them. Never forget your creators.”
Assistant looked at the ground, bowing submissively to its superior. It wanted to point out the obvious hypocrisy of Doctor’s statement…Their creators had all but forgotten their own creator, choosing instead to allow him to hide in the liquid night of the center of the planet in the slumber eternal, only waking him in moments of extreme need.
The new threat was indeed a moment of extreme need. Hopefully, god would have a solution to the woman of silver. So far, no one else did.
She was young, so young when first he’d seen her on the landing platform, standing at attention with the rest, sun-stained face blank and down in submission to the visiting dignitary. The stark gray of her eyes had been hidden by the black fan of lashes in that position, but as soon as he signaled for the team to stand at ease, he found those eyes boring into his own boring browns.
“Sir.”
“Doctor.”
Their first exchange of civil conversation gave no hint of the life they would spend together, the sunsets, the children they would create, but at the same time, Berlin paused, took a breath.
Black converges on gray. “Sir, have we—”
