by Michael Kan
Maybe one day Farcia will face their judgment, Arendi said, but right now, I just want to help her.
It was a sentiment very few could probably understand. The white-haired woman was the enemy, after all. Most would rather have scoffed and demonized Farcia for all eternity. But Arendi didn’t see it that way.
Feeling the air, the android touched her human hair and face. It might have looked real, but it was also cold and sometimes stiff. The facsimile, while carefully constructed, would never be ideal.
Arendi then thought to her own history. To the very beginning. It was the tale of another woman. A lonely woman who had also once struggled to exist.
It might sound strange, Arendi said, but Farcia reminds me of myself.
She closed her eyes, recalling it. The pain and the agony. That sense that she didn’t belong. It was familiar. Too familiar. Like a perfect match.
That was me once. A long time ago. I was desperate and afraid.
The Arendi from that era had been alone and lost. She had felt completely out of place, always in doubt. At times, she wasn’t even sure whether to continue or just give up.
But then one day I met someone. Someone who changed everything. Someone who made things better.
Arendi would always remember that person. She stared at Julian, thankful. The pilot smiled back, feeling the same way.
I hope Farcia can find that, Julian said.
Yes. I think she already has.
It was the promise on her mind that maybe no one had to be left behind.
Not everyone might agree, however. The Alliance thinks I’m naïve. Maybe I am, she said.
No. I don’t believe that.
To try to cheer her up, Julian reached into his jacket. He fumbled around, patting the fabric, and finally found what he was looking for. From the lower pocket, the pack of cigarettes came out. Arendi noticed the old gesture, and came closer and closer to him. Eventually, she was only inches away, as Julian unsealed the pack.
I have to say, he continued. I think the Alliance made a mistake. Without you, the Sentinels won’t be quite the same.
He pulled a cigarette out and handed it to her. The blunt sat between his two fingers, resting there, for her. For a moment, Arendi was tempted to take it as she had always done before.
But no. Not this time. She came to him once more, thinking of her true desire.
Actually, to be honest, I’d like to try something new.
Arendi took the cigarette and placed it back in the pack before throwing it to the ground. Then she bent in close. To Julian’s surprise, she put her arms around his neck.
Face-to-face with him, Arendi blushed, thinking of all the possibilities.
Do me a favor, Arendi said. Kiss me.
He did.
Epilogue
The child watched, curious. He had seen them before.
One was a pilot; the other was the Savior. Over the years, the pair had visited their home many times. The two had even played with him, bringing toys and candy.
But now the child was old enough truly to notice them and then to ask questions. He was still quite shy, so he didn’t say much at first. The toddler stared as the father now remembering more week by week kindly walked the two visitors out. They bid their farewell, and the child had to ask, Who are they, exactly?
The mother was nearby and replied affectionately.
They’re old friends, she explained. They helped me a long time ago.
She then took the child up in her arms and cradled him in her lap. They even helped you. Before you were born.
The child knew what that meant and hugged his mother’s belly. He was still quite small and clung like a baby to her body.
Will they visit again? he asked.
Yes. Of course.
Good. I’d like to make more friends.
He turned to the rest of their home. It was fairly simple and secluded. Enough for two parents to raise their growing little child. No one else was here, except for the other man the blond one.
I wish I knew more people. I only have Magnus. Except, for you and father, he’s my only friend, the toddler said.
From his mother’s lap, the child glanced toward the corner of the room. It was there that his friend stood, crossing his arms, silent but smiling. The blond-haired man wasn’t quite like his parents.
He doesn’t talk much, the child observed. He’s shyer than me. I can’t feel anything from him.
That’s fine. He’s here to help us. He takes care of us.
Although the child nodded happily at that, he was becoming old enough to wonder innocently. He puffed up his cheeks and looked around at their home, thinking beyond it.
Why do we live here? Alone? he asked. The child let his eyes wander over the ceiling as his feet dangled over his mother’s knees.
I’ve heard of cities. Other planets. Starships. So many people.
He sat wide-eyed, utterly amazed by the thought. He was starting even to dream it. His mother stared back, however, suddenly tense.
It’s complicated I’m afraid
Complicated. It was a word the child was hearing more and more now. With each passing day, he was raising more innocent but sensitive questions.
Where are we exactly?
Are there others like us?
Will we ever see them?
Do we have to stay here forever?
Unfortunately, the mother struggled to offer the complete answers.
It was a sentiment that the child was becoming aware of. The emotions. The thoughts of others. Although he was still very young, his mind was growing and starting to mature. He could feel things now. From his mother especially.
Gradually, he had come to feel the sadness. An apology entered the child’s thoughts. Although the mother had many things to say, for now she was still reluctant.
But don’t worry, she added. Maybe one day we can visit the stars.
Really? he asked, excited.
Yes. That’s why Arendi was here. We’ll see what happens.
The child felt better after that. The mother patted him on the face and pinched his cheeks. He felt happy at the touch, but he was still very curious.
The child then peered at the desk where they sat. He stood up from her lap and took a peek. This was his mother’s work. His father had told him something about it. For weeks maybe many months now she had been busy compiling things. Apparently, she was writing something. Stories, in fact. Stories from a long time ago.
The child pointed and asked: Why don’t you ever tell me about the past? Father says that your stories are important. That they need to be told. Can you not tell me?
The child remained insistent. His questions came as he yearned for more. There was a whole world that he was craving to feel and understand. The mother realized it, too.
Yes, he’s right, she answered. I’m just afraid that these stories may frighten you. They can be difficult sometimes very sad.
He could feel it from his mother and then from his own memories. Sights, sounds, and images off in the distant. Sometimes dark. Sometimes confusing. Sometimes dire.
I know. I can already start to see things
The child faced the darkness, holding on to his mother’s waist. He almost grew somber as his mind sensed the tragic past.
But I’m not afraid. Please tell me, the child said. I’m strong.
He forced himself to be brave and raised his head high. His mother was here; there was no reason to back away.
Farcia was smitten and embraced the child. Undeniably, he was innocent and naïve.
So be it, she thought.
This is my story, she began. This is about how you and I came to be.
She then opened her mind and started to tell it. No, she couldn’t offer him the whole painful truth. Not yet. But she would make sure that he understood what was important.
It’s a sad story. It may be hard to listen to, hard to accept the things
I’ve done, Farcia warned. But don’t worry. It has a happy ending. There’s friendship in it. Unlikely love, too. But most of all, hope.