The Slug Inception

by Matthew Pelly

  Chapter: Epilogue - The ended end

  ... 20 years later ...

  The Human

  "Phill, pass a glass will you?" I asked him.

  A lot of things had changed about us; but some things never did. "You are capable of reaching it yourself", he said back.

  I considered arguing further, but then decided that it wasn't worth it and got the glass myself.

  "Phill's quite rude, isn't he?" Matt asked me with a grin. He playfully slapped the Cyborg's hand, and said sternly, "Bad Phill!"

  We were in a small restaurant (a pizza restaurant, if you must know), having dinner together, as we always did. Obviously, that means that we were on Earth, still in Australia in fact, where everything had began. It was also where everything seemed to be going to end.

  All seven of us were still together, as we had been now for many, many years. Matthew, Phill, Boy, Rosetta, Carmen, Frank, myself. Our little gang.

  According to the age-testing done by some scientists, I was in my late thirties to early forties, which meant that I was now officially old. Phill often tells me that I'm less wide-eyed and excited by prospects which people have no right being excited by than I used to be, all that time ago. I still haven't figured out what he means by telling me this.

  As for me and what I saw, it was a remarkable thing, in its own way. Matthew, whom I knew the best of our group, had barely changed at all - he was still the eccentric, impulsive, wildly mood-shifting person that we all know and love. When you think about it, it's because when he was a 'young man', as I was, he was actually already old, for a Slug. So it makes sense that he didn't get any more mature, as I did.

  For some reason of his, the appearance of his body aged with me - he looked like a forty-year-old man just as much as I did. I knew that how he looked had no reflection on how old he actually was (in his early years on Earth, he had pretended to be a baby when he was actually six cycles old), but it still brought some measure of comfort, to at least have the illusion that I wasn't the only one who didn't look as I always had. Phill looked identical to how he'd looked when I'd first met him in his prison cave, and the other four Slugs had only put minimal effort into their aged looks.

  None came close to the detail and realism that Matt had achieved, as he did with all things involving his appearance. He had a slightly crooked back, balding and greying hair, and the beginnings of wrinkles all over his face. The effort he put into it was astounding, and frankly a little frightening.

  But he was my friend, one of my best friends, and I didn't care how he looked, only at how he felt. He'd been complaining lately at how old he was getting - it took me some time to grasp the truth at just how old he actually was, and I'd worried about it ever since then. He was nearing the end of his lifespan, and, as we'd already figured out some time ago, the first of us to leave the world would be either him or Phill. He had already explained to me that as his brain aged, controlling his slime would get more and more difficult, until he was unable to hold his form any longer. It was not a topic I enjoyed talking about.

  As to the Cyborg, he too was getting on in years. It seemed every second month that some non-critical component of him was breaking down and needed to be replaced. Fortunately the government - whom we still worked for as advisors and ambassadors in some capacity - was able to source replacement parts from the Cyborgs, but I worried about what would happen when a unique part of him failed. When a piece that we couldn't replace broke or stopped working.

  "Ethan, can you pass me a glass?" asked Frank, who was further from them than I.

  "Sure thing, Frank", I replied, reaching across and getting one for him. "You could've easily gotten up and gotten one yourself, but since you asked so nicely, I'll do it for you."

  "Perhaps you should consider the additional exercise you would obtain from retrieving it yourself", Phill told the Slug.

  After a short pause, we all laughed. "That barely qualifies as an argument at all!" Matthew chuckled.

  Phill didn't respond, but he was smiling - I was still yet to see him laugh, and had decided long ago that he simply must be incapable of doing so.

  A thin interface on the table asked us if we'd like anything else (technology was everywhere these days, and it was just as annoying as people used to be), but we just ignored it. We always got two pizzas during our fortnightly pizza-night tradition, which was enough for the six of us to share. The Slugs could live off a human diet as long as they ate food that had high amounts of the nutrients Slugenis was best at producing - and hence that they had evolved to need the most - such as Vitamin A, Vitamin C, Potassium, and some other things which I could never remember.

  According to the calendars (which we rarely followed anymore), we'd been on Earth for six years straight now. About four years after returning to my home from Slugma, I'd finally convinced Matt to go back to Slugenis for a vacation of sorts. He was apprehensive at first, but I guess that he must've been pacified by whatever he saw there, as we'd stayed for several months and have made multiple trips back since. But he'd made it clear that Earth was where he intended to live out most of the remainder of his life.

  As for Rabadootime and Slob, I haven't seen them since Slugma. But the Earth government had good information treaties with the Cyborgs, and the last I heard Slob was still the leader of the Cyborg Archives, and Rabadootime was about to resign his leadership position due to old age. I guess that, even with machines, once you get too old, you just can't do the things that you used to be able to. All you have are the memories of how good you used to be at these things, and the wonder at how you hadn't realised the exact moment things had begun to go downhill and tried to do something about it.

  I stretched in my seat, my belly full (of pizza, of all things) and my life fulfilled. I now knew all there was to know about Slugs and Cyborgs (I think - I wouldn't be surprised if there was more), and as long as I didn't think about the limited time our group as a whole had left, things were good. We spent our days at the government houses, sometimes travelling all over the planet to go to meetings (we once even went to a huge prototype spacestation facility - that was some exciting stuff), other times just giving long-range advice on all manner of topics to anyone who wanted it. We were kind of like a cultural information-disseminating service. You remember that guy who punched Matt, from ages ago back at our school? I wonder what he'd think of us now (were he alive, of course - it had been many decades here on Earth since I left it the first time).

  "Alright, I'm done here", I said after finishing my glass. "You guys ready to go back?"

  "Yep!" Matthew said quickly. "I'm picking the movie tonight. You won't believe what I found." He gave his familiar cheeky grin, which made him look young despite his much older appearance - I still hadn't decided if he did that on purpose or not.

  "What is it?" asked Carmen cautiously.

  He gave a maniacal laugh. "It's a little-known movie by a little-known director and little-known cast about... a Slug-Cyborg romantic relationship! Haha!"

  I had to grin at that, and Phill smiled (while shaking his head), which he did a lot of nowadays.

  "This is going to be a bad movie", Boy chuckled. "But let's watch it anyway."

  "That's the spirit!" Matthew congratulated him. "If only Rosetta had your enthusiasm, she'd be going places, yes she would."

  The Slug-in-question simply laughed to herself and got up from her seat. We'd all learned not to try and give retorts to Matt's random insults; you never get anywhere with him, as he always had a pointless comeback that was only funny because of how bad it was.

  As we exited the restaurant, emerged onto the street, and turned towards where we'd been living for the past two decades (a free place provided by the government, who seemed really anxious to make sure that we kept working on Earth and with them), I asked, "When was this movie made?"

  "No idea", Matthew answered, "but I don't really care."

  "The age of the film can have an impact on its quality", Phill said, but as usual, hi
s nitpicky comment was ignored.

  We walked in companionable silence. Yeah, life was pretty good here. We spent our days talking, working and eating, just like Matt and I used to do at our school, so long ago. The school itself had been shut down for many years (and replaced with apartments), but the good times we had there were still remembered. Well, the whole Cyborg attack part wasn't good, but the rest was.

  I often wondered (against my better judgement) what would happen once Matt and Phill were in the next life. What would Rosetta, Carmen, Frank, Boy and I do? Surely we'd remain together, but for what? Much as I hated to admit it, and as much as I was the best of friends with everyone, Matthew was the glue of this group, the cornerstone who held everyone together. What would I do once he was gone?

  See, this is why I don't think about that kind of thing. I'd worry about that when the time came; as for now, I'd just enjoy living while we were all still living, which is probably the most you can expect out of life anyway.

  Meanwhile, Matt rubbed his hands together and said, "I can't wait, yes I cannot wait for this movie, just so I can see how horrible it is. Hehe!"

  The Cyborg

  We were currently travelling towards our relatively permanent home, in order to watch a motion picture that Matthew had picked and decided upon without consulting anyone else. I would have commented on the low amount of diversity of opinion inherent in one individual making a choice that affects many, but knew that he would just laugh at me and do it again next time. It was a somewhat annoying, but not entirely unpleasant thing.

  At our best guess, and at the professional estimates of the health scientists stationed at Earth, it had been approximately 20 years for us since we left Slugma and the Slug and Cyborg races, judging by Ethan's biological age. I had now spent about the same amount of time after being released from my prison than I had spent in the cave. Needless to say, the latter 2 decades were far superior to the former.

  I still get regular updates on Slug-Cyborg relations, despite my relatively confined presence on a single planet. Fortunately, it appeared that the events we had set in motion had not reverted back to the war's equilibrium state; things were changing, albeit much slower than what we would have preferred.

  The fighting continues, but mostly in the most outreaching areas, as those sections of space had yet to receive any information regarding the push for peace due to the immense light-gap between them and the majority of the two Empires. They would receive the data eventually, however, make what they will of it, and attempt to pursue the current direction of the war as best they can.

  Of course, there are still many Slugs and Cyborgs left who cannot let the war come to an end; those Slugs still sufficiently bound by their Honour and those Cyborgs still fostering an overpowering hatred of Slugs that do not believe in an end to the conflict. The Slug king, many generations past the previous one we'd known who had long ago died, had extensive reports on the circumstances at Slugma, and, based on what happened there, seems to believe in at least the possibility of a cease-fire. That was good.

  Of course, having a single leader in command of the entire race seems another organic flaw; if the Slug king were a close-minded individual, not able to see the entirety of things, selfish, or simply incompetent, then the whole of the Slug Empire would suffer as a result. Surely such a system can only prove to be a hindrance on the advancement of the society? Of course, the fact that the Humans too employed a similar method highlighted the fact that all organics - those that I have observed, at least - are prone to this problem.

  The Cyborgs, however, are exempt. With each leader wielding equal power to each other leader, each is free to make their own judgements on how to confront issues. The latest information I received indicated that a Cyborg-wide vote of whether or not to push for a full galactic halt to the war was either still ongoing, or its result was yet to reach us. Like the Slugs, with a people spread out so far, and with the speed limit of light imposed on all communications, change in the Cyborg race takes a long period of time. Especially dramatic changes such as this.

  For the time being, each leader has been free to approach the supposed peace however they saw fit. I believed - based on my information - that most had elected to call a temporary halt to the fighting, at a minimum. Those that didn't that were in the same area as those Slugs who couldn't let go of their desire for death were responsible for the majority of the continuing battles and knew that they were the minority. For the most part, these isolated skirmishes were regarded by the rest as a necessary factor of the change, and were left to their own devices.

  Overall, I was satisfied with the current situation. Although probability indicated that I would be dead long before the two races ever fully reconciled their differences, I knew that I had contributed to that hopeful outcome in its early stages. Matthew, as well as my other friends, have not hesitated to remind me of the significant impact that I had on our mission, as a Cyborg figure would have signalled to the other Cyborgs that it was not a Slug ploy, and that an end to the war was within the realm of possibility. For this, I am glad.

  "You know, Phil", Ethan said to me, evidently to pass the time, "why don't you get one of those Cyborg prototypes that Slob told us about? I'm sure they could easily make one for you." He had changed in a great many ways, including his appearance, but his loathing of a lack of doing something, his thirst for all non-Human related knowledge, and his seemingly randomised questions remained as persistent as ever.

  "Such things are usually reserved only for Cyborg leaders", I informed him. "I don't know what the situation is now, but I would assume that those customs continue to apply. In addition, I am much too old for such a thing; a prototype on a leader must last many years in order to fully ascertain its viability as a lifetime device."

  "You're not that old", he replied, highlighting his inability to cope with the fact that, soon, myself and Matthew would no longer be around. The only variables left were who would go first... and time.

  "Perhaps", I told him, "but the same issue remains. In any case, I have no wish for such a prototype, for I am satisfied with how I am now. Notwithstanding my deteriorating state, this is."

  "Don't you complain about deteriorating", Matt complained to me. "I can feel my slime responding more sluggishly than it used to - hah! Sluggish! Get it?"

  "Yes", Boy said, "but you just happened to use a word that's related to us. That's not very funny."

  "You're not very funny", Matt yelled back at him, and the Slug simply laughed. Sometimes, laughter was the only way to deal with Matthew. Not that dealing with him was unpleasant; he had his endearing characteristics. "In either case", Matthew continued, "it's only a matter of time before my life too will have lived its course, and I expect every one of you to carry out my legacy!"

  Most things in this world were subject only to time, including but not limited to Matt's life having lived its course, but I chose not to articulate this.

  "What legacy might that be?" asked Carmen.

  "Why, spread the good word", he replied. "You could even bring some other Slugs down here, to live their lives out on Earth. Having these rotating ambassadorial groups like they got now isn't enough; they gotta live here. I don't want the knowledge of what the Humans are really like to die once we 7 aren't around anymore."

  "We'll think about it", Ethan said, "but not right now. Let's talk about something else." Another thing which hadn't changed about him; he still shirked from the subject of death. Perhaps it was an ingrained Human trait, but it was illogical to me. Why should a being shy away from contemplating a very serious and very real fact of life? Each person is more than likely to encounter death many times throughout their life; in fact, it would mark an extremely unlucky individual who didn't.

  Regardless, Matt said, "Fine, but it'll come up again eventually. As for now, we're almost home, so get your movie-watching caps on!"

  "We don't have any caps", Boy told him, still oblivious to some Human sayings even after all this time.
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  As we completed the final stage of our travel, my processes reverted back to the only other Human I'd known, and what she'd said to me during our last talk. She'd told me, 'Don't forget this place. Don't forget your friends. Don't forget yourself'. Although I had considered it differently a long time ago, my experiences of retirement on Earth had led me to ascribe a new meaning to the phrase, a new possibility for what Pauline had meant.

  She may have meant it in the literal term, 'Don't forget', meaning to remember, and the metaphorical meaning, 'Don't forget these 3 important aspects, as they make up who you are.' Earth, the prison that changed me forever; my friends, the people who accepted and, at the minimum, partially understood me, who took me into their group and trusted me and befriended me; and myself, the changes I had been going through, the constant reshifting of priorities I had endured for such a long time.

  These were the 3 aspects that had shaped my identity, and I think now that was what Pauline was trying to say: don't forget these aspects, lest I forget the person I had become.

  So a question emerged: did I want to forget? Could I choose to, would I reverse all of the extensive alterations that had occurred to me, and revert back to my pre-Matthew self? Did I wish to forget this place, my friends, and myself?

  I considered;

  No.

  The Slug

  Walking, walking, walking, so much of my life is spent walking. Not that I minded it too much; it all depends on who I'm walking with, and at the moment, the people I'm walking with are making that walking something which I don't mind too much. But I'm still walking.

  Of course, we'd done a lot less travelling since we settled down on Earth all those years ago. As I had planned, we lived a very relaxed, non-deadly life here, and didn't really do much apart from the occasional visit to Slugenis; Ethan had gotten his way there, as staying on Earth the rest of his life when he knew there were other planets out there just wasn't good enough for him.

  Apart from these infrequent trips, however, life was good. We spent our days working, giving advice to the Humans on how to proceed with Slug and Cyborg relations, which as I understand has contributed quite a bit to the good non-aggression treaties Humanity has with both races. The last I heard, English was slowly but steadily worming its way into every individual's knowledge, and would soon be the galactic standard for communications. As Ethan had brought up to me before, it was pure chance that it turned out to be English; if I'd landed somewhere else, the entire galaxy could have been speaking German or something. Weird.

  As for the Slug race - well, they were better, but they were still Slugs. I had written them off as my people ages ago, and no longer counted myself a member. Biologically, I was a Slug, but in the ways that matter, I count myself a Human now, a people of where I live. Which is the way that matters.

  They weren't all bad, though. I'd heard that all newly-formed Slugs are no longer impressed with Honour, which was the best place to start. They needed to weed out the illness from the source. In enough time, all Honour-bound Slugs would be dead, and the perverted system would be a thing of the past. I would count the race renewed when the King is a newborn, who sees value in their own life, even though I wouldn't be alive to see that day. That was OK.

  Even though I wouldn't be around, it would be interesting to see the entire Empire as Honour-free. I wondered what that would be like - every Slug experience, back when I was a Slug, was molded by our Honour. All of that would change, then, completely and for the better. Hopefully another war wouldn't break out, as the Slugs would have no hope of surviving against the Cyborgs should that happen. But I had faith in the shared medium of communication - language - and its ability to solve problems without resorting to violence.

  Overall, I considered the Slug race to be saved. And the funny yet truthful thing was, it was their very Humanity that had saved them. The previous Empire allowed close Slug relationships to develop and then prosper, which one would not expect of the militaristic, autocratic, and uncaring species that they were back then. But they did, they allowed friendships, a Human trait, and this was their saving grace.

  By allowing this to happen, Boy and I became very close. After I was stranded on Earth, it was Boy, and no one else, who tried to come for me. He was the only one willing to do more than write off my existence as "died Honourably". And so he came. Once here, it was only our close bond that caused him to believe me, and to indirectly disobey an indirect order from the Slug King. No other Slug would have done so, especially not for an estranged one such as myself. It was Boy's listening to me that allowed me to defend Earth, bring the Humans onto the galactic stage, and bring Phill out from hiding, who I think had a huge impact on our successes with Cyborg negotiations - apart from the unsuccess of the Slugma incident, of course.

  So the last thing that the Slugs couldn't take away from us - that little piece of our people that hadn't been crushed by the grinding gears of the war - was the very thing that was used to yank us back out of those gears, and into the light of life. Kind of funny indeed.

  'This movie's going to suck, isn't it?' Ethan asked me, startling me out of my inspirational thoughts.

  'More than likely', I chuckled. 'But we can't not watch it, now, can we?'

  'Sure we can', Frank said, 'just don't watch it.'

  'Alright then', I shrugged, 'don't watch it.'

  He looked at me for a moment, then sighed and said, 'If you're going to watch it, then I'm watching it too.'

  'That's what I thought!' I laughed, feeling my facial slime slip a bit as I did so. It was getting harder and harder to keep it under the tight control that I had had it under for decades. As my brain got older and older, the kinds of electrical outputs I could sustain, and the control over those outputs, weakened. I hadn't tried to read any unconsciously sent communications from a Slug for a long time, and I was a bit scared to try and find out if I still could.

  Yep, like Phill, I was starting to break down. Slime was infinitely renewable, as long as we had enough food, oxygen, and water - well, it wasn't really infinitely renewable when I put it like that, but it was pretty good - but the core of the brain isn't. After a Slug reaches a certain age, as I appear to have reached, things start to go haywire.

  It would start with my appearance, I figure. Soon, I'd be fiercely willing my slime to stay in this shape, but my brain simply wouldn't have the capacity to send the required numerous and precise signals to do so. At that point, I may finally have to succumb to using a mental block, which I hadn't had inside me for close to half a century. Half a century! I'd kept my slime in check through sheer unbroken willpower and concentration for almost half a century! It's times like this when I marvel at what an achievement that truly is.

  Talking would come to be difficult next, as for a Slug to talk requires minute slime shifting around the air hollows, breathing chambers, mouth, and slime-tongue. Such things aren't possible with a mental block, unless they've invented some super one without telling me. I'd also have trouble walking, and might even have to revert to the Slug basic form, which has no legs but simply a base of slime, which would make staying upright much easier.

  Then my Slug communications would start to falter; the signals I wanted to send to other Slugs would be disjointed, fragmented, and probably all over the place. Not that that affected me much here, but back on Slugenis, that signalled the end. Once that happens, there's no going back; that Slug is done for.

  The end of the end would be that Slug's death. Or, in this case, the ended end would be my death. Hopefully peacefully, in my sleep or something... On second thought, however, I'd prefer to give some deep meaningful words to all my friends on my deathbed, literally the last thing I say before dying, that they'd take with them the rest of their lives and that would shape how they live those lives. That would be awesome. I wonder what I should say... Well, I'll spin something on the day.

  'OK, we're just about home', Boy said from behind me, even though everyone knew perfectly well where we were. We'd
been living in that place for a long time, and had been talking this route back from the pizza restaurant for a long time too - less emphasis on the second "long" though, as its not as long as the first "long".

  I had a sudden urge to reach back and make contact with him by touching his hand. Not to communicate anything in particular, just to do it. To Humans, lovers are the closest that they can get - if all those books and movies are to be believed, that is. For Slugs, however, physical communication is the pinnacle of interconnectedness, closeness, and intimacy - the actual integration of Slug slime in the short term makes us form a unification of thoughts and feelings, while in the long term this constant linkage of thoughts and emotions brings a solidarity that can form lifelong bonds and even kinship. Such as Boy and myself.

  I loved all of my friends, every last one of them; but Boy was, and would forever be, my closest and age-old friend. Not to say he was my best, over the others, but my closest. A Slug simply cannot have a higher form of relationship than that which Boy and I shared. And it was a union and comradeship which I wished every Slug could have, and yet which I knew most Slugs couldn't have, as that would undermine the collective nature of our culture.

  Well, enough about that; it was time for a motion picture of epic proportions. And by "epic proportions", I mean those proportions to be level of badness per hour of film. It would more than likely be a high ratio too - but we had to watch it at least once.

  'I am not looking forward to this', Ethan said. 'And yet, I am. Is that strange?'

  'Strange for sure', I laughed. 'But not stranger than Phill's face!' The Cyborg gave me a look but didn't say anything, which only made Ethan and I laugh more. After a moment, he simply smiled and turned back to our home.

  Yeah. Although I didn't know how many months or years I had left to live, I did know one thing; they would be glorious months and years indeed.

  The Human

  And so we arrived home. That is, our home on our overall home, Earth. I intended to go back to Slugenis at least once more, while our group was still whole, and maybe even venture a bit into Cyborg space - why not? Our days of dangerous adventuring was done, but our days of living still had some time left to do things like that. And although it perhaps wouldn't be as exciting, it would still be fun, as all of our trips usually were.

  For the moment, however, life was good. I was a simple person, and as such had simple needs. I had a place to live, food to eat and water to drink, and friends (maybe even family) to be with and call my own. What more do you need?

  Well, maybe you'd want more than that, I don't know. But I'll tell you what - for me, it was precisely enough to make me feel the one thing which I think everyone wants to feel. What was the word again? I can't remember, and just 'good' isn't enough.

  "Guys", I asked Matthew and Phill, whom I was walking next to, "how do you feel about our lives right now? I'm satisfied."

  "Glorious", Matt said softly, unlike his usual boisterous self.

  After a short pause, Phill said, "I am content."

  That was the word. Content. Happy with how everything was, not wanting any of it to change. Feeling like I could live like this until the end of my life.

  I too was content. And, for now at least, that was great.

  ###

  Well, well, well. Look whose gotten all the way to the end, through means legitimate or otherwise. Why, it’s you, of course! Unless you’re some kind of robot who can go through letters and words without really understanding their meaning. If so, that doesn’t count as reading. You cheated.

  For the rest of you, you’ve finally marshalled enough valour and resilience to absorb one hundred and forty-five thousand words into your eyeballs and then were able to use your brain to decode and assign meaning to not only those words themselves, but to their place and position relative to all other words around them. Tell me that doesn’t deserve a medal when I say it like that.

  Fun facts: throughout this book (or throughout the series if you’ve read all three), you’ve read the word ‘Slug’ 1,348 (2,769) times, the word ‘Cyborg’ 792 (1,917) times, and the word ‘the’ 5,854 (13,852) times! Aren’t statistics so interesting?

  Seriously though, if you were one of the few people who may have actually enjoyed this book/series – and I really hope you didn’t read the third book last; who does that? – then I’m glad for you. If you hated it and read it just to validate your hatred, then I’ll still claim that as honour for me, thank you very much. If you’ve skipped to this ending, then you should feel ashamed to be accessing a jewel that only the worthy are allowed to read. Erase everything you’ve just read from your memory, right now!

  As to the future of The Slug Universe – there isn’t one, really. It was always planned to be a trilogy, for a host of reasons (the main one being three is my favourite number – if you were wise, it would be yours too), and if I get my way it will remain so. So there.

  I’m still unsure whether or not you should be thanked for getting down to this section, so I’ll just leave you with a good on you. And you have my permission to give yourself that small smile when you know you’ve just finished something of some length that you more than likely will never do again. Unless you want to, in a few decades or something. In that case, have at it. I’ll still be happy.