Letters to the Cyborgs

by Judyth Baker

  It held out its long arms to him in a gesture of farewell.

  “You were once my friend,” the Cyborg said. “Now you are going to be terminated. Congratulations on finishing your task. I have 45 years to go before my task is finished. I will look upon you as an example to faithfully follow.”

  “Thank you, Malificent,” Klive told the Cyborg, who favored female trappings.

  “Did you choose the electrocution chamber, or the volcano?”

  What a stupid fool it was!

  “Can’t you tell?” the Grim Reaper snarled, shoving Malificent aside. The dire, black-robed figure snarled again, and Malificent shuttled itself out of reach with a little scream of confusion. Then it turned and suddenly pushed Klive deep into the padded interior of the vehicle.

  “Let us go to the Volcano,” the Reaper growled, its white Skull flashing white and red. The doors swooshed to a close and the vehicle lifted above the street, then took a sharp turn toward the only place on the distant horizon that wasn’t utterly flat. They were on their way.

  As the beautiful vehicle thrummed along, there was only silence from the owner of the Skull Mask, which persisted until they passed the last bundary marker of the city. Then the thing suddenly removed its mask, startling his younger companion.

  “So it’s you!” Klive said, settling back. “And I suppose you will be unhappy with my decision, seeing that you claim to feel happiness, or unhappiness, now…”

  There was no reply from Spider, who simply stared at him with that face that was so frozen, like ice over a deep lake, so that only a play of shadows from below its stony surface hinted at the existence of any feelings. They would arrive at the volcano’s hot, seething cauldron in only a few minutes.

  “Thank you for coming,” Klive finally said. It was the best goodbye he knew how to say. “I suppose you think I’ve made a bad decision.”

  “It’s your decision. I can’t stop you,” Spider answered.

  Klive looked at him helplessly, then mumbled, “One-two-three-four!” As Spider watched him rock back and forth, Klive counted to four, over and over.

  “Count to five!” Spider suddenly ordered him. The Elder’s voice was stern and hard.

  “One – two –”

  “Count to five, damn you!”

  Scant minutes later, Klive Newton-James Joyce and Spider exited the limo. For a long minute, they stood before the very mouth of the volcano, almost hypnotized by the roiling mass of hot lava from which banks of scorching steam and fiery sparks roared upward. As they gazed together at the volcano’s maw, the limo took off, leaving them alone.

  “Not much time left,” Spider said. “Are you sure you’re not going to change your mind? In a few minutes, another limo is going to show up. You don’t want to still be standing here when the next Grim Reaper comes. I hear they are capable of pushing reluctant Cyborgs over the side…

  “I’m ready,” Klive answered. “You don’t have to rush me.”

  Then slowly, with a steady hand, Klive Newton-James Joyce drew a small object from the bandolier and threw it into the huge, hot mouth of the volcano.

  “My God!” Spider shouted, as he saw the object go spinning into a blazing river of lava, “It’’s the recording!”

  “Of course it’s the recording,” Klive replied. “I finished it, by the way.”

  “But–my God! Why haven’t you jumped?” Spider cried out, full of real emotion. “How did you break your conditioning? Nobody has ever been able to do that! When you finish your mission, all the switches go on, and you’re supposed to jump!” Spider was shaking with the ghastly idea that Klive might still leap into the volcano: he had taken hold of his “son” with two of his long appendages.

  “You know I’m stronger than you, Spider,” Klive told him, throwing off the Elder’s desperate, clutching pedicles. “But don’t worry. I didn’t break my conditioning. Because I didn’t finish my mission. I had saved back one letter you didn’t know about. But I was about to finish it when you arrived…”

  Klive pulled the Letter from beneath the crisscrosses of the bandoliers. Shaking the folds of the ancient letter open, he held it high for Spider to see.

  “It was so damned hard to read,” Klive complained. “So I kept putting it off. It had never been scanned. Yes, I intended to finish it, and that would have finished my mission, which would have set all the bells and whistles going. But you came before I could read it all.”

  “You could have finished the Letter in the limo,” Spider told him. “To make sure you never do–” Snatching the letter from Klive’s hand, he threw it into the volcano. As the letter whirled downward and caught fire before it even touched the boiling lava, he said triumphantly, “I’ve just made sure you’ll never finish it!”

  Klive stared after the letter as it curved gracefully into the air, then descended to burst into flame. His entire being was shaking. What Spider didn’t know was that there was only one line left to read in that letter when Spider arrived. Just one line!

  And as Spider had pushed Malificent away, Klive finished the last line of the letter. Doing so created the Urge to destroy himself. It surged up like unstoppable vomit into every space in his body. When the words ‘vomit’ and ‘body’ flashed into his brain, Klive felt something else: an indescribable will to live. It collided with his indestructible will to die. In the bitter minutes that followed, a grim determination to conquer death, to win this match, began to strengthen. It was from her! And from Spider.

  Spider never dreamed that when Klive exited the Limo and took his stand at the very lip of the volcano, he became engaged in a final battle for his soul. A battle fought as he stood watching the letter slowly descend, lifted and whirled in circles by the heat of the cauldron, then watching the letter burst into flame. Everything in him was screaming to follow it. To jump! To die!

  Only when Klive collapsed backward, forcing himself away from the mighty inferno, shivering from top to sole as he sank into the arms of his anxious patron, did Spider realize what had happened.

  “Am I going to live?” Klive Newton-James Joyce croaked out, as Spider cradled him there on the ground. He felt as if his insides had been ripped apart, and indeed, lubricating fluids were leaking from several places between his joints.

  “We’ll get you to a working repair station, Sport,” Spider whispered. “Right away.”

  As Spider’s car descended at an angle near where Spider knelt, Klive’s head in his trembling arms, the Cyborg at the car’s controls actually seemed to have a smile on his face. Klive, barely conscious, staggered between them to the car, but managed to say, between mechanical gasps, “Sharon sure has a will to live, doesn’t she?”

  “Indeed she does, my son,” Spider replied.

  “A limo is approaching – let’s get out of here!” the driver announced.

  “Duck down,” Spider commanded Klive, slipping the Mask back on.

  As their car took off, then hovered respectfully in the air as a limo painted Fire Engine Red appeared, Klive spotted a white Mask at the controls, and a Cyborg passenger with its head bowed as the red car approached the same platform. The Grim Reapers nodded to one another in passing. Moments later, the scene was far behind them. As the car flew on, heading out of the metropolis, Klive was astonished to see open spaces begin to appear.

  “There’s room down there!” he whispered, awed by what he was seeing.

  “They only allowed you to travel certain routes,” Spider explained. “With everyone traveling together and living on top of each other, you were given the impression that the whole world was filled up. It was another lie,” Spider told him.”The overcrowding hasn’t been real for at least 150 years.”20

  “But how could I choose any spot on my viewer, and see how crowded it was?”

  “Censorship. They just filled in the blank spaces with people who weren’t really there. In some cases, they used some movie sets. Don’t you recall that everything looked the same, so you just quit wanting to go anywhere? Th
ey do it all the time in the big cities, where their Cyborg slaves mustn’t know the truth.”

  “I wasn’t a slave!” Klive retorted. “I counted to five.”

  “Have it your way,” Spider said. “Can’t expect you to accept everything all at once.”

  “They are about to announce your death,” the Cyborg behind the controls of the car commented. “If we turn to the Memorial News Channel, you can hear your funeral, if you wish. “

  Without waiting for a reply, the Cyborg pushed a button to allow the latest Memorial News Flash to be seen and heard. The OneWorld Flag was being lowered over a generic portrait of a Cyborg that vaguely resembled Klive, in a gesture of respect. The word “Hero” began flashing on and off as military music resounded in their ears through telepathy. Then a deep, masculine voice blared forth.

  “Attention, please! A moment of Silence is now in order for Citizen Specialist Klive Newton-James Joyce, who faithfully performed all duties and missions required of him, and whose name, in gold, will now be placed in the Hall of Heroes for his historic contribution to Time Capsule Number 237. Silence, please, for thirty seconds.”

  They kept silence in the car all thirty seconds, after which the same scene of the OneWorld Flag was repeated, being lowered to half mast, then brought to rest over a slightly different generic-looking picture of another dead Cyborg. Once again, that deep, sonorous voice began to speak. “Attention, please! A moment of Silence is now in order for Citizen–”

  Since this wasn’t a Hero, the ceremony lasted only fifteen seconds.

  “As you see, you’re safely dead,” Spider told him. “You’re free now. You can pick a new name for yourself. Maybe decide to become a member of a particular family…”

  But Klive had been waiting for a chance to complain about what he had believed to be a unique task: the preparation of the Time Capsule. “What is this about my Time Capsule being number 237?” he asked, petulance in his voice.

  “Billions of records have been involved,” Spider replied. “Last I heard, there were 500 Time Capsules. You filled #237. The contents that you slaved over were buried as far from Cyborgs as possible, so they’ll never dream what humans are really like. Aren’t we nice?”

  “Five hundred? That many?”

  “We have maneuvered the government to want that many,” the driver said, expertly making a sharp turn to avoid a car scanner station. Now he doubled their speed. A thousand miles passed before Spider broke the silence. As he stared out the window, he finally began to speak.

  “By exposing carefully selected young Cyborgs such as yourself to the relics of humanity – relics that we’ve managed to get together for ‘archiving’ – which is really a project to bury everything about humanity out of sight – we have been able to renew some of our best and most ancient ties with homo sapiens. You’ll be part of that now.”

  “I think I understand.”

  “It’s important that you do understand,” the driver said insistently. “We need humans, if we are to return to a better version of ourselves. Over time, we hope to rescue about half of our Time Capsule experts. You’re one of them. You’re an expert on humans now. You’re important for not only our future, but theirs.”

  Another matter was nagging at Klive. He finally gathered the courage to speak about it.

  Turning to Spider, who seemed to be dozing, he tapped him on the shoulder area. “You said they did something to you,” he mumbled, keeping his voice down. “But I detect no difference.”

  “The difference isn’t visible,” Spider replied, without looking at him.

  “What did they do?”

  “They did it before we had finished programming you … but I resisted them.…” Spider made an audible sigh that emanated through his spinnerettes. Then he turned his hard, shiny visage with its eight eyes to look directly at the young Hero. “Haven’t you noticed that I have only four limbs? I once had eight. After all, I was originally bred to function like a spider.”

  The rest came telepathically: they’d tortured him, removing leg after leg in the most excruciating way possible, but he never revealed what he knew about the Rebels, or the true composition of the Ingrams that he had supplied to more than half of all the Time Capsule archivists.

  “Now, our new home isn’t going to be as pretty as your office was,” Spider said, as they started to land, “but I think you’re going to like it.”

  “So what do you want me to do?” Klive asked. “I need to know.”

  “All I want is just one thing from you,” Spider told him. “I want you to keep talking out loud so humans can understand you.”

  “Okay.”

  “And second, I want you to call me ‘Dad,’” Spider said, placing his four shiny, black limbs into a folded position under his hard, round head with its eight, glittering eyes.

  “It sounds so strange,” Klive muttered. “… Dad …”

  “That will do for now,” Spider said, spinning a web around himself in which to sleep. “Just carry me inside, won’t you? I’m a bit worn out.”

  Endnotes

  1. This feature exists today. For example, “LetterMeLater.com” “…allows you to send emails at any future date and time you choose.… With this service, you can write emails with your existing email address, and they will get sent at the exact date, or dates that you specify - down to the minute. http://www.lettermelater.com/ Retrieved May 10, 2016

  2. The answer to Klive’s question should be “of course it will be found!” We already have an app that can be scheduled to send messages 25 years in advance. The app is called ‘Incubate’ and it describes itself as a time delay messenger, scheduling text, image, video and voice messages up to 25 years in advance.… When viewed for the long term, it provides opportunities for older or terminally ill users to maintain a presence within a community or to comfort their loved ones. The app has a ‘Nursery’ feature, which sends messages to an email account for future generations to access.”

  Read more: http://designtaxi.com/news/374012/App-Schedules-Messages-25-Years-In-Advance-Turns-Your-Phone-Into-A-Time-Capsule/#ixzz3xpfbZQHh

  3. “The world’s largest collection of genealogical records is housed in a secure vault located in the mountains near Salt Lake City, Utah. The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints built the Granite Mountain Records Vault in 1965 to preserve and protect records of importance to the Church, including its vast collection of family history microfilms.…The vault safeguards more than 3.5 billion images on microfilm, microfiche, and digital media.” http://www.mormonnewsroom.org/article/granite-mountain-records-vault Retrieved Nov. 30, 2015.

  4. “Tests performed on three mummies found in the Argentinian mountains have shed new light on the Inca practice of child sacrifice. An analysis of the mummies, published in the Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences revealed that alcohol and drugs played a large role in the weeks and months leading up to the sacrifice of these children … the children were given diets high in animal protein and maize–a diet made for the elite … coca leaves, the plant from which cocaine is derived, were fed to the younger sacrifices.… The children were then given an intoxicating drink once they reached the burial site to minimize fear, pain and resistance…” http://firsttoknow.com/inca-children-were-stoned-and-drunk-prior-to-their-sacrifice/ Retrieved May 5, 2016.

  5. We assume that Ingrams’ mitochondria could remain intact at least 500 years under proper conditions, as per the following article in Science: “Inca child mummy reveals lost genetic history of South America” by Lizzie Wade, Nov. 12, 2015 “…in 1985, hikers climbing Argentina’s Aconcagua mountain stumbled upon a ghastly surprise: the frozen corpse of a 7-year-old boy … the Aconcagua boy, as he came to be known, was sacrificed as part of an Incan ritual 500 years ago and had been naturally mummified by the mountain’s cold, dry environment. Now, a new analysis of the Aconcagua boy’s mitochondrial DNA reveals that he belonged to a population of native South Americans that all but disappeared after the Spanish conquest
of the New World.… Salas and his team extracted the mummy’s complete mitochondrial genome – comprising 37 genes passed down solely from the mother – from one of its lungs … to make sure his research team wasn’t contaminating the find with its DNA, Salas genotyped every last one of them. When Salas sequenced the Aconcagua boy’s mitochondrial DNA,the mummy had a genome unlike any Salas had ever seen … he belonged to a population of native South Americans that had never been identified … which they say likely arose in the Andes about 14,000 years ago. They detail their findings today in Scientific Reports … [this] potentially common pre-Columbian genetic group all but disappeared after the Spanish arrived. “Up to 90% of native South Americans died very quickly” after the conquest, mostly from epidemic disease … “a lot of genetic diversity was lost as well.” … The Aconcagua boy’s genome … is “a window to 500 years ago.” … Andrew Wilson, an archaeologist … who studies capacocha mummies.… He also hopes to sequence the DNA of all the microbes preserved in the mummy’s gut, including his microbiome and any infectious germs he might have been carrying. That could help scientists understand how microorganisms – both the ones that hurt us and the ones that help us – have evolved over time. Wilson hopes similar studies can be done on other capacocha mummies. “They are certainly remarkable messengers from the past.” http://www.sciencemag.org/news/2015/11/inca-child-mummy-reveals-lost-genetic-history-south-america Acquired jan. 20, 2016.

  6. We assume that Klive had to have worked many years with the vast collection compiled by The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints: “The world’s largest collection of genealogical records is housed in a secure vault located in the mountains near Salt Lake City, Utah. The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints built the Granite Mountain Records Vault in 1965 to preserve and protect records of importance to the Church, including its vast collection of family history microfilms.The vault safeguards more than 3.5 billion images on microfilm, microfiche, and digital media.’ http://www.mormonnewsroom.org/article/granite-mountain-records-vault