Finally, Gavin gave in. His clone lay naked and bleeding in an aerie atop the highest mountain. The nest was built over the oracle, an ancient machine that sent signals to the gods. A ring of dragons sat perched around the nest. Others circled overhead, bellowing and spitting acid onto the broken body of Gavin’s ghost. Gavin climbed the mountain on foot, carrying his rifle, and stepped into the inner circle. The dragons fell silent. No sound but the wind, the flapping of his robe. Gavin stared down at his own face. He stood there frozen like Narcissus at the water’s edge. The man begged him: “Please. Kill me, please.” Gavin placed the barrel of the rifle in the other man's mouth, and pulled the trigger. With the butt of the rifle, he destroyed the man's face.
From that day on, the dragons revered him: Gavin Megano, the man who killed his own ghost.
The colonists were less forgiving. Some thought Gavin could have saved his clone. What kind of leader sacrifices his own people to another race? And what kind of captain puts his wife ahead of his crew? He had revived Nala first, against mission orders. They stopped looking to Gavin for leadership. He stopped looking to them for friendship.
Only Nala stood beside him now. “I don’t care about the others,” she said. “All I want is you.”
But the more Gavin reached inside himself to please her, the more he came up empty.
The ships continued to arrive, drawn by the beacon. Twice Gavin destroyed the oracle, and twice the dragons repaired it. Three years later, the colonists took a vote and banished Gavin from the city. Nala was free to stay.
“I’m not leaving you,” she told him, and they made a life together outside the city walls. But as the seasons passed, Nala had many chances to reconsider. It was not easy for her, being the wife of an outcast.
The starships arrived at random intervals. A week would pass, or a month, or a year. Gavin tried to convince himself that he had seen the last ship. But then, inevitably, he would hear the sonic boom and see the fire in the sky. He would kiss his wife goodbye and walk out alone into the wilderness. To do his job.
I listened, watching Gavin’s eyes dart as he searched for the right words. Finally, the space between us grew quiet. I heard the wind whisper outside, and the soft cry of dragons in the distance.
Gavin stared down at his rifle.
“It’s getting dark,” he said.
It was time. I had to finish this. “Remember that night on the deck? Watching Nala on the balcony looking up at the stars? Remember how you felt that night?”
“I’m not that man anymore.”
“She needs you to be that man again. The man she fell in love with eighty thousand years ago. She deserves that.”
Gavin raised his rifle, ready to fire. He stared at me through the rifle sight, looking at his younger self. He whispered, “You can’t go back again.”
“Yes, you can.”
His finger hesitated over the trigger.
Then eased off.
Gavin lowered the rifle, turned, and walked outside. I did not follow him. He needed time alone.
Moments later, I heard the gunshot.
I dressed my wound and changed into Gavin’s robe, then placed his body in the cloning tank. I closed my eyes as I crushed his face. No one will recognize him, no one but me. The ship took a bit longer: cutting wires and smashing control chips.
I followed Gavin’s trail in the dwindling twilight, a three-hour walk back to his house. It was a small hovel built of stone and mud on the banks of a dark green river.
No one answered when I knocked, so I eased open the door and entered. Fire sputtered under a chimney. Two empty bowls rested on the table, waiting for a meal.
Stepping outside, I found Nala behind the house.
I am watching her now.
Holding the moment.
She stands by the river, looking up at the stars. Her back is turned to me. Nala’s robe catches the breeze and flutters across her skin. Dark hair, touched with grey, dances over her left shoulder as starlight kisses the curve of her neck.
This is how I remember her.
THE END
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Also by David Wisehart:
Blood Alley
Devil’s Lair
Endgame and Other Stories
Valentino: a play in verse
“Ghost of the Living” copyright © 2010 by David Wisehart
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