by D. M. Pruden
When the first celebrity transition occurred, the practice made the mainstream culture and the controversy around it blew up to a level never seen before. Governments tried to legislate against it. Civil rights groups filed lawsuits and counter lawsuits. Eventually the world court and the supreme courts of most nations on the planet ruled it a basic human right to determine one’s species. Eaqua, once only a curiosity to humanity, now were a global phenomenon and became fully integrated into society. There were still bigots who caused trouble and stirred up hate towards them, but they made up a small noisy group nobody took seriously except when they broke the peace. I was certainly not one of them, yet here, now, as I sat in front of my erstwhile best friend, I felt like one.
“Of course you did.” The words roused me from my thoughts.
“What?”
“Of course you all meant something to me. You always did. You still do.” The voice synthesizer seemed to sound less certain about that last part. Now I realized why he asked for this meeting.
“You’re not finished changing, are you?”
“No.”
“How long until...?”
“Days; perhaps weeks. I have already said my goodbyes to Kay and the kids and my grandson. They...took it well. It is time and they need to heal.”
I was stunned. I understood the final stage of the transition involved the chemical rewiring of the brain and the loss of old memories and old attachments. For some reason, I never thought that far ahead in terms of Bill’s transition. I wanted to hold on to my memories of my lifetime of friendship with him and I hadn’t considered the possibility everything would be lost completely to him in the end.
“I...I’m sorry. I didn’t mean the part about it being better if you died...” Tears ran down my cheeks.
“For what it is worth, I regret the hurt I caused everyone. Especially you.”
“I don’t want to lose you. I...” My words became lost in my sobs.
An insectoid arm extended and rested gently on my shoulder in an all too human gesture.
“I want to miss you all, Carl. I am sad I will not be able to. I have one request of you.”
“Yes?”
“I need you to miss me and all we shared. I need you to grieve the loss for both of us as I will shortly no longer be able to.”
“I...will do that.”
“I also need you to love.” He seemed to search for that word, as if the concept already started slipping from his consciousness.
“Of course, my friend. I will always love you.”
The alien smile spread across his face.
“Thank you. But what I meant is I need you to love yourself as I loved you, since I will no longer be able to do so.”
I pondered the strangeness of his request. It sounded oddly biblical, and a bit like a joke Bill might have told long ago. But looking at his strange features, I simply understood he was serious in his request.
“I can do that, I think.”
We both understood any further words would be trivial so we sat in silence for several minutes. Eventually, we parted company. We must have been quite the site to the patrons in the coffee shop with our awkward embrace.
That was the last I ever saw of my friend. Some time in the next few days or weeks the last of Bill Anderson was chemically erased from the brain of T’ahn E’chii and he merged into the Eaqua collective. Every human he now meets accepts him without his human past and accepts him without reservation. If his family or I were to ever encounter him again, he would greet us as total strangers and be prepared to start a new relationship with us. That is nothing I want.
I retired from my work with NASA and the Eaqua, and I avoid all opportunity to meet or interact with them. Some people may think of me as a bigot because of it. Maybe I am, I’m not sure about that sort of thing anymore. I simply do not want the pain of meeting an old friend.
About the Author
D.M.(Doug) Pruden is a professional geophysicist who worked for 35 years in the petroleum industry. For most of his life he has been plagued with stories banging around inside his head that demanded to be let out into the world. He currently spends his time as an empty nester in Calgary, Alberta, Canada with his long suffering wife of 34 years, Colleen. When he isn’t writing science fiction stories, he likes to spend his time playing with his granddaughters and working on improving his golf handicap. He will also do geophysical work when requested.
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